by Stella
He dropped his hold on me and let his arms dangle at his sides. It was cute the way his lips parted, yet words didn’t come out. And the wider his eyes got, the more of the honey I could see—today it covered nearly half the iris. I released the material, and his focus returned to my face.
“Is that…?”
“No, I’m just fat.”
He ignored me and stepped close enough to place his hand on my belly. His fingers splayed across the bump as he palmed our baby. “Hey, Lenix,” he cooed. This couldn’t have been real—or maybe Gage had been hit in the head with a foul ball—when he dropped to his knees, he lifted my shirt and pressed his ear to my skin, completely oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t wearing any panties. And there was no way he could’ve noticed and not said anything.
“It’s not like a shell, Gage. You won’t hear the ocean.”
He slapped my bare ass and stood. “Is the grocery store on your list of errands?”
“It can be.” My tone made it clear that I didn’t want it to be.
“Why don’t you want to go to the store?”
“You have no idea how exhausted I am by noon, Gage. I could sleep standing up at any point during the day if I just closed my eyes. Wandering around a grocery store pushing a cart just doesn’t interest me. Not to mention, it still has to be cooked once I get it home. And I didn’t lie to you. There’s been plenty to eat. Look, there’s even a jar of Nutella.” I pointed to the open pantry. “You should have Corinne over.”
“I’ll go today while you’re out.”
“I’ll go. Gah. You don’t have to make me feel bad.”
Gage retrieved the chocolate and hazelnut spread along with two spoons. He opened the jar and patted the counter next to him.
“You realize, I don’t have panties on, right?”
He shrugged.
“We eat off these counters,” I reminded him skeptically.
“And I just ate you. I don’t think it matters.” He could be so crass.
I hopped up and sat next to him, my knee brushing against his elbow. There was a part of me that enjoyed this casual intimacy with him, and another that feared it. Gage Nix was a notorious womanizer—Missy had been an anomaly. The last thing I needed was to get accustomed to this and then see him with two women on his arms coming out of a club on the Channel Seven nightly news.
“You want to come to a game while the team is home?” He put an enormous spoonful in his mouth and looked at me from the corner of his eye.
The slight tilt of his head in my direction was like a magnet. My body—specifically my hand—pulled toward him. I stopped myself in midair and grabbed the Nutella instead. “I can watch them from here.” Going to a game alone didn’t sound like much fun.
“So you admit you watch me play?” Gage beamed with excitement and his eyes sparkled.
“Nah, I just turn the TV on so our little girl can listen. I usually read a book until she’s ready to go to bed.”
“You should watch with him.”
“Her.”
He patted my stomach. “He’s going to be just like his daddy.” Jesus, let’s hope not. There wasn’t enough Adderall in the country to tame two Gage Nixes, and Valium would restrict my ability to do anything other than slobber on myself or lick the windows.
“Maybe we shouldn’t expose the baby to baseball just yet.” If it was a little boy—and I prayed to every higher power that might exist that it wasn’t—creating a carbon copy of Gage wasn’t the best idea.
“Think about it. If you change your mind, you can sit in the box seats with Ellie. At least I’d know you were getting a good meal. That food up there is amazing.” He kissed my cheek, and I jumped down.
I’m sure Ellie was a great girl; I just wasn’t interested in having sleepovers and braiding her hair. “Okay.”
And with that, I bounced down the hall and up the stairs. I couldn’t hire myself, and I needed to get out and about to put in applications.
I shifted my skirt back down to my knees and wondered if Gage considered himself my personal sex toy. I’d sworn that morning after he came back that our…encounter had been a one-time thing. Gage insisted it wasn’t. He was like a drug. Either Gage had a magic penis or pregnancy did strange things to a woman—other than those listed in the stupid books that littered the house. At this point, I’d initiated every quickie that took place except when he came home late from a game—then it was him waking me up to give me what he wanted me to have. But the shower, the kitchen counter, the couch, the stairs, the front porch…all me. The shame.
Each step I took reminded me of just how remorseful I was—or wasn’t. I felt him on me and in me, every time I moved, and it was the most delicious soreness that I couldn’t get enough of. I’d been concerned about it, so I’d called my doctor this week to make sure my hypersexual drive wasn’t anything to be alarmed about, and that I wouldn’t end up with a sociopath at birth. He’d laughed and assured me it was quite normal, and that it slowed down for most women at the end of the second trimester. I shouldn’t have probed when he hesitated—most wasn’t all. There was a slight chance my sexual urges could increase the closer I got to delivery. If that were the case, I’d be traveling around the country with Gage spreading my legs any chance I got. I had nightmares that I was so desperate for an orgasm that we had sex in a locker room with his teammates moving around us like nothing was going on.
The door to the dryer shut in the laundry room, snapping me out of my thoughts. He came back into the kitchen with his jersey on but unbuttoned, and those pants that hugged his ass perfectly hadn’t been zipped. If he didn’t have to leave, I swear, I could go again.
“I shouldn’t be really late tonight,” Gage said as he finished getting dressed. “There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. Or I can pick up takeout on my way home.”
