rich baby daddy
background: being young in college has a pregnancy roulette game end up in the emergency room with someone getting left out.
(all pics from pinterest, all rights reserved)
word count: 6.1k..
notes: this is apart of this series! (link here) :) also im bouncing off because uconn and south carolina is playing! lets go big blue!!!
warning:medical emergency!
The music in the sorority house was loud, bass-heavy, shaking the floors just enough to make everything feel alive.
It was one of those nights, no real occasion, just a bunch of girls needing to unwind after a long week. Laughter echoed down the halls, heels clicked against hardwood, and the kitchen counter was crowded with cups, snacks, and half-finished conversations.
Upstairs, though, it was quieter.
More contained.
More serious.
Y/N stood in the bathroom with four of her line sisters, the door locked, the energy completely different from the party happening just a floor below.
This wasn’t random.
This was intentional.
Pregnancy roulette.
Something that had started as a joke, something messy, chaotic, very them, but now, standing there, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.
It felt… real.
Too real.
“Okay,” said Zaria, arms crossed, leaning against the sink. She was always the composed one, the one who kept things from spiraling. “Nobody freak out. It’s just a test.”
“Just a test?” Brielle repeated, pacing slightly. “Girl, a test that changes your entire life?”
“Bri, sit down,” laughed Kendra, who was perched on the edge of the tub, trying to lighten the mood. “You makin’ it worse.”
Imani stood next to Y/N, quieter than the rest, watching her closely.
“You good?” she asked softly.
Y/N nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
She wasn’t.
Not really.
She didn’t even know why she’d agreed to this in the first place. It was supposed to be funny, everyone taking tests at the same time, seeing who panicked first, making jokes about “dark lines” and “false alarms.”
But now that the box was open, the tests laid out, and reality sitting right in front of her?
Her chest felt tight.
“Alright,” Zaria said, clapping her hands once. “Everybody go. Same time.”
There was a shuffle of movement, girls grabbing tests, doors opening and closing within the bathroom, nervous laughter bouncing around to cover the tension.
Y/N stepped into the small shower area, pulling the curtain halfway closed behind her, staring down at the test in her hand like it might give her answers before she even used it.
Her fingers felt cold.
It’s just a test. It’s just a test.
She exhaled slowly.
A few minutes later, they were all back.
Five girls. Five tests.
No one speaking.
“Okay,” Kendra said, trying to sound brave. “On three?”
“On three,” Zaria confirmed.
Y/N’s heart was beating so loud she could hear it in her ears.
“One…”
Her grip tightened around the plastic.
“Two…”
Imani reached over, squeezing Y/N’s hand briefly.
“Three.”
They flipped them.
At first, it didn’t register.
Not fully.
Y/N looked down, and her brain tried to process what her eyes were seeing.
Two lines.
Not faint.
Not questionable.
Dark.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
Her stomach dropped.
“No-” Brielle said somewhere to the left. “No, no, no, wait-”
“Okay, okay, some of these might be evaporation lines,” Kendra rushed, leaning forward. “Let me see-”
But Zaria didn’t say anything.
She just looked at Y/N.
And that was enough.
“Y/N…” Imani whispered.
Y/N couldn’t move.
Her hands felt numb. Her breathing shallow. Everything around her blurred at the edges.
“Mine’s negative,” Brielle said quickly. “Okay, see? It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“Kendra?” Zaria asked.
“Negative.”
“Imani?”
“Negative.”
Silence.
All eyes turned back to Y/N.
She shook her head slightly, like if she did it enough, the lines would disappear.
“No,” she said under her breath. “No, that’s not-”
But it was.
It didn’t fade. It didn’t change.
It just sat there.
Dark.
Final.
“Bitch…” Kendra breathed.
“Dark line,” Brielle whispered.
Zaria stepped forward slowly, her voice gentle now. “That’s not new.”
Y/N looked up, confusion mixing with fear. “What?”
“That means…” Zaria hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “…you’ve been pregnant.”
The room went quiet again.
Heavy.
Different.
