Page 85 of Chasing The Goal
But they were there.
In every breath. Every touch. Every lingering second of silence.
And for the first time, I didn’t just believe him.
I believed it too.
Mallory
The waiting room wasoverly air-conditioned, and my hoodie wasn’t cutting it.
Jaymie noticed before I said a word.
“Here,” he said, already shrugging out of his fleece. “Put this on before you turn into a popsicle.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve got goosebumps, Mal. Be stubborn later.”
He held it out, and I rolled my eyes, but I took it. Warmth still clung to the inside, faint traces of laundry detergent and whatever aftershave he’d swiped on this morning. It smelled like him. I melted a little, not that I’d ever admit it out loud.
He sat next to me again, tapping his knee against mine. “You doing okay?”
I nodded, shifting slightly in the chair. “Thirty-four weeks. Everything’s just tight and swollen and I’m tired all the time.”
He gave me a look. “That’s because you’re growing a whole human.”
“Thanks for the biology lesson, Nurse Prescott.” Before he could retaliate, the nurse called my name, and we were ushered into one of the small exam rooms. I moved slow, and Jaymie didn’t rush me—just kept his hand on my back, steady and warm. Dr. Neves came in a few minutes later, all calm energy and soft smiles.
“You’re almost there,” she said, glancing at her tablet. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve developed a deep, spiritual connection to antacids,” I said. “Also, I haven’t seen my feet in three weeks.”
Jaymie snorted. Dr. Neves just smiled. Vitals. Fetal position. Heart rate. All of it looked good. The baby’s heartbeat filled the room—steady, confident, loud. Jaymie went quiet, staring at the monitor like he was memorizing it.
“She’s strong,” he said.
Dr. Neves smiled. “Very.”
Jaymie squeezed my hand. And I squeezed back, something warm building behind my ribs. Then came the talk about what was next—signs of labor, when to call, who to call. She handed me an info sheet that felt too thin for how much it claimed to explain.
Jaymie leaned in. “Is it common to go into labor early at this stage?”
“It can happen,” Dr. Neves said. “That’s why we recommend having your bag packed by week thirty-six. Especially if it’s your first.”
Jaymie nodded, thoughtful. Then he asked more questions—what counted as real contractions, how long we could wait before coming in, when the hospital would admit us. He didn’t sound panicked, but there was a steel edge under the calm. He was preparing. Like this was game tape and we were heading into overtime.
I wasn’t used to anyone preparing for me.
By the time the appointment wrapped, Dr. Neves had scheduled us for the following Thursday. “Same time,” she said. “Let’s check your progress next week.”
As we stepped outside, Jaymie’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen, thumbed it open, and stilled.
“Everything okay?” I asked, slipping my arm through his.
“The playoff schedule just dropped,” he said, voice low. “Game one’s next Thursday.”
