Once Upon A Half-Time 1(67)

“How’s your voice?” Lachlan pulled me beside him. “Still mute?”

I nodded.

“Guess I’ll do the talking.”

Good thing he loved the sound of his own voice. I snapped my fingers together, puppeting a fake mouth. He grabbed my hand and rendered it mute too.

“If you don’t enjoy my company, maybe I’ll see myself out.”

I tugged his collar, pulling him close for a kiss. The shirt revealed a dark bruise blossoming over his shoulders. I touched it.

“Huh. I don’t even know when I got that one,” he said. “These guys hit hard…and really fast.”

His shattered confidence worried me, and it had started to show on the field. The guys sacrificed their bodies day in and day out, but Lachlan’s play didn’t suffer because he wasn’t tough enough.

His pride was bruised worse than his body.

And he’d never admit that he needed help, that he was slowly losing control.

Like a baby would help that. This truth would hit him harder than any linebacker.

I touched my throat and motioned for him to listen—or watch—what I was about to say.

Lachlan folded his hands behind his head. “You gonna give me a show, Red?”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. It’d probably would shock him more than any episode of Game of Thrones.

“Should I put on some music…or are you just gonna wiggle your hips?”

I smacked his knee. Christ, I wasn’t stripping for him.

Not yet.

Though the idea was appealing, even if it was how we got in this trouble to begin with.

Charades it was then. But how to get the message across?

Easy enough. Fake a baby.

I crossed my hands, angling my shoulders as if I held a baby in the crook of my elbow.

Lachlan stared at me, frowning. I gave my arms a little rock and hoped for the best.

His eyes widened.

He rocketed off the couch.

“Are you serious?”

I nodded.

“Jesus Christ, Red!”

He ran his hands through is hair. The panic was going to be bad.

“I expected this from them, but not you.”

What?

Lachlan practically growled. “I’ve already had this conversation with Coach Thompson.”

He did?

“And now you’re on my ass?”

Wait. Had he gotten Coach Thompson pregnant too?

“Look, I know I fumbled a couple times today at practice.”

For the love of—

“And I know I have to work on my hold. It’s lazy, and it’s a problem.”

I waved my hands. Lachlan wasn’t listening. He paced the living room and swore.

“Tomorrow’s practice includes an hour-long drill where the defenders will do nothing but try to strip me.” He huffed. “And not the good kind of stripping I imagine you doing.”

I whacked his knee and pointed two fingers at my eyes, forcing him to look at me.

“Oh…” He smirked. “You weren’t talking about fumbling.”

Oy.

This was going to be harder than I anticipated. This next charade had to be fool-proof…or Lachlan-proof.

I rested my hand on my tummy. Even pointed to it so there’d be no confusion.

Lachlan nodded. I rubbed over the baby, probably just as frustrated with his father as I was.

“Are you still sick? Do you need help?” He frowned. “Is it something contagious?”

Really?

I nearly gave up as he listed off every ailment except pregnancy.

“Food poisoning! Appendicitis!”

I shook my head.

“Dysentery. Cholera!”

Good God. Could he at least list diseases that threatened us in this century?

“Oh!” Lachlan pointed at me. “You’re hungry!”

I’d bred with this man.

I pulled my hand away from my belly, extending it outwards. No way he’d miss this one.

“Oh.” His words quieted.

Maybe he got it?

“Red…Elle…” His voice softened. “Baby…”

Yes! I pointed at him. Yes, yes, yes!

“There’s no way you’re fat. You can eat whatever you want.”

I counted backwards from ten.

First the morning sickness took my appetite. Now it stole my patience.

Fuck it.

One last attempt. Nothing held back. No option too crazy.

I marched to my easy chair and plunked into the cushions, my feet raised onto the arms like they were hooked in stirrups. I stared Lachlan in the eyes, mimicked the big belly again. Then I flailed my arms with my best Alien impression because hell if I knew what birth was supposed to be like, and I wasn’t about to YouTube that freak show.

My frustration. The motion. My waving hands.

It only confused the poor puppy.

Lachlan stared with a furrowed brow, though his attention drifted as the unfortunate position tugged on my leggings and framed my—totally classy—camel toe.