Y/N felt like the floor had shifted under her feet.
She sat down slowly on the edge of the tub, the test still in her hand, staring at it like it might suddenly explain itself.
“I-” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t even know.”
Imani crouched in front of her. “Hey. Look at me.”
Y/N’s eyes lifted slowly.
“We’re gonna figure this out,” Imani said softly.
But Y/N’s mind wasn’t there.
It had already gone somewhere else.
Somewhere much more complicated.
Arch.
His face.
His voice.
The way he said darlin’ like it meant something deeper than just a word.
The way he looked at her like she was the safest place he knew.
The way he had finally stepped out of hiding, claimed her, stood beside her without hesitation.
And now this.
Her stomach twisted.
How do you even say that?
How do you sit in front of him, her southern sweetheart, her steady, thoughtful, careful quarterback, and tell him something that big?
Something that permanent?
She could already hear his voice in her head.
Soft. Concerned. Trying to fix something that couldn’t just be fixed.
Her chest tightened.
“I have to tell him,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” Zaria nodded. “You do.”
“But how?” Y/N asked, looking up at them, eyes wide now, vulnerable in a way she rarely let herself be. “What do I even say?”
No one had a quick answer for that.
Because there wasn’t one.
Brielle finally spoke, softer than usual. “You just… tell him the truth.”
Y/N let out a shaky breath.
The truth.
It sounded so simple.
But it felt like the hardest thing in the world.
She looked down at the test again, those two dark lines staring back at her like a reality she couldn’t ignore anymore.
Everything had changed.
And she didn’t even know how to begin saying it out loud.
The cabin lights on the jet were dimmed low, casting everything in that soft, golden hush that made time feel slower than it actually was.
Outside the window, the sky was nothing but black and scattered stars, the wing cutting clean through the night as the jet carried them toward Columbus. It was quiet, too quiet compared to the usual energy that followed a game weekend, long flights had a way of settling even the loudest rooms.
Everyone was asleep.
Cooper was reclined a few seats back, one arm folded across his chest, breathing slow and even. Ellen, curled slightly toward the window, had a blanket pulled up to her shoulders.
May had her headphones still on, head tilted awkwardly against the seat, and Heid was completely knocked out, legs stretched too far into the aisle like he forgot other people existed.
The only light came from the soft glow of a phone screen.
Y/N sat tucked into one of the seats near the window, knees pulled up slightly, wrapped in one of Arch’s oversized hoodies. It swallowed her whole, sleeves too long, collar slipping just enough, and it smelled like him in that faint, comforting way that made her chest tighten without warning.
Her phone was angled low, volume barely above a whisper.
Facetime.
Arch’s face filled the screen, hair slightly damp, probably from a late shower, hoodie on, lying back against his pillows like he should’ve been asleep hours ago.
But he wasn’t.
Not when she wasn’t with him.
“You should be sleepin’,” he murmured, voice soft enough that it barely carried past her own ears.
She shook her head slightly. “I can’t.”
His eyes scanned her face through the screen, slower than usual, more careful. “You been quiet all day.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her sleeve.
“I know,” she admitted.
A pause settled between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy. Like there were things sitting underneath the surface that neither of them had touched yet.
He shifted on his end, propping himself up a little more. “How’s the flight?”
She glanced around instinctively, lowering her voice even more. “Everybody’s asleep.”
He smiled faintly. “Figured.”
Another small pause.
She looked back at him, her expression softer now. “I miss you.”
That did something to him.
It was subtle, just the way his jaw flexed slightly, the way his eyes softened, but it was there.
“I miss you too, darlin’,” he said quietly.
She adjusted the phone a little, pulling the sleeve over her hand absentmindedly.
“You wearing my hoodie?” he asked, noticing immediately.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He smiled, slow and warm. “Looks better on you anyway.”
She huffed out a small laugh, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes.
He noticed that too.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked gently.
She hesitated.
Her gaze dropped to her lap, fingers fidgeting with the fabric like she was trying to find the right words in the threads.
“Nothing,” she said.
Arch didn’t push right away.
