The Hockey Captain’s Unwanted Wife (Blair and Grayson) novel Chapter 93

Chapter 93

~GRAYSON~

More weeks had gone by, and the lie had not gotten any lighter.

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I still had not signed the papers. I told myself it was normal, but it wasn’t. It was the same stubborn refusal that had left her pictures on the wall and her ring in a drawer I opened when I shouldn’t have.

Officially, on paper, Blair was still my wife. That was how I ended up at the hospital, knowing exactly which one to go to.

I had stared at the photographs of her walking through those doors, wearing the same clothes from the Charity Cup.

I approached the front desk and explained I needed records for my wife.

They asked for identification, saw the name Blair Monroe, and noted there was no finalized divorce on file.

Without hesitation, they directed me to a small, quiet office.

A nurse led me inside, and a doctor I didn’t know entered with a folder, carrying the polite neutrality of someone who assumed a husband had a right to be there. He clearly hadn’t seen the articles about us and our messy split.

“Mr. Shaw. These are the imaging reports from Mrs. Shaw’s recent visit. If you have questions about a follow- up, her next appointment is already on the chart. It’s tomorrow actually.”

I took the folder but didn’t open it in the office. I waited until I was back home, standing in the kitchen, wondering if I was doing the right thing.

She would be pissed if she learned I had done this behind her back. These were her personal files. But I couldn‘ t help myself. The more I thought about Chase’s words, the more I needed to know about her pregnancy and rule out I wasn’t the father.

The first page had dates, department, and patient name. Blair Monroe Shaw–she had used my last name even though she believed we were divorced.

My heart skipped a beat when I turned to the next page, revealing the ultrasound image.

It was small, a tiny shape that made the rest of the house and everything outside fade away. No image had ever struck me as powerfully as this did.

I felt an immediate, unexplainable connection.

How? Beneath the image, the measurements listed gestational age: 11 weeks, 4 days.

Then, the estimated date of conception–I paused, staring at the date, feeling disbelief seep in.

This couldn’t be real. I stared at the line, and the letters and numbers seemed to move.

The blackout–the exact date of the blackout.

Suddenly, everything flooded back: her fear of thunder, me comforting her, talking her through it. Then, the touching. The night I pushed in, froze because she was a virgin. That night, no condom, over and over, until I came inside her and the alarm bells went off too late.

That date. Not after she signed the divorce papers or when she ran to Chase. The night she was still in my house, in my bed, wearing my marks.

I froze, clutching the report in both hands. Did this mean-?

The math was clear: eleven weeks and four days, perfectly aligning with conception on the night I had been inside her.

Chase’s story suggested a different date. This report didn’t match that timeline. Still, she could have simply miscalculated the dates since they were so close.

Fuck. I felt like I was losing my mind tryir

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Chapter 93

I sat on a stool, reading it again, more slowly.

They remained unchanged: estimated conception, consistency with the earlier scan.

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There were even reports on the day of the Charity Cup. She’d gone there for a check–up? She had been in that hospital for the baby. Our baby. Or maybe Chase’s. I wanted to believe it was mine, but only Blair could tell me for sure.

The folder trembled in my grip. If this report was correct, I had spent so long hating her for a night that never happened.

Not hating her–I could never hate Blair, but I had been colder, more distant, trying to make things work with Lily, convinced that Blair didn’t want me. Convinced she was pregnant with her ex’s baby.

I set the image on the counter because I couldn’t keep holding it. The tiny shape stared back at me.

Eleven weeks. Mine.

I dragged a hand down my face, hearing Chase’s voice again–she came straight to me that night, no protection, our baby–and the rage surged uncontrollably.

That’s why I always ended up with my fist in his face. He was an asshole. He had stood at a league party and made me look at my wife like she had erased me by morning.

She hadn’t.

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