Rory was holding a plate piled high with finger foods. Mini sliders. Pretzel bites. Something cheesy and fried that normally would’ve been my weakness.
“Want something?” she offered cheerfully.
The smell hit me. Heat rushed up my neck, my mouth flooding as bile crept higher. I swallowed once. Then again. Hard this time, hoping to stop myself from puking.
“Oh,” Marissa breathed, her eyes widening. “Hey. Sit.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, even though my vision pulsed faintly at the edges. “I just need a second.”
Marissa was already moving, all gentle efficiency. She guided me back onto the couch and pressed a cool glass of ginger ale into my hand. “Sip. Small ones.”
I did, breathing carefully through my nose.
The nausea eased just enough that I didn’t embarrass myself in front of half the New York Nighthawks’ WAG circle.
Marissa watched me for another beat, then glanced down—and smiled knowingly as she reached out and patted her very round belly. “Don’t panic. That green look hits fast. At least you’re probably only dealing with one baby instead of two.”
I blinked.
She laughed softly. “Trust me. Twins are a whole lot harder to wrap your head around.”
The room faded out for a second as my brain kicked into overdrive.
My period was late.
Really late.
And I hadn’t even noticed because I’d been so darn busy.
But Micah and I hadn’t used condoms. Not once. It had never even crossed my mind to worry about what that meant for the long-term. The risks we were taking.
My hand drifted to my stomach without me consciously deciding to move it.
“Oh my,” I whispered.
Marissa’s smile softened when she noticed. She didn’t say anything else. Just squeezed my knee like she understood exactly what was happening inside my head.
The noise from the stadium surged as the teams lined up on the field. Cheers thundered around us, vibrating through the glass.
Micah was down there, playing his heart out.
And now I had something else to tell him when the game was over.
Something big. Terrifying. And wonderful.
I leaned back against the couch, one hand resting on my still-flat belly as I watched the field, my heart racing for a whole new reason. Counting down the minutes until I’d see him again.
16
MICAH
By the time we made it home from the stadium, the adrenaline was still working its way through my system. I’d taken hits all night—my ribs were sore, my ankle was tight, and my neck was stiff. But nothing got to me, not really. The whole game, I knew she was up there. Cheering for me, wearing my name, and sitting with the other women, who knew exactly what it meant to belong to someone like me.
Now, I was the one watching. Leaning against the kitchen doorway, still in my dress pants and button-down shirt—the dress code Lennox insisted on when arriving or leaving the stadium on game days. I hadn’t even put away my gear bag; it was still by the door. My whole focus was on the woman in front of me.
She was barefoot, her hair down in soft waves, wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts and one of my long-sleeved shirts that hit mid-thigh. The hem fluttered as she moved, her hips swaying while she pulled something out of the fridge.
“I made you something.” She glanced back at me with that little smile that did dangerous things to my chest.
