Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~14 min read
Chapter 4: The Results
POV: Rory
Rory – THE PACT
Rory spends the weekend taking four more pregnancy tests that produce confusingly mixed results—two positive, one negative, one that might be positive if she tilts it in the right light and squints, which is not exactly the clear confirmation she needs when she’s trying to determine whether she’s actually pregnant or just experiencing the world’s most elaborate stress response—and by Monday morning when she calls her doctor’s office to schedule an appointment, she’s resigned herself to a week of not knowing, a week of existing in the limbo between potentially pregnant and definitely fine, a week of seeing Henrik at practices and games while both of them pretend they’re not silently freaking out about the possibility of parenthood.
The earliest appointment available is Thursday at ten AM, which means Rory has to request time off from Jim with a vague excuse about a medical thing that she absolutely cannot provide details about without revealing that she might be pregnant by one of the players she covers, and Jim—bless his gruff, uninterested-in-personal-details demeanor—just waves her away with a reminder to file her game recap from the previous weekend before she leaves.
Henrik texts her Wednesday night: *Still good for tomorrow? I can pick you up at 9:30.*
*Yes,* she texts back, because backing out now feels cowardly even though she’s seriously considering handling this appointment alone just to maintain the careful distance she’s been constructing between them. *But you don’t have to come in with me. You can just drive me and wait in the car.*
*I want to be there,* Henrik responds immediately. *Unless you don’t want me there. Your choice.*
Rory stares at the message, at this man offering support without demanding it, giving her choice and autonomy in a situation where most guys would either disappear completely or try to control the outcome, and she feels the same uncomfortable crack in her emotional armor that happened when he first offered to help.
*You can come in,* she texts back finally. *Might as well. If I am pregnant, you should probably hear it directly instead of secondhand.*
*See you tomorrow,* Henrik sends, followed by: *It’s going to be okay. Whatever the result. We’ll figure it out.*
Rory doesn’t respond because she can’t promise okay when she has no idea what okay looks like if she’s actually pregnant, if her career gets complicated by visible pregnancy covering a hockey team, if she has to navigate coparenting with a man she barely knows but can’t seem to stop thinking about in ways that have nothing to do with potential babies and everything to do with the way he touched her that night like she was precious.
Thursday morning arrives with the kind of crisp autumn cold that makes Chicago feel dramatic, and Rory waits outside her apartment building wearing layers and anxiety in equal measure until Henrik pulls up in a sleek black SUV that screams professional athlete salary, and she climbs into the passenger seat with her stomach doing complicated flips that might be nerves or might be morning sickness except she’s probably not actually pregnant so attributing nausea to pregnancy feels premature.
“Morning,” Henrik says, and he looks tired in a way that suggests he slept as poorly as Rory did, dark circles under his eyes and hair still slightly damp from a morning shower. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrified,” Rory admits, because lying seems pointless when they’re about to potentially find out life-changing information together. “You?”
“Same,” Henrik says, pulling back into traffic with careful attention that suggests he’s using driving as a distraction from panic. “I spent last night reading articles about pregnancy and babies and coparenting arrangements, and I think I’ve successfully scared myself into believing I’m completely unprepared for this.”
“You and me both,” Rory says, and then because she’s curious and slightly touched that he bothered to research: “What did you learn?”
“That babies are terrifyingly fragile,” Henrik says. “That sleep deprivation is worse than any hockey training regimen. That coparenting requires communication and boundaries and putting the kid first even when you don’t agree about things. That I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing but I’m apparently going to figure it out anyway if you’re actually pregnant.”
Rory finds herself smiling despite the anxiety, despite the situation, despite everything. “You really did your homework.”
“I’m Swedish,” Henrik says with a slight smile. “We prepare for things. It’s cultural.”
“Is it also cultural to be this supportive of a one-night stand who might be carrying your baby?” Rory asks, and the question comes out more vulnerable than she intended, revealing more about her confusion regarding his behavior than she meant to show.
Henrik is quiet for a moment, navigating a turn, and then he says carefully, “My father left when I was eight. Just walked away, decided being a parent was too hard, and I watched my mother struggle to raise me alone. I promised myself I’d never be that guy. Never walk away from responsibility. Never leave a kid wondering why their father didn’t want them. So yeah, it’s cultural and personal and probably a little bit of overcompensation for childhood trauma, but I meant what I said—if you’re pregnant, I’m here. Fully here. Whatever you need.”
