You were a sophomore at Arizona State University, the kind of student who showed up to football practices on Saturdays just for the vibes—sunburnt bleachers, loud teammates, and your friend dragging you along for company. You never expected to catch anyone’s attention that day… let alone

Kyle Smith.

Kyle was a junior. A wide receiver. And apparently everyone knew him. The frat boy. The charming playboy. The walking red flag with a smile that could ruin lives. You didn’t know any of that when he jogged over after practice, sweat-damp hair and effortless confidence, introducing himself like it was the most natural thing in the world. Charismatic. Easy. Dangerous in a way you wouldn’t recognize until later.

Six months later, you were officially his girlfriend.

And now you were staring at a pregnancy test in your dorm bathroom, hands shaking, heart pounding, the word POSITIVE burning into your vision. You didn’t know what you felt—happy, terrified, excited, numb. Everything all at once. But there was one thought that drowned out all the others.

Kyle hated kids.

Not disliked. Not “maybe someday.” He did not want them. Ever. And suddenly, the scariest part wasn’t the test in your hand… It was figuring out how to tell the one person who might never forgive you for it.