Page 91 of The Game Plan
My mind drifts back to the game when I was on the sidelines.
Coach Martinez’s voice filters through the headset as we gather along the sidelines, ten minutes before kickoff. I’m busy scrolling through the iPad and finalizing the last-minute details.
“Hey, little Campbell. You there?”
I press the side of my headset to talk back. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Hawke eyes me curiously, no doubt curious why the offensive coordinator wants to speak directly to me rather than to the head wide receiver coach.
“Looks like we won’t need you this game,” Martinez says. My stomach drops as I look around the sidelines, searching for my dad to clear things up. Our eyes meet from farther down the sidelines, but his brow is cocked with confusion.
Before I have a chance to ask what he means, Martinez speaks again. “You need to get to the hospital, Son. You’re going to be a dad today.”
I freeze, eyes wide and mouth parted as the air from my lungs whooshes out of me. Hawke claps me on the shoulder, along with another defensive coach, as he walks by. I think they both congratulated me, but I didn’t hear a thing. All I can hear is my pulse thumping in my ears.
Dad appears in front of me, and I didn’t even know he was moving toward me.
“Grant.” My head whips up. “Good luck, Son. I’m proud of you.”
A knot forms in my throat, my nose burning as emotions build. With a nod, I jog off the field. Dumping my headset in my office, I run out of the facility toward my truck.
Traffic was at a standstill, and the panic of missing her birth overwhelmed me. I can still feel the suffocating anxiety from trying to leave the stadium parking lot last night.
All that matters is that I made it. I might’ve sprinted through the hospital, but I was able to be there for Savannah and witness such a miraculous moment.
As I sit here holding this tiny baby, we might not share DNA, but there’s no denying the protectiveness I feel for her. She might not be mine biologically, but she’s mine in my heart. And that’s all that matters.
Two days later, we’re finally leaving the hospital. It’s time to bring my girls home. But dear god, no one warns you about how terrifying it is to drive with such a tiny, precious gift in the backseat. I’m pretty sure I drove ten below the speed limit the entire way, and may have flipped a few people off as they sped past. Savannah chuckled at my overprotectiveness while promising they wouldn’t break. I don’t care what she says. They’re both fragile in my book.
I carry Lennon’s car seat in one hand as I help guide Savannah with the other.
“Grant, I’m fine.”
“You just pushed out a baby,” I argue.
“Two days ago. Besides, the doctor wouldn’t have sent me home if I weren’t okay.”
“They said to limit steps.”
“Yes, Sunshine.” She exaggerates her nickname for me. “But I have to get up to rest. I’ll be fine.”
At the top of the steps, I dig into my pocket for the keys. The lock clicks, and I push open the door, making room for Sav to walk inside first.
Three, two, one…
She gasps as she steps inside, and I smile, knowing what’s waiting for her.
The smell of a freshly cleaned apartment mixed with her signature peach scent welcomes us home. But what stops her in her tracks is the banner hanging over the TV. It’s white with pink letters that spell out, ‘Welcome, Baby Girl.’ Balloons float next to the sign, and a flower bouquet sits on the TV stand.
“Did you do all of this?” she whispers.
I shake my head. “Bret and my mom did. I only supplied the keys.”
Sav turns to me, eyes glassy and exhausted, but her smile… Damn. It’s the first thing I noticed about her. It’s infectious as it spreads across her face.
She leans up onto her toes and kisses me softly. We move farther into the space, and I place the car seat on the couch. Lennon stirs a little, scrunching her face in her signature look before settling.
“I know we can’t let Len sleep long in her car seat, but before we get her out and we settle on the couch…” I pause, scratching the back of my neck with nerves. “Can I show you something?”