He just watched her.
“You’re lyin’,” he said after a moment, voice still soft, not accusing, just certain.
She exhaled slowly.
“I just…” She paused, searching. “I feel weird.”
“Weird how?”
She shook her head slightly. “I don’t even know how to explain it.”
He leaned a little closer to his screen, like he could somehow shorten the distance between them.
“You don’t gotta explain it perfect,” he said. “Just talk to me.”
Her throat tightened.
Because she wanted to.
God, she wanted to tell him everything.
About the bathroom. About the test. About those two dark lines that hadn’t left her mind for a single second since.
But the words felt stuck somewhere between her chest and her mouth.
And this, his quiet, soft moment with him halfway across the country, didn’t feel like the place to drop something that big.
Not like this.
Not over a screen.
So she swallowed it.
“I just wish you were here,” she said instead, her voice barely above a whisper.
His expression shifted instantly.
“Hey,” he murmured. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded, but her eyes flickered with something deeper.
He studied her for another second, then softened even more.
“You nervous about the game?” he asked, giving her an out.
She took it.
“A little.”
He smiled. “Don’t be. We got it.”
She tilted her head slightly. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She watched him for a second, taking him in, the calm in his voice, the certainty, the way he always seemed to carry the weight of everything without letting it show.
And all she could think was he has no idea.
Her chest tightened again.
“Arch?” she said quietly.
“Yeah?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then shook her head. “Nothing.”
He frowned slightly. “You keep doin’ that tonight.”
She forced a small smile. “I know.”
He didn’t like it.
She could tell.
But he didn’t push again.
Instead, he just said, “Get some sleep, okay? You look tired.”
She nodded softly. “You too.”
He smiled faintly. “Call me when you land.”
“I will.”
Neither of them hung up right away.
They just stayed there for a second, looking at each other through the screen, holding onto the quiet.
“Goodnight, darlin’,” he said.
“Goodnight.”
The call ended.
The cabin fell back into silence.
Y/N stared at the dark screen for a long moment before setting her phone down, leaning her head back against the seat.
Morning in Columbus came in sharp and cold, the kind of crisp that woke you up whether you wanted it to or not.
The stadium was already alive.
Even hours before kickoff, The Shoe buzzed with noise, fans filing in early, music blasting through the speakers, the echo of whistles and cleats cutting across the field as players filtered out for warmups. It felt bigger than a normal game. Heavier. Like everything mattered just a little more.
Down on the field, near the sideline, Y/N stood next to Cooper.
She looked like she belonged there, but still stood out in her own way.
Arch’s oversized jersey hung off her frame, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands. Her cowgirl boots clicked softly against the concrete whenever she shifted her weight, and her hat sat perfectly tilted, decorated with a few small pins, Texas, a bold little “16,” and one shaped like a tiny football.
Around her neck, the “A” necklace rested right against her chest.
It was subtle.
But not really.
Cooper noticed it immediately the moment he’d seen her that morning, but he didn’t say anything, just smiled to himself like he understood more than he let on.
“Big game,” Cooper said now, hands tucked into his jacket as he watched the field.
“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, her eyes tracking the players moving through drills. “Feels… loud already.”
He chuckled. “That’s Columbus for you.”
Her gaze found Arch almost instantly.
It always did.
He was at the far end, helmet off for now, going through warmup throws, easy, smooth, controlled. Everything about him looked calm, like this was just another Saturday, not a stadium full of pressure and expectations.
But she knew better.
She could read the small things.
The slight tension in his shoulders. The way he rolled his neck between reps. The way his focus sharpened just a little more than usual.
Cooper followed her line of sight.
“He’ll be alright,” he said, almost like he was reading her thoughts.
She glanced at him. “I know.”
And she did.
That wasn’t what was making her chest feel tight.
A few minutes later, Arch jogged over.
Helmet in hand, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, hair pushed back just enough that it fell right back into place the way it always did.
“Hey,” he greeted, breath a little heavier from movement.
“Hey, son,” Cooper said, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. “You look ready.”
