Page 30 of Final Down

Several seconds pass, and I hold my breath until Peyton tells me to come back inside. She’s setting the test stick on top of the plastic wrapper it came in when I enter the room. I hand her the water bottle, and she gulps some of it down, but her gaze remains fixed on the test strip.

I move in behind her, wrapping my arms around her body and kissing the top of her head.

“I love you,” I say.

She squeezes my arm with her free hand and holds the bottle’s rim to her lips with the other, no longer drinking. I can’ttell if it’s her pulse I feel or my own, but the thump is constant and racing. Our bathroom smells like wet shoes and shower steam, and my forehead is covered with a sheen of sweat.

“I love you,” I say again, praying this test comes back positive. I want kids desperately, but more than that, I want this for Peyton.

Her body rocks side to side, so I go along with it and sway with her. My chin rests on top of her head, and I adjust my arms around her, holding her tighter as the test strip reveals a deep pink control line.

“We can take them all, too. Just to make sure. If this one doesn’t say you’re pregnant, maybe one of them will. I didn’t know what I was buying. That’s why I got so many, and I?—”

“Wy?Shh,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I hum, lowering my mouth to the top of her head again and leaving it there.

We both stare at the small plastic cartridge on the marble countertop, such a rudimentary experiment to determine something so epic. Petyon’s body tightens in my embrace as the first line emerges, and when the second one appears, her body quakes.

“Is that?—?”

Peyton nods, and I peel one arm away so I can cover my mouth. I think I’m going to cry.

She picks up the test cautiously, cradling it in her palms as she turns slowly to face me. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and when her gaze lifts to mine, I see nothing but joy in her eyes.

“We’re going to be a mom and dad. You and me. Peyt, oh my God!” I cup her cheeks and kiss her forehead, everything still feeling fragile.

“I love you, Wyatt. I love you so much. I’m going to be a mom. I’m a mom.”

The reality hits her hard and all at once. I take the test strip from her hands and move it back to the counter, then pull her back into my arms and rock us again. We dance to the music in our heads for nearly an hour and never make it to the shower. Hell, we never make it to the bed. We fall asleep on the carpet of our new apartment somewhere between the bathroom and the mattress with five positive pregnancy tests laid out between us.

One year just got a whole lot more interesting.

Chapter Twelve

Iused to think I was good at keeping secrets. Turns out I never had a really big secret to keep.

This secret? Being pregnant? It’s hard to keep. I’ve almost let it slip a dozen times to Tasha. I kind of think she knows, though. She drops hints, like making comments here and there about me needing to buy more comfortable clothes for the fall football games now that I’ll be coaching cheer. Comfort has never been a requirement for Tasha. An outfit is either cute or trash. And she’s not shy about calling out the things in my closet that she thinks I should donate, or, as she likes to say, burn.

Between Wyatt’s physical tests and media interviews and my work setting up the competition season for cheer, we haven’t had much time to sit down and talk about the logistics of having a baby. In some ways, being busy for the first few weeks has taken the edge off my anxiety.

It’s July Fourth at the Johnson house, and that’s always a big deal. My dad’s birthday is in August, and football camps are about to start at every level—at the high school and in Portland. My grandpa always insists that July Fourth stands as a non-negotiable family day, and he always goes all out. My dad took over the reins after Grampa’s last stroke, but Buck Johnson still calls the shots, which means everyone is here.

Everyone.

Probably makes it a good time to let the family in on my secret.

“How are you feeling?”

Wyatt takes the two strings for my bikini top from my hands and ties them behind my neck before kissing my shoulder.

“I haven’t thrown up again, so that’s a win.” I give him a tired, crooked smile over my shoulder.

“You think you’re going to be down to eat today? You know your dad puts out a spread, and Rose made carnitas. I’ve been smelling it all morning.”

“Ugh, me too,” I admit, holding my arm across my mouth for a few seconds as a wave of nausea passes.

“Okay, if that smell is making you sick then you’re really screwed,” Wyatt says with a laugh.

---