Page 118 of Pieces

“Hey, baby girl,” he says softly, his lips curving into a grin that makes my heart flip.

I roll my eyes, even though I’m smiling. He ignores me completely, his focus locked on her. “Now, don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to our daughter,” he says, shooting me a mock-scolding look before leaning in closer. His breath skates across the bare skin of my stomach, which sends an explosion of goosebumps all over. “It’s your daddy. I think it might be time to take it easy on your mom with the kicking, okay? She needs to sleep a little.”

The baby gives an almost perfect response, a nudge right where his hand rests, and he laughs, his face lighting up. “Oh, so you’re feisty like her, huh?” He glances up at me, eyes sparkling. “That’s good, we like a girl who can hold her own, but maybe it’s time to sleep.”

When the kicking stops, his lips press softly against my skin. I’m trying so hard to keep it together and let him have this moment with the baby, but it’s really fucking difficult when I want to jump him and scream that I love him.

“Hmm,” he hums, turning his attention back to my belly. His hand rubs slow, circular motions, his touch so gentle it makes my throat tighten. “You should know, little booger, your mom’s beautiful even when she’s exhausted. I can’t take my eyes off her—or you.” He presses another kiss to my stomach, then rests his forehead there for a beat. “Love you, baby girl.”

My heart stutters against my ribcage. I swallow hard, willing myself not to cry. On brand for me, really.

As he sits back up, I force myself to speak, trying to sound normal. “You’re so perfect, you know that?” I trace my fingers over the slight stubble on his jaw.

He flushes, and I love how easily he wears his emotions. He never hides from me. “Yeah? High praise coming from you,” he says, his voice warm “You’re pretty perfect too, princess.”

His lips brush mine, slow and sweet at first, savoring the kiss. “I love you,” I whisper. But then it shifts, the heat between us building with every movement, every soft sigh. Firm and possessive, his hands find my waist, until I’m climbing on top of him. “I love you,” I repeat, because I want to tell him all the time.

I melt into him. The only place I want to be.

Chapter fifty

Hudson

ThelivingroomatBenny’s house feels like it might burst at the seams. Every couch, chair, and spare inch of carpet is packed with people, our teammates. Nervous energy crackles in the air, and the TV glows brighter than it should in the dim light. Pizza boxes and crumpled soda cans clutter the table, but no one’s touching them. All eyes are locked on the screen.

I’m on the couch, Daphne pressed against me, her hand tucked under her belly protectively. My hand rests on her knee, but it’s not for her—it’s for me. My nerves are worse than Seb’s, which is ridiculous. He’s sitting in the armchair, cool as ever, his arm slung lazily over the back, like this is just another Saturday with Indie on his lap.

“Top ten coming up,” Benny says, nudging Seb from the other armrest. “You ready to go big-time, or what?”

Seb grins confidently. “Been ready.”

The TV cuts to commercial, and the tension in the room spikes. Someone groans. Miles throws a pillow at the screen. “Come on!”

Daphne chuckles softly, and I glance down at her. She’s the only other person here who doesn’t seem stressed. “You think he’s going early?” she asks me, keeping her voice low.

“He’s got to.” I glance at Seb, who’s fully invested in his girl on his lap. “There’s no way his stats and success the last four years goes past ten. Teams would be stupid.”

When the screen flashes back, it cuts off our conversation. The crowd noise from the draft is deafening, even through the TV. Holding the card for the eighth pick, the commissioner walks to the podium.

“With the eighth pick in the NFL Draft,” the commissioner says, pausing just long enough to make the room collectively hold its breath, “the Seattle Seahawks select…Sebastian Dawson, quarterback, from…”

The rest is drowned out.

The room explodes. Benny and Miles scream like they just scored the winning touchdown, tackling Seb before he can even stand. Laughter, cheers, chaos, it’s everywhere.

Seb rises above the pile of bodies, his arms thrown wide like he’s already on the field. “Let’s fucking go!” he yells, and it’s the loudest I’ve ever heard him.

I clap him on the back when he makes his way over. “Top ten, man! That’s huge.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says, his grin splitting his face.

The celebration buzzes on, but I can’t help glancing at the TV. They’re running Seb’s highlights now, playoff throws, game-winners, all the moments that got him here. My chest tightens watching it. I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to see my own name on that screen.

Daphne’s hand slides over mine, squeezing softly. “You okay?” she asks, her voice full of that calm warmth only she has.

I nod and force a smile. “Yeah, just…thinking...”

She studies me for a second but doesn’t press.

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