Page 34 of Rushing Her: Seattle, Westerners
“Can I see my boys?” Every night before bed, Brayden kisses my stomach and professes how much he loves them.
I turn the camera around and lift the shirt of my sleep set. The shorts rest under my stomach at nineteen weeks, andbecause of the size of the boys and the fact that there are three of them, I look like what most women do at thirty weeks.
“Night, boys. Daddy loves you.”
Tears fill my eyes, and there’s no stopping them from rolling down my face. He’s so sweet and tender with me and the babies.
“I love you,” I sniffle, and he chuckles.
“Turn me around, Alexandra.” I do as he says, and he gives me a tender look. “Baby, I love you too. I miss you so much. I’ll be home late tomorrow night to hold you and our boys.”
We discuss names and finally settle on three that we like. I fall asleep clutching Brayden’s pillow and missing him.
Chapter 15
Alexandra
It’s three days before Christmas, and the stadium is packed for the game against the San Antonio Rattlers.
Media swarm our limo as we approach and drive through to the garage, which has an elevator that will take us directly to the private boxes. I chose the limo to accommodate everyone, and Brayden still doesn’t know his parents have come. Last night, I booked them a hotel room, and they will be returning to our house tonight after the game.
Reporters shout questions through the windows at us. “Alexandra, are you really pregnant with Brayden Murray’s baby?”, or “Is it true you got pregnant on purpose to tie him to you because you are going to be fired from Top Tier?” The worst is “Alexandra, how do you feel that Brayden has another kid on the way?”
No matter how many times we push for the stalker to come forward and take a paternity test, she continues to insist that she’s pregnant with Brayden’s baby. She’s the one sending these false stories to the press. I try to hold my head high, but it’s challenging when they doubt my children. They are Brayden’s,and there is no denying it. I was only with him, and he was only with me.
“It’s okay, sweetie, we all know they are lies.” Misty, Brayden’s mom, pats my thigh.
“Thank you.”
I look to where my parents are seated and around at everyone in the limo. They are all watching me, expecting me to break down. That’s why I won’t. I must be strong for them, too. My counselor suggests that I need to release some of the emotions, or I will break, but I haven’t figured a way to get it out. I can’t go to kickboxing classes right now or punch a bag. My treadmill or pounding the pavement is even out of the question. I feel it building inside me, and I’m afraid it’s about to overwhelm me.
After parking in the garage, we enter the private box, and instead of hiding in the back like I have for months, I walk to the glass and look down at the fans that are filling the stadium.
The Westerners have already clinched their seed in the playoffs with their recent wins. Both Brayden and the quarterback, Brogan, are in sync, and the analysts say that for the first time in years, Brayden looks as good as he did in his rookie year without all those distractions.
The door opens, and in walks Thor and Briar with Raven. They make their way over and hug me before we all wait for the game to start. Today, I’m finally wearing Brayden’s jersey and number. I have it paired with black maternity leggings, so it looks like a dress over my enormous belly. Every week, I get bigger and bigger. These boys are about to overtake my body.
My mom comes by and hands me a finger sandwich from the snack tray in the room. I take a bite even though my stomach is in knots. I’m so nervous about this being our first official game, now that our relationship is going public.
I watch as the Jumbotron reflects an image of me and Brayden. It features an article stating that the notorious bad boy of the league has been taken off the market.
My phone pings, and I look down at the message.
Brayden
I love you.
I smile, and a part of me settles, while taking a deep breath and moving away from the glass for a moment. When the game begins with “Sabotage” from the Beastie Boys blaring through the sound system, I move back to the glass to support my man and let the photo frenzy begin.
Brayden
The Rattlers are on point today, wanting to prove they deserve to be in the playoffs, as well, by beating us. Neither team has been able to score a touchdown, only field goals. My frustration is through the roof, and I’m ready to put my neck out there and make a run for it.
The Jumbotron flashes images of people in the boxes, and I catch my girl smiling at the camera. She’s faking it, so I’m worried about her, but when my mom walks up and puts an arm around her, I whip my head toward the box. There, my father stands, behind the two women who mean the most to me. My parents made it to a live game. I’m freaking out and excited.
Now is the time.
I jog over to the coaching staff as they talk to Brogan and interrupt. “Let’s do the fake we’ve been practicing.”
