Chapter Five
Ellis
My alarm went off at six-fifteen, but I’m already awake, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling while the morning light shines through my windows.
Normally, my mornings are a tightly scheduled exercise in efficiency.
I wake up, check my email and social media before my feet even hit the floor, then I take Oshie on a potty stroll, and after that, I go straight to my home gym for forty-five minutes and work out on my Peloton while listening to my favorite podcast.
But today, I just lay here under my white duvet, listening to the sounds around me.
Oshie lifts her head from her fluffy bed in the corner. Her tail gives two lazy thumps before she lets out a squeaky yawn, stretching her front paws out in front of her.
“Good morning, my favorite girl,” I murmur, my voice still raspy from sleep.
Throwing back the duvet, I swing my legs over the mattress. Oshie immediately pads over, resting her chin on my knee, looking up at me with her pretty brown eyes. I lean down and scratch her behind her ears while she leans her full body into my leg.
Standing up, I catch my reflection in the standing mirror beside my closet doors. I pause, resting my hands on my hips and turning slowly sideways.
At almost twelve weeks, my clothes and tailored suits are becoming an exercise in wishful thinking. There’s a small bump on my lower stomach now, a permanent change to my silhouette that no amount of high-end fabric, good tailoring, or posture can hide.
I pull my pajama shirt tight against me, placing one hand gently over my stomach.
Twelve weeks ago, my entire existence was defined by my work, family, and friends.
And of course, having a good old-fashioned no-strings-attached hookup.
I’m mostly immune to personal distractions, mine and other people's.
But now, everything I do, every decision I make, will be anchored to the tiny heartbeat I heard a few weeks ago.
And as much as I try to maintain the boundaries, professional and otherwise, every choice I make is becoming strangely tied to a six-foot-six tight end who’s willing to drive from New Jersey just to make sure I don’t walk into the doctor’s office alone.
Brody.
Just thinking his name makes a strange flutter settle in my stomach. We talk or text every day. He sends me reels with items the baby will need. And he’s been sending me snacks to the office almost daily.
I turn away from the mirror and throw on a pair of sweats and grab my jacket by the door so I can take Oshie outside.
Fifteen minutes later—because it’s freezing outside— I take a quick shower, and then head to the closet and pull the doors open, already dreading the biggest hurdle of the day: finding an outfit that looks professional but comfortable.
I settle on a pair of dark charcoal pants with a stretchy waistband, a loose ivory blouse, and a tailored navy wool coat that hangs over my waist without clinging to my curves.
By eight o’clock, I’ve fed Oshie, given her fresh water, answered four urgent emails about an upcoming tennis endorsement deal, and prepped a mug of tea. Not having coffee isn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.
At eight-fifteen, my phone buzzes on the marble of the kitchen island.
Brody: Outside. Had to park half a block down though, so when you come down, let me know, and I’ll pull up. Hopefully the truck blocking the entrance is gone now. I can’t see from this angle.
I stare at my phone for a second, looking at the photo I took of him when we pulled away from the game. He couldn’t see me through the windows, so I snapped one quickly before we got too far away. He just looked too cute standing there watching me go.
My favorite tight end.
The words I casually and flirtatiously tossed out in the hallway flash in my mind, making my face feel flush instantly.
I’ve spent the past few days replaying that brief interaction while trying to work.
It’s silly, really. Brody is one of my highest-profile athletes.
Besides, he's a big flirt. It’s not really that big of a deal.
Except he’s also the man who texted me at one in the morning after a brutal game just to make sure I’d crossed the bridge safely, and whose care and generosity are dismantling my defenses. Or it could just be the hormones.
I take a sip of tea, grab my tote bag and coat, stroke Oshie’s head one last time, and go to the elevator. I text him right before I get in.
When the glass doors open onto the street, the cold air hits my face like a slap. I pull my collar higher around my neck and look down the block.
Brody’s truck is sitting near the curb, the exhaust letting out steam in the cold air.
Brody is leaning against the passenger side door, looking entirely too handsome for a freezing Tuesday morning.
He’s wearing a dark green sweater under an open black coat, jeans, and the same boots he was wearing after the game the other night.
I don’t really pay much attention to what men wear, to be honest, but Brody wears clothes really well.
