Page 47 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

Soft Nights & Streaming Light

The world outside moved fast— work, medical appointments, wedding memories still warm and framed around the house.

But inside their Lockwood home, life softened.

With Blaine recovering from his surgery and Linnie on modified bed rest, the pace of their days shifted into something slower, sweeter.

The couch became their kingdom. They stacked pillows just right, pulled cozy blankets up to their chests, and let the TV glow fill the room as they melted into their favorite shows.

Rhett & Link on YouTube became their breakfast tradition.

Every morning, with Daisy snoozing on the rug and Ember curled into a sunbeam, they ’ d sip warm drinks and watch Good Mythical Morning.

Linnie would giggle at the weird food taste tests, and Blaine would always try to predict who ’ d win the challenges— getting it wrong more often than not.

“ These dudes are basically us if we ’ d met in kindergarten,” Blaine would say, nudging her gently.

“ Minus the beard. I could never grow one like Rhett.”

The Office came next. Afternoon laughter therapy.

They knew all the punchlines, all the pranks, and still, when Jim looked at Pam with that quiet love, Blaine would glance over at Linnie the same way.

“ That ’ s how I look at you,” he said one day.

“ Every time. Even when you're making me watch Kevin drop chili for the millionth time.”

Evenings were for How I Met Your Mother.

They watched every episode like it was new, rooting for Marshall and Lily like they didn ’ t already know the ending.

They debated Barney ’ s one-liners, cried at the airport scenes, and Blaine would quote Ted in a mock- dramatic voice, “ I love you, and I am going to keep loving you... forever.” Linnie rolled her eyes and threw popcorn at him.

“ You ’ re a total Ted.” “ And you ’ re my Robin,” Blaine said, pulling her close.

There were quiet moments between the laughs too.

Her head on hishis hand resting on her belly, feeling the small flutters of life inside.

Whispered “ I love yous,” half-finished crossword puzzles, and the comfort of knowing—even when the world felt uncertain —they had these soft, ordinary days to hold them steady.

They weren ’ t doing much. But somehow, these nights mattered just as much as the big ones. Maybe more. Because in the flicker of TV light, between shared snacks and sleepy smiles, they were building something. A foundation. A rhythm. A home full of laughter and reruns and love.

The nursery was finally coming together.

Soft navy paint, Denver Broncos orange accents, a mobile made of mini footballs and clouds.

Linnie had been resting more and more, her feet propped up on a bench while Blaine did most of the physical work.

He carefully stenciled "#15" on the tiny Broncos jersey onesie that would hang above the crib. They laughed over baby name ideas, tossed around wild and sweet options, and ended every night curled up, proud of the space they ’ d made for their son.

Tomorrow, Blaine was going back to work.

His ankle, though not 100%, was strong enough for him to help out with small jobs and prepping for the summer schedule.

Linnie kissed him goodnight, swollen and tired, her feet tinged with color that just wouldn ’ t go away.

She brushed it off. “ Just pregnancy stuff,” she said, even though the pressure in her head hadn ’ t eased in days.

But Blaine ’ s mom noticed. She came over with snacks and left with worry creasing her brow.

Later that afternoon, she couldn't sit with it any longer and showed up again, keys in hand.

“ Come on, we ’ re going in,” she said. “ Better safe than sorry.”

Linnie tried to argue, but by the time they pulled up to the clinic, she could feel it too—something was off.

The nurse took her blood pressure twice. Then again. Quietly. No one met her eyes. They moved fast.

Preeclampsia.

Linnie blinked at the word. She didn ’ t understand it. She wasn ’ t ready for it.

They were rushed to labor and delivery, the bright orange hoodie she ’ d worn suddenly feeling like a warning flag.

Her hands shook as the nurse clipped monitors around her belly, as the IV started, as the steroid shot burned her side.

Magnesium sulfate. Hospital bands. Fetal heart monitors.

A soft thump-thump-thump filling the room with every beat of her baby boy's heart. Blaine was at work. She texted him in all caps: “ PLEASE COME. THEY WON ’ T LET ME LEAVE.” He was there within the hour.

Seeing Blaine ’ s face changed everything—her fear softened just enough for her to let herself cry.

He knelt by her bed, kissed her belly, and whispered, “ We ’ re gonna be okay.

He ’ s gonna be okay.” But her body wasn ’ t safe anymore.

The doctors were calm but clear: she wouldn ’ t be leaving the hospital until their son was born.

Whether that was in ten weeks or tomorrow .

The sun had already set by the time they turned on How I Met Your Mother.

Season nine. The final stretch. Ted meeting the Mother.

Marshall and Lily saying goodbye to old lives.

Every character learning how to let go. They laid together on the narrow hospital bed, Blaine's hand resting over the monitor on her stomach, matching the rhythm.

“ We ’ re not ready,” Linnie whispered.

He kissed her forehead. “ Then we ’ ll get ready together.”

The glow of the TV, the quiet sound of the fetal monitor, and the rising tension in their hearts filled the room as they drifted into a shallow, uneasy sleep.

Morning would bring answers.

And a new doctor.

And maybe… the start of the hardest, bravest chapter yet. The steady beep… beep… beep of the monitor was the only sound in the hospital room aside from the muffled hum of the TV rerun playing on low volume. How I Met Your Mother faded in and out of their awareness as sleep eluded them.

Linnie lay half propped on pillows, a sheen of sweat clinging to her skin from the magnesium drip, her body feeling not quite her own anymore. Blaine sat beside her, his hand cradling hers—his thumb brushing along the inside of her wrist like he was trying to reassure her heartbeat.

She turned her head to him, eyes heavy. “ I ’ m scared.”

He didn ’ t try to fix it. Just kissed her hand. “ Me too.”

