Page 79 of Chasing The Goal
My laugh came out broken.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he said. “I want to.”
There was no press in his voice. No desperation. Just warmth. Just him.
I exhaled, chest tight. “Okay.”
His eyes flicked up, searching mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His grin was quick and wide and softened with something deeper. Something I wasn’t ready to name yet—but felt all the way down to my ribs.
***
He wasn’t bluffing.
Bythe time they wheeled me downstairs later that afternoon, Jaymie had texted Connor and Darren, and somehow turned a casual favor into a full-on covert ops deployment.
I made it up the elevator one slow step at a time—Jaymie hovering close but not touching, not until I nodded. Then he slid an arm around my waist and steadied me like he’d done it a hundred times.
Inside his apartment, the lights were low and the windows wide open to the cold air, as if they’d wanted to air out the space and welcome me in.
And the guest room...
It didn’t look like a guest room anymore.
The bed had been moved against the far wall to make room for a small shelf with snacks, folded blankets, and a neatly stacked row of baby books—half mine, half clearly from Darren’s panicked shopping spree.
Connor was adjusting the height of the nightstand lamp like it mattered, arguing with Darren about “visual flow,” whatever the hell that meant.
“Do you two moonlight as interior decorators?” I asked, breathless.
“Absolutely not,” Connor said without turning around.
Darren looked proud. “Jaymie said make it comfortable. We took that personally.”
Jaymie guided me into the room, one hand still firm on my back, and I stood there frozen in the doorway, too overwhelmed to move.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said.
Connor grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Darren passed me a cold Gatorade like it was a sacred offering. “We also panic-bought groceries. You have five different types of hummus now. Don’t ask.”
My laugh came out soft. Lopsided. Real.
Jaymie helped me into the bed—careful, quiet, like I was made of something precious—and sat beside me just long enough to press a kiss to my temple.
The guys lingered in the kitchen, arguing over who had emergency key duty. I didn’t even bother weighing in.
My phone buzzed against my thigh. A message from Eliza.
Eliza:
You’re officially on maternity leave. No timeline. No pressure. Come back when you’re good and ready. We’ve got you covered.
