Page 24

HOLT

“It should be illegal to sweat this much. I feel like I’ve been stuck in an island prison camp for ten years. You know, like those movies where people go to jail in Thailand for smuggling drugs.”

I cock an eyebrow. “What classic movie details the life of a Thai prison inmate?”

She pouts. “I watch current movies too.”

“When?” I challenge.

She nibbles on her lip, thinking. Finally, she gives up. “That’s so not the point right now.”

I can’t help but laugh. “And what is the point?”

Just to make her point, she spins to the side, walking like a drunk, and points a finger at me, jabbing the air with every word. “That football should be a winter sport, not a fall sport. The people who first made it a fall sport aren’t from Alabama. I can guarantee you that.”

Of course, she doesn’t see that she’s about to walk right into the middle of a wooden power pole. Grabbing her waist, I tuck her against me, shielding her from catastrophe. She wobbles slightly. “Oh, there’s a pole,” she says absentmindedly.

She’s so freakin’ funny.

“Well, did you at least have a little bit of fun? Sweat and all?”

She can’t hide her grin. “You know I had fun.” She tugs on my shirt, forcing me to stop walking.

I shift my duffel bag so it doesn’t hit her. For a second, I wish time could just stand still, stop moving, let us live in this moment forever.

Her hair is piled into a messy bun. Long strands stick to the back of her neck, clinging to the beads of sweat. Her cheeks are flushed and tinted pink from the summer sun. She’s wearing a yellow tank top that showcases her growing stomach. She started the night with a little white sweater, refusing to show her arms because she thinks her armpits are turning darker and it makes it look like she hasn’t shaved. Of course, I can’t tell any difference in her armpit skin. Needless to say, that sweater came off before the first quarter was even done. Her short khaki shorts showcase the lean muscles of her legs. Just looking at them gets me horny as hell.

Unable to stop myself, I reach up with my free arm and turn my ballcap around backward.

Her eyes instantly widen in delight, and she takes a step closer to me, pressing our bodies together. “You were on fire tonight. I’m so proud of you. You’ve handled this like a champion. All the players? Their families? The school? You’ve brought everyone back together. It’s amazing.” Her eyes fall to my lips. She licks her own. “Three wins down.”

“And what do I get for winning three games in a row?”

She folds her hands across the top of her stomach and looks down, playing Shy Merit. “Why, I just don’t know, sir .”

I put my hand next to hers and press down. “Son, I think Momma is trying to seduce me.” Of course, our son immediately answers to my voice, tossing and turning and kicking.

Her head falls back in laughter, and she playfully slaps my hand away. “Don’t get him on your side. He’s supposed to be on my side.”

“It’s the same side. We’re a family.”

Giving me a sheepish smile, she turns and keeps walking to the truck. Racing behind her, I open the door and help her climb in. I get a whiff of her shampoo. Apparently, it’s green-tea scented. Whatever the hell that means. I have no idea why girls like to change their smells so often.

On the drive home, she tells me everything that happened in the stands while I was down on the field. Apparently, the mascot fell down the stairs, the couple behind them got into a fight over the cost of a hot dog, and Anna and Laura decided that the other team’s coach was a meanie pants because he cursed at a player. Eventually, we settle into a comfortable silence. I glimpse at the clock, disappointed with how late it is. Tonight would be a perfect night to surprise her with fried rice takeout from the Japanese steakhouse, but they’re already closed.

I glance over at her profile, noticing just how much she’s changed in the past few weeks. We have another doctor’s appointment next week. Seven-and-a-half months. I can’t believe we’re already there. She’s still on the slender side for her pregnancy, but the doctor says everything is just perfect.

I turn down the volume of the radio. “You know, we really need to start discussing names.”

Her eyeballs nearly bug out of her head. “Oh. Yeah. I guess we do.” Her voice is fake. Pretend. Completely un-Merit.

I study her. She tries to avoid my stare, but she’s too curious not to steal a peek. Laughing, I slap the steering wheel. “Mer! You’ve already got a name picked out, don’t you?”

She shifts in her seat, preparing to defend herself. She’s so damn sexy and cute, I can’t help but touch her. I slide my hand across the console and caress her upper thigh. When chill bumps break across her smooth skin, I realize I’m about two damn seconds from swerving my truck to the side of the road so I can pull her over on my lap.

“Well, yeah,” she starts. “But you may not like it. But… but… I… it just means a lot.” She runs her hand along the length of my arm, tracing the vein.

I wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. “Well,” I prod, “do I get to hear our son’s name?”

She takes a fortifying, deep breath. “Daire.”

My heart immediately explodes in my chest. “After your brother?”

She nods, dabbing at the sudden wetness in the corner of her eye.

I smile. Nothing has ever felt more right. “It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Relief settles on her face. “Good, I think so too.” Her brow furrows. “I haven’t asked Daddy yet, though. I feel like I need his permission. Like, I’m taking something from him, you know? I mean, Daire was his son.”

“Let me ask him.”

“Really?”

“It would be my honor.” Taking her hand, I gently kiss her wrist and then drag her knuckles across my lips, relishing in the taste of salt on her body. “Let me ask him.”

She leans back in her seat, sighing contently and softly rubbing the skin I just kissed—back and forth with the thumb of her other hand, like her fingertips are trying to memorize the invisible map left behind by my mouth.

“Well, now that that’s settled, we need a middle name,” I say.

She repeats herself. “Oh. Yeah. I guess we do.” Once again, her voice is completely fake. But unlike before, this time, her tone actually has me a little worried, a little on edge. The slight tinge of airy hope has been replaced with weighted seriousness.

“Don’t tell me, you already have a middle name picked out too?”

She just shakes her head. “No.”

She’s lying.

