Christ almighty, Connor was fucking furious. His boots were still muddy from training, gear bag weighing heavy on his shoulder, sweat plastering his hair to his skull. His head was spinning, not from practice but from what he’d just heard. From his own feckin teammate, of all people.

“Well, my lass said she heard you got your missus up the hole.”

Just like that. No warning. Just a bomb dropped in the middle of the locker room while the rest of the boys roared laughing. And Connor? Standing there like a gobshite, ears burning because he hadn’t a feckin clue what the lad was talking about.

Connor stormed through the front door of his house, barely nodding at Mam in the kitchen. And there you were—his girl. Waiting for him. Looking guilty, pale, and scared out of your mind.

“You knew.” His voice shook, low, dangerous. “You knew for six bleeding months and you didn’t say a word”

“Connor—” You reached for him, eyes glassy.

Connor shoved his bag onto the carpet with a thud that echoed through the hall. The whole house probably heard, but he didn’t give a shite. His hands tangled in his wet hair, tugging, pulling. He couldn’t look at you. Couldn’t look at that bump. Christ, the bump.

“Do you have any idea how I found out?” Connor barked, spinning around. “Not from you. From one of the lads in the feckin locker room. Like a joke. Like I’m some gobshite who doesn’t even know what’s happening in his own life.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, your whole body shaking. “I was scared, Rory. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Scared?!” Connor nearly laughed, but it came out as a crack in his voice. “You were scared? I’m the one out there busting my hole for a future, and you’re hiding this from me? You’ve ruined me. You’ve fucking ruined me.”

The words burned as they left his mouth, and the second he saw your face—broken, like he’d just smacked you—he wanted to drag them back in. But he couldn’t stop. He was on fire.

You followed him as he stomped up the stairs, your sobs echoing off the walls. “Rory, please! Don’t say that! I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to hurt you!”

“Then what were you trying to do?!” Connor snapped, spinning on the landing. “You think hiding it makes it disappear? You think ignoring it means it’s not happening? Look at you!”

Connor’s eyes dropped, finally, to your stomach. Round. Full. Obvious. How the hell had he missed it?

It hit Connor like a truck. The signs had been there. You’ve been sick in the mornings. Tired. Quieter than usual. He brushed it off.

And now here you were. Carrying his baby. Your baby.

His throat closed. Connor wanted to cry. He wanted to rewind six months and do it all different.

“Connor, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you. I was just— I thought you’d leave me. I thought you’d hate me.”

Your words ripped through him worse than any tackle ever had. Hate you? Christ, he could never.

Connor stared at your bump again, and this time it wasn’t anger clawing at him. It was fear. Pure, gut-wrenching fear. He was seventeen. Still a kid himself. What the fuck did he know about being a dad?

The house was too quiet. He knew Mam and Dad and everyone else had heard. But no one came out. It was just the two on the landing, your sobbing, him standing there drenched in sweat and rage and regret.

“I…” Connor’s voice cracked, finally breaking. “I don’t know what to do.”

Your arms wrapped around him then, clutching him like you could hold all the broken pieces together. Your bump pressed into him, realer than anything ever had.

And for the first time, he saw you. Not the secret you kept, not the mistake, not the fear. Just you. The girl he loved. Carrying the baby he hadn’t even realised he wanted until that moment.

His future wasn’t ruined. It was here, in his arms. And Connor already nearly lost it by opening his stupid mouth.