Page 78 of Final Down

I glance to my right, where my mom is standing at my side.

She nods.

“Yeah, I would like to do that. Thank you,” I say.

“Okay,” she says, turning to her nurse and the medical assistant and rattling off a series of drug names that I assume are about to pickle me.

A few more waves pass, and my mom holds my hand through them. Things finally ease when one of the nurses pushes something through my IV, and when five whole minutes pass without excruciating pain, I release my death grip on my mom’s hand.

“I’ll find Dad and Ellie. Would you like them to come in?”

I glance down at my body, covered under a blue sheet and a very unflattering open-front gown. I waggle my head but decide I’m modest enough.

“Sure.”

My mom leans over to kiss my head, then heads out of the room, leaving me alone with the nurse who gave me my miracle drugs.

“It’s nice that your family is here,” she says.

“Mmm, it is. My husband is in Portland. He’s a quarterback for the Cyclones, and it’s game day, so?—”

“Oh, my God, are you dating Chance Hickory?” she squeals.

My expression freezes in place, my brow pinched, and my mouth soured, but I am on the verge of incredulous laughter.

“No. The other guy.”

“Ah,” she says, placating me with a soft smile before moving on to write my stats on the whiteboard on the wall.

“You know, my husband was the one who taught Chance how to roll out of the pocket and throw side-armed,” I say, for some reason feeling a deep need to defend Wyatt’s pro experience.

“Cool,” she says, but in a flippant way.

“It is cool. Wyatt’s still better at it, but Chance is getting there.”

She nods over her shoulder and smiles. I should stop talking.

“He only has a one-year contract, so . . . you know. We’re not sure what next year holds. We have our hands full with this little guy, of course. Anyhow . . .” I sigh, realizing how crazy I sound.

The nurse leaves without another word, and frankly, I wouldn’t be shocked if she begs someone to trade patients.

My dad and sister are a welcome sight. I hold out my hand for Ellie, and she clambers up close, snuggling against my side so I can hug her.

“You were so helpful, Ellie. Thank you.”

She’s still freaked out. I can tell by the way her mouth is shut tight and her gaze darts around the room. The last time she was in a hospital with me was when I was recovering from my spinal surgery. That was a scary time, and she was young.

“Wyatt’s on his way to the airport right now. They got him on a four-thirty flight. Jason is going to pick him up in Tucson. We’ll get him here,” my dad reassures.

I nod, then breathe out nice and slow as a contraction takes hold. I’m grateful not to be feeling the rush of pain like before, but this shit still hurts.

Over the next six hours, in shrinking increments of minutes, I manage to breathe my way through labor and hold off long enough for Wyatt to arrive. I cry the second I see him, and he swoops right into position, running his hand through my hair and kissing my forehead.

“I’m sorry I’m late. You’re doing great,” he says. I grip his shirt in my fist as a new wave hits, and he glances across me to my mom.

“Is this normal?” he asks.

“Quite,” my mom responds.

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