Arch nodded. “Feel good.”
They talked for a minute, football things. Reads. Tempo. Staying composed early. The kind of conversation that was second nature between them, easy and familiar.
Y/N stood quietly beside them, listening but not really hearing.
Her focus kept drifting.
Everything felt just a little… off.
Not enough for anyone else to notice right away, but enough for her.
Her head felt light. Her stomach uneasy. Her energy… low.
She shifted her weight slightly, adjusting the sleeves of the jersey, hoping it would pass.
Arch turned to her then.
His expression softened instantly.
“There she is,” he said, stepping a little closer.
She smiled, but it came slower than usual.
“You look good,” he added, eyes flicking over her outfit, the boots, the hat, the jersey, the necklace.
She tilted her head. “Yeah?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Cooper smirked slightly, stepping back just enough to give them space without actually leaving.
Arch reached out, tugging lightly at the edge of her sleeve. “Drownin’ in this thing.”
“It’s comfortable,” she said.
“Looks better on you,” he replied easily.
Normally, she would’ve teased him for that.
But instead, she just smiled faintly.
And that’s when he noticed.
Really noticed.
The color in her face.
Or… the lack of it.
His brows pulled together slightly. “You alright?”
She nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”
He didn’t buy it.
“You look a little pale,” he said, voice lowering just a bit, concern slipping in without him trying to hide it.
She felt it, that shift in his tone.
That attention.
It made something in her chest tighten again.
“I’m fine,” she said, softer now. “Just… probably need water.”
He studied her for another second, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read something deeper.
“You sure?”
She nodded again, this time a little more controlled. “Yeah.”
A small pause.
Then she added, lightly..too lightly-
“I’m gonna go to the suite to drink more water. I can sense I’m dehydrated.”
Arch blinked at that.
“You can sense it?”
She shrugged. “Girl intuition.”
He almost smiled, but it didn’t fully land.
Because something still felt off.
“You want me to get my mom?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly. “You’ve got warmups.”
He hesitated.
Cooper stepped in then, calm and steady. “She’ll be alright. Go finish what you need to do.”
Arch glanced between them.
Then back at Y/N.
“Go up there and stay hydrated,” he said.
“I will.”
Another beat passed.
Then he reached out, brushing his fingers briefly against her arm, just a small touch, grounding, instinctive.
“Drink somethin’,” he added.
She nodded. “I will.”
He held her gaze for one second longer, like he wanted to say more, like he knew there was more, but didn’t.
Then he stepped back.
“Alright,” he said, pulling his helmet back on. “I’ll come find you after.”
She smiled softly. “Okay.”
He jogged off, back into drills, back into the rhythm of the game.
Y/N watched him go.
Then turned.
The walk toward the tunnel felt longer than it should’ve.
Each step slower.
Heavier.
The noise of the stadium faded slightly as she moved farther from the field, replaced by the dull echo of her own thoughts.
Her hand instinctively rested against her stomach for just a second.
Then dropped.
She swallowed hard.
Water, she told herself. Just water.
But deep down, she knew that wasn’t really what she needed.
The suite felt too warm the second Y/N stepped inside.
It was a sharp contrast from the cold bite of the field, thick air, closed space, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses that should’ve felt comfortable, familiar even. But instead, it wrapped around her like something heavy.
Her steps slowed.
Something wasn’t right.
She made it just past the row of seats before her stomach dropped hard, sudden, violent, undeniable.
“I’m about to throw up,” she muttered under her breath, barely audible to anyone but herself.
There wasn’t time to think.
She turned quickly, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as she rushed toward the suite bathroom, boots hitting the floor faster, uneven, her vision already starting to blur at the edges.
The hallway felt longer than it should’ve.
Too long.
Too narrow.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She barely made it inside.
The door slammed behind her, and she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, one hand gripping the edge, the other bracing against the tile floor as everything hit her at once.
It was quick. Rough. Overwhelming.
Her body emptied out whatever it could, her breathing coming out shaky and uneven as she tried to steady herself afterward.
