One
ADAM
“Um…”
Naomi never said um. Ever. That got my attention, which I’d have said was already on high alert thanks to her difficult pregnancy.
Big mistake.
It was chilly—for Houston, anyway, and I had on a long-sleeve thermal Henley that kept me warm enough now that the wind had died down.
Naomi, my queen of fashion, wore an orange jumpsuit that showed off her sleek little belly and toned ass.
The top formed a vee in that beautiful hollow between her breasts, which were at least a full cup size bigger than they had been mere months ago.
Naomi looked smashing pregnant. Her dark hair was thicker and softer, and I loved running my hands through it…
when I wasn’t rubbing her basketball of a belly.
Unfortunately, she had felt nowhere near as good as she looked, and I’d hated watching her struggle through morning sickness and other issues, some of which I couldn’t remember the names of, just that they were scary.
At least we were in Cormac’s driveway, which was lined with vehicles.
HIs jewel-green grass hosted pumpkins and other Halloween decor while the large oak trees that towered over the sidewalk and dripped with yellow fairy lights.
Cheery bass thumped through the windows and laughter spilled out, making me smile.
But Naomi quit walking. In fact, she stood frozen, gawping at her baby bump.
“I think my water broke…” Naomi’s large, rounded eyes met mine. “Or…or…I peed myself.”
She whispered the last sentence, shame sizzling up her cheeks and turning them a dark pink.
I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say in response.
“You wouldn’t pee yourself.” That seemed safe. Or would have been safe if Naomi wasn’t pregnant. I’d learned that pregnancy caused the body to do weird, weird shit.
“Well, it’s too early for my water to break.” Panic seeped into her tone. Her breath grew more rapid and ragged, and her eyes rounded, showing too much white.
Naomi’s burgeoning panic meant I had to remain calm, the voice of reason. But I was neither calm nor reasonable. I never was with Naomi. I loved my woman too hard…and too much. No complaints though because the last eight years had been amazing.
“Right,” I said, drawing out the word as I stared at the growing puddle around Naomi’s formerly cute, strappy little sandals. I swallowed hard, balling my fist, only to open it wide and shake my fingers.
“It’s too soon, Adam.”
She was right; it was too soon for labor. We were only in week thirty-five. She was supposed to carry the baby at least another month—that’s what her obstetrician said when we saw her yesterday.
I didn’t know what to do.
Neither one of us were the parenting pros that Ida Jane or Paloma, even Coach and Luka Stol, turned out to be. We were novices, and I hated to admit this tiny kid scared the spit out of my mouth.
My wife was a doer, not a researcher; her anxiety eased when she was busy, so forcing her body—and mind—to slow down, especially now when so much was out of her control, hadn’t been great for her overall health.
“More just gushed out,” Naomi said unnecessarily. We watched it add to the small puddle at her feet. “Um…that’s a lot of liquid.” She looked up at me, her head tilted, eyes narrowed, as if questioning me. “That’s…is that amniotic fluid?”
I sucked at pop quizzes. I wasn’t just a poor test taker; such sudden questions freaked me out. This was no exception.
“I don’t know! How would I know? It’s not normal…Is it?” I asked, lightheaded. “Cuz, like you said, it’s early for, um, fluids and labor and…and stuff…”
Naomi straightened her spine and tilted up her chin. “I am not sure what’s leaking from my vagina, Adam, because I haven’t ever done this before. But it’s not right, and its sticky, and…and…and I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
But fear wouldn’t change this circumstance. Hell, I’d played goalie in the NHL for nearly two decades. If I could handle hundred-mile an hour pucks and large bodies on skates zooming toward me, I could handle labor. Right?
At my declaration, Naomi burst into tears. These were the big, body-shaking sobs that overwhelmed my ability to soothe her. Watching Naomi struggle tore me up.
When I hurt, I hit the puck with my hockey stick, punched a bag…or another player. But when Naomi hurt, I just had to absorb her pain as best as I could, and I hated that I couldn’t beat it into submission.
I gripped her hand and pulled her toward me. No, I didn’t relish the idea of being coated in weird fluids, but Naomi’s desperation and despondence upset me much more. And, anyway, I’d worn my blood and other players’ blood before. This was…stickier, and somehow, both warm and chilled.
I bit back a gag as I held my sobbing wife.
She wasn’t crying because her body had continued to struggle to acclimate to the baby inside her, though that was part of it.
