Chapter Twelve
Rhys
I jump up and down in the tunnel, loosening my legs and releasing the lingering tension from my body.
“You ready for this, Mackley?”
“Yes, Coach,” I answer, shaking out my calf.
“Good. I’m going to need some second half heroics from you.”
We’re down one-nil against Chelsea, playing on their home turf and being absolutely lambasted by their fans in the process.
That’s par for the course when two London-based teams play each other and it always fuels my competitiveness.
But I have to admit, being down going into the half absolutely fucking sucked.
Thayer usually comes to all my games if they’re in the city, but this morning she told me she was busy, that she’d try to make it, and that I should go on ahead without her.
Her evasiveness has been on my mind since. I haven’t played my best football because my mind has been elsewhere, and as the team’s playmaker and star attacking midfielder, when I have an off day, so does everyone else.
I need to get my head in the game and leave my personal feelings to the side.
“I always deliver,” I tell my coach confidently.
He walks away with a stiff nod.
“Come on, Mackley,” a familiar voice calls from beside me. “It’s about time you showed you’re more than just a pretty face.”
“About time? Remind me, Everett, who leads the team in goals?”
Seymour Everett is a recent addition to the team. A center forward, he was a late transfer from Man U and is a former enemy now turned friend.
He steps up to me and flicks the back of my neck like the annoying gnat he is. “And how many of those did I assist on?”
“I’m sorry, did I say ‘team’?” I say, grinning. “I meant league. I lead the league in goals.”
We jog out side by side onto the field to the roaring applause of the crowd. There are a number of stars on our team but, like me, Everett has his own dedicated fandom.
Unlike me, the man is as single as they come and dedicated to introducing himself to every one of his groupies.
We come to a stop in front of our team’s bench and kick our legs up to do one final stretch.
“Then what do you say we put our collective brilliance to good use and shut these Chelsea fans up once and for all?”
“I’d like nothing more,” I say, squirting water from a bottle into my mouth.
The crowd roars behind me but I ignore it, used to tuning out the noise and focusing on the work at hand. Everett’s eyes lift and slide to the left, looking at the giant screen above our heads.
A smile takes shape and grows slowly on his lips until it splits his entire face.
“You’re going to want to see this, Mackley,” he says.
“What is it?”
He tips his chin up towards the massive screen. “Look for yourself.”
I turn and look first at the crowd, not understanding why they’re going crazy. Then my gaze trails over to the big screen and my heart does a double somersault.
The camera is zoomed in on Thayer in the WAGS section.
All of a sudden, the oxygen being pulled into my lungs feels clearer, fresher somehow. Like smog is being aired out of them, leaving room only for crisp, breathable air.
She came after all.
And she looks as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, her silver hair shining in the sunlight. I can see exactly why the cameraman loves her.
Pride burns, deep and languid in my veins, at seeing her on the big screen, knowing thousands will look at her and know she’s mine.
She’s standing and jumping around as she holds our two-year-old daughter Hayes on her hip and dances with her. Hayes is giggling and throwing her arms up to wave at the screen her mum points out to her.
And then Thayer makes eye contact with the camera, reaches for the hem of her jersey and starts to inch it upwards.
My blood pressure plummets and my temper rises just thinking about her baring her stomach to the eighty thousand people in attendance, but when she lifts it, she reveals another shirt underneath.
Thayer points enthusiastically at her stomach, at the same time swaying energetically to the beat of the music. My gaze drops to read the words printed in white ink on black fabric.
“ BABY ON BOARD!”
My heart stutters in my chest, missing a beat or ten or a hundred.
Holy shit.
“Oi oi!” cheers Everett from behind me.
Thayer and Hayes both point at my daughter’s shirt next, revealing that it says, “ BIG SISTER ”.
And then Thayer turns her back to the camera and points at my last name where it’s printed on her back, doing away with any confusion about whose baby this might be.
It’s our last name.
She looks over her shoulder at the camera with a brilliant smile on her face. I don’t know if she can see my reaction, but based on the look in her eye, I’d bet there’s another camera pointed at me, broadcasting my shock and delight back at her in 4k.
I’m running for the stands before she’s even turned around.
“Mackley! Halftime is almost over. The game’s about to start!” I hear my coach roar after me.
“Sorry, Coach, there’s something more important I have to do.”
I jump over the partition with ease, clearing a line of crouching photographers who all have their lenses aimed at me. I’d bet a lot of money one of those images will make it onto the front page of the Daily Mail tomorrow morning.
I’m taking the stairs two, then three at a time as I race for the WAGS’s section.
I can see Thayer’s face in the distance, getting closer with each step, her smile growing wider as she watches me approach.
“Excuse me. Excuse me. Move ,” I growl, pushing clamoring fans out of my way as I go down a row towards Thayer. “Move the fuck out of my way.”
Finally, I’m free, and with five more steps I’m reaching my wife and daughter.
“Daddy!” Hayes screams, throwing herself out her mum’s arms and into mine.
“Hi, darling,” I say, throwing a quick glance down at her before reverting my attention back to my wife. I curl a hand around her waist and drag her to me. “Is the t-shirt real? Are you actually pregnant, love?”
“Yes!” she says, laughing and cupping my cheek. Mirth shines brightly in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d jump into the crowd to come to us. I wanted to surprise you, not distract you.”
I set Hayes down, keeping her safely between my legs, and grab Thayer’s face.
“As if I could stay away once I knew,” I whisper. “We’re having another baby?”
“Yes!”
“Holy fuck. I love you.” I smash my lips against hers in a bruising kiss. I only dimly hear the crowd erupt once more like they’re watching their favorite Lifetime movie couple kiss. “I love you so fucking much.”
Thayer laughs, an open-throated peel of laughter that sends delight rushing down my spine.
“I love you too. Now go back down there and win this match. We can’t lose the day I tell you we’re having a baby. Oh, and fuck Chelsea.”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I tell her, pressing another furtive kiss to her lips. “Fucking love you. Going to go win it for you now.”
And I do.
Forty-five minutes and two goals later, the Chelsea fans have been successfully quieted, and we come out victorious.
Me in more ways than one.
***