Page 3 of Not Because You Loved Me

It’s not that I don’t want to, or that I wasn’t raised in an affectionate family. It’s just that affection doesn’t always cross my mind at the moment. My brain is always three steps ahead, running through job site schedules, material quotes, and structural layouts. Slowing down to just be in a moment takes effort for me.

My twin brother, Gideon, tells me it makes me look like a dick. Which is why, when I met Kat nine months ago, he couldn’t believe she actually gave me her number.

I shook my head, a faint smile pulling at my lips as I reached her front door. She was the first woman who had literally taken my breath away. That afternoon at the bar, watching her sit with a handful of the Summit City Kodiak’s hockey team’s players, I thought I didn’t stand a chance. But as I watched, I realized she wasn’t a puck bunny or a groupie. She was relaxed, professional, and held her own. The guys treated her like family, or at least, with the deep respect you give the physiotherapist keeping your knees and shoulders intact for a long season.

When Kat walked past our booth, Gideon caught her eye and called her over. I felt completely frozen in time as she stepped up to our table. She wore barely any makeup, completely unbothered by the uneven spray of freckles across her nose and tanned cheeks.

It wasn’t until she turned those striking hazel eyes on me and asked, “Does he always stare like that?” that the underwater sensation cleared and I snapped back to reality.

Yeah. I definitely should have kissed her better before she left for the airport.

Kat was headed out for the team’s first major away-game road trip of the hockey season, a gruelling two-week run through Central Canada and the Eastern United States. She had been rushing around her house, packing her kit, checking her phone every thirty seconds. When I stopped by to have a coffee with her before she left for two weeks, she patted my chest, kissed my cheek, and tossed me a silver key on a plain brass ring.

“Hold on to this,” she’d said, slinging her heavy duffel over her shoulder. “In case a pipe bursts while I’m away. Or, you know... if you just want to be here warming my bed when I get back.”

My heart had done a weird, heavy thud in my chest. Nine months in, and that was the biggest leap forward she’d offered yet. To be fair, it wasn’t like I had offered any reassurances about where we were headed either, but she knew we were good.

Now, standing on her porch after watching her Uber pull away… Why didn’t I offer to drive her to the airport? I realized I’d left some of my tools and the blueprints for our latest residential flip sitting on her kitchen counter, and my mind drifted back to what I was working on today…

I unlocked the front door with the new key; the lock clicked open smoothly.

The house still carried the faint, clean scent of her citrus perfume and the coffee we had shared. I walked toward the kitchen, snagged my things, and was turning to leave when I decided I might as well use her washroom rather than the onsite porta-potty. I dropped everything on the counter in her guest bathroom, and my mind was running over what needed to be done this week when my foot clipped the small, plastic wastebasket tucked beside her toilet, and it tipped over with a soft clutter.

“Dammit,” I muttered, zipping myself up before dropping to one knee to scoop the trash back in.

Some balled-up tissues, a crumpled receipt, an empty cardboard box… My hand froze over the box. Printed on the front, in bold blue lettering, were the words: Digital Early Detection.

My heart didn't just skip a beat; it slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird trying to escape its cage.

I stared at the box. Then, slowly, my gaze dropped back to the trash can. Resting at the very bottom, partially hidden by balled-up tissues, was the white plastic wand, a tiny digital screen facing upward.

Two solid dark lines.

Pregnant.

The air rushed out of my lungs in one jagged burst. I picked up the stick with trembling fingers, staring at it as if it might morph into something else. But the lines stayed put.

A baby.

An overwhelming wave of heat surged up my chest, filling my head with a loud, ringing, and then hollow silence. My stomach flipped into a thousand knots, but beneath the sheer, blinding terror... something else sparked.

A fierce bloom of pride that bled into a terrifying wave of joy.

Kat is pregnant. With my kid.

Images flashed rapidly through my head: a tiny version of her with those dancing hazel eyes, a toddler wearing a tutu and a miniature team jersey, holding my hand on a job site. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a ragged breath, trying to force my brain to slow down.

Then came the cold drop in my stomach.

Why didn't she tell me?

I stood up with the test still in my hand, walked out into Kat’s home as if it could answer any of the questions swirling through my head. She had just been standing right here. She kissed my cheek, handed me a key, talked about away games and flight schedules... and she hadn't said a word about...

I looked at the box again. It was at the bottom of the trash. I knew she had a cleaner that came by once a week… What day did she come by last? When did she take the test?

I was surprised she would take in the guest bathroom, rather than her ensuite that she almost only used, but I used that bathroom too. Panic threatened to overtake the joy. Is she scared? Is she going to keep it? Does she think I won't step up? Is she hiding it from me?

I shoved my free hand through my hair, squeezing the back of my neck to stop the spinning. My mind raced straight to my parents.