Rory’s chest aches with something that feels dangerously close to affection for this man who’s being honest about his motivations and his fears and his determination to be better than his own father, and she has to look out the window to stop herself from saying something stupid like “you’re nothing like my ex” or “maybe this wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
They drive in silence for a few more minutes until Henrik pulls into the parking lot of the medical building where Rory’s doctor practices, and then they’re walking through automatic doors and checking in at the reception desk and sitting in the waiting room surrounded by genuinely pregnant women with visible bumps and supportive partners and the kind of excited anticipation that Rory definitely doesn’t feel because she’s not prepared for this, hasn’t planned for this, definitely didn’t expect to be here with a Swedish hockey player waiting to find out if their drunk one-night stand resulted in a baby.
Henrik reaches over and takes her hand—simple, casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and Rory should pull away, should maintain professional distance, should absolutely not let him hold her hand in a doctor’s waiting room like they’re a couple instead of two people navigating a crisis together.
But his hand is warm and steady and somehow calming, and Rory finds herself holding on tighter than she probably should.
“Aurora Castillo?” a nurse calls from the doorway, and Rory stands on shaking legs with Henrik right beside her, still holding her hand, and they follow the nurse down a hallway to an examination room where Rory’s doctor—Dr. Patel, mid-forties, kind eyes behind practical glasses—is waiting with a chart and a professional smile.
“Ms. Castillo,” Dr. Patel says, glancing at Henrik with curious but non-judgmental assessment. “And this is?”
“Henrik,” Rory supplies. “Potential father. If I’m pregnant. Which I might be. Or might not be. The home tests were inconclusive.”
“Let’s find out definitively then,” Dr. Patel says, and she runs through the standard questions—last period, sexual activity, birth control usage—while Rory answers with clinical detachment and Henrik sits in the chair against the wall trying to look supportive instead of terrified.
The blood test takes less than five minutes but the waiting for results feels eternal, and Rory sits on the examination table with Henrik standing now, close enough that she can feel the warmth from his body, far enough that they’re not actually touching, existing in this weird in-between space that mirrors their entire relationship.
Dr. Patel comes back with results that somehow take forever and no time at all, and she says with professional kindness, “Ms. Castillo, the blood test is negative. You’re not pregnant. The positive home tests were likely false positives—it happens sometimes with certain medications or if the tests are read outside the time window. Your period is delayed due to stress, which is completely normal given major life changes.”
Not pregnant.
The relief is so intense that Rory actually feels dizzy with it, has to grip the edge of the examination table to stay upright as the words process through her anxiety-fogged brain.
Not pregnant.
No baby.
No permanent connection to Henrik beyond the awkward professional relationship they’ve been navigating.
“Thank you,” Rory manages to say while Dr. Patel provides information about stress management and when to follow up if her cycle doesn’t regulate, and then they’re walking back through the building to Henrik’s car in silence that feels heavier than it should given that this is good news, definitely good news, exactly the outcome they both wanted.
Except when Rory glances at Henrik as he’s starting the car, she sees something on his face that looks almost like disappointment, and she realizes with uncomfortable clarity that maybe part of him had been hoping for the opposite result, had been imagining a future where they were connected by more than just one night and mutual awkwardness.
“That’s that then,” Rory says as they pull out of the parking lot, trying to sound relieved instead of strangely hollow. “Back to normal. Professional. No complications.”
“Right,” Henrik says, but his hands are tight on the steering wheel. “Normal.”
They drive in silence for several blocks before Henrik pulls into a coffee shop parking lot instead of heading back toward Rory’s apartment, and when she gives him a questioning look, he says quietly, “Can we talk? Just for a minute. Before we go back to pretending we’re strangers.”
“Okay,” Rory says, because she owes him this much after he drove her to the appointment and held her hand and researched coparenting like it was an exam he needed to ace.
They sit in the car with the engine running and heat blasting against the October cold, and Henrik stares out the windshield like he’s gathering courage for something difficult.
“I was scared,” he says finally. “When you said you might be pregnant, I was terrified. But I was also… I don’t know. Hopeful? Like maybe this would be a chance to prove I’m not my father, that I can actually be there for someone. And now that it’s not happening, I feel relieved and disappointed at the same time, and I know that’s probably fucked up considering we barely know each other and this would have complicated both our lives irreparably.”
