Page 75 of Chasing The Goal
I watched him for a long moment. In sleep, his face was softer. The tension he usually carried in his jaw was gone. His brows, always arched like he was halfway to teasing someone, were smoothed. He looked… calm. Gentle, even.
And he’d stayed.
He could’ve left hours ago. Could’ve gone home once I was stable. Could’ve handed things off to Eliza or one of the nurses.
But he hadn’t.
And I didn’t know what to do with that. My throat ached. Not from the IV or the nausea or whatever the hell had short-circuited in my body earlier—but from the weight of that kind of kindness. That kind of presence.
I shifted a little in bed, enough to stir him. His eyes blinked open slowly, groggy but alert the second he realized I was awake.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice rough from sleep. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Just thirsty.”
He stood immediately, grabbed the pitcher, poured a cup, and brought the straw to my lips like it was nothing. Like this was just what he did.
I took a few small sips, then leaned back into the pillows. My body still felt heavy, but less alarming now. The baby had been hooked up to monitors the entire time—strong heartbeat, no signs of early labor. Just dehydration. Just exhaustion. Just the consequence of pretending I was fine when I wasn’t.
Jaymie settled back into the chair, but this time he didn’t let go of my hand.
“You stayed,” I said, quieter than I meant.
“Of course I did.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He didn’t smile, not this time. His eyes met mine and held. “I know. I wanted to.”
I couldn’t look at him. I stared at our hands instead. His was big, warm, calloused. Mine looked small and pale against it.
“You scared me tonight,” he said. No teasing in his voice. No buffer.
“I scared myself.”
There was a pause. Not tense, just full. Like he was deciding how honest he wanted to be.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted. “When you started to go down like that… my brain just emptied out. I was trying not to freak you out, but I was losing it.”
My chest tightened.
“You didn’t show it.”
“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t.”
Wewere quiet for another stretch. He rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb, absently. I could feel the nerves under my skin start to fire again. Awake. Alert. Aware. He pushed his glasses up his nose, waiting for me to continue.
“You’re allowed to be scared,” I said eventually.
“So are you.”
I didn’t say anything to that.
Then, softly, he added, “Can I ask you something?”
I nodded.
“Would you let me help you?”
