Chapter 30 #2
That gets the laugh I was hoping for as the scrum moves on to go talk to Linc. I take the break to head to the showers, where I quickly wash up so I can go home and not completely smell like I played a three-hour football game.
When I get back to my locker, it’s only the players left, which allows me to fully relax.
“Great game today,” I say to Linc, patting him on the back before I take a seat next to him.
“Same to you,” he says. “Ainsley and I were going to go out to dinner later. You and Gabi want to come with?”
That could put a damper in my postgame plans.
“Yeah… I can… let me see if…”
Linc laughs at my stumbling. “Our reservations aren’t until seven. You’ll have plenty of time for whatever you’re planning.”
“How’d you know?”
“I’ve been in your shoes before,” he says as he stands up from his seat. “That first game when you see your girl in the jersey? It does things to you.”
Ain’t that the truth.
I grab my phone, but before I can send the message to Gabi, I see that I have one.
Future Wife
Straight home. We need to talk.
“Oh shit.”
Linc looks over to me, confused by my outburst. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I say, holding my phone to him. “But I think I fucked up.”
“You were playing a game. How could you do that? That’s impressive, even for you.”
“I’m not sure. Any idea what it could mean?”
Linc reads it and even looks closer for a second read. “I have no clue. But I’m going to go on a limb and say that you’re not coming out with us.”
I rack my brain, trying to figure out what I did. “What do I do?”
“I don’t know. But whatever she’s craving recently, get it before you go home. A text like that? You’re going to need as many brownie points as possible.”
Armed with brownies from the bakery that she had in the cooler, a cheeseburger she asks for at least once a week, and the sour candy she’s started buying in bulk, I cautiously walk into the house from our garage entrance, which leads into the mudroom before I hit the kitchen.
The house is silent, which is strange. There’s usually some kind of noise.
Music. The television. An appliance running.
The eerie quiet makes me even more nervous.
“Gabi?” I call out as I kick off my shoes.
“Living room.”
I really am in trouble. I spent the thirty-minute drive home going over every word I said to her last night, the texts I was able to send her before the game, and then, what I said postgame in the interviews.
Nothing is sticking out to me, which is maybe worse than knowing that I fucked up.
But even with my pitstops, I can’t figure out what I did or said.
I slowly walk across the kitchen, and when I first get eyes on her, a cold chill goes down my body.
She’s sitting on the edge of the couch, legs spread because that’s what’s comfortable for her right now, and her crossed arms are resting on her stomach.
Her eyes are intense and staring right at me, waiting for me to walk into the room.
She still has my jersey on—I’ll take that for a small win—and I don’t see her bags packed. Second win.
But otherwise? Gabi is pissed.
“Whatever I did or said, I’m sorry,” I say as I hold out my peace offerings. “I was wrong and you were right. I also brought you snacks.”
Not even a hint of a smile. I’m cooked.
“What the fuck was that?”
I set the food down on the coffee table in the center of the room and pull up an ottoman so I can sit across from her. “I want to answer you, but I can say for certain I have no idea what I did.”
She gives me a “really” look, complete with a disapproving head tilt. “Your press conference?”
My press conference? I rewind what I said to the reporters for no less than the tenth time since I left the stadium
Interception… got the win… oh! The pregnancy! I didn’t talk to her about us announcing it. That must be it.
“I’m sorry I told them about the pregnancy. They knew and—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Damn. I thought I had it. Okay, so after that was…
“Are you mad about what I said about traveling to the Miami game?”
“Yes, I’m mad!”
Wait… she’s mad I want to stay with her? For the birth of our child? “You’re mad that I said I was going to stay with you?”
“Yes!” she yells, like I should realize this. “You’re not missing a game!”
“If my son is being born, yes, I am.”
She gives me a raised eyebrow. “Maddox…”
“Gabrielle...”
Many times in our stubborn standoffs, I’ve relented. Sure, I love the build-up, but most of the time if it’s going to make her happy, I’ll stand down. This one I won’t. Because I love this woman who will one day be my wife, but I’m not quite sure what she’s thinking right now.
“You’re going to miss the biggest game of the season?”
“It’s not the biggest game of the season,” I defend.
“The media wants to make it out to be the biggest game of the season because it’s a championship rematch but it’s not even in my top five games notebook.
In reality, Miami did a fire sale after the championship last year.
They’re going to be lucky to win six games.
