Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(90)

“What?” She releases me and scoots back on my bed. “No, I can’t hog you all week.”





“Tink.” I press a finger to her lips. Training is the least important thing in the world on the heels of learning this. “Hockey can wait. Right now, you’re my only priority. I’m clearing my schedule. I’ll tell coach I’m out for tomorrow, too. Then I can come to your appointment if you want. Or I can be waiting for you when you get home. Either way, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Between the cold shower and skipping several meals, Seraphina worked up an appetite. She eats nearly as much as I do once our food arrives, and that’s saying something because I’m fucking famished.

“By the way…” she sets down her nearly finished chicken clubhouse, wincing. “Chase doesn’t know.”

“I sort of figured. Is there a reason you haven’t talked to him?” They’re pretty close, so I’m surprised she hasn’t.

She bites her lip briefly, then releases it. “Men can be carriers too, but my mom wanted to talk to him about it when the time was right.”

“I understand.” I grab another french fry from the middle where we’re sharing. It goes without saying that I’m saying fuck it to worrying about my diet this week. No real plans to attend class, either. “Can you tell me more about what being positive for BRCA means, Ser?”

Obviously, I’m going to go down the research rabbit hole when I get the chance, but for now, I need her to give me the quick and dirty about what we’re dealing with.

Her hand tightens around her iced tea. “It’s BRCA1, which means I have a significantly increased risk of breast and ovarian cancer.”

My heart clenches at those words.

“Is there anything they can do about that? Extra screening?” My unspoken question is, can we throw money at this to help her? Sky’s the limit.

“Um, well…” Seraphina scrunches up her mouth. “The recommendation is to have preventative surgery around age thirty-five to forty. In other words I have to decide how old I want to be before I let them cut me open and take out my ovaries and cut off my boobs. What’s a good age for that?” Her voice wavers more and more as she speaks, breaking again.

I hate the idea of her undergoing something that invasive, even if it’s necessary.

“Ser. I’m sorry.” I set down my food and shift closer on the couch, hugging her to me. She’s still dressed head to toe in my clothing. While I’d normally find it cute, it makes me sad when I know why.

“Obviously, that decision affects other things, too. Like having kids. We haven’t really talked about that. Do you even want any?”

“Yeah.” My mouth tugs at the thought of a family with her someday. “I definitely do.”

“When I was at my checkup, I asked my gynecologist about my options if the test comes back positive, and she said my best bet is to start a family in my twenties. You know, in case there are any fertility issues and it takes a while to get pregnant. I guess if you wait until thirty to start trying and things don’t pan out, it doesn’t leave you much time to work with given the surgery timeline.”

She seems nervous to tell me this, and I’m not entirely sure why. It all seems logical enough given the circumstances.

“That makes sense.”

Seraphina pulls away from me, reaching for her last bite of sandwich, and finishes it before she replies. “I’m already in my twenties, Ty. Barely, but still. That’s kind of terrifying, isn’t it? None of this was even on my radar a few months ago. Now I have to plan out my entire life. Everything is evolving so quickly; my brain hasn’t had the opportunity to catch up.”

“I get why you’d be overwhelmed, but you’re not alone. We’ll figure it out together.” There are a lot of other things out of my hands. Supporting her, at least, is something I can help with.

Her eyes narrow. “I’m talking about pregnancy and babies to you. Most guys would run for the hills. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

If someone told me I’d be having this conversation, I might’ve expected that reaction from myself as well. When I look at things in perspective, that isn’t the part that scares me.

I wipe my hands with a napkin before I reach for her, cupping her face. “I want a future with you. The details are negotiable. What’s important is that you’re happy and healthy, Ser. We’ll do what’s best for you, whatever that looks like.”

Tears well in her eyes again. “I love you.”

“I love you, Tink.”

Her eyelids turn heavy, and she presses her forehead to mine. I almost think she might fall asleep on the spot.

“God, I’m exhausted. Do you mind if I go take a nap?”

“Go ahead,” I say, kissing her forehead. “I’ll clean up.”

Once she’s in her room, I put away our garbage and straighten up the living room. Then I empty out my suitcase and do my laundry. She’s still asleep when Chase gets home after five.

I glance up from the pile of clean clothes I’m sorting. “Hey.”

Even after our talk at Overtime, our relationship has been strained. Artificially cordial at best and missing the usual level of comfort longtime friends have around each other. Awkward, basically.