“Okay…” she whispered weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Okay…”
But it wasn’t okay.
Not even close.
Her head spun.
The room tilted slightly.
She tried to stand, pushing herself up slowly, using the counter, but her arms felt weak, like they weren’t fully connected to her body.
“Just… water,” she murmured to herself, reaching for the sink.
Her fingers barely brushed the edge.
And then everything went black.
Ellen had stepped away from her seat only because something felt off.
She couldn’t explain it.
Maybe it was the way Y/N had looked earlier, pale, quieter than usual. Maybe it was instinct. The kind you didn’t question.
She knocked lightly on the bathroom door.
“Y/N?” she called gently.
No answer.
Her brow furrowed.
She tried the handle.
Unlocked.
The door opened slowly.
And what she saw made her heart drop.
“Oh my God.”
Y/N was on the floor.
Completely still.
The oversized jersey pooled around her, her hat knocked off to the side, one arm slightly bent beneath her like she’d tried to catch herself and couldn’t.
“COOPER!” Ellen called immediately, her voice sharp, cutting through the suite like a knife.
Everything moved fast after that.
Too fast.
Cooper was at the door within seconds, eyes widening as he took in the scene.
“Call someone now,” Ellen said, already kneeling beside Y/N, her hands hovering for a second before gently touching her shoulder. “Y/N, honey? Can you hear me?”
No response.
Ellen’s voice stayed calm, but her movements were urgent.
“Get medical up here,” Cooper was already saying into his phone, stepping out into the hall to flag down staff.
The suite had gone quiet behind them.
Completely quiet.
When Y/N came to, it wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t gradual.
It was noise.
Voices. Movement. Pressure.
Her eyelids felt heavy, but when they finally forced themselves open, everything was bright, too bright, and crowded.
People were around her.
Strangers.
“Hey, hey she’s waking up,” someone said.
Her vision struggled to focus, shapes slowly sharpening into figures, paramedics, equipment, worried faces hovering just out of clear view.
“What…?” Her voice came out weak. Barely there.
“You fainted,” one of the paramedics said, calm and steady as he crouched beside her. “We’ve got you. Just stay still for me, alright?”
Her head throbbed.
Confusion settled in first.
The bathroom. The nausea. The spinning.
Her chest tightened.
“Okay,” the paramedic continued gently. “Can you tell me your name?”
She swallowed, throat dry. “Y/N…”
“Alright, Y/N,” he nodded. “Do you have any ID on you?”
She blinked slowly.
“My bag,” she murmured.
Ellen stepped forward immediately, holding it out with steady hands. “It’s right here.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the paramedic said, taking it and carefully retrieving her ID.
He glanced at it briefly, confirming.
“Alright. We’ve got you.”
They worked quickly but carefully, slipping a brace under her, coordinating movements, lifting her onto the stretcher with practiced ease.
Y/N winced slightly as her body shifted, the world still feeling unsteady around her.
Ellen stayed close, one hand lightly brushing Y/N’s arm.
“You’re okay,” she said softly. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”
Y/N’s eyes found hers for a moment.
There was something in Ellen’s expression, something deeper than just concern.
Understanding.
Or maybe… realization.
Y/N’s stomach twisted again, but this time it wasn’t from nausea.
It was from the weight of everything she hadn’t said.
As the paramedics adjusted the straps and began to move her, the noise of the stadium filtered faintly back in, distant, muffled, like a reminder that the world hadn’t stopped just because hers felt like it had.
“Let’s get her downstairs,” one of them said.
The stretcher rolled forward.
The suite door opened.
The world didn’t come back all at once.
It came in fragments.
Sound before sight. Pressure before awareness. Voices before understanding.
Y/N drifted somewhere in between, too heavy to wake, too aware to stay fully gone. It felt like floating under water, where everything was muffled and distant, her body no longer entirely her own.
At some point, there had been movement.
The stretcher. The elevator. Cold air. Bright lights.
Then nothing again.
When she finally surfaced for real, it was to the steady, rhythmic beep… beep… beep of a monitor.
