Crush (Crash #3)(79)

I hadn't danced lead last night. I hadn't even gone and cheered on the girl who'd been my understudy. I was in something of a "delicate" state.

After setting an appointment for me, driving me there, and basically pushing me into the waiting room, Holly made sure I saw an ob-gyn on Thursday. After some poking, prodding, and a quick ultrasound, she was able to determine how far along I was.

Almost four months to the day.

Just when I thought I didn't have any more tears left inside me, that day in the examination room I proved myself wrong. I still hadn't said anything to Jude. In fact, I'd been trying to avoid his calls all week. I just didn't trust that if he got me on the phone for very long, he wouldn't be able to figure out what was the matter with me. So we texted a lot, and the timing worked out well, because he was crazy-busy getting ready for his first big game.

That was how I'd convinced Holly to keep her mouth shut when we left my appointment on Thursday. She insisted Jude needed to know. Like, now. She said he'd need just as much time as I would to get used to the idea of being parents in less than six months. That had, of course, started a whole new batch of tears. I blamed my emotions on the hormones, but I knew they played only a very small role.

I told Holly I couldn't tell Jude a couple of days before he was playing his first game as starting quarterback in the NFL that I was pregnant. Talk about messing with a guy's game. Holly had seen the reason in that, but insisted I tell him the week after, or she threatened she would tell him herself.

I'd bought time, but not much. While I didn't want to mess with Jude's head right before the game, it was more a matter of not knowing what I'd say to him. A girl just didn't discover she was pregnant at twenty-one and get used to the idea in a few days' time. I'd gone through about every stage of coping: fear, anger, depression, uncertainty, and everything in between. Occasionally I'd have a twinge of excitement-I was having Jude's baby, after all-but then I'd have a reality check. I'd gone on an emotional roller-coaster ride in one week's time, and I was exhausted.

I was so tired, I passed out the second half of the ride to the stadium. The driver had to wake me up and remind me where I was. It was official. I was a wreck.

As I was making my way through the gates, I got a text from Jude. ARE YOU HERE YET?

Following the usher to wherever they stuffed the wives and girlfriends of the players, I texted him back. JUST GOT HERE. U NERVOUS?

I smiled when I got his reply. NOT ANYMORE.

Following the usher into an elevator, I punched in my reply. SO PROUD OF YOU, BABE. KICK SOME ASS OUT THERE.

His response came instantly. RIGHT BACK AT YOU. WILL DO.

LOVE YA, JUDE.

LOVE YA, LUCE.

I didn't know how he had time to be texting when the game was set to start in a few minutes, but I'd known from the beginning that Jude did what Jude wanted to.

It felt good to have a smile on my face. A real one. It might not have won any blue ribbons for biggest or best, but it was a genuine one. That smile ran away the moment the usher walked me into a big room lined with windows. The football field seemed like it was a mile below us.

Had I mistaken a nightclub for a football stadium?

Most of the same women I'd been hanging with on and off all summer, and a few new faces, were milling about the room, drinking their champagne or sparkling water, wearing dresses and heels. They had on their fancy jewelry and their evening makeup.



       
         
       
        

I was sporting my standard-issue game-day gear: black leggings, riding boots, and a jersey with Jude's name and number on the back. I looked like a country bumpkin in comparison to these Rodeo Drive glamazons.

After the initial glances over, no one noticed me as I walked across the room. Well, they noticed me, but they tried to keep the curled noses and what the hell? faces to themselves.

All I wanted to do was watch a football game, cheer Jude on, and forget about my life for a couple hours. I wanted to fade into the crowd.

Fading wasn't in the cards when you showed up looking like you were headed to a slumber party when everyone else was heading to a Miss January party at the Playboy Mansion. I grabbed a bottle of water from the end of the table that was lined with food and drinks, and beelined to the end chair in the corner.

I made myself forget about the room and everyone in it and focused on the game. I picked out Jude immediately. It was funny how he finally blended in more with the players. In high school, he'd looked like a hybrid giant on the field. In college, he'd still had a few inches and a good twenty pounds on a lot of the players, but now, out there with the best in the nation, he was about par for the course. I almost stood up and started cheering my head off, but caught myself. No one in here was cheering. No one was even watching. Sure, kickoff hadn't happened yet, but a survey of the stands proved that people were hooting and hollering, because that was just what you did at a football game-from the time you entered the stadium till the time you left it.