Chapter 24 Maddox
MADDOX
Maddox
On our way to the doctors office. It’s gender day, baby! Final predictions. Winners get to pick next week’s baking challenge.
Theo
Girl. And I hope she has a thing for athletes so you get a taste of the medicine you had for so many years.
Asher
Also girl. But mostly because I need a fellow girl dad. Braiding hair is for the fucking birds.
Maddox
Beau? Care to take a stab?
Beau
You’re both wrong. It’s a boy. I already sized his golf clubs. So get ready to lose gentlemen, next week we’re making sourdough cinnamon rolls. I’ll bring my starter.
Theo
You mean Dough-gy?
Beau
That’s not its name and you know it. I would never name my starter after a bad golf score. Bad juju.
Asher
Apologies to Betty.
Beau
Thank you. Put some respect on her name. RIP to my favorite Golden Girl.
Theo
You mean the longest relationship Devereaux has ever had?
Beau
Fuck you both.
Maddox
I’m so glad I’m in this group.
Ilaugh and put my phone back in my pocket as Gabi and I wait in the doctor’s office. I wish she knew her older brother was a sourdough expert. The man makes one hell of a cheddar and jalapeno loaf. Sugar and Sweets would make a killing if he sold it there.
“Does it feel like this is flying? Because I swear we just found out yesterday,” I say as the nurse calls back another couple.
She looks over to me, her head falling to my shoulder as she rests her hands on her growing baby bump. “It’s somehow going so fast that I’m freaking out that we have nothing ready, but I also feel like I’ve been pregnant forever. And we’re only at the halfway mark.”
Today is twenty weeks to the day that Gabi has been pregnant, which means we’re set up for the big gender reveal.
And when I say big, I mean her and I. Knowing her ex has exhibited tendencies to stalk her social media, and that anything I post goes immediately viral, we both agreed that keeping it off of the internet was best. Our families and friends know.
Most of my teammates, coaches, and my agent know.
And now that she’s clearly showing, the regulars at Sugar and Sweets know.
Phyllis and Kitty—who of course claim that they knew she was pregnant way before we did—are already knitting baby blankets.
On the same note, we decided against a big party.
Would I have liked one? Sure. I’m always down for a party.
But we’re under limited time with me a few weeks away from training camp and Gabi starting to hire and train more people to help once she’s out for maternity leave.
Then there’s my grand idea of house hunting in between all that.
With all of those factors, it was an easy decision to keep the gender with just the two of us.
And, of course, the doctor when we find out in roughly thirty minutes.
“We have some things ready,” I say as I put my arm around her, giving her a better angle to rest her head on my shoulder. “I mean, we did get a house.”
That brings a huge smile to her face. “Not just a house. Our perfect house.”
A little known fact about professional athletes is that the real estate market moves fast between us. Players are always getting cut or traded. Which means players are always moving in and out of the city.
That next morning after Gabi sucked me off so good I decided to buy her a house—zero regrets on that decision, in case anyone was wondering—we started putting our wants together.
How many bedrooms and bathrooms. Ranch or two-story.
How far out of the city we’d consider moving.
If a commercial baking kitchen could be installed so Gabi doesn’t have to head into the bakery on her day off to make one thousand cookies for the local bake sale.
Or if the Poker Club needs a new location. You know, the important things.
After we settled on a four-bedroom, three-bath house that’s no more than ten miles outside downtown Nashville, we went on and made our wish list. Things we’d love for it to have, ranking from “really, really, want” to, “I mean, it would be nice.”
And yes, those are the actual names of the columns Gabi wrote down in my new homeowner notebook.
For her, it was a big kitchen, complete with a massive center island that could also serve as a breakfast bar, a wrap-around porch, and an oversized bathtub.
I wanted a swimming pool and a bonus entertaining space, so that way I could have my teammates over.
Some of our veteran guys do that, and I love how it always bonds us.
As I grow through the organization, I know one day I’ll be a veteran, and I want to keep that tradition alive.
Oh, and a big back yard for Tiny Tot and, of course, my hypothetical—but we’re totally getting—dog, Sir Barkley.
When we looked at the list, we wondered if we could ever find anything that would even come close to matching our dream home.
