Chapter 34
MADDOX
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re so very sorry, but we’re going to be delayed for a few minutes. The pilots need check a few things before we’re able to take off. No need to panic, we’ll be in the air soon.”
I sit in my seat—a ridiculous expensive seat that isn’t even in first class because beggars couldn’t be choosers in the situation I was in—and try to think positive thoughts. At least I have the row to myself.
I’m on a plane. That’s what matters. I’m on my way home. I got a text from Shelby that she’s progressing slowly, but there is movement. I’m going to focus on the word slowly, because I need every minute.
Maddox
On the plane. Delayed a few minutes. They said not to worry.
Future Wife
What’s a few minutes at this point?
Exactly. Have I said how sorry I am that I’m not there?
You have, but I feel worse that I waited so long to tell you.
But would it be us if this baby came with a normal birth story?
Not even a little bit.
The little bit of humor we add makes me smile and relax for a second. That is, until I hear the pilot over the speakers.
“Folks, I’m very sorry, but it’s going to be another few minutes. No need to panic or deboard the plane. Just taking a little longer than expected. We’ll be in the air to Memphis in no time.”
9:26 p.m. CT /7:26 p.m. PT
“I’m sorry again folks. I didn’t think it was going to come to this, but we’re going to need you to exit the plane. We can’t fix what we thought we could, and we’re going to need to wait for a new one. Good news is that it’s about twenty minutes away.”
I’ll believe it when I see it…
I do my best to regulate my breathing, because what the fuck kind of bad luck is this?
The worst part? Is that the Fury team plane I know has taken off, so my idea of meeting back with them is now not a possibility.
No one can have this much bad luck when it comes to airplanes in a single day.
But I can’t do anything about it now except grab my duffle from the overhead compartment and make my way off the plane.
“Are you Maddox Gallagher?”
I turn back and see a kid, maybe around eight years old, behind me with a man who I’m going to assume is his father. “I am. What’s your name?”
His smile is big and toothless. “Gunner.”
I laugh at the irony. “I wanted to name my son Gunner.”
“What’s his name?”
How in the world is the fact that we don’t have a name for our son not even in the top ten things to panic about today. “He doesn’t have one yet. He’s about to be born.”
“I heard that on the television today,” the dad says. “Says you had to leave the game to head back to Nashville.”
“That was the plan,” I say as we make our way through the jetway back to the gate. “Forces are keeping me away.”
“That sucks,” he says. “But if you’re like when this guy came, my wife was in labor for twenty-four hours before he came out.”
That would be great. Except that if we’re counting how long Gabi was in pain last night, she might already be nearing the twenty-four-hour mark. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. “I’ll get there. There’s not another option.”
“Absolutely not,” he says. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” I go to walk in hopes of finding a semi-private place where I can call and update Gabi, but I hear whispers from my two new friends.
“Maddox?” Gunner whispers with a nervous smile.
“What’s up buddy?”
He holds out a hat he’s wearing that has nothing to do with football. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Absolutely,” I say as he hands me the hat.
I might be in a shit mood. I might’ve yelled at two people today who were trying to help and had to tell me bad news.
And I might now live at LAX. But I’ll always take time for a young fan.
Who knows? Maybe my act of kindness will be smiled upon by the airline gods. “Wait, I have something better.”
I kneel down as I start digging through my duffle bag.
I always carry a marker for this exact reason, and I’m pretty sure I have the pair of gloves I was wearing today.
In my crazed exit from the stadium, I threw them in here instead of leaving it for the equipment managers.
“How about one of my gloves? Keep that hat nice and crisp.”
Gunner is wide eyed and speechless as I sign the glove for him. “Thanks Maddox!”
“Anytime.”
When I stand back up, the dad is holding out his hand. “Thanks for that. And good luck.”
Passengers of flight 383 to Memphis, please be advised, your new flight time will be departing at 8:30 local time.
“Was that good luck about fatherhood or about getting out of Los Angeles?”
The dad laughs. “At this point? I honestly don’t know.”
10:20 p.m. CT /8:20 p.m. PT
“You’re on the plane?”
“I’m on the plane. Again.”
Gabi’s eyes are hopeful. “And it’s taking off?”
I smile as I sit back into the seat. “As far as I know.”
I haven’t been told it’s not, and after the quickest boarding process in the history of airline travel, everything seems good. Though after the events of today, I hate to get my hopes up too much.
“Oooohhh…” she lets out, biting her lip as I contraction rolls through her.
“Breathe, gorgeous. One…two…”
I continue doing the exercises we practiced together so many times, only, I’d hoped to be doing them next to her, holding her hand or rubbing her back. Not sitting here watching her through my telephone.
