34. Mallory
Mallory
The waiting room was overly air-conditioned, and my hoodie wasn’t cutting it.
Jaymie noticed before I said a word.
“Here,” he said, already shrugging out of his fleece. “Put this on before you turn into a popsicle.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve got goosebumps, Mal. Be stubborn later.”
He held it out, and I rolled my eyes, but I took it. Warmth still clung to the inside, faint traces of laundry detergent and whatever aftershave he’d swiped on this morning. It sme lled like him. I melted a little, not that I’d ever admit it out loud.
He sat next to me again, tapping his knee against mine. “You doing okay?”
I nodded, shifting slightly in the chair. “Thirty-four weeks. Everything’s just tight and swollen and I’m tired all the time.”
He gave me a look. “That’s because you’re growing a whole human.”
“Thanks for the biology lesson, Nurse Prescott.” Before he could retaliate, the nurse called my name, and we were ushered into one of the small exam rooms. I moved slow, and Jaymie didn’t rush me—just kept his hand on my back, steady and warm.
Dr. Neves came in a few minutes later, all calm energy and soft smiles.
“You’re almost there,” she said, glancing at her tablet. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve developed a deep, spiritual connection to antacids,” I said. “Also, I haven’t seen my feet in three weeks.”
Jaymie snorted. Dr. Neves just smiled. Vitals. Fetal position. Heart rate. All of it looked good. The baby’s heartbeat filled the room—steady, confident, loud. Jaymie went quiet, staring at the monitor like he was memorizing it.
“She’s strong,” he said.
Dr. Neves smiled. “Very.”
Jay mie squeezed my hand. And I squeezed back, something warm building behind my ribs. Then came the talk about what was next—signs of labor, when to call, who to call. She handed me an info sheet that felt too thin for how much it claimed to explain.
Jaymie leaned in. “Is it common to go into labor early at this stage?”
“It can happen,” Dr. Neves said. “That’s why we recommend having your bag packed by week thirty-six. Especially if it’s your first.”
Jaymie nodded, thoughtful. Then he asked more questions—what counted as real contractions, how long we could wait before coming in, when the hospital would admit us.
He didn’t sound panicked, but there was a steel edge under the calm.
He was preparing. Like this was game tape and we were heading into overtime.
I wasn’t used to anyone preparing for me.
By the time the appointment wrapped, Dr. Neves had scheduled us for the following Thursday. “Same time,” she said. “Let’s check your progress next week.”
As we stepped outside, Jaymie’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen, thumbed it open, and stilled.
“Everything okay?” I asked, slipping my arm through his.
“The playoff schedule just dropped,” he said, voice low. “Game one’s next Thursday.”
My stomach dipped.
“ Same day as the appointment,” I said.
He blew out a slow breath. “I’ll talk to Eliza. Maybe I can fly out after your appointment.”
I grabbed his hand. “No. Don’t. You can't miss, it’s playoffs.” as selfishly as I wanted him to come with me, the team needed him and Logan on the line together more.
His jaw flexed. “You shouldn’t have to go alone.”
I shook my head. “It’s one appointment. It’s okay.”
He went quiet, thinking. Then—“What if Ava went with you?”
I blinked. “Ava?”
“She’d want to. She’s been checking in constantly. You’d have someone there with you. I’d feel better.”
I stared at him, surprised by the suggestion, but the longer I thought about it, the more it made sense. Ava had become one of the people I trusted, almost without realizing it. She knew when to talk, when to just sit with me, and she never made me feel like I was a burden.
“That’s actually a really good idea,” I said, pulling out my phone.
I sent the text before I could overthink it:
Any chance you’re free next Thursday afternoon? I’ve got a doc appointment and the guys h ave game one of the playoffs that same afternoon
The response came thirty seconds later.
Ava:
Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
You're the best! Seriously thank you!
I showed Jaymie the screen. He smiled, eyes soft. “Told you.”
And I believed him. For maybe the first time in my life, I really believed someone would catch me if I fell.