We considered the possibility of building, but we wanted to be in before the baby comes in November.
And then fate said hold my beer, and the BlueBirds traded a veteran left fielder who happened to live in our perfect home.
In the blink of an eye, I was writing one of the biggest checks I’ve ever written, and we were signing roughly eighty-thousand pages of paperwork.
I was all smiles once I scribbled my name on the final line.
Poor Gabi looked like she was going to pass out.
But she recovered, and walked away with keys to our new house—one we’re going to start moving into after training camp in August.
“Can I admit something to you?”
“Depends. Is it gonna be one of those times where you tell me I'm right? I really love those times.”
She playfully slaps my chest. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Then absolutely. Do tell.”
“I know I made a stink about you hiring movers, and insisting they pack for me. But knowing I don’t have to, and that’s one less stress I have to worry about…”
Gabi trails off and I just give her a smirk. “Just say it, Gabrielle. Say the words. Three little ones. So easy to say.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Keep talking like that and I won’t.”
I lean in and kiss the tip of her nose. “Yes you will. Just whisper them. I’ll love it even more.”
She gives me a mini eye roll before a reluctant smile. “You were right.”
I let my head fall back and pump my first in triumph. “Victory!”
“I really shouldn’t have said it.”
“Too late, gorgeous. It’s out in the world. No backsies.”
Gabi’s state of shock after leaving the realtor's office lasted until we walked into her apartment. Then she promptly started freaking out. She was pacing in circles, wondering how she was going to pack her apartment, run her shifts at the bakery, and finish training the baker she just hired. When I suggested hiring movers—the kind that packed your house for you—she immediately scoffed. She didn’t need them.
She could do it on her own. She just had to figure out a schedule.
I said her name.
She said mine back.
I stepped into her space and pressed against her, letting her know I wasn’t budging. That I was going to do this for her. That in case she forgot, I just signed a multi-million-dollar contract and there was still money left over in the account even when the house check cleared.
Then I kissed her.
I won.
And I just won again by hearing her say those three little words.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
“I hate you.”
“Wrong three words.”
She lets out a groan. “You were right.”
“There we go. Was that so hard?”
She smiles and leans back into me as another couple is called back.
While those three words are amazing to hear, so would another three.
Yet, as much as I want to hear them, I’m not worried in the slightest that neither of us has said them out loud.
I know we love each other. We show it to each other every day.
Maybe five months ago I would’ve thought I’d need to hear it, but I don’t now.
I love this woman. She loves me. And one day we’ll say it out loud.
Until then, we’ll be here waiting to hear the most important word of the day—boy or girl.
“Gabi Devereaux.”
We follow a nurse back into an exam room and Gabi takes her position on the exam table. After the standard questions and checks, the nurse excuses herself, leaving us alone to wait for the doctor.
“You ready for this?”
I detect a little bit of uncertainty in her question. “I am. Are you?”
She nods, but I see her eyes swirling. “Gabi?”
“I’m fine,” she says with a shake of her head. Probably because she’s not fine.
“I don’t know why you’re lying to me right now.” I stand up and take her hand in mine. “Talk to me. Whatever you’re thinking or feeling, I’m here.”
As far as Gabi has come with her trust issue, and voicing her opinion over the past few months, there are times she reverts back to staying quiet.
But hey, that’s healing. Sometimes it’s not a smooth path.
All I can do is be there for her, assure her that she can tell me whatever she wants, and then make damn sure her feelings are not only heard, but seen and acted on.
“I’m not sure I want to find out the gender.”
I try to hide my disappointment, but I don’t think I do a particularly good job of it. “Oh…I thought…”
“No! That’s not what I mean!” she quickly says. “I do want to find out. Just not here in the office.”
“I thought you didn’t want a big reveal?”
She shrugs. “I don’t want the big part, but I think I want the reveal part.”
Okay. I can work with that. “What were you thinking?”
Before she can tell me the idea that’s putting a spark into her green eyes, her OB comes into the room.
“Ready to find out if we have the next big star for the Nashville Fury in there?”
We share a look, nothing but love in our eyes, as we nod.
“Yes,” Gabi says. “But I have a favor to ask you.”
“Ermygod, Gabi. These are fucking amazing.”