Page 172 of The Right Move

My boyfriend shoots me a mischievous smile over his shoulder, infinitely proud of himself and I’ve got to admit, I’m right there with him.

Ryan continues to cook as I watch the two of them, and there’s even a couple of times that he pulls a sweet giggle from Max. I offer to help, but Ryan refuses, saying he’s got it handled and I don’t need much convincing that he does. He’s a natural with him, and the only thing that understanding does is cause a rush of realization that I want this life with him.

I’ve always wanted to be a mom. Clearly, the whole reason I moved in in the first place was to save enough money in order to make that dream a reality. But it’s no longer this innate desire to parent. Instead, I want to parent with him.

This might be horrible to admit, but in a way, I was selfish in wanting kids. I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to have children, and for the first time in my life, there’s someone else I picture right alongside me while I do it.

We take our food to the couch and when I offer to feed Max his bottle while Ryan eats first, he refuses. He feeds him and insists I eat while my food is still hot.

Max passes out asleep before his bottle is fully emptied, just the way his dad said he would and Ryan repositions himself back on the couch, allowing the sweet baby boy to sleep on his chest while he eats his now lukewarm dinner.

Taking a forkful of pasta, Ryan smiles at me with his mouth full and a sleeping baby on his chest.

I want to speak. I want to say something about how natural he looks or how sexy it is to see him so confident with a baby, but I keep my mouth shut. I’m so afraid to scare Ryan away, to give him any reason to question me. The man abstained from sex for years because he didn’t want to give someone the chance to take advantage of him.

Because he was afraid.

But I’m equally terrified that he’ll never want the things in life I ache for and seeing him like this tonight is nothing but a reminder that it wasn’t long ago he vocalized just how differently he viewed his future from the one I want.

37

RYAN

“You’re aware that you lost last night.”

“Clearly.” I try my hardest not to roll my eyes at the reporter sitting in the third row of this morning’s press conference, but if that wasn’t the most obvious statement I’ve ever heard.

“Which means if you lose one of the next two, the Chicago Devils are out of the playoff run.”

“Was there a question in there?”

A small chuckle washes over the room of reporters. This is by far the most attitude I’ve had towards the press in my career. I’m typically even-keeled and diplomatic, but we lost last night, flew a red-eye flight home afterward, and I was immediately whisked into a press conference this morning before I even made it home.

And the last thing I need while going on no sleep and stewing over my loss is some reporter throwing out obvious statements.

“How do you feel about that?” he amends.

“Not great. That loss is on me, I know that. Coming back from my injury, I know what’s riding on my shoulders, and I didn’t deliver.”

We lost by two to Sacramento, and I was the one to miss the game winning three.

Hands shoot up around the room and the team’s media coordinator chooses the next reporter to ask his question.

“There are rumors floating around the league about a possible trade if the team doesn’t make the playoffs this season. What kind of pressure do you feel to deliver these next two wins?”

My eyes dart to Ron Morgan standing in the back of the room, arms crossed. There’s no expression on his face whatsoever, and I couldn’t tell you what he’s thinking. Is he truly thinking of trading me? The rumor mill has been spinning with that one all week.

So yeah, not only do I feel the pressure from the city and the Devils organization to finally make the playoffs, but there’s the added weight I’ve put on myself knowing my girlfriend, sister, and future brother-in-law are rooted in Chicago.

I’ve never felt more stressed about two games in my life.

“I don’t feel the pressure,” I lie. “I know what I have to do, what the team has to do in order to get the job done. And we will.”

Looking back to Ron, he gives me a curt nod of his head.

“Next question,” our coordinator continues as I sink into my seat, ready to be hounded with questions I don’t want to answer.

Dragging my suitcase through the front door, I finally make it home.

---