He makes it easy to appreciate how they fit.
His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his long legs are crossed at the ankle.
As I walk toward him, his eyes lock onto mine. A slow crook of his mouth appears, giving me that effortless, charming smile that seems to appear only when it’s the two of us.
“Morning, Princess,” he says, his deep voice carrying over the sounds of traffic passing by.
Before I reach him, he steps forward, taking his hands out of his pockets and grabbing the handle. He opens the door, creating a pocket of space shielding me from the wind between his body and the truck.
“Morning, Brody,” I reply, stepping up onto the side runner.
As I climb inside, the scent of cedarwood, leather, fresh laundry, and just a hint of his cologne lingers. It’s comforting.
“You’re early,” I point out, setting my tote on the floor as he shuts the door with a thud.
He jogs around the front of the hood before sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Traffic on the bridge was surprisingly light for a Tuesday,” he explains before throwing the truck into drive and smoothly pulling into the street. “Plus, I know you like to be on time. I’ve learned that from spending time with you on shoots. You run a tight ship.”
“I do like to be on time,” I agree, pulling my seatbelt across my chest. “I just get anxious when I’m late.”
“I like to be on time myself,” he smiles. He glances over at me briefly, his eyes sweeping over my face. “How you feeling today? Have you had any morning sickness or anything?”
“Um, not really. I get the occasional nausea, but I’ve been trying to eat little snacks here and there, so I’m not trying to eat big meals all at once.
That seems to be when I get nauseous,” I tell him.
Brody must have turned on the seat warmer before I got in because the warmth is spreading up my back.
“I’m mostly just tired. And have a sense of dread every time I have to pick out clothes now. ”
Brody lets out a rumbling laugh. “Well, you look great, as always.”
“I’m wearing stretchy pants,” I counter, turning my head to look out the window. “So basically, I feel like I’m wearing loungewear to work.”
“Trust me,” he says, his voice dropping in the way I’m learning makes my pulse jump. “Nobody looks at you and thinks you’re wearing loungewear.”
The sincerity of his words hangs in the warm air between us. I turn to look at him. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, his large hands gripping the steering wheel. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.
There’s no subtext with Brody Vaughn. No hidden motives, no posturing like the men and athletes I deal with every day. When he says something, I really think he means it completely.
A shiver runs through me, not from the cold, but from the realization of how much I’m starting to rely on his presence to give me this kind of calm.
We pull up to the office building a few minutes later, and we luckily find a spot near the entrance. When we push through the lobby doors into the office, the receptionist gives us a professional smile.
“Good morning,” she says, checking her computer screen. “Ms. Renwick?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Chen will be seeing you today. She’s one of the other physicians in the office. We like to have you seen by both doctors in the event your doctor isn’t on call the day you deliver. She’s just finishing up a consultation, but she’ll be with you in just a few.”
“Got it. That makes sense,” I reply, unbuttoning my coat.
Brody stands behind me, taking off his coat and folding it over one arm. Even standing in this quiet room, his presence is… a lot. He’s big, yes, but it’s also the way he moves with precision and awareness that makes my heart thump a little faster.
“Ellis Renwick?”
I stand and walk over to the nurse waiting at the door.
“I’m just going to weigh you, and then we’ll go into the room where you’ll be seeing Dr. Chen,” she tells me.
“Okay, thank you,” I reply and hold my hand out behind me, searching for Brody’s fingers, which he takes immediately.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Chen comes in wearing navy scrubs. She holds a tablet in her hands, her eyes briefly drifting to Brody standing next to the exam table. A subtle spark lights her eyes before she smiles.
“Hi, Ellis. I’m Dr. Chen,” she says. “I’ll be examining you today. And you’re dad?”
“Morning, Doctor.” Brody just nods politely, not acknowledging it or correcting her.
“Go ahead and lie back, Ellis,” Dr. Chen says gently, stepping over to a computer terminal. “Dad, you can pull an armchair right next to her.”
He doesn’t move right away. He waits until I’m settled on the exam table first. Then he grabs the chair, pulling it close, resting his forearms on his thighs, his attention completely on me.
“Okay, so we’re at twelve weeks today. How are your physical symptoms since your last visit?”