“How much longer until you find out the sex?” Greyson asks.
“Soon. Two weeks.”
Sutton calls Greyson, so he waves goodbye, and Matt and I both take a deep breath.
“The furniture looks amazing. You’re going to be a great father,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Hope so.”
“Matt,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What did they say at dialysis today?” I ask.
“I told you. They’re sending the labs to Dr. Knupp.”
His words cut through me, razor-sharp, and something inside me snaps. The room feels too bright. Too quiet. My skin prickles like I’ve just walked into cold water. I don’t know exactly what I’m afraid of yet—but I know it’s coming.
“Call him,” I say.
Matt looks at me, startled. “Noelle?—”
“Call. Him. Now.”
“It’s after hours.”
“You moved here for Dr. Knupp. Call him. If he thinks it’s important enough, he’ll answer.”
My voice shakes, and I hate that it does. My heart is pounding so hard it’s stealing the air from my lungs. Every instinct I have is screaming that something is wrong—so wrong that pretending everything is fine feels like lying to myself.
I think about the way he’s been sleeping through alarms. About how he barely eats, always saying he ate at the stadium. About the blank look on his face when Greyson mentioned that play.
Please don’t let me be right.
Please don’t let me be right.
“Call him,” I whisper again, softer now, almost pleading. “I need to hear it from someone who isn’t you.”
He hesitates, pain flashing in his eyes—not fear, but the kind of resignation that terrifies me most. Then he pulls out his phone and walks into the nursery, as if he doesn’t want me to hear what’s coming.
And somehow, that hurts even more.
Almost half an hour later, he grabs my hands and delivers the news.
THIRTY-FIVE
MATT
Greyson leans against the doorframe of my office, arms crossed, his eyes sharp in that way that means he’s trying to be casual and failing.
“Dad called,” he says. “He’s having a family dinner tonight.”
I don’t look up from the film I’m rewinding. “Pass.”
“He says since we’ve got a Saturday game and then a Thursday game next week, he won’t see anyone for a while,” Greyson adds. “Wants to catch up. See Noelle. Henley. Witley.” He sighs into a laugh. “You know how he is. Big softie when it comes to the girls.”
“Sorry, designing plays to make you look good on the field,” I say. “Your dad’s a coach, so he’ll understand why I’m not there.” Can’t he see I’m in no mood or condition to be around his family? Being judged about how sick I am. That I’m worthless to Noelle. I know they probably don’t feel that way, but it’s how I feel.