I really need this plane to take off…
“I’m good,” she says as she sits back against the pillow.
“What’s the update?”
“I’m at five centimeters, according to Ainsley.”
“Five!” How have I not asked her about this up to now? This should’ve been my first question. “That means you’re moving at one centimeter away from being at the stage where you dilate at one to two centimeter per hour! I’m going to miss it.”
“Which baby notebook is that in?”
“The one where I write down all the numbers I needed to watch out for. That one got a lot of pages devoted to dilation centimeters and what they all mean.”
Somehow my panic is making her look more relaxed. Which at this point, anything I can do to help. “You’re not going to miss it. I’ve been at five for hours. You’re fine. Just breathe.”
“You’re telling me to breathe? That’s not how this goes, Gabrielle.” I want to tell her more about how I’m about to freak the fuck out when I hear the engine of the plane rev up. “I’m hurrying home. I promise.”
“I know you are,” she says. “I’m going to try and sleep. You have a safe flight. And a safe drive.”
“Okay,” I say as the pilot tells us that it’s finally time to take off and to turn off our devices. “And Ainsley’s brother is still good to drive me? I feel horrible how late it is.”
“He’s more than ready,” she says. “His name is Simon. He says you’ll know him when you see him.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m honestly not sure.”
2:01 a.m. CT
I’m that guy. The guy who, as soon as the plane lands, stands up, grabs his stuff, and cuts in front of everyone trying to deboard.
I hate that guy.
In my defense, everyone on this flight has given me the green light to do so.
During the three hour and thirty-one minute flight to Memphis, I made friends with about everyone on the plane.
Once the flight attendants found out I was onboard, they did everything they could to make sure I had everything I needed.
The elderly married couple who sat across from me kept my mind off how long the damn flight was by asking every detail of how Gabi and I met.
Gunner and his dad, who wound up in the row behind me and slept for most of the flight, were a great reminder of what I have to look forward to.
I also yapped with three lovely women who were sitting in the row in front of me who live not too far from Nashville and can’t wait to come try Sugar and Sweets.
Every one of them heard the story of how Gabi and I met, and of how freaking in love with her I am. Each one gave me a piece of parenting advice they wished they had when they were young. One even gave me an idea for a name for Tiny Tot. One I think could stick.
And most important, every single person told me to make sure that I was the first person off the plane. So maybe I’m not an asshole. I’m just a guy trying to get home, with an unexpected squad making sure it happens as quickly as possible.
“Good luck Maddox! You got this!”
I don’t even know who yelled that, but I hold up my hand to wave as I begin my full-on sprint through the Memphis airport.
I quickly sent a text to Gabi and Shelby the moment the wheels hit the tarmac, knowing the second I could leave, I couldn’t bother messaging.
And I’m glad I did, because I’m running faster now than I did in my game today. Yesterday? What day is it even?
Considering the hour, the airport is empty, and it’s easy for me to be at full speed.
There’s not an option of not running. I don’t even stop to go to the bathroom.
All I can do is focus on signs that say “baggage claim” where I’m meeting a man named Simon.
Now it’s just an escalator and a three-hour drive home separating me and my family.
Family. Fuck. That one word has me turning it up another gear. I’m exhausted. My legs are jelly and I can feel the adrenaline starting to fade away. But I can’t let it. Not yet. I can when I get in the car. There’s nothing else I can do as a man named Simon drives me across the state.
Because I need to get to Gabi. My son. My family.
I do my best to quickly jog down the escalator to baggage claim, and I’m halfway down when I see a man holding a sign that says, “The Dad to Be,” and wearing a full chauffeur suit.
“Simon?”
Did he buy that? Did he have something like this at the ready? Who is this guy?
“The one and only!” he says, way too loud considering we’re one of four people in this entire area. “Any bags?”
“Nope.”
“Perfect, I left the car running. It’s right there.”
“Thanks man,” I say as I walk up to the BMW. “You didn’t have to do this, but I really appreciate it.”
“Nonsense!” he says as he opens my car door for me.
He’s really playing up that chauffeur thing.
“You’re a friend of Linc—who’s currently sitting at the top of my brother-in-law rankings.
You're a Fury player—great interception today, we’re going to be talking about that during this drive.
And of course, in a few hours, you’re going to be the newest member of the Dad Squad.
Of course I was going to do this. Now get in the car! Let’s fucking go!”
This man has said a lot in five minutes. And this coming from a guy who always has a lot to say. “Dad Squad?”
He hands me a cigar and a blue button that says “Dad Squad” on it. Does he have these laying around? Does he keep them with the suit?
“We have plenty of time to talk. Now buckle up. Let’s get you the fuck back to Nashville!”