Naomi couldn’t attend my games, thanks to the doctor-ordered rest requirements, and she couldn’t fuck me silly like she used to…
before we learned just how hard on her this pregnancy would be.
All that frustration and disappointment, fear and worry had culminated this past week when a former hookup—who used to live in a different state—sidled up to me as I’d been about to walk into the press conference to discuss the rookie goalie who’d taken over my position.
I’d transitioned to strength training and assistance goalkeeper coach this year, a position I enjoyed, though I missed the game.
The timing was good because I had a more consistent nine-to-five and didn’t have to travel with the team, one of the reasons Naomi and I had put off parenting.
The other was because we weren’t sure we wanted kids.
But here we were. And Naomi was leaking everywhere, as upset about the woman who’d suggested we re-start our short-lived affair “since your fat wife can’t give you any” as she was about giving birth.
Because Naomi’s sister, Mimi, had been standing next to me at the time, she gladly put the woman in her place with sharp words.
Unfortunately, a camera man had caught the exchange on video, and it got splashed on the internet.
I was partially to blame for Naomi’s embarrassment over the incident, and it pissed me off that the woman had thought she could get between my wife and me.
What type of person wrecked a marriage? What was wrong with people?
Okay, not the time for those thoughts.
“Let’s go to the door,” I said.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ll know I’ve been crying.”
“Yeah…” I didn’t know where this train of thought was headed.
“And I look like I wet myself.”
I stared at her. She stared back, her eyes still damp.
“Okay…” More fluid trickled onto my shoe.
Luka Stol, who we all called Stolly, one of the Wildcatter’s first line wingers, and newest franchise player, waxed poetic about how pregnancy was a miracle, and it was, but not in the way he described it: a communion of souls or some weird, woo-woo shit.
No, it was a miracle a woman survived the process and let her partner touch her again.
Because, much as I’d looked for—and started fights—in my early days in the league, I’d done everything in my power to ensure the same opponent never sucker-punched me twice.
However, society expected my wife to desire intimacy with me despite the months of feeling awful, labor, and other challenges we had not yet experienced.
I was too smart to but that waterfront property in Arizona.
“I need to go home,” Naomi stated, turning back toward our house.
“That doesn’t seem like the answer.” I needed a plan. I should call…someone. Coach came to mind; more than likely, he was in Cormac’s house. All we had to do was reach the door.
She clutched my shirt, burying her face in the folds. “I’m not ready. I can’t do this. Don’t make me do this.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Shh, I’m right here.” My words were unhelpful. I was unhelpful. I needed a fucking plan.
Nope, I couldn’t come up with one, which was unlike me. I was…hell…I was in shock.
That wasn’t good.
Dammit, this scenario was my fault. Naomi shouldn’t have walked here. I shouldn’t have let her out of bed. I sure as shit should never have knocked her up.
The positive pregnancy test caught us off guard, and, all these months later, we still weren’t ready. I swallowed back the fears bubbling up through my chest and eating at my brain because I had to get us off the street.
“We’re going to ring the bell—” I began.
“Millie and Keelie were superwomen when they had their babies. Keelie did a home birth.”
I wasn’t sure what that statement had to do with us getting to the door, but I waited. Naomi puffed out her cheeks and blew a breath. “I don’t want a home birth.”
“No home birth.”
Keelie’s decision was unexpected, especially because Cormac was so down-to-earth about stuff.
We lived in a city with world class medical care and Cormac hadn’t used their services, instead supporting Keelie’s decision to have just some random nurse…
with like a million credentials and a doctor on speed dial…
ease their baby into the world into a tub of warm water mixed with pleasant and soothing oils.
I’d admit it, but only to myself: the way Cormac had described the home birth caused me to dream of that for Naomi and me. But not now that we were here and our family-making scenario had already gone sideways.
Reality crashed around me as I realized how unprepared for a baby we were.
“You don’t have to do a home birth, sweetheart. But if I don’t get you to the door to get a ride…Well, that could be worse than a home birth, right?”
“We go to the door,” Naomi said.
I rubbed my thumbs under her eyes and down her cheeks, catching her mascara streaks and wetness. Thankfully, my Henley was already black, so no one would notice or care if Naomi’s makeup was on it.
Her eyes went wide, and her mouth slackened as she gripped my shirt so tightly that her knuckles pressed against my Adam’s apple. “What…” I choked out.
