Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Leif
Training for the Big Game
How do I spend my free time? Focusing on the birth of our daughter. Hailey is thirty-eight weeks pregnant. The baby could come any day now. Things are almost settled. The hospital bag is ready—I’m just praying our little one doesn’t come when I’m not in town. If she does though, I already have permission from the coach and GM to fly back home immediately.
The nursery is ready. It’s pale sage-green walls Hailey picked out, the plush cream rug beneath my feet, and the crib that I built with my own hands. Okay, Lucian came to help me. He’s temporarily staying with us, in case Hailey goes into labor while I’m out of town. I’m thankful that football season is over, but not so much that Sarah is running around the house. That dog is the devil.
The rocking chair sits in the corner, positioned just right to catch the morning light. The dresser is already stocked—tiny clothes folded into neat little stacks, soft blankets in every shade of neutral, shelves filled with books I can’t wait to read to her. Everything is perfect. Everything is ready.
Except for her name.
I stare at the framed prints on the wall—soft watercolor moons, stars, and constellations dancing across the space. A theme Hailey fell in love with the second she saw it.
“She’s gonna be a dreamer, Leif,” she told me, running her fingers over the fabric of a little onesie printed with a crescent moon. “We have to give her a name that fits.”
And yet, here we are. Two weeks—or sooner—from meeting her, and we still haven’t settled on one. We’ve tried many. Lorena, after her mother. We weren’t in love with it, though it might end up as her middle name . . . maybe?
The thought makes me smile as I rub a hand down my jaw. Every part of this journey has felt surreal, but this? Knowing she’ll be here any day now? It’s like standing at the edge of something huge, something life-changing, and feeling the weight of it settle into my bones.
A soft creak behind me pulls me from my thoughts. I turn, and there she is—my whole fucking world.
Hailey stands in the doorway, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, the other gripping the frame for balance. She’s wearing one of my hoodies, sleeves too long, her legs bare, her feet tucked into fuzzy socks because she’s always cold now.
Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, wild and untouched, catching the light like it was never meant to be anything but free. But it’s her eyes that undo me. God, those eyes. They don’t just look at me—they pull me under, drag me deeper, strip me bare. Love burns in them, fierce and endless, something that doesn’t waver, doesn’t break. It doesn’t ask for permission. It claims. And I let it, because there’s no part of me that doesn’t belong to her.
I cross the room in three long strides, reaching for her, pulling her close. She sighs, melting against me like she was made for this.
“Hey, baby,” I murmur against her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She exhales, soft and content. “Hey.”
I rub my hands up and down her back, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. She’s so soft now, so full, so beautifully round with our daughter.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Too much on my mind.”
I pull back just enough to tip her chin up, catching every flicker of emotion in her expression. “Tell me.”
She bites her lip, hesitating for half a second before murmuring, “For starters, she still doesn’t have a name.”
I chuckle, thumb sweeping over her cheek. “I know.”
She huffs, frustrated. “Leif, we have everything. The nursery, the clothes, the car seat, the stupid nipple cream everyone says I’ll need?—”
I grin. “You mean the nipple cream I had to get in two separate orders because you panicked over which brand was best?”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s not the point.”
I laugh, then press a soft kiss to her lips. She tastes like peppermint tea and something sweet—something just Hailey.
“We’ll figure it out,” I promise, brushing my lips over hers again, slower this time. “She’ll have the perfect name.”
She exhales against my mouth, a breath that feels like surrender, like she’s finally letting go of everything that’s been pressing down on her.
I guide her gently toward the rocking chair, settling her down before kneeling in front of her. My hands smooth over her thighs, up to her belly, spreading wide as I rest my forehead against her.
“She’s moving,” Hailey whispers, fingers threading through my hair.
I hum, feeling the gentle shift under my palms. “Hey, sweetie. I’m ready to meet you. Today would be a good time—I can even take a few days off just to be with you and Mom.” She kicks back again.
I press a kiss to Hailey’s belly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Hey, baby girl. You comfy in there?”
Hailey laughs, soft and warm. “I doubt it. There’s not much room left. And if you want her out today, we should find a name soon.”
I smirk, dragging my hands up to her hips. “Well, we’d better pick a name before she gets here and starts complaining.”
She tilts her head, thinking. “Okay. Let’s go through our list again.”
I groan, dropping my head into her lap. “We’ve been through the list a hundred times.”
She grins, scratching her nails lightly against my scalp. “Then maybe this time, we’ll actually agree.”
I drag my fingers down her thighs, teasing. “What if we name her after you?”
She snorts. “You want to name her Hailey Jr.?”
I smirk against her skin. “Could call her H.J. for short.”
She laughs, the sound sending something warm and golden through my chest.
“Okay, serious suggestion,” I say, sitting back on my heels. “What about Celeste?”
Her expression softens. “Celeste,” she repeats, testing it.
I nod, running my hand up and down her thigh. “It fits the whole moon and stars theme. And it means ‘heavenly.’”
She goes quiet, like she’s rolling it around in her heart, feeling it settle in.
“I like it,” she finally murmurs. “But . . .”
I raise a brow. “But?”
She smiles, sleepy and sweet. “What if we gave her two middle names?”
I tilt my head. “You got something in mind?”
She bites her lip, then says softly, “Celeste Noa.”
Noa.
I know that name.
She told me once—years ago, in one of those deep, late-night conversations that stretch until morning—that if she ever had a daughter, she wanted her name to carry something strong, something meaningful.
Noa. It means motion, movement, freedom.
“She’s gonna be strong, Leif,” Hailey murmurs, reading my thoughts. “She’s gonna make her own way.”
“Just like her mother.” I swallow hard, because fuck if I don’t already know that. I slide my hands up to her belly again, my thumbs brushing in slow, reverent strokes.
“Celeste Lorena Noa,” I say quietly, letting it sink in.
Then, I press a slow kiss to Hailey’s stomach and murmur against her skin, “Celeste Lorena Noa Crawford.”
Hailey inhales sharply, her fingers tightening in my hair.
And just like that—we know.
That’s her name, our daughter’s name. I look up, catching the shine in Hailey’s eyes, and something in my chest pulls tight.
I reach for her, pulling her down into my lap, cradling her close. “That’s her,” I whisper. “That’s our girl.”
She buries her face in my neck, sighing, relieved and content all at once. “Yeah. That’s her.”
I stroke her back, swaying slightly, rocking us both. We’re ready for our little girl. She has a place in this world, a place in my heart, a place in my arms. Soon—so soon—I’ll finally get to hold her. And when she finally gets here, she’ll know she was loved before she even took her first breath.