Chapter 31
GABI
“And you’re sure you don’t have any pains? Any symptoms? The coaches know I’m a phone call away from not going.”
I love this man with every fiber of my being. But if we need to go over this one more time I swear it’s going to be much longer than six weeks postpartum before we have sex again.
“For the hundredth time today Maddox, I’m fine,” I say, as I bounce on my medicine ball—also known as the most comfortable piece of furniture in the house.
“You were with me at the doctor’s the other day and I’m barely dilated.
Yes, I’m uncomfortable, but I’m thirty-seven weeks pregnant. That’s to be expected.”
“But it’s really close and I’m out on the West Coast,” he says as he throws his toiletries into his travel suitcase. “The doctor even said we are in the window. The window Gabi!”
“She did,” I say as I rub a spot on my stomach that Tiny Tot has been pushing against all day. “But what else did she say?”
He pretends to think about it for a second. And I know he’s pretending because he’s not making eye contact with me while also looking like how I imagine our son will look when he tries to convince me that the dog we’re supposedly getting named Sir Barkley ate his homework.
“Maddox…”
I don’t get the customary “Gabrielle.” I get slumped shoulders. “She said that she’ll contribute to his college fund if you have him before Monday.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Now come here.”
He throws in a few pairs of socks before doing as I ask. He leans down so he’s eye level with me, which is perfect, because that’s where I need him to bring him in for a kiss.
“I love you.”
He lets out a breath and kisses me one more time. “I love you too.”
After our fight about Maddox traveling to away games—a fight I fully admit picking because I got scared in the moment—we had a long talk about logistics and his football schedule with our doctor.
That was after I said I was sorry in the form of a blow job and sex in his jersey, which honestly was fair for the way I reacted.
Luckily, we had an appointment the next day, so Maddox talked to our doctor about his wanting to be there for the birth.
And because she’s a huge Fury fan, and a kick ass doctor, she looked at the baby’s measurements, and mine, before saying that we would be able to safely induce labor the Monday before the Miami game.
That way, he’d be with me during an off day and he’d be fine to rejoin his team for Thursday’s practice.
And then, the week after is their bye, which means he has a whole seven days at home helping to get me settled in.
It’s the best situation for two people who unknowingly decided to have a baby in the middle of football season.
Now, the little guy—still nameless—needs to hang on until then.
Two more weeks. Give us two more weeks.
“I need to go on record saying that I fucking hate our schedule for sending us to fucking Los Angeles this weekend,” he says. “Could they have picked a farther game?”
“Technically yes,” I say. “You could be going to Berlin. Or London.”
“Thank fuck I’m not,” he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead before leaning down to kiss the top of my stomach. Something he now does every time before he leaves for anything. “Now, what are you going to do if you feel labor pains?”
“I’m not calling you because of a little pain,” I say. “We went over this.”
“Fine. But! What are you going to do if you’re going into labor?”
I know I’ve also gone over this with him a hundred times, but I can see the stress in his eyes for having to leave for a West Coast game. The least I can do is set him at ease before he gets on the plane.
“I’m going to call you first in case you happen to have your phone.
Then when you don’t answer, because you probably won’t, I’m going to call social media extraordinaire Tatum, who always has her phone on her.
If Tatum doesn’t answer, the next call is equipment manager Keith.
If he doesn’t answer, then I call Coach McAvoy’s wife, Sadie, who has press credentials and will literally walk down onto the field and pull you away. ”
“Now that’s what I call a plan!” Maddox says, clapping his hands like he’s leaving the huddle.
“Question? Why am I not calling Sadie first? It sounds like she’s a get shit done kind of woman.”
“She is,” Maddox says as he zips up his suitcase. “But Coach says she has to be the last resort because the media will realize something is up when she pulls me off the field in the middle of the game, and they’ll be outside the hospital before Tiny Tot is even out.”
I never thought of that. “Okay. So you, then Tatum, then Keith, then Sadie.”
Maddox lifts his suitcase off our bed and comes back over to me, only this time he kneels down with a more serious look on his handsome face.
“I love you,” he says before kissing my stomach. When he stands to come eye level with me, my heart nearly bursts from the pure adoration I see in his eyes. “And I love you, so much.”
He brings me in for a kiss, this one much longer than the one from a few minutes ago.
“I love you too,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Please call me when you land.”
“I will,” he says as he helps me up off the ball. “And text me every hour please?”
I laugh. “Every hour?”
“Yes, every hour. I want updates. How you’re feeling, if anything is bothering you. If you need me to order you food. Doesn’t matter.”
“You know Shelby is coming to stay with me for the weekend, right?”
“While I’m glad she is, I still need to see the name ‘Future Wife’ pop up on my screen every hour on the hour.”
Now I’m laughing. “I can’t believe that’s still my contact name.”
Maddox pulls me in as close as he can. “Only because I’m waiting for the day that I get to change it to ‘Wife.’”
His words warm my heart. And I know it’s not my never-ending heartburn. “Let’s have a baby first. And maybe name it. Then we can talk about that.”
He kisses the spot where eventually a wedding band will rest. “Deal.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say to Shelby as I wince a little bit at the slight contraction—emphasis on slight—I just had. This one was not as slight than others I’ve had, so much so that it caused me to hold onto my bathroom vanity to get through it. “He’s very active today.”