“Just text me when you leave. We can make a decision then.” I wasn’t sure when in the last two weeks my relationship with Gage morphed into quasi-dating, but it was a little eerie when I stopped to think about it.
Every once in a while, he’d pop off with some outlandish, off-the-wall comment, but for the most part, he’d been rather normal. The Gage I’d only seen when Granny was around, now made more frequent visits. I wasn’t sure if this was who he was, who he was trying to be, or if he was just tired because he worked out and played baseball all the time. I tried not to think about it much.
I followed him to the front door and then held it open after he walked through it. He stopped on the front porch with his bag in hand and turned toward me. He planted a peck on my lips, bent down to kiss my belly, and said goodbye. For years, I’d watched that same Jeep pull out of Granny’s driveway and down the gravel road, yet I’d never imagine—not one time—I’d end up living with Gage, much less pregnant with his child. And if someone had hinted that he wouldn’t drive me batty, I would have laughed in their face.
As soon as he was out of sight, I raced back in and grabbed my purse and car keys. I was cutting it close, but if I’d told him about my doctor’s appointment, he’d either want to go or would have worried until he had an update—one I couldn’t give him until after the game. There was no point in either. I felt great; I didn’t even have any morning sickness. Other than being tired and constantly horny, everything was going well.
I reached the obstetrician’s office right on time. I didn’t even have to wait to be seen. It was like God smiled down on me. Although, it remained to be seen just how long I’d sit in a in a cold exam room without someone coming in. I’d almost fallen asleep when the doctor and nurse opened the door and greeted me like we were about to have tea instead of the two of them staring at my vagina. We went through all the motions of weight, measurements, how big the baby was—the fruit of my loins was now roughly the size of a lemon. Then he pulled up the ultrasound machine, and the nurse helped me lie back and lift my shirt.
I hoped like hell this guy didn’t elicit the same things Gage did when he brushed up agains
t me. I felt like a cat in heat. I was one loud purr away from having a litter. The copious amounts of gel he squeezed onto my stomach squashed any concern I had about inappropriate behavior in the exam room.
We’d gone through what I assumed was a normal ultrasound when he moved the wand around on the lower part of my abdomen—pressing more firmly than was comfortable—and continued to stare at the screen.
“Have you experienced any bleeding? Spotting?” He could at least have the courtesy to make eye contact when he asked about blood coming out of my—maybe this was better.
“No. Why?”
“I’m going to step outside and have you undress from the waist down so we can have a better look trans-vaginally.”
“Is something wrong?”
“A vaginal ultrasound will give us a much clearer picture.” He patted my hand, and the wrinkles on his cheeks were accentuated by his smile. He did not, however, answer my question.
The doctor came back in a few minutes later. I clasped my hands together over my belly to keep them from shaking and watched him roll a condom over the probe. He lifted the paper sheet, took a quick peek, and then inserted the wand. It wasn’t uncomfortable physically, yet emotionally, he tore my insides apart with dreaded anticipation.
And then the words started to spin together until they became a continuous drone of concepts I didn’t want to understand. Two things stood out—partial placenta previa and constant monitoring. He said it could potentially be life-threatening during delivery if it didn’t resolve itself, but all I heard was “life-threatening.” He showed me what he was talking about on the screen, but it all just looked like a fuzzy blob.
“Do you understand, Katie?”
I nodded, even though I didn’t have a clue what I agreed to. Nor did I hear anything he said after. I got dressed in a fog, paid my bill in the same confused daze, and sat in my car wondering how I’d gone from a great morning to being afraid to drive home. I’d been a nurse for years, none of this was foreign information, regardless of the fact that I never worked in labor and delivery. Yet even though I knew what the words meant, none of it sank in…other than my baby and I were at risk.
There was no telling how long I remained in the parking lot or how many people wondered if I needed medical attention while I sat there. I didn’t remember driving home or going inside. With my cell phone in hand, I debated whether or not this was the type of emergency that Gage believed I should use those phone numbers for. His game started thirty minutes ago. If I called, he’d be pulled out. There wasn’t anything he could do. There was nothing I could do other than hope it went away before the baby got ready to join the world.
For years, I begged God to provide me with the numbness I currently felt instead of the pain my mother left buried within me. Now I wondered how I could have ever thought this was better—there were moments where I actually had to think about breathing. Finally, I dragged my heavy body upstairs and put on one of Gage’s T-shirts and my sweatpants. I pulled my hair into a knot, climbed into his bed, and covered up. The televised game gave me that delusional feeling of having him with me. At the bottom of the ninth, when the Titans had won, I finally let go of the dam holding back the emotion. As he left the field and the false sense of comfort it gave me, I couldn’t keep it in.
And when he came bursting through his bedroom door, I hadn’t realized I never heard his text or that I’d missed his calls. I’d left my phone downstairs, and my tears had drowned out the alerts.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Gage wrapped me up in his arms and pulled me into his lap as he spouted questions I wasn’t ready to answer—releasing the words would feed them with life and in turn make them real.
And at that moment, I knew more than anything just how desperately I wanted this baby.