Her eyelids fluttered, slow and heavy, like they weighed more than they should. The ceiling above her was stark white, unfamiliar, fluorescent lights humming softly overhead.
Hospital.
That realization came first.
Then the rest followed.
Her arm felt… restricted.
She shifted slightly, and that’s when she felt them, tubes, tape, something cool against her skin.
IVs.
More than one.
Her breathing hitched faintly as she tried to piece things together.
“Oh, she’s up.”
The voice was gentle.
Ellen.
Y/N’s head turned slightly, the movement slow and careful, and there she was, sitting beside the bed, posture straight but eyes tired, watching her with quiet concern. May stood just behind her, arms crossed loosely, her expression softer than usual, worry written all over her face.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Ellen said, her voice calm, grounding. “Easy. You’re okay.”
Y/N blinked, trying to focus. “What… happened?”
“You passed out,” May answered softly, stepping a little closer. “At the stadium.”
Y/N swallowed, throat dry. “Oh.”
That was all she could manage.
Because her body still felt off.
Not just tired, just drained. Weak in a way that went deeper than just missing sleep or skipping a meal.
Her eyes flickered down to her arms again.
“Why do I have so many?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Ellen followed her gaze.
“They’re running tests,” she explained gently. “Bloodwork. Fluids. Just making sure everything’s alright.”
Everything.
The word echoed in Y/N’s head.
Her chest tightened slightly.
Earlier, before Y/N had woken, Ellen had been the one holding everything together.
Doctors had come in and out, nurses moving efficiently, machines being set up, questions being asked.
“What happened before she fainted?” “Has she eaten today?” “Any known conditions?”
Ellen answered what she could.
But there were gaps.
Things she didn’t know.
Things Y/N hadn’t said.
At one point, Cooper had called.
“Is she okay?” he asked immediately.
“She’s stable,” Ellen replied, keeping her voice even. “They’re running tests.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Do I need to tell-”
“No,” Ellen cut in gently, but firmly. “Don’t say anything.”
“Ellen-”
“Let him finish the game,” she said quietly. “He can’t do anything from here right now.”
Cooper exhaled slowly.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then, reluctantly “Alright.”
Back in the hospital room, time moved strangely.
Minutes stretched.
Machines hummed.
IV fluids dripped steadily into her veins, cool and slow.
Y/N tried not to think.
But that was impossible.
Because every quiet second gave her space to remember.
The test. The lines. The truth sitting just beneath everything.
Her hand instinctively shifted slightly against the blanket.
Ellen noticed.
Her gaze softened just a fraction, but she didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
It was evening when the door opened again.
Arch.
Still in parts of his postgame attire, hoodie thrown on, hair messy from where his helmet had been, face flushed from rushing, from adrenaline, from something closer to panic.
“I came as soon as I-” he started, breath uneven, eyes immediately locking onto her.
Everything else disappeared.
The room. The machines. Everyone.
It was just her.
“Hey,” he said, softer now, stepping closer to the bed.
Y/N looked at him, and something in her chest broke open just a little.
“Hey.”
His eyes scanned her quickly.
The IVs. The monitors. The way she looked smaller somehow in that bed.
“What happened?” he asked, voice tight.
“She fainted,” Ellen answered calmly. “They’re running tests.”
Arch nodded, but his focus never left Y/N.
“You scared me,” he admitted quietly, reaching out, his hand finding hers carefully, avoiding the tubes, the tape.
She squeezed his fingers weakly. “I’m okay.”
He didn’t fully believe that.
But he nodded anyway.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you are.”
May stepped back slightly, giving them space.
Ellen watched, quiet, observant, thoughtful.
Because she knew something.
Or at least suspected.
And she wasn’t the only one.
A knock sounded at the door.
Soft, but deliberate.
Everyone turned.
The room shifted the second the doctor stepped fully inside.
Not dramatically. Not loudly.
Just… subtly.
Like the air itself tightened.
Arch was still standing close to the bed, his hand wrapped carefully around Y/N’s, thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles like he needed the contact more than she did. Ellen sat poised but alert, her posture calm in that controlled, Southern way that meant she was paying attention to everything. May lingered a little off to the side, quiet but watchful.
