71. Jordan
Chapter Seventy-One
Jordan
I’d never been so afraid in my whole life.
The ride from the stadium to the hospital was a blur—sirens from the police escort, flashing lights, Kate gripping my hand like she was trying to keep the world from pulling her under.
Her fingernails dug into my skin. She was pale, clammy, trying to stay calm, but I knew that look in her eyes.
She was terrified. It mirrored everything I was feeling.
I couldn’t let her see that, though. Not now.
Her water broke in the car. One moment she was hunched forward, bracing through another contraction, knuckles white against the seatbelt, and the next she gasped, panicked, and turned to me with wide, terrified eyes. For a second, the world narrowed to just that look.
Fear surged through me, hot and blinding.
My instinct was to panic, too. But I couldn’t.
Not when she needed me so much at that moment.
So I gripped her hand tighter, pulled her closer as best I could, and pressed a frantic kiss to her temple.
My voice came out rough. “It’s okay, Katie.
You’re okay. I’ve got you,” I said, even if my heart was hammering like it might give out at any second.
We weren’t supposed to be here yet. Not for another few weeks.
Not in this country, not like this, not with her body shaking beside me and our son already forcing his way into the world.
None of it was how I’d pictured it. But it didn’t matter anymore.
Because ready or not, he was coming. And I had to be the anchor she could cling to when everything else was breaking open.
The plan didn’t matter anymore. The season didn’t matter. The win didn’t matter. None of it. Only her, our son, the way she was shaking beside me and the sheer, suffocating need to make sure they both made it through this okay.
When we reached the hospital, everything blurred into white lights and hushed Italian voices.
The nurses moved quickly, guiding us through a quiet private wing, and thank God, thank God, a few of them spoke English.
One of them, a nurse with kind eyes and a calm voice, looked me in the eye as they wheeled Kate into the suite and said, “Pre-term, but stable.”
I latched onto that word like it could save me.
Stable.
Kate was tethered to a mess of wires and monitors, lines snaking from her arms and across her stomach, spilling over the bed like she’d been dropped in the middle of a war zone.
The steady beeps and flashing numbers made it feel more brutal than safe.
My stomach turned when they pinned her arm down mid-contraction and drove an IV into the crook of her elbow.
They told me it was precautionary. Something about infection risk. The words rattled around, but didn’t process. Precautionary didn’t look like that, didn’t look like her flinching and gasping while strangers held her down. To me, it looked cruel.
I wanted to tear the wires off, shove them away, tell them she wasn’t just a body to work on. She was Kate. My Kate.
But I couldn’t move. My brain was scrambling to catch up, and all I could do was stand there with my fists clenched, locked on her.
Her face was pale, damp with sweat, hair plastered to her forehead from the dampness. She looked so small, so vulnerable, it knocked the breath out of me. She was the strongest person I knew, and still, I’d never seen her look more breakable.
Then she looked up at me with wide eyes, lip trembling and whispered, “Jordan… I’m scared.”
And just like that, I was at her side.
I brushed the damp hair back from her face and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Me too,” I whispered. “But you’ve got this, okay? You’re always there in the stands telling me that. Now it’s my turn.”
My voice broke a little but I didn’t care.
“I’m here for you, Kate. I’m not going anywhere.”
Another contraction ripped through her, stealing the air straight from her lungs. They were coming one after the other now, no pause, no mercy, just wave after brutal wave. The midwife said there was no time for an epidural, no more interventions, no escape routes. Just her.
She’d already hurled the gas and air across the room, said it made her dizzy and useless. So she was doing it on her own. And Christ, I’d never witnessed anything like it.
Her fingers clamped around mine, bone-crushing, as the contraction hit full force. But she didn’t scream. Not once.
Instead, she bent into the pain, groaned through gritted teeth, low and guttural, a sound that shook me right to the core. Like she was forcing the world open with sheer, bloody will.
And in that moment, watching her fight, watching her endure, she was fucking incredible.
“You’re doing it. You’re doing so good,” I whispered feeling useless, with my forehead against hers, my hand rubbing at her lower back like she’d asked. “Just breathe. Breathe through it, that’s it. We’re gonna meet him soon, babe.”
As it passed again, her body fell limp against me as tears fell down her cheeks. “It’s too soon…” she rasped.
No,” I said softly but firmly. “Not for him. He’s ready. And so are you.”
I didn’t know how long we were in there.
Time didn’t exist anymore. Just the rise and fall of her pain, the grip of her hand in mine, the sounds of the monitor beeping steadily beside us.
She was exhausted. I could see her body start to give, her hands trembling, her voice weaker with every contraction. But I wouldn’t let her fall.
“You’re so strong,” I kept whispering, holding her hand to my chest. “Come on, babe. You can do this. Just a little more. I’ve got you.”
When it was time to push, she was shaking.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
I leaned in close, putting my forehead to hers. “Yes, you can. You are. I see you doing it. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, Kate. You’re almost there. Just one more. One more for him.”
The next sound she made almost broke me in two. She let out a deep, broken sob as she bore down one more time.
And then…
A sound I would never forget. His first cry.
Our son’s cry. It cut through the room like a lightning bolt. It was loud and completely real. I swear I felt the world start spinning slower in that moment. Like time was holding its breath.
A nurse caught him, moved quickly, wrapped him in a towel, then brought him straight to her chest. Kate was sobbing now, full body shakes, one trembling hand reaching for him. He had a thick mop of dark hair just like mine. I stared at him, stunned. Utterly done in.
Kate sobbed, one hand trembling as she touched his back. “He’s okay?” she gasped, looking at the nurse, at me, at anyone who could confirm it.
“He’s perfect,” I choked. “He’s perfect, Kate.”
My legs nearly gave out. I had to sit on the bed. I didn’t even realise I was crying until I felt the tears on my neck. I kissed her forehead, then the baby’s. His tiny fingers curled against her skin. He was here. He was actually real.
We didn’t say much in those first moments. We couldn’t. There weren’t words big enough. Just her breath, ragged and full of love. Just my hand over hers, over his little back, feeling the heat and the weight of the whole world in something so impossibly small.
As I took him in, he tried to open his little eyes. He blinked, just once, and that was it. I was completely gone for him. I fell in love with them both over and over again. My family. The world could have ended outside that door, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Kate’s voice was faint, breaking on the edges. “He’s perfect.”
I looked at her, barely holding it together. “So are you.”
Her eyes filled again. She reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze.
I pressed my forehead to hers, my heart splitting wide open. “You did it, Katie. You’re…you’re fucking magic.”