He didn’t have a clue what was going on. I could hear his heart racing in his chest with my ear pressed against him. For his sake, I had to calm down to tell him I was okay. He hadn’t thought to ask about the baby yet—because he didn’t know I’d had an appointment today.
Gage stroked my hair and softly whispered in my ear, hoping to relax me.
Eventually, the tears stopped, and I regained my composure. And when I was finally able to control myself, I spoke. “I had a doctor’s appointment today,” I muttered against his chest. The instant I felt him try to pull back so he could see my face, I clung to his waist and refused to budge.
His cheek remained pressed to the top of my head, and I stayed cradled in his arms. “Katie—” His voice cracked, and there was no doubt in my mind he was crying. “Tell me the baby’s okay.”
I nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had an appointment?”
The only time I’d ever seen this version of Gage was right before Granny died. It was somber and melancholy…right before it was fire and brimstone and explosions of hell. And that came the day he lost her. I could only hope I never saw that fury again.
I shrugged. “You needed to focus on your game. I thought everything was fine.”
“I don’t even have the energy to argue with you about how you shouldn’t have made that decision for me. Why didn’t you call? You have the numbers. I would have been there.” He didn’t even know what we were dealing with, but he would have left. “I promised you that you wouldn’t be alone. For me to fulfill that promise, you have to tell me what’s going on and when, so I can be there. Finding you crying hysterically in a ball in my bed after racing home, worried something had happened, isn’t something I ever want to do again.”
He was right. I hadn’t been fair. And I knew when I told him I’d gotten to see the baby, it would hurt him even further. Gage kissed the top of my head and stroked my back, but he never let me go.
“Can you tell me what the doctor said?” I liked this softer side of Gage, just not how we had to go about getting to see him.
“He did an ultrasound”—there was no denying how rigid his body became. Even still, he held his tongue, which I didn’t know Gage was capable of doing—“and I have partial placenta previa.” Finally, I leaned back to see his face.
Gage’s eyes were rimmed red and bloodshot. There wasn’t any evidence of tears that had fallen, but the pain was there just the same—fear and hurt battled for top billing in his expression, and I’d caused them both. “I don’t know what that means.” He said that one statement as though he were an idiot for not recognizing the dangers that lurked in a woman’s body.
I cupped his jaw and stroked his cheek with my thumb. I hoped he saw in my eyes everything that I felt toward him at that moment, because I’d never be able to express it with words. “It means my placenta is covering my cervix—well, partially. And if it doesn’t move or go away, I could hemorrhage and die.”
I wasn’t sure what exactly I’d expected his response to be, but silence never suited Gage—especially not now. He kicked his shoes off beside the bed, pulled me from his lap to his side, and turned off the lamp. He held me close to him all night, although he never slept. Every time I woke up, he’d let me pee, and he even finally changed clothes, but then he’d pull me right back to him and squeeze me like he was afraid if he let go, I’d float away.
Chapter Four
Gage
Storming into my room, only to find Katie curled into a ball drowning in her own tears was not something I ever wanted to relive. And that hadn’t been the worst of it. Hearing her tell me the reason she was upset—the results from her doctor’s appointment—was what nightmares were made of. But if I thought things would get better from there, I was sorely mistaken. Early the next morning, I had to board a plane and leave for ten days. I offered Katie the chance to join me, but she refused, saying she couldn’t just take off for over a week without time to prepare—whatever that meant. Needless to say, Katie stayed in my bed with my mind made up that by the time I came home, I’d have a solution for us. I mean, they didn’t call me Fix-It Nix-It for no reason.
The worst p
art about being so far away for so long was not being able to get Katie to talk to me about anything of importance. As Granny’s nurse, phone calls were reserved for emergencies, when I needed to know something important that had happened at home. And ever since then, we’d fallen into a mutual habit of texting as our only form of communication. It worked then—now, not so much. I needed to hear her voice in order to know she was okay. Typed words meant nothing. Not to mention, we had a lot to discuss.
Considering we hadn’t used the twelve hours between the time I had found her crying and the time I flew out to talk about the baby or the risks or the plan, phone calls while I wasn’t on the field were all I had. However, when she did answer the phone, our conversations were short. And her texts were even worse—I might need to learn Morse code if they got any shorter. Getting her to communicate with me was almost as difficult as getting Ellie to show me her tits. Granted, I hadn’t tried in several years, so there was no telling how hard that’d be anymore.
And as each day passed without an honest conversation between us, I struggled when I wasn’t playing the game. Since Coby had left the team, and I’d quit chasing media attention, I was alone. Granny wasn’t around to remind me how wonderful I am, and I was afraid the topic of blood and death might scare Corinne, so I couldn’t even call my best friend. I started questioning everything, beginning with the thing causing me the biggest heartache right now—my place on the team.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to play, or that I’d lost the desire to do what I loved the most, but being away from home for so long—especially now with the threat of something happening to Katie or the baby and I wouldn’t be there—made me hate the road. And I couldn’t play professional sports without traveling. I couldn’t have both. It wasn’t an option.
Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling of another hotel room, I tried to call Katie—who didn’t answer. So I reached out to the one female on the planet who always made me smile.