As soon as the door swung shut, I turned to face him. “Are you sure? This is a big decision. Your season basically just started, you could—”
“I don’t care about the season,” he said, confusing me. He sucked in his top lip, thinking. “April 22nd.”
My mouth formed anoh. My due date seemed so far away that Ihadn’t even factored it in.
“And twins almost always come early.” His eyes swam with remorse, and he swore under his breath. “I’m sorry, Ali.”
I shook my head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry you’re hurting. But you don’t need to decide right now. We could go home and—”
“If I wait eight to twelve weeks and still need surgery, and then it takes me all that time to rehab, there’s a chance I won't even be able to hold our babies when they come.” His face looked pained. “I’m not taking that chance. No fucking way. I’ll do the surgery now and make sure I'm back in three months.”
“But you might be able to skip surgery if you just focus on rehabbing and—”
“I did rehab exercises all summer,” he cut me off, making my heart sink for him. “It’s been hurting for months,” he finally admitted. “I’ll do the surgery and make sure I’m in good shape by April. I’ll make it work, Ali. I promise. If I wait until the offseason, I’ll be getting surgery while the babies are little. I know myself. I’m not gonna do it. I’ll keep pushing it off and making it worse.”
I sucked in a wary breath. “Okay, so we’re doing this.”
He used his left hand to tuck a strand of my hair back and his lips twitched into a small smile.
“What?” I asked.
“We.” His eyes met mine and he gave a small, sheepish grin. “Kinda nice.”
I grabbed his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. “Yupp, we’re in this foxhole together,” I said with confidence.
His body fully relaxed for the first time since we were alone in the locker room together. “Thank you,” he breathed out before pressing a kiss to my temple.
30. ALI - BAD SHOULDERS AND EVEN WORSE KISSES
After the surgery, JP spent the first couple days in a fog-like state on the couch wearing comfy sweats and a bulky sling that pinned his arm and shoulder firmly in place.
He spent his time binging TV shows. I spent my time babying him, making sure he ate each meal—most were delivered since I was seriously lacking in cooking abilities—and making sure he took his meds at the correct times.
“Can you lay with me?” he asked on his third night home.
I was curled up in my corner of the couch reading a book, while he was splayed out on the rest of the sectional. While I desperately missed cuddling with him, I knew it was a bad idea. “I don't want to bump you.”
“Bump me, punch me, squash me, I don’t fucking care,” he said sleepily. “I miss your touch.” He held out his left arm and my heart melted the same way it did when he said that to me so many years ago.“Please?”
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll lay down for a little, but I’m not falling asleep here,” I warned.
He didn’t hide his grin.
After curling his good arm around me, he fell asleep in what felt like two minutes. I leaned over and studied his peaceful face. Whenwe first came back from the hospital, he had trouble sleeping, and even though he slept during the day, he still had dark bags under his eyes. His face still looked a bit pale, and he hadn’t shaved in a while, so his scruff was starting to turn into a beard, but he was still the most handsome guy I’d ever seen. I just hoped he wouldn’t wake up in pain tonight. I dropped a kiss on his forehead, and then I whispered the words I’d been thinking for days, but was too scared to say aloud: “I love you, Jameson.” I smoothed my thumb under his eye before pulling myself away.
__________
A full week after his surgery, JP woke up before me, looking way more lively and freshly showered. He’d trimmed his wild beard back into scruff, and he wore only sweatpants slung low on his hips while he stood over the stove in the kitchen.
He gave me a lopsided grin. “Eggs?” he asked, holding a spatula up with his left hand.
“Sure, you need some help?”
“Nah, I got it. I have never been happier to be left-handed.” He grinned. “I was gonna ask…” he trailed off while he plated the eggs. “You wanna go out tonight? We haven’t really been on a real date here in Chicago. Wanna go?”
I climbed up on one of his kitchen barstools. “Are you sure you’re up for that? You’re still on meds.”
“Nope, I'm not.” He grinned proudly. “Haven’t taken any today.”