And Y/N felt it before anything was even said.
That creeping, sinking feeling in her stomach.
The kind that told her there was no more time.
“Alright,” the doctor began, flipping through the chart in his hands. His tone was casual, routine, even. “So we’ve run quite a few tests just to rule things out, electrolytes, hydration levels, blood count-”
Arch nodded slightly, jaw set. “Okay.”
“Vitals look stable now,” the doctor continued. “She was definitely dehydrated, which likely contributed to the fainting-”
“I told you,” Y/N muttered lightly, forcing a small smile.
Arch gave her a quick look. “Yeah, but that doesn’t explain all of it.”
The doctor nodded. “Right. Which is why we did a full panel.”
He glanced down at the chart again.
And then he said it.
“Her bloodwork also confirmed elevated HCG levels, which indicate pregnancy.”
Silence.
Not the quiet kind.
The loud kind.
The kind that filled every inch of the room and pressed into everyone’s chest at the same time.
Arch didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
Ellen’s eyes shifted immediately, slow,toward Y/N.
May’s mouth parted slightly. “Oh-”
Y/N felt her entire body go cold.
But she didn’t panic.
Not outwardly.
Instead, she blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then tilted her head slightly like she hadn’t just heard something life-altering.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Arch’s head snapped toward her.
“What?”
She looked at the doctor, face carefully blank. “HCG… what is that?”
The doctor paused, clearly not expecting that reaction. “It’s a hormone thats produced during pregnancy.”
Y/N nodded slowly.
“…Oh.”
That was it.
Just oh.
Arch stared at her like she had lost her mind.
“Y/N,” he said, voice low, controlled, but there was something underneath it now, something sharper. “What do you mean what is that?”
She shrugged slightly, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “No, I don’t believe that.”
She shifted slightly in the bed, adjusting the blanket like that was more important than the conversation happening.
“I mean, I don’t know all the medical terms, Arch,” she said lightly.
He stared at her.
Really stared this time.
Because he knew her.
He knew her expressions. Her tone. The way she spoke when she was confident, when she was joking, when she was irritated.
And this?
This was none of those.
This was… avoidance.
Intentional.
His jaw tightened.
“You’re playin’ right now,” he said quietly.
“I’m not,” she replied quickly.
“Yeah,” he nodded, voice still calm but firmer now. “You are.”
The doctor shifted awkwardly, glancing between them, clearly realizing he’d just stepped into something much bigger than a routine explanation.
Ellen, however, didn’t interrupt.
She watched.
Carefully.
Y/N let out a small sigh, like she was tired of the conversation already. “Okay, so what does that mean?”
The doctor cleared his throat. “It means you’re pregnant.”
There it was.
No medical terms.
No buffer.
Just the truth.
And still Y/N blinked again.
“Oh.”
Arch pulled his hand back.
Not aggressively.
But enough.
Enough to make the shift obvious.
Ellen was the first to move.
She stood slowly, smoothing her hands over her pants like she was grounding herself before speaking. “We’re gonna go grab something for everyone,” she said gently, her voice carefully neutral. “Food. Water.”
May nodded quickly, already reaching for her bag. “Yeah, we’ll be right back.”
Ellen’s eyes flicked between Arch and Y/N for just a second, long enough to acknowledge what was about to happen without interfering.
“Take your time,” she added softly.
And then they were gone.
The door clicked shut behind them.
And the silence that followed?
It was different.
Heavier.
More direct.
Arch didn’t sit.
He didn’t pace either.
He just stood there for a second, staring at the floor like he was trying to gather every thought racing through his head into something that made sense.
Y/N watched him carefully, her fingers gripping the hospital blanket slightly tighter.
She already knew.
This wasn’t going to be calm.
He finally looked up.
“What the hell, Y/N.”
There was no yelling.
But the frustration in his voice cut deeper than anything loud could’ve.