If we can’t beat them because I’m not there, then there’s bigger problems in our locker room. ”
“Still,” she says, but I can tell she’s already scrambling. “You only have so many games a year. You shouldn’t miss one.”
“Yet I’m going to.” I sit back for a second and watch her eyes jumping.
Her tell. Between that, and the way she’s grabbing at words makes me know this is bigger than just where I’m going to be on November 1.
My first instinct in the moment was to think she didn’t want me there for some reason, but she’s said out loud that she’s nervous for the actual birth, so I don’t think that’s it.
No. This is something deeper. Something that’s been festering.
I lean in to take her hands in mine. “Can I ask a question?”
She tries to put on a stubborn face, but I can also tell by how her shoulders slightly slump, she knows she’s going to lose. “Yes.”
“Don’t you want me there? In the room with you when you deliver to help support you?”
I know those narrowed eyes. I’m about to be right, and she knows it. “Yes…”
“And don’t you want me to have the experience of being there when our son is born?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Humor me.”
“I hate you. And of course I do.”
I laugh as I realize that everything is going to be okay. “No you don’t. But it’s cute you think you do.”
I rub my thumb over the tops of her knuckles. Even though I have a feeling I know what this is about, I want her to tell me in her own words. “Talk to me Gab. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Gabi isn’t one to pick fights. In fact, this might classify as our first official one, and I’m not even sure it counts for that.
But I do know her well enough to know that this didn’t come out of the blue.
And if I’m right, this has been building since we first saw those magic words on the pregnancy test.
“Remember when I went radio silent for three days when we found out?”
I nod. “Longest seventy-two hours of my life.”
Her eyes shift down and she takes my hands in hers before she goes on. “One of the things I was wrestling with was that I felt like this baby was going to be a burden on your life. That we were going to be a burden.”
“Gabi. I—”
“Please Maddox, let me finish.” She takes a deep breath before turning her eyes back to me.
“You did nothing wrong then. And you’re doing nothing wrong now.
I just hate that, every once in a while, something in my brain wants to try and tell me that this isn’t something you signed up for.
That you’re going to be giving up so much for me and the baby.
And when I heard you say that you weren’t going to one of the biggest games of the season, all I could feel was like this was the first of many things I was going to be taking away from you.
I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want you to resent me. Ever.”
I pull my hand away but only to use my thumb to brush away the tear that slowly moves down her cheek.
“I love that you think about those things. That you’re thinking about me.
But you need to know that every natural disaster could hit Nashville simultaneously and I’d still find a way to be at the birth of our child. ”
“Well that’s not safe.”
“Don’t care,” I say. “I had already talked to Coach McAvoy, which I should’ve told you about.
He understands. He has two kids and he said he would’ve done the same thing I’m doing.
If you’re in labor, and it’s time to get on the team plane, then I’m messaging them and saying that it can take off without me. I’m staying right here.”
“Can I make a request?”
“Maybe.”
“If I’m not in labor. If I’m feeling fine. No contractions. Not dilated. All signs pointing to "I'm fine,” will you please go to your game?”
I let out a breath, because I don’t like the sound of that, but she has a point. I can’t sit at home and do nothing while I wait for Tiny Tot to make his arrival. “I’ll say yes, but only if you agree to call me the second any of that changes.”
“Deal.” She cups my face, bringing me in for a slow, but too quick, kiss. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep you away. Or make decisions for you. I heard that and flew off the handle.”
“Thank you, but you don’t apologize,” I say. “Thoughts can conflict. We can want one thing while wanting another that can’t happen if the one exists. It’s being human, Gabrielle.”
She slightly smiles. “Wise words from a man who got carded for beer last week.”
“I’m wise beyond my years.” I move to my knees, wanting to be as close to her as possible.
“I can see why you want to make sure I’m not missing out on my life.
And I love you for that. But you’re my life.
The baby is my life. And there are going to be many other football games.
More than you’re going to be able to keep track of.
But there’s only going to be one birth of our son, and I’m going to be there for it.
Come hell or high water, wild horses couldn’t keep me away. ”
She leans forward, her forehead tapping mine. “I’m sorry I got so mad. Can I blame it on pregnancy hormones?”
I laugh as I run my thumb over her lip. “You can. But I’d also like to point out that this could be considered our first real fight.”
She smiles, her tears coming to a stop. “And since I started it, I’m guessing I need to make it up to you.”
“I’m not going to argue,” I say. “But one request.”
“Anything.”
“However you want to make it up to me, the jersey stays on.”