“Hi! You’ve reached Leah Hennicke. I will call you back as soon as I receive cell service. Thank you for calling, and remember to live life to the fullest!”
Her all-too-sweet and all-too-cheesy voicemail.
My once-dormant anxiety arose, and I racked my brain with short-term distractions. I could text Maggie and ask if she wanted to meet up, but things still felt intense after last night. I could grab a beer from the fridge, but I had already had a few glasses of champagne that Marie offered as a condolence after our practice. I wasn’t about to get drunk at eleven o’clock in the morning. My contact list still had a few girls’ numbers who lived in the area. That felt like a good way to blow off some steam, especially without having Maggie involved. Don’t get me wrong, she would have been my first choice if things weren’t…the way they were right now, but I needed a quick release with someone random, and the ability to leave.
As I was choosing who to call, my phone vibrated, and an unknown number appeared on the screen. I answered it instantly in case it was my mom calling from another phone.
“Hello?” I asked urgently.
“Hello, is this Jack Hennicke?” The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Yes, this is he. Who is this?”
“Jack! Good to hear your voice, man. This is Mike Luna. I played at the Forrest Hills Club years and years ago, but I’m in Wyoming now.”
I vaguely remembered him playing with my dad a few years back, but I had met a lot of coming-and-going people at the club since then. “Hey, Mike, how are you? Long time, no see.”
“Agreed, Hennicke. I’m doing great, but I wanted to let you know I’m hunting for a new pro. The last guy just had a baby, so he’s taking the season off with his wife. Anyway, in my search for a wonderful professional, I’ve come across your name quite a few times. You seem to be working your way up, and your rating is nearly unheard of at your age unless you’re the son of a ten-goaler.”
“Thank you, Mike. You asking me to play for you?” My neck tingled for a different reason. This was an opportunity that could start my career outside of playing under my dad.
“That I am,” he replied with a warm tone. “Come out to Golden Meadow and play as my pro. Our season starts in a couple of months, but I could slip you into a practice or something with me to see how you like it. I’m willing to pay top dollar for you, kid.”
“Sounds like a great opportunity. I look forward to discussing it more. I’ll have to check my schedule for the coming weeks, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” I was ecstatic about his proposal, but I needed to talk to my dad about it first. There were a lot of moving parts when it came to working as someone’s professional player. I wasn’t sure if I had the funds to board and care for my string there, and there were a lot of other details I would have to negotiate with Mike.
Nonetheless, it took my mind off my mother and Maggie for the time being. Polo was my life. My only love. And I didn’t need any complications keeping me from it.
Chapter five
Maggie
Iflopped on the couch after a long day at the Hennicke’s barn. Today was particularly hot, and Jack and I were in the sun all day. We didn’t even get our happy ending before I went home.
Things had felt different between us over the last few weeks. I had worked for Jack for over a month, but we barely hooked up after my first week. He had been acting distant—sexually, of course—since that night he helped me bring my dad home.
I wasn’t sure how much I could look into that. That night was more intense than I ever expected out of a hookup, even if we were childhood friends. It shouldn’t have meant anything deep, and we weren’t supposed to be sleeping together while I worked for him, but a few instances in the weeks after just led to the damn thing.
Nonetheless, things were different. I wouldn’t be working for Jack much longer, so I thought it best to avoid bringing it up. We would be back to distant acquaintances soon enough once I got my hands on a few sponsors. I was playing in a tournament this week, thanks to Lenz Hennicke, on my way to breaking that glass ceiling.
My dad was out of the house for the evening, so I considered inviting Jack over for some fun, but rolled over at the thought of being in someone else’s presence right now. I was gross and sweaty and in desperate need of a shower.
And food. I wasstarving. Chinese takeout sounded blissful at the moment.
I reached for my phone to dial my favorite Chinese restaurant, but a pop-up from my cycle-tracking app caught my eye. I tapped the notification, and my stomach dropped at the words on the screen in front of me.
You are seven days late for your cycle.
Blinking a few times, I refreshed the screen to make sure I was seeing things correctly.
Seven days late? That was impossible. For the last eight years, my period hadneverskipped or been late. I scrolled through the calendar to check my previous cycle, and…yup, I wasdefinitelylate.
My feet bounced to the floor to take me to my bathroom, where my birth control box lived, anticipation of the worst case scenario crawling through my veins. The writing on the box would have an explanation. Even though I had been on the same pill for six years, there could always be a random side effect that presented itself out of the blue.
Right?
Scanning through the newspaper-sized instructions and warnings from the box did nothing to ease my rushing thoughts or heavy breathing.
How could this have happened? Birth control stopped any chance of getting pregnant. Well…maybe noteverychance. The paper stated that this specific pill was 91% effective. Which meant there was a 9% chance that one taking said pill could become pregnant after having unprotected sex. Like, say, if one were in a gift shop where neither party could control themselves.