“This has to be a contraction,” she groaned. “Oh, my…” Her knees sagged, and I caught her, swinging her up into my arms. My pulse rate was higher than when Coach made us do fifty sprints.
I gritted my teeth in frustrated anguish, wanting nothing more than to give Naomi her wish as I strode toward the front door, my gaze trained on the huge wreath spouting different apples and colored leaves.
It took me longer than I’d like, but I held my world’s most precious cargo.
No way anything was happening to my woman on my watch.
My phone rang, but it was in the pocket of my jeans, and I wasn’t risking dropping Naomi. I headed toward the door, growing increasingly worried as Naomi stayed quiet.
Quiet and Naomi didn’t go well together. All I knew for sure was that I could practically feel Naomi thinking something negative about herself or us, and I hated both those trains of thought.
We were so fucking happy together. Hell, I’d been looking forward to my retirement this year so I could spend more time spoiling my woman…preferably in bed. Or on the dining table…in the pool…our shower…I’d had an ever-growing list of places I wanted to touch, taste, and love Naomi.
But somewhere in the last few months, everything changed. Days and weeks of sickness and stress and anxiety were way more difficult even than when I initially wooed Naomi, getting her to realize I wasn’t the piece-of-shit womanizer she’d read about online in all those tacky gossip pages.
The front door opened, and Cormac shoved his head out, phone to his ear.
“Why are you guys standing out here?” Cormac’s frown cleared as he saw me, until he realized Naomi was crying again, and I had to look like a man about to be mauled by a grizzly.
“Erm…” Cormac backed away. Smart man. I wanted to do the same. He wore a Prince Charming getup from Snow White. The fucker. He hadn’t said this was a costume party.
“Her water broke.” My voice cracked. “And it’s too soon.”
Cormac nodded. His crown slipped, and he re-situated it as he said, “Bring her into the living room—”
“Naomi!” Keelie bounced up to us, a huge smile on her pretty face.
She was Snow White, of course. Her light hair was now midnight black and her lips were a red Naomi would have loved.
Her big gown swished around her. Ida Jane, now Barbie, and Maxim, in a Ken costume from that Mojo Dojo Casa House scene, waved as they followed Keelie.
“I’m having another contraction,” Naomi yelled as she bowed in my arms.
Naomi
My body seized again, and I gushed, covering both Adam and me…and Cormac’s beautiful entry floor is fluids.
“Call an ambulance,” Adam demanded. Keelie’s joyful expression slid away, replaced by worry. She pulled out her phone as did as Adam asked, probably because worry dripped from his words and his arms shook. But his expression was soothing when he looked at me.
“Hey, sweetheart…hey. Look at me. I got you. You hear me? I got you, Naomi,” he crooned. His voice softened specifically for me. This version of Adam was solely mine. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not during the ambulance ride. Neither at the hospital nor when you come home.
He didn’t mention our baby…because neither of us knew what would happen to me or to the child.
Despite the uncertainty, Adam knew just how to calm me down. My tensed muscles eased, and I gulped a breath I needed. Some of the lightheadedness faded. His face became sharper, and my anxiety eased…a little.
“Yeah.” I puffed out a breath. “I hear you. You love me and you’re not going anywhere.”
This promise was our thing. What he told me before each practice and each game. See, when you’d come from an emotional landmine history like mine, you needed reassurance. Too much reassurance. Without Adam’s patience, we wouldn’t have made it.
But he was, and we had, and now we were having a baby.
Another contraction seized through me. That was so close to the last one…less than two minutes, and I’d wanted to be at the hospital when my contractions were two minutes apart.
Nothing was going according to my expectations.
The music from Keelie’s sound system seemed to warp around my ears like some strange horror movie trick.
“You’re welcome to wait for the ambulance,” a soft, maternal voice said. “But it may take too long. She’s in precipitous labor.”
“What the fuck is pre-sip…what?” Adam glared. “How do I stop it?”
“You don’t.” She sounded like a nana should with her lovely eyes, lines eyes and long hair streaked more white than dark. I liked that voice. I turned toward it, searching out the person attached to it, knowing that I’d like her.
“Naomi, this is Serenity Chavez,” Keelie said, her phone still in her hand. “She’s my midwife.”
“Nice to…” Another contraction hit on the wave of the last. “Meet you!” I screamed.
Cormac and Keelie exchanged looks with Serenity. “Definitely need the hospital,” they all exclaimed.