“Remember when I went radio silent for three days when we found out?”
I nod. “Longest seventy-two hours of my life.”
Her eyes shift down and she takes my hands in hers before she goes on. “One of the things I was wrestling with was that I felt like this baby was going to be a burden on your life. That we were going to be a burden.”
“Gabi. I?—”
“Please Maddox, let me finish.” She takes a deep breath before turning her eyes back to me. “You did nothing wrong then. And you’re doing nothing wrong now. I just hate that, every once in a while, something in my brain wants to try and tell me that this isn’t something you signed up for. That you’re goingto be giving up so much for me and the baby. And when I heard you say that you weren’t going to one of the biggest games of the season, all I could feel was like this was the first of many things I was going to be taking away from you. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want you to resent me. Ever.”
I pull my hand away but only to use my thumb to brush away the tear that slowly moves down her cheek. “I love that you think about those things. That you’re thinking about me. But you need to know that every natural disaster could hit Nashville simultaneously and I’d still find a way to be at the birth of our child.”
“Well that’s not safe.”
“Don’t care,” I say. “I had already talked to Coach McAvoy, which I should’ve told you about. He understands. He has two kids and he said he would’ve done the same thing I’m doing. If you’re in labor, and it’s time to get on the team plane, then I’m messaging them and saying that it can take off without me. I’m staying right here.”
“Can I make a request?”
“Maybe.”
“If I’m not in labor. If I’m feeling fine. No contractions. Not dilated. All signs pointing to "I'm fine,” will you please go to your game?”
I let out a breath, because I don’t like the sound of that, but she has a point. I can’t sit at home and do nothing while I wait for Tiny Tot to make his arrival. “I’ll say yes, but only if you agree to call me the second any of that changes.”
“Deal.” She cups my face, bringing me in for a slow, but too quick, kiss. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep you away. Or make decisions for you. I heard that and flew off the handle.”
“Thank you, but you don’t apologize,” I say. “Thoughts can conflict. We can want one thing while wanting another that can’t happen if the one exists. It’s being human, Gabrielle.”
She slightly smiles. “Wise words from a man who got carded for beer last week.”
“I’m wise beyond my years.” I move to my knees, wanting to be as close to her as possible. “I can see why you want to make sure I’m not missing out on my life. And I love you for that. But you’re my life. The baby is my life. And there are going to be many other football games. More than you’re going to be able to keep track of. But there’s only going to be one birth of our son, and I’m going to be there for it. Come hell or high water, wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
She leans forward, her forehead tapping mine. “I’m sorry I got so mad. Can I blame it on pregnancy hormones?”
I laugh as I run my thumb over her lip. “You can. But I’d also like to point out that this could be considered our first real fight.”
She smiles, her tears coming to a stop. “And since I started it, I’m guessing I need to make it up to you.”
“I’m not going to argue,” I say. “But one request.”
“Anything.”
“However you want to make it up to me, the jersey stays on.”
CHAPTER 31
GABI
“And you’re sure you don’t have any pains? Any symptoms? The coaches know I’m a phone call away from not going.”
I love this man with every fiber of my being. But if we need to go over this one more time I swear it’s going to be much longer than six weeks postpartum before we have sex again.
“For the hundredth time today Maddox, I’m fine,” I say, as I bounce on my medicine ball—also known as the most comfortable piece of furniture in the house. “You were with me at the doctor’s the other day and I’m barely dilated. Yes, I’m uncomfortable, but I’m thirty-seven weeks pregnant. That’s to be expected.”
“But it’s really close and I’m out on the West Coast,” he says as he throws his toiletries into his travel suitcase. “The doctor even said we are in the window. The window Gabi!”
“She did,” I say as I rub a spot on my stomach that Tiny Tot has been pushing against all day. “But what else did she say?”
He pretends to think about it for a second. And I know he’s pretending because he’s not making eye contact with me while also looking like how I imagine our son will look when he triesto convince me that the dog we’re supposedly getting named Sir Barkley ate his homework.