“You look like you’re in a shit ton of pain. Chalk this up to reason number two-hundred-and-twelve why I will never have a child.”
“We’re only at two-twelve?” I ask, breathing through the last of the pains. There. Better.
“It’s probably more, but I’ve lost count. Now get your ass to bed.”
“I’m washing my face.”
“You can go one night without washing your face Gabi. I promise you’re not going to get wrinkles from one night of neglect.”
“I’m almost done. And I’m fine.” I am. I’m fine.
Everything is fine. I can still wash my face.
I can still take five minutes out of my day to feel human.
Plus, this is serving a secondary purpose.
In my mind, if the contractions are close enough that I have two in the time it takes me to wash my face and put on my moisturizer and eye cream, then it’s probably time to go to the hospital. “See. I’m done.”
“Good, now lay back down so your baby daddy can quit texting me asking why you haven’t answered him.”
I smile as I waddle—yes waddle—my way back to the California king-size bed in my master suite. “He’s just worried.”
“I hope there’s a play call called ‘Blue Baby 88’ or some shit like that tomorrow, because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing he’s going to respond to,” Shelby says as she rolls out of the bed. “You okay if I use the bathroom?”
“Yes of course,” I say as I do my best to get comfortable. “Despite what you and Maddox think, I can be alone for a few minutes at a time.”
“I don’t know about that. I left you alone in Vegas and you ended up pregnant.”
I want to argue with her, but I can’t. She’s right. So I do the only thing I can think of and throw my pillow at her.
“Go.”
She laughs at me as she closes the door to the en suite before I turn on the television and take my phone off the bedside table.
Gabi
Were you bugging Shelby?
Maddox
Yes. You missed your check-in.
I was in the bathroom.
And…
Maddox…
Gabrielle…
I love you. I’m fine. Nothing different from what I told you last hour. I was washing my face.
Shelby says you’re in pain. Are you in pain?
“Shelby! Are you tattling on me?”
“Damn right I am,” she muffle yells as she pops out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth.
“I’m so glad you moved here,” I grumble sarcastically as I type again to Maddox.
I’m fine. Yes, I’ve had some discomfort. But you’re not getting on a plane.
You’re not lying to me?
I’d never.
I should tell you, I have access to a plane.
How the hell did you get access to a plane? Like the team plane?
No. A private one.
Please tell me you didn’t buy a plane.
I didn’t buy a plane. I was talking to Linc today, and his future brother-in-law has a plane.
That’s handy.
Right? He told him to keep it ready.
Let’s hope you don’t need to make that call.
I know. I have to go to our position meeting. You sure you’re good?
I’m great. Now go be a football player.
Text me before you fall asleep.
Yes sir.
I kind of like you calling me sir.
Head out of the gutter Gallagher.
Love you.
Love you more.
“What the fuck is that!”
“What is what?” I ask Shelby, because I don’t know what she’s talking about. The only position I can get comfortable in is laying on my left side, which means I can’t see half the room. For all I know, Big Bird is sitting in the corner wearing a sombrero.
“On the television.”
I lift up slightly and start laughing when I see my brother on the television, explaining to a sports commentator how he plans on breaking the world record for lowest score on an eighteen-hole golf course. The world record is 55, and Beau is insistent he’s going to beat it this season.
“Hey, at least with him trying to do this, he won’t be at home much,” I say, turning slightly to hopefully put off a little pressure. “How has life been living next door to my big brother?”
“Horrible,” she says as she sits on the bed next to me. I told her to sleep in the guest room, but turns out, my best friend is more of a helicopter than my boyfriend.
“What has he done?”
“Nothing.”
If anything is going to make me figure out a way to turn my head to look at her, it’s that. “Clarify.”
“I haven’t seen him. But I know he’s there.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because every morning there are fucking golf balls in my yard. Golf balls I didn’t hit. Name brand I don’t even play. But you know who does?”
“I’m going to guess Beau Devereaux for a hundred please.”
“Ding fucking ding. Also! Why does he play golf shirtless? No one needs to be on a putting green shirtless.”
“I thought you didn’t see him?”
“I don’t.”
“Clearly you do if you’re seeing him, and looking at him, shirtless.” Fucking with Shelby is something I rarely get to do. It’s pretty fun. “If I saw someone I hated, I’d make sure I did everything in my power to ignore them.”
“He’s right there! How can I ignore him!” she screams, which makes me snicker. “What are you laughing at?”
“Doth protesting a whole lot…”
“Fuck you,” she says, taking a pillow and smacking me on the shoulder. “Go to bed so we can stop talking about this.”
On cue, I let out a massive yawn. “Fine. Sweet dreams. About Beau...”
“You’re making me regret moving here.”
I shrug and slide back down to the bed, readjusting my pregnancy pillow. “You love me.”
“You know I do.”
We each say goodnight as I make sure to do one last check-in with Maddox.
Signing off for the day. Going to sleep. I’ll text you when I wake up.
Okay. I love you. Remember about the plane.
Like I could forget.
I put my phone on the bed and adjust myself one more time, hoping to get comfortable.
Except I never do.