Page 48 of Chasing The Goal
“You done?”
I laughed, nervously. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Mallory,” she said, her voice gentle but still lined with steel, “this is not the first time I’ve heard a story like yours, and it most likely won't be the last. Women have been having babies for centuries.”
She gave me a wink. A real one. Dry and almost mischievous.
“I figured,” I murmured.
“But,” she continued, “I appreciate you coming to me now. This matters. Communication matters. Especially in this kind of organization.”
I nodded, my whole body leaning forward like I was waiting for permission to breathe.
“You’re doing good work,” she said simply. “With Jaymie. With the team. I’ve heard nothing but strong feedback about your instincts, your presence, and your ability to read the players.”
My heart knocked against my ribs.
“I’d like to keep you on throughout your pregnancy, as long as you're comfortable,” she said. “And when the time comes for maternity leave—or whatever you decide—I want you to know there will be a place for you here when you’re ready to come back.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she replied, matter of factly.
A laugh escaped me—wet and shaky. “I didn’t know how this would go. I was worried you’d think… I don’t know. That I couldn’t keep up.”
She leaned forward, elbows on her desk. “You’re a part of this team. Your contract doesn’t expire until end of season, and I don’t make decisions based on fear. Women need other women in the industry supporting one another. Look how far we have come. If you want to be here, we’ll make it work.”
And just like that, the air came rushing back in my lungs. Relief hit like a wave I hadn’t realized I’d been holding back. I sagged into the chair, hands pressed to my face, then dropped them into my lap with a breathless, shaky laugh.
“Thank you,” I said, voice thick with emotion. “Really. You have no idea what that means.”
Eliza just smiled.
“I think I do.”
I left her office with the sun hitting my face through the windows, my boots clicking across the tile floor like punctuation. Every step felt lighter. Like I’d been walking around with a sandbag on my chest and someone had finally lifted it away. I still had a million things to figure out, and not nearly enough time to figure it all out. But in that moment, for the first time in weeks, I let myself believe I might actually be okay. That the future I was growing inside of me had a place in my world.
Mallory
It had been afew days since the glucose test, and the verdict was in: all clear. No gestational diabetes, no scary new instructions. Just a gentle nudge from my OB to keep eating regularly and stay hydrated—which felt like the most ironic prescription of all, considering I spent half my life running on caffeine, gatoraid and protein bars.
“Add some fruit, Mallory,” she’d said with a smile, patting my shoulder like I was a teenager skipping meals on purpose.
I’d nodded, promised I’d try, and then walked straight to Jaymie’s car waiting outside, where he handed me a smoothie with a smug grin.
“Look at that,” he’d said, tilting the straw toward my mouth. “Already ahead of the curve.”
Jaymie had been... steady. That was the only way to describe it. Solid. Present. Unshakably kind in the quietest, most unflashy ways.
He texted before every appointment. Showed up with snacks when my stomach turned at the idea of grocery shopping. Some nights we ended up at his place upstairs—a surprisingly spacious two-bedroom with actual sunlight and furniture that didn’t look like it had come from a college dorm. But every few nights, he’d wander down to my eighth-floor matchbox and let me pick the movie and eat popcorn on my lumpy couch like it was the best seat in the house.
Sometimes he’d fall asleep there, long legs hanging off the edge, mouth parted just enough to be ridiculous. Other times, we’d just talk.
About hockey.
About everything else.
About nothing.
