“He signed it.”
The relief that washes over him is immediate and unguarded. He pulls me into his arms, his forehead dropping against mine like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
“Thank God,” he murmurs. “One less thing we have toworry about.” He gives me a gentle peck on the lips. We don’t say Brooks’s name again. We don’t need to.
“I’ve been thinking,” Matt says after a moment, brushing his thumb over his lips. “You could move in here. If you want. No pressure.”
The words hit deeper than he knows. “Are you serious?”
“Your roommates are never home. Professional cheerleaders must travel a lot, and I just want you here with me,” he rambles, trying to throw out as many reasons as possible.
“I need to think about it,” I say softly. “Is that okay? It’s not just me anymore, and I…”
He nods, even though I see the hope flicker and retreat behind his eyes. “You need to think about it. I get that.”
He makes me a snack plate of apples, cheese, deviled eggs, and pickles. And like everything else, my life changes in an instant. I take a bite of the deviled egg and can’t keep it down. I run to the sink and retch. “Were those eggs old?” I ask when I finally catch my breath.
Matt opens the fridge and checks the date. “No, they don’t expire for two weeks.” He rips off a paper towel, wets it, and wipes my mouth. “I’ll start a hot shower for you.”
“Okay, but I’m babysitting Witley today, so I don’t have much time.”
“I’m heading to practice after I get the shower going.” He leans down, staying far away from my mouth, and kisses my neck.
Joking, I say, “A real man kisses his girl after she throws up.”
“I guess I’m fictional then, because there will be no kissing with throw-up breath.”
I chuckle to myself, thinking about how lucky I am to have this man by my side.
When I get to Sutton’s, Witley is curled against her chest—tiny and warm, her little fingers twitching and her legs drawn up to her chest while she sleeps. Sutton looks tired but peaceful, a laptop open on the arm of the couch, her world somehow balancing between football operations and motherhood.
“I have food,” I announce.
Sutton smiles. “You are officially my favorite person. Texas twinkies?”
I shoot her a look. “Those are for special occasions.”
“This is special. Seeing my sister-in-law.”
“Next time, I’ll order ahead.” I take Witley carefully, her weight barely more than a breath in my arms. Holding her feels different now—like my body recognizes something my mind is still trying to catch up to.
“How are you feeling?” Sutton asks gently. “Really.”
I hesitate, then shrug. “Some days I feel like I can do this. Some days I wake up terrified.”
“That’s motherhood,” she says softly. “Even after the baby gets here.”
I swallow. “I’ve been reading everything I can, and they make it sound so rigid. I don’t remember my mom being scheduled. I made a friend, Clara. She works at the library where I’ve been researching.”
“From what I understand, your mom didn’t have the luxury of being strict with routines. With you being so much younger than J.D. and Greyson, she had to take you everywhere. She also didn’t have every single bit of information at her fingertips. Research first—then decide what works for you. You don’t have to do what Birdie or I do. You are the mom of your baby, and what you say goes.”
“It’s all so much. Vaccinations or not. All or some. Allbut spread out. Breastfeed or formula. Don’t leave them in a seat once they can sit up for longer than fifteen minutes.”
Sutton stops me. “That’s where I draw the line. We’re mothers, but we are also career women, and if we need thirty minutes to get a presentation done or, in your case, an interview edited, sit them in the damn seat or swing or whatever. You do what feels right for you.”
Smiling, I say, “Thank you. I’m so lucky to have you and Birdie.” I get choked up looking at Witley and thinking about what happened to my mom during childbirth.
It’s as if she knows what I’m thinking, and she rubs my back. “You’ll be okay. This baby will be healthy and loved by a big, messy, loving family.”
