Page 85 of The Game Plan
Peach: WIIIIINNNNN!!!! I’m screaming in our living room and making Jellybean wish she had some headphones, but I’m so damn proud of you!
Don’t make my girl deaf. She’s going to need to be able to listen for game calls.
Peach: Baby girl is not going to be playing football. I thought we’ve discussed this.
I never said football. What about softball? Or basketball? She’s going to need her hearing.
Peach: Uh huh, Daddy Grant.
Did Crew tell you about that?
Peach: I don’t reveal my sources.
Did you watch the whole game?
Peach: Barely…I’m so tired. But I did see the camera zoom in on this super-sexy new coach on the sidelines. The way his polo hugged his muscular chest and the focused look in his eyes nearly put me into labor from how hot he made me. I almost had to take matters into my own hands…
Jesus, Peach. I’m standing outside a locker room full of men, I can’t have a boner right now.
Peach: Hurry home, Sunshine.
I’ll be home as quickly as I can.
Peach: But seriously, Grant. I am so proud of you. Thank you for letting me be a part of your dreams. You’re doing the damn thing. Congratulations on your first win. Be safe coming home. We love you.
I swallow the lump in my throat as emotion hits me.
I love you, too, Peach.
Leaving the OB office feels strange this time. Dr. Sinclair says things are progressing, but her parting words didn’t leave me with any relief.“Your body’s doing a great job getting ready. Baby girl could be here in a few days, or it could be a week or two.”
What does she mean, it could be tomorrow or a week or two? How does one prepare for the arrival of a baby with such a wide timeframe?
Luckily, baby girl is still head down, measuring on track, and her heartbeat is strong. My blood pressure still looks great, so there aren’t any great concerns. Now, we wait.
By the time I get home, it’s a little after three. The sun spills through the windows, and the apartment smells faintly of laundry detergent and the peach-scented candles I lit before I left.
Dropping my purse on the table, I kick off my sneakers and groan as I sink onto the couch. My lower back and hips have been screaming lately. It’s made everything difficult. Dr Sinclair recommended seeing a chiropractor, but I never got around tofinding an office.
Shifting until I find some semblance of comfort, I video-call Ridge. With it being the middle of the afternoon, there’s a good chance he’ll ignore it and call back later. Our check-ins haven’t happened as often as they used to, with both of us being busy and playing endless rounds of phone tag that end with a few texts here and there.
I click on the TV while the call rings through. I expect it to ring for a bit, but Ridge answers on the first buzz.
“About damn time,” he grumbles, wiping grease from his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Hello to you, too.” I grin. “What’re you doing?”
He flips the camera around and reveals a partially disassembled Yamaha sitting center stage in the garage.
“Building a rocket.” He smirks, making me chuckle. “What else?”
There’s a sudden clang of tools falling somewhere in the garage, and then a voice, bright and biting, chimes in. “No, he’s messing up a rocket.”
“Shut up and go away,” Ridge mutters before she steps into the frame.
There’s shuffling on his end before a stunning blonde pops into the frame. Her face beams as she waves at me. “Hey, Sav.”
I shake my head as realization dawns. “Hi, Sienna. Oh my gosh, how are you?”