“It’s not fucked up,” Rory says quietly, surprised by his honesty, by the vulnerability in admitting feelings that don’t make rational sense. “I felt the same way. Terrified but also… curious? About what it would be like. How we’d navigate it. And part of me is relieved it’s not happening, but part of me is disappointed too, which makes no sense because I absolutely do not want to be pregnant by a one-night stand.”
“But you wouldn’t have minded if it was with me specifically?” Henrik asks, and there’s something almost hopeful in the question.
Rory turns to look at him fully—this man who’s been surprisingly patient and supportive and honest about his motivations and his fears—and feels the last of her resistance crumbling because pretending she feels nothing is getting exhausting.
“No,” she admits. “I wouldn’t have minded if it was with you specifically. You’re not what I expected. You’re better than I expected. And that scares me almost as much as thinking I was pregnant.”
“Why?” Henrik asks gently.
“Because I swore off athletes,” Rory says, the words coming easier now that she’s started being honest. “My ex-husband was a baseball player. Carlos Moreno—maybe you’ve heard of him. Pitcher for the White Sox. We got married too young, I followed him through trades and seasons, I sacrificed my career for his, and he repaid me by cheating with half the puck bunnies in Chicago before I finally filed for divorce. I promised myself I’d never make that mistake again. Never trust an athlete with my heart. Never let someone’s career dictate my life.”
“I’m not him,” Henrik says quietly.
“Everyone says that,” Rory counters. “Until they are.”
“Then let me prove it,” Henrik says, and he reaches across the console to take her hand again, thumb brushing across her knuckles in a gesture that’s becoming familiar. “Not as coparents. Not because you might be pregnant. Just… let me prove that not all athletes are the same. That some of us actually mean it when we say we care.”
“Henrik,” Rory starts, but he interrupts gently.
“I know it’s fast. I know we started this backwards—sex first, then crisis, now whatever this conversation is. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night. Not just the sex, though that was incredible. But the way you argued with me about pineapple on pizza. The way you asked smart questions in interviews. The way you looked at me in the doctor’s office like you actually believed I’d stay even though staying is scary. I like you, Rory. And I think you might like me too if you let yourself stop being scared long enough to find out.”
He’s right.
She does like him.
Has been fighting liking him for three weeks while maintaining professional distance and pretending that seeing him doesn’t make her heart do complicated things.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Rory admits. “I don’t know how to like you and cover you professionally. I don’t know how to trust an athlete after what Carlos did. I don’t know how to be vulnerable with someone who could hurt me.”
“Then we figure it out together,” Henrik says, and he’s using the same phrase he used in the apartment, the same promise of partnership instead of individual struggle. “We take it slow. We keep it quiet until we know what this is. We communicate instead of assuming the worst. And if it doesn’t work—if I turn out to be like your ex or if the complications are too much—then at least we tried instead of running because we were scared.”
Rory stares at their joined hands, at this man offering possibilities she didn’t think she wanted, and makes a decision that’s probably going to complicate her entire life.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay. We can try. But Henrik, I need you to understand—my career matters. My independence matters. I can’t be the woman who sacrifices everything for an athlete again. Whatever this is between us, it has to exist alongside my job, not instead of it.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Henrik says, and he’s smiling now, genuine and warm and relieved in a way that makes Rory’s chest ache. “I like that you’re ambitious. That you ask hard questions. That you don’t let me get away with bullshit answers in interviews. I don’t want you to change. I just want to get to know you. The real you. Not just the professional journalist version.”
“That’s terrifying,” Rory says honestly.
“Yeah,” Henrik agrees. “But worth it. I think we’re worth it.”
He drives her home after that, and before she gets out of the car he catches her wrist gently and says, “Can I call you? Tonight. Just to talk. Not about pregnancy scares or work. Just… us.”
“Okay,” Rory says, and she’s smiling despite the fear, despite the complications, despite everything. “You can call me.”
She watches him drive away and feels Margot’s words from the bathroom echoing in her head: *You’re going to be okay. Even if this is complicated, you’re going to be okay.*
Maybe she will be.
Maybe taking a risk on Henrik won’t end the way things ended with Carlos.
Maybe some athletes actually mean it when they promise to stay.
She’s terrified.
But she’s also hopeful.
And that feels like progress.
🔥
END CHAPTER 4
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