Her chest tightened. “Arch-”
“No,” he shook his head, stepping closer to the bed. “Don’t..don’t even start with that.”
She swallowed. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?” he shot back immediately. “After what? Another day? Another week?”
“I just found out yesterday-”
“And you still didn’t say anything.”
His voice stayed controlled, but it was sharp now, edges showing.
She pushed herself up slightly against the pillows, wincing faintly but ignoring it. “I didn’t know how to say it.”
“That’s not an excuse,” he replied.
“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth,” she said, her voice rising just a little. “I was scared.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Scared of what? Me?”
She hesitated.
And that hesitation?
It hit him.
His expression shifted, just slightly, but enough.
“Wow,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly.
“Then what did you mean?” he pressed, stepping closer again. “Because from where I’m standin’, it sounds like you didn’t trust me enough to tell me something this big.”
Her eyes stung.
“I didn’t know what you were gonna say,” she admitted quietly.
“I would’ve said something,” he shot back. “At least I would’ve been there.”
“You are here now,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “After finding out from a doctor in a hospital room.”
That landed.
Hard.
She didn’t have a comeback for that.
Because there wasn’t one.
The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t empty, it was full of everything they weren’t saying.
Arch ran a hand through his hair again, turning slightly away like he needed space just to breathe.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he said, quieter now, but still frustrated. “You went through all that by yourself and didn’t think I deserved to know?”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said quickly. “But you did.”
That one sat in the air.
Heavy.
Real.
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Then again.
He ignored it the first time.
But the second time, it kept going, notification after notification stacking up.
He sighed, pulling it out of his pocket, jaw already tight before he even looked.
And then it got tighter.
“What now,” he muttered under his breath.
Y/N watched him, unsure whether to speak or stay quiet.
He opened the message.
From his PR manager.
He skimmed it once.
Then again.
His expression shifted from frustration to something more complicated, it was a mix of annoyance, stress, something bordering on disbelief.
“They’re already talkin’,” he said flatly.
“Who?” she asked softly.
“The media,” he replied, looking up at her. “They’re asking why I walked out of the press conference early.”
Her stomach dropped.
He exhaled sharply. “They’re makin’ it a thing.”
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately.
He shook his head. “This ain’t on you.”
But the way he said it didn’t fully match the tension in his shoulders.
“I gotta go handle this,” he added, already moving toward the door.
She nodded slowly, even though something in her chest didn’t want him to leave like this.
“Arch-”
He paused.
But he didn’t turn around right away.
“We’re not done talking about this,” he said.
“I know.”
He nodded once.
Then walked out.
The room felt empty the second he left.
Too quiet.
Too still.
Y/N stared at the door for a long moment before letting her head fall back against the pillows.
Her chest felt tight.
Not from the IVs.
Not from the fainting.
From everything else.
After a minute, she reached over slowly, grabbing her phone from the bedside table.
Her fingers hesitated for just a second before unlocking it.
TikTok opened automatically.
And there it was.
Clips already posted.
Arch at the podium.
Sweat still visible, hoodie thrown on, answering questions after the loss.
14–7.
The caption read, “Arch Manning walks out mid interview after tough loss… what happened??”
She tapped the video.
The clip played.
Reporter voices overlapping.
“Arch, what changed in the second half?”
“How do you respond to-”
Then..
His phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
His expression changed.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
And then, “I gotta go.”
He stepped away.
Just like that.
The video cut.
The comments were already flooding in.
“Why he dip like that???”
“He looked stressed…”
“Locker room drama???”
“Something definitely happened”
“He got a girl? That’s giving ‘my girl just texted me’ energy 😭”
“No fr he ran outta there like it was urgent”
“They lost and he still left?? bad look…”
Y/N’s thumb hovered over the screen.
Her chest tightened more with every comment she read.
Because she knew.
She knew exactly what had pulled him out of that room.
It wasn’t just the loss.
It was her.
She locked her phone slowly, setting it back down beside her.
The monitors kept beeping.
The IVs kept dripping.
But inside, everything felt louder than ever.
And she didn’t know how to fix any of it.
