Page 92 of Chasing The Goal
“She’s gonna have so many people loving her,” I say.
“She already does.”
Mallory turned, her eyes meeting mine, her expression serious. “I don’t expect anything from you, Jaymie. You’ve already given me more than I thought I was allowed to have.”
“You don’t have to expect it,” I say. “I want it. I want to be here. With you. With her. I don’t need a title. You don’t have to call me dad. Just… let me love her. However you’ll let me.”
Mallory blinks rapidly. “I do.”
I lean down and kiss her forehead, then brush a fingertip along Lola’s tiny cheek. “Then that’s enough.”
Mallory
The apartment is tooquiet.
It’s not usually quiet with a newborn, I’ve read that online. But right now Lola is asleep in her bassinet, making those soft puffing sounds through her nose, and the silence makes everything louder—my thoughts, my heartbeat, my doubts.
Jaymie left early this morning. His shoes are still by the door, his hoodie draped over the back of the couch like he’ll be right back. But he’s not. He’s in Colorado by now, probably gearing up for Game Two of the second round.
Four days.
Hewas home for a few. Just long enough for us to establish a tentative rhythm…me half-healed and leaking, him always near, holding Lola with that reverent look on his face like she was forged from light. Just long enough for me to start leaning on him like a crutch.
Now he’s gone and it’s just me.
I sink onto the couch, careful not to jostle my stitches, and lift Lola from the bassinet to rest on my chest. Her little mouth twitches in her sleep. There’s a faint smirk there—content, cheeky, almost smug.
“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” I whisper. “You’re like a two-week-old evil genius.”
She doesn’t respond. Which feels rude, honestly.
I reach for my phone and FaceTime Dakota before I spiral further into whatever postpartum emotional soup I’m brewing in my chest.
She answers immediately. “You’re alive. That’s good. Is the baby alive?”
“She’s smug and asleep. So yes,” I say, voice cracking.
Dakota blinks. “You’re crying.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“You’re wearing Jaymie’s hoodie.”
“It smells like him,” I say miserably, wiping my nose. “And I haven’t showered yet today.”
Dakota peers through the screen. “Okay, okay, let’s take inventory. Is Lola fed?”
“Yep.”
“Changed?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Breathing?”
“Obviously!”
“Then you’re doing great. Mal, she’s sleeping and smiling. That’s like the newborn jackpot.”
