Page 126 of Ruin The Friendship
We talk for a while longer before we head to the arena, walking arm in arm to our section. There’s still a bit of time before warm-ups, so we decide to get some popcorn before heading to our seats.
Something feels off as we step into the popcorn line. It feels like everyone is staring at me. There’s a pricking sensation at the back of my neck, and when I glance to my right, two girls have their eyes locked on me as they glance between their phone and me.
When I look in the opposite direction, a couple is also staring at me—or rather, at my hand resting on my pregnant stomach. The more I look around, the more I see people pointing me out as they walk by, eyes catching me in every direction.
What the hell is going on? No one has ever paid me this much attention.
I reach into my back pocket to grab my phone.
There’s a text from my mom on my home screen, and when I open it, there’s a link to an article with a message below.
Mom
Thought you might like to see this! Those photos turned out wonderfully.
My jaw drops. The thumbnail image is a photo ofFletcher and me from the baby shower, and not only that, but it’s a photo my mother took.
I click on the link as my heart pounds and a clammy sweat breaks out on my brow. The heading reads:‘Baby Mama Snares Blue Herons Captain. He’s the Father: Will Fletcher Graff leave it all on the ice in the playoffs? Or will the baby blues keep him down?’
Swiping down, I see multiple images from yesterday's shower, all taken by my mother. The betrayal sinks deep into my heart, and I can hardly breathe.
“I-I need to go to the bathroom.” I barely stay long enough to hear Dottie’s response.
I rush to the nearest bathroom, ignoring the looks and gasps. I might as well have put a flashing red light on my head. I’m wearing the new, larger jersey Fletcher got me with his name on it, and my belly is like a homing beacon for attention.
Lurching into the first stall available, I shut the door behind me and open up the article on my phone again, skimming the words.
Fletcher Graff, Captain of the Minnesota Blue Herons, has a baby on the way!
A reputable source submitted these photos from the intimate baby shower yesterday, March fourteenth. The same source identified the woman in the photos as Lydia Ward, Graff’s longtime best friend, turned girlfriend. We can’t help but wonder what changed since one of Graff’s post-game interviews this season (linked below). In the video, Graff states, “I don’t foresee myself settling down or having kids.”
Another source placed them together earlier lastmonth at a local daycare. The source says the couple were holding hands, but both appeared to be tense, and did not seem interested in the facility.
Was Fletcher baby-trapped by his so-called best friend? And what does this mean for the Minnesota Blue Herons as they prep for the upcoming playoffs?
I swallow the bile rising in my throat as I scroll down, skimming the rest of the article to get to the video they spoke about. I have to know if Fletcher said those words. The news loves to twist things, and something doesn’t seem right about it.
Clicking the play button, I watch as Fletcher runs a hand through his damp hair, sweat still dripping down his face from the game. I can’t place when this video was taken, but it’s definitely from this season.
The interviewer asks him a few questions about the team and Trigg, citing their former goalie, who retired early to be home with his family. Then he asks, “Do you foresee yourself retiring early to start a family?”
Fletcher offers him a smile, one I recognize as his placating smile, the one he always gives the press when he’s over the conversation. “I don’t foresee myself settling down or having kids.”
He says it flippantly, like he’s unsure, but says them anyway.
The Fletcher on the screen nods, and the video cuts out.
My heart shatters. I don’t even recognize the man on the screen. He doesn’t want kids. If that’s true, then what is he doing with me? Is this all an act? Is it all out of pity, or because it’s me?
That doesn’t feel right.
So many things are whirling through my brain, between the article, the images my mother shared, and that I have to go out there and pretend to act normal in front of Dottie. Meanwhile, my heart is breaking.
My phone vibrates in my palm, breaking me from my spiraling thoughts, Fletcher’s name on the screen. I freeze, not ready to speak to him yet, knowing I’ll break down. I can’t have a conversation like that in a bathroom stall. Absolutely not. Not only that, but I don’t want to do this while he’s in the locker room. We need to talk about this at home. In private. Which, apparently, is the only place we can trust nowadays.
I let it ring, and when it goes to voicemail, he calls again. I watch it go to voicemail for a second time. A prickle of guilt builds in my chest, but I can’t talk to him yet.
He doesn’t call a third time.
