Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Fourteen × Like Simon's Father in Bridgerton

Tonight, his ways of instigating didn't exactly work. I mean, we did win the game - but that's just because Buffalo sucks ass. I think they're further down in the conference than the Senators, which is saying a lot.

"Are you and Rosie gonna be fucking, again? Or do you wanna watch the game?" He asks, changing the subject anytime the kitchen gets too hot for him. He likes to chirp me and our active sex life; and I like to roast him for anything he does when he breathes. It's how our friendship works.

I shoot him a look, letting him know he's treading on Thin Ice anytime he's bringing up my girl. He holds his hands up in defense, like he's poked a bear and then realized the only weapon he has is a jar of honey. "She's still avoiding me, ever since I walked in on you guys doing the deed. Which honestly, isn't a big deal." He says, referencing the way Rosie's darted out of the kitchen anytime he's been in it, ever since he walked in on our limbs all tangled together.

I think she's still getting used to the fact that we're living with someone that has no boundaries - or filter on his mouth.

"I think I'm just gonna turn in." I answer, not bothering to answer his question, seeing as it's none of his business. Also, I would much rather be sleeping with my arms wrapped around Rosie than watching the basketball game with Kayden. Maybe that makes me her bitch; if so, be it, let her.

Kayden - only ever having loved his mom, is unimpressed by this answer. "Whatever." He says, shaking his head like I just took a dump on the dressing room logo or pissed all over the team's mascot.

In some ways, he sometimes feels like the teenage son I never had - and didn't want. Despite us having been friends for many, many years; it feels at times like we're just in two different phases in our lives. And I find myself wondering if we would be friends if we weren't playing on the same line. Some might call those friendships of convenience; I call that life.

"I'll catch you later." I tell him, smacking him on the back a few times before grabbing a beer and heading towards Rosie and I's bedroom. Usually, she's asleep when I get back home from games; which leads to me tip-toeing around the bedroom. Tonight, though, is a big night - and I know she'll be up. Because tonight is the night she'll be taking the abortion pill.

It's not like I was expecting her to change her mind; or have second thoughts. Maybe internally, deep down, I think it would be cool if we kept it and could start shopping for baby stuff. Strollers, bibs, and giant giraffes that would take years for our kid to outgrow.

But it's her body; and I'm a mere sous-chef in the conception of any child we'll ever have. She's the head chef and as any cook would know, what the chef says, always goes. If you argue, you'll end up with your arm stuck in a boiling pot of water and someone with a fake French accent saying opps.

"Babe?" I call, waiting until I see the light in our little hallway to speak. It's dim lit in the room; the light in our actual bedroom only being the reflection of the Weather Channel. She always needs to have something on mute in order to fall asleep. Me, on the other hand? Well, I just need her to be in my arms.

There's no response; and I set my beer on the console before taking a look around. The bed's empty, the only sign of her having been in it, being the covers pulled back. There's also a small glass of water on her nightstand, right next to an empty medication bottle. Which isn't exactly weird for Rosie; she probably was just organizing her pill calendar for the next week and forgot to throw it out.

The light in the bathroom is on, as well as the fan on the loudest setting. She's probably taking a shit; which yes, I do know that girls do. Sometimes I wonder if Kayden thinks they don't; sometimes I wonder if he knows they do and likes to have them do it during sex. I wouldn't exactly put it past him.

After changing into some boxers, I take a seat on the bed and prepare to wait. My hand touches something slightly damp, like clothes that had been pulled out of the dryer when the setting had been set to sensor dry. I assume it's just water, or maybe Rosie changed the sheets while I was gone.

Then I go to wipe it on my shorts and realize it's something very, very different.

"Rosie?" I get up immediately, making a beeline for the bathroom. My hands covered in a thin coat of blood; not a "I murdered someone in cold blood" amount, but a "my girlfriend had her period and wasn't wearing a tampon" kind.

Now, I'm no stranger to blood; my kind, or otherwise. I also don't really give a fuck about a girl bleeding on my sheets by accident, because sheets can be washed or replaced, but period sex, cannot. Yeah, I like making love when my girl's on her period. No, I'm not Edward Cullen.

But given Rosie's carrying our child status, I know this can't be her having her period. My firs thought, if I'm being honest, is that she's having a miscarriage. And even though I know we're aborting it and that the time for us to have kids won't be for another few years. Ideally maybe two. Or whatever the minimum amount of time is that she would be comfortable with.

"Babe?" I call again, feeling like an audio book that's been stuck on a loop of the same sentence. "Can you let me in?" I ask, confused when my hand touches the door handle, finding it to be locked. I mean, it's not like Rosie and I are the type to be shitting while brushing our teeth and having a conversation. But, if she's not feeling well, I don't really get why she's locking the door.

"I'm fine." She claims, the faint sound of her throwing up seconds later, making me think otherwise. She has the water running, the fan on the loudest setting, and even the tubs filling with water. It's like someone's blasting an airhorn over my head.

"Rosie." I say her name again, trying to sound more calm this time. Even though on the inside, I'm freaking the fuck out. It's weird. On the ice, I have no problem staying clam under pressure. Even triple overtime during the Stanley Cup wouldn't phase me. But here, not knowing what's happening to Rosie; or if she's okay, I can feel all the blood being drained from my body.

There's more coughing on the other side, followed by the sound of the toilet flush. "I'm fine, Erik." She insists, sounding about as convincing as a new car salesman trying to tell me I'm getting a good deal. "Just...give me a minute." She finally says, probably on the inside wanting to tell me to leave her alone.

I don't understand what's going on. I don't understand why she won't let me in. I feel like Simon's father in Bridgerton, waiting to find out his child's gender - except I'm not a colossal dick.

"Okay." I say more to myself than her, because I doubt, she can even hear me over the concert she has going on. I wait outside the bathroom for what feels like hours, but is probably the drive thru time of Tim Hortons in the morning. Eventually, I make my way back to the bedroom, deciding to change the sheets so that when she comes out, she'll have a fresh bed to get into.

Somehow - between my lack of experience in linen changing and the cramped space of Kayden's guest room, I end up knocking over a couple of things from her nightstand. "Great." I mutter to myself, only getting more and more keyed up by the minute. Squatting down, I wipe the water off the floor with the sheet and then go to pick up the medication bottle, when I see a name that sounds familiar.

Misoprostol

I don't know where I've heard it before; I know it isn't Rosie's anti-depressant, because I've actually learnt to pronounce that one. But there's something weird about this one; something that makes me sit back on the bed and like every millennial trying to find information, Google it's name.