And then, the quiet made room for the memories.

A flash of her first positive pregnancy test, the disbelief, the way she wrapped it in a little blue and orange onesie and placed it in a gift box for Blaine on Christmas Eve.

His laugh had broken, his voice cracked as he held it in shaking hands.

“ You serious?” he ’ d asked, hugging her like she might disappear.

Then the cold morning in January, her feet curled beneath her on the couch, Blaine playing The Last of Us beside her, a blanket over them both as they nibbled leftover peppermint bark and talked baby names.

Another image, crisp like a photograph: her in his oversized Broncos hoodie, dancing barefoot in the kitchen with Daisy barking at their heels, laughing so hard she spilled orange juice on the floor and Blaine had to chase her down with a towel.

She blinked back into the hospital room and looked at Blaine—his gaze far off too.

“ What are you thinking about?” she asked softly.

He swallowed hard. “ The first time I saw you at tryouts. You had that fierce look, like you weren ’ t gonna take crap from anyone. I was done for right then.”

She smiled gently.

“ And the time you brought me Daisy… and that PlayStation. I thought, ‘ Damn, this is it. This is the girl I ’ m gonna marry.’”

A tear slid down Linnie ’ s cheek. “ We ’ ve come so far.”

“ We have,” he nodded, voice catching. “ And we ’ ll go farther. Just gotta keep walking.”

The monitors blinked softly. The night wore on.

Blaine crawled onto the bed beside her, careful not to disturb the wires and IV lines. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“ You ’ re doing so good, babe,” he whispered. “ He ’ s gonna be so proud of you.”

“ I just hope he stays in long enough to be okay,” she said, voice barely a breath.

“ He will,” Blaine said, pressing his lips to her hair. “ He ’ s got you for a mama. He ’ ll be strong.”

Outside the window, the storm clouds that had loomed all night were breaking up, letting slivers of morning light start to peek through.

And even with fear curled around their hearts, even with uncertainty so thick it was hard to breathe…

They had each other. And in the stillness of that quiet hospital room, wrapped in memories, they held on to.

The car was quiet. Blaine ’ s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter than he meant to as he pulled into the hospital parking lot, the soft hum of the tires over pavement grounding him.

Linnie sitting in the hospital bed up stairs, her hands folded gently over her belly, the magnesium still making her head fuzzy and slow.

But her eyes were sharp— worried. This wasn ’ t a routine appointment.

This was the appointment. The one that would tell them what came next.

They were meeting with the top high-risk fetal medicine doctor in Montana.

Blaine had Googled him the night before—read the same articles three times in a row just to convince himself she was a miracle worker.

But even with all the credentials, all the expertise, none of it erased the dread in his chest.

Linnie shifted in the seat, exhaling slowly. Her voice was soft. “ Do you think he knows we ’ re scared?”

Blaine glanced at her. “ He knows we love him.”

Her fingers touched the side of her belly, thumb brushing the space just above her navel.

Linnie's Mind

She remembered the first flutter of movement.

It had been late— well into the second trimester—and she thought at first it was just gas or her body playing tricks.

But then it happened again. And again. And when Blaine finally felt it too, they ’ d both burst into tears.

Now she was 30 weeks. And her body was betraying her.

The funneling cervix. The webbing. The terrifying words like placenta insufficiency and preeclampsia.

All the blood tests and appointments, the way doctors whispered in corners and tried to keep their voices calm when reading her stats.

What did I do wrong? That thought came more often than she wanted to admit.

It haunted her, snuck into the quiet hours when Blaine was sleeping or when she was alone in the bathroom, staring at her reflection.

But then her baby would kick, a nudge to her ribs like Hey, I ’ m still here, Mom, and she ’ d place her hands over the bump and cry.

She felt Blaine ’ s hand slide into hers.

Blaine's Mind

He ’ d always thought of himself as a protector.

That was his job— on the field, in their home, in life.

He was supposed to protect her, to shield her from everything.

But he couldn ’ t protect her from this.

He ’ d read every article about preeclampsia, every statistic.

Nothing prepared him for the sight of her in that hospital bed the night before, pale and hooked up to machines, whispering I ’ m scared .

And now, just two days into being back at work after his ankle surgery, he ’ d left it all again—because this was what mattered.

Not the team. Not the games. Not even the job.

Just her. And their baby boy.

The elevator dinged softly. The maternal fetal medicine floor was bright and cold, but the nurse had kind eyes and a calming tone as she brought them into the ultrasound suite.

Linnie was helped onto the bed, gel applied, the machine flickering to life.

And then— There he was. Their boy. The room held its breath.

The doctor began his work, kind but precise, pointing at charts and waveforms, measuring the blood flow, the amniotic fluid levels, the cervical length.

He moved carefully, speaking in soft clinical language—then finally paused, took a breath, and turned to face them both fully.

“ Your baby is strong,” he said. “ Smaller than expected, which is concerning. The steroids are helping his lungs develop. But…” his eyes softened, “…Linnie, your body is telling us it ’ s time to slow down.

You ’ ll remain admitted. Strict bedrest. We need to keep him in as long as possible.

” Linnie nodded, blinking back tears. Blaine kissed her hand.

They weren ’ t leaving this hospital until their son was born.

That night, Linnie rested in the hospital bed again, her eyes on the monitor tracking their baby ’ s heartbeat. Blaine sat beside her, laptop in hand, watching old Rhett and Link videos on mute, glancing over every few minutes to check on her.

“ Hey,” she whispered. “ Remember that night we watched The Office and just ate mac and cheese in bed for dinner?”

He smiled. “ Yeah. Best Tuesday night ever.”

They both laughed quietly.

And in that moment, even wrapped in uncertainty, they felt okay. They were in the fight. Together.