“Maddox…”
I don’t get the customary “Gabrielle.” I get slumped shoulders. “She said that she’ll contribute to his college fund if you have him before Monday.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Now come here.”
He throws in a few pairs of socks before doing as I ask. He leans down so he’s eye level with me, which is perfect, because that’s where I need him to bring him in for a kiss.
“I love you.”
He lets out a breath and kisses me one more time. “I love you too.”
After our fight about Maddox traveling to away games—a fight I fully admit picking because I got scared in the moment—we had a long talk about logistics and his football schedule with our doctor. That was after I said I was sorry in the form of a blow job and sex in his jersey, which honestly was fair for the way I reacted.
Luckily, we had an appointment the next day, so Maddox talked to our doctor about his wanting to be there for the birth. And because she’s a huge Fury fan, and a kick ass doctor, she looked at the baby’s measurements, and mine, before saying that we would be able to safely induce labor the Monday before the Miami game. That way, he’d be with me during an off day and he’d be fine to rejoin his team for Thursday’s practice. And then, the week after is their bye, which means he has a whole seven days at home helping to get me settled in. It’s the best situation for two people who unknowingly decided to have a baby in the middle of football season.
Now, the little guy—still nameless—needs to hang on until then.
Two more weeks. Give us two more weeks.
“I need to go on record saying that I fucking hate our schedule for sending us to fucking Los Angeles this weekend,” he says. “Could they have picked a farther game?”
“Technically yes,” I say. “You could be going to Berlin. Or London.”
“Thank fuck I’m not,” he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead before leaning down to kiss the top of my stomach. Something he now does every time before he leaves for anything. “Now, what are you going to do if you feel labor pains?”
“I’m not calling you because of a little pain,” I say. “We went over this.”
“Fine. But! What are you going to do if you’re going into labor?”
I know I’ve also gone over this with him a hundred times, but I can see the stress in his eyes for having to leave for a West Coast game. The least I can do is set him at ease before he gets on the plane.
“I’m going to call you first in case you happen to have your phone. Then when you don’t answer, because you probably won’t, I’m going to call social media extraordinaire Tatum, who always has her phone on her. If Tatum doesn’t answer, the next call is equipment manager Keith. If he doesn’t answer, then I call Coach McAvoy’s wife, Sadie, who has press credentials and will literally walk down onto the field and pull you away.”
“Now that’s what I call a plan!” Maddox says, clapping his hands like he’s leaving the huddle.
“Question? Why am I not calling Sadie first? It sounds like she’s a get shit done kind of woman.”
“She is,” Maddox says as he zips up his suitcase. “But Coach says she has to be the last resort because the media will realize something is up when she pulls me off the field in the middle of the game, and they’ll be outside the hospital before Tiny Tot is even out.”
I never thought of that. “Okay. So you, then Tatum, then Keith, then Sadie.”
Maddox lifts his suitcase off our bed and comes back over to me, only this time he kneels down with a more serious look on his handsome face.
“I love you,” he says before kissing my stomach. When he stands to come eye level with me, my heart nearly bursts from the pure adoration I see in his eyes. “And I love you, so much.”
He brings me in for a kiss, this one much longer than the one from a few minutes ago.
“I love you too,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Please call me when you land.”
“I will,” he says as he helps me up off the ball. “And text me every hour please?”
I laugh. “Every hour?”
“Yes, every hour. I want updates. How you’re feeling, if anything is bothering you. If you need me to order you food. Doesn’t matter.”
“You know Shelby is coming to stay with me for the weekend, right?”
“While I’m glad she is, I still need to see the name ‘Future Wife’ pop up on my screen every hour on the hour.”
