by Dakota Rebel
Four years later…
“Here comes, Mommy!” I told Marigold, bouncing our two-year old baby girl on my hip and pointing.
We watched together as Cordelia flew, her tiny body weightless as it soared through the air. She hit every spin, every turn, every lift perfectly, as she always did. My heart pounded as she moved, desperate for her to medal.
She’d worked so hard for this. Getting pregnant right after the wedding had been the best thing to ever happen to us, but it had delayed her plans. Instead of waiting for the next Winter Games, she’d doubled down and spent the last two years busting her ass to be ready for today.
And as she skidded to a perfect stop in front of the judges’ booth, I knew she’d done it.
“Daddy, cold,” Marigold complained.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, hugging her closer and pulling a blanket out of the stroller to wrap around her. “We’ll go in soon. We have to watch Mommy get her medal.”
Delia was the last competitor, so when the numbers hit the screen, the crowd went wild. She’d taken the gold. As if there had ever been any doubt.
I pushed our way forward, wanting to get close enough for Marigold to see the medal ceremony. I wasn’t sure if she’d remember the moment in the future, but if there was any chance, I wanted to give it to her. We had a lifetime to make our daughter proud of us, but there was no harm in starting early.
The announcer called out the bronze and silver winners. There was a pause, which was obnoxious because everyone already knew my wife had won. The fanfare and drama were just making my daughter colder.
“And the gold medal in the Winter Games Halfpipe Snowboard event goes to Delia “Demon” Pryor!”
The crowd cheered, the sound so loud Marigold covered her ears and glared at me, as if I were the cause of the chaos. I nuzzled her nose then turned to watch my wife accept her medal and climb to the top of the podium.
Four years ago, I’d watched her disqualify herself from the Winter Games, and today, she wore the same expression of utter joy on her face as she took the gold in a sport she’d just picked up a few years ago.
Pride didn’t even scratch the surface of the emotions I felt for my princess just then. Tonight, she’d be Marigold’s mom, changing diapers and begging her to eat two more bites of dinner. Tomorrow, she’d hang her medal in the closet on the peg with the rest of our awards from the last decade or so.
But right here, right now, she was a gold-medal-winning athlete, the star of her country, the best of the best in her field. She was America’s sweetheart. My sweetheart. My whole heart.
My wife smiled over at us, giving a small finger wave to Marigold who reached her arms out toward her mom. When I met Delia’s gaze, she nodded at me.
Pushing my way past the rest of the crowd, I nodded to the security guard, who let me pass, and walked to the podium, handing our daughter up to Cordelia.
People went crazy. The press snapped photo after photo of my two girls, hugging tightly at the pinnacle of the podium. Tears pricked my eyes, but I choked them back. This was their moment. I wouldn’t ruin it by blubbering like a baby.
Everything I’d ever wanted out of life literally stood in front of me. There was nothing to cry about.
Finally, the ceremony was over, and everyone climbed down and dispersed, off to watch other events going on. Cordelia made her way over to me, still beaming and hugging our daughter tightly.
“Congratulations, Demon,” I told her. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I knew you’d do it.”
“Thanks, babe,” she said, beaming up at me. “I was a little worried this morning, actually. The morning sickness started, and I was terrified I’d do a spin and barf on the hill.”
“Morning sickness?” I stared at her, hoping she was telling me what I thought she was.
“Yeah. I found out last week. But I was afraid you wouldn’t let me compete if I told you I was pregnant. The doctor said I’d be fine.”
“You’re such a monster,” I growled, pulling her and Marigold into a hug. “Like I could have kept you from doing anything you wanted to do.” I smiled. “Really? You’re really pregnant?”
“Really and truly.” She blew out a sigh. “God, I’m so glad this is all over. I’m starving.”
“Crepes?” I asked, leading my girls back toward our dorm. “We’re in Paris. Nobody here cares about famous people. And we can’t come here and not get them. That’s sacrilege.”
“That sounds great,” she agreed. “Marigold, you want some little pancakes?”
“Food!” Marigold squealed, clapping her hands together.
“That’s you,” I told Delia with a laugh.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I guess it is.”
As we walked, I wondered what the next one would be like. I hoped we’d get another baby just like my wife. Strong. Beautiful. Determined. Kind.
I couldn’t believe I got to spend the rest of my life feeding and knocking up this amazing woman. I was the luckiest man in the world.
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About the Author
Dakota Rebel is a bestselling author and a very slow distance runner who dreams of racing Badwater.
She lives in a perpetual state of exhaustion with her happy husband and two incredibly spoiled children.
Dakota loves to talk to her readers and can be found at www.dakotarebel.net