I think she knows she is and just isn’t ready to admit it to herself. And no one understands that better than me… so I let it slide.
The machine hums softly, cleaning me out, buying me time I don’t know how to spend. Do I retire? Step back before I become a liability—on the field, in her life? Or do I do what I’ve always done when the clock’s running out?
Go down throwing the Hail Mary pass.
The nurse interrupts my thoughts after four hours, and as she unhooks me, she says, “See ya in a couple of days.”Her voice is light and her smile is bright. She has her whole life in front of her, just like Noelle.
I glance at my phone resting on the tray beside me. No new messages. No missed calls.
Good.
Or maybe not.
When I drive away, I try to figure out how the hell a man who set firm dating rules has fallen for a girl he shouldn’t. A girl that needs a man to be there for her, not someone she feels the need to take care of.
The problem?
I’d do it again without hesitation. In case I don’t go to heaven, I’ll have experienced it firsthand with Noelle.
TWENTY-FOUR
NOELLE
The pregnancy test sits in my hand like it’s judging me.
It’s small. The drugstore is too quiet. The box is too capable of changing everything.
Acting as if it’s any other errand, I buy it like I would milk, bread, or tampons. Oh, Lord, if I’m pregnant, I won’t be buying any of those. The cashier doesn’t look twice at me, and I’m grateful. I don’t want witnesses to this moment where I feel like a teenager instead of a grown woman with a career.
At home, the bathroom is bright as I tear open the box and read the instructions. I’m looking for one line. Not pregnant. I follow the directions, which are self-explanatory, but I feel like they’re schematics for a flying car. All the numbers with lines point to the cap, to the tip, to the little window that will reveal my fate. After peeing on the stick, I lay it on the lip of the tub, then perch myself on the edge. Sitting there with my elbows on my knees, hands covering my eyes, my breathing is shallow, as if I can avoid the truth by not fully inhaling.
My knee bounces rapidly until the alarm on my phone rings out, and I look.
Two lines. I’m pregnant.
The word doesn’t knock the air out of me. It settles instead. Heavy. Real. Permanent. And the first person I think to call is Matt.
Of course, it is. Because I trust him.
Why not call Brooks? It’s his child.
Last night flashes through me without warning.
“You like it this way,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. Tell me what feels good.”
The memory twists, sharp and warm all at once. The care. The patience. The way he made me feel chosen.
I don’t text him. I don’t call. I just go.
Practice is winding down when I get to the facility, the sounds of football echoing across the field—whistles, shouts, collisions. Normal life continues while mine fractures.
Matt looks exhausted. Not just tired—drained. His shoulders are tight, his movements clipped, like he’s holding himself together by sheer will.
Do I give him space? No. Because I’m freaking out. So, I follow behind him at a safe distance to his office, where I’ve never been before. I’ve been in J.D.’s office, Sutton’s, and even the quarterback film room, but never Matt’s.
As I tap two knuckles on the door, he snaps, “What are you doing here?”
The edge in his voice makes my stomach drop.This isn’t how I imagined this.