And I definitely don’t like this lie. Something about it raises my hackles, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Don’t lie, Merit.”

“Mmmm?”

“You obviously have a middle name picked out. It’s written all over your face.”

She doesn’t answer. She just looks out the side window, watching the cars drive past.

“Tell me the truth.”

She slowly rolls her head in my direction. All of a sudden, it’s like she’s too exhausted to even lift her head. “Well.” She pauses for so long before continuing, I actually get scared. “I was thinking about… Hill.”

What?

“What?” I frown, turning the name over in my head. “Daire Hill Hill?”

“Daire Hill Browning.”

What. The. Hell.

“Excuse me?” It’s the only thing I can think to say. I’m too damn stunned.

“Holt,” she says with a soft yet firm voice, “it’s more difficult when mothers have different last names from their children. We get that questioning stare—people wondering if we’re divorced. Or if we never changed our last name to that of our husband’s. People wondering if we never even married. Or if we adopted and didn’t change our child’s last name. As the primary caregiver, all the legal stuff will be so much easier if me and the baby have the same last name. You know, school and medical stuff. Please understand.”

I should be understanding. I should be compassionate. At a minimum, I should at least be diplomatic.

But I’m not.

My pride is hurt. My sense of belonging is shattered. More importantly, my love for this woman and child blind me. It’s an all-consuming solar flare, flashing with a light so bright that it darkens everything else around me. And needless to say, that doesn’t exactly make me diplomatic.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

She folds her arms across her chest. “Holt.”

“How can you even suggest such a thing? Are you still that mad at me? Are you doing this to punish me?” I knock the ballcap off my head and drag my hand through my hair. “He’s my son. We shouldn’t have different last names. None of us! We’re a family. Same name; same family. If you would just marry me, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

Her mouth drops open. “What?”

Well, shit.

That’s not exactly how I imagined myself proposing. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the right moment. Waiting for her to truly forgive me. And then, I was gonna propose the shit out of her. You know, with a grand romantic gesture—Merit-style, of course—that shows her just how much she means to me.

Her eyes narrow into slits. “What did you just say?”

“I said we should get married.”

Well, shit. That sounds just as bad.

Her face pales, and her eyes darken. I watch the lively colors—the greens and blues and browns—fade to gray. Completely void of life. Her lip quivers for a split second before she crushes her emotions, taking them and burying them deep in her injured soul. The soul that’s been battered and bruised by me, more than once.

Her jaw tenses. Sitting forward in her seat, she calmly folds her hands in her lap. “You don’t have to marry me just because you’re afraid of losing your child. I told you that would never happen.” She swallows. “Maybe it’s time we circle back around to the custody papers.”

I’m suffocating.

Sinking in a hole of quicksand that I’ll never be able to crawl out of. My throat tightens, making it hard to breathe. My whisper is strained, barely audible in the quiet of the truck. “You’re never gonna forgive me, are you?”

She looks down at her hands. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

***

It goes without saying, we don’t share a bedroom tonight. In fact, she didn’t even say goodnight to me. She just barreled through the Big House, hightailing it to the Children’s Wing. I walked behind her, trying to search for the right words. Obviously, I never found them because my dumb ass didn’t say one damn thing. Not even when she closed the door to the Children’s Wing in my face. Even from the hallway, I could hear the lock click on her bedroom door.

That sound shattered me. It took all my willpower not to kick the damn thing down, sweep her into my arms, and beg for forgiveness. I wanted nothing more than to hold her, kiss her, comfort her.

But how could I?

After the things I said.

How could I?

Knowing that she’ll never forgive me for what happened then . In January. When I threw her out of my life.

That will always be hanging over us.

Delaney’s in prison, but we’re the ones being punished. Still locked within a jail of my own making. Me. Merit. Daire. We’re the ones suffering.

I need time to figure out what the hell I’m gonna do.

I could never be with anyone else, never love anyone else.

I meant what I said… I will fight for Merit’s love and forgiveness until my dying breath.

So, that means this battle may never end for me. And I reckon it’s time I come to grips with that harsh, fucking reality.

How do I fight for her without making her miserable in my conquest?

Because if I keep hurting her, is that really loving her ?

Standing in the shower, I replay the night over and over in my head, until the water turns cold and my skin feels raw. Like a zombie, I crawl into bed, tossing and turning instead of immediately passing out, like normal. I’m not sure how long it takes, but eventually I fall asleep.

But again, it’s not normal.

Normally, a freight train couldn’t wake me.

But tonight? Tonight, I sit up the second her hand jiggles my shoulder.

“Holt?”

Something’s wrong. Her voice is shaky, upset.

“Merit?” I glance at the clock, blinking several times to adjust my eyes. It’s just past three in the morning.

“Holt. Something’s wrong.” Her words confirm my fears.

Cold terror pushes through my body, shooting adrenaline straight into my veins. Jumping out of bed, I turn on the lamp, nearly knocking it over. “What do you mean something’s wrong?”

She doesn’t even have a chance to say anything. Her hands cradle her stomach, and she doubles over in pain. “Agh!” Her cry is a cross between a grimace and a wail. It’s a sound I never want to hear again as long as I live. I’d saw off my damn arm, right now, with a toothpick, if it meant that Merit would never be in that kind of pain to make that kind of sound again.

The fact remains, I’ve been around Raylee while she was in labor. I’ve been around Ella while she was in labor. Yes, they made noise. Yes, I know it hurt. But no matter how loud they got, there was this kind of strength behind them. An intense domination. An unspoken force of nature that only women have. Them telling the world , I can do this. This is supposed to happen. I can handle this, and you can’t. I’m in labor. I’m having a baby. I’m in control. And I’m the anchor holding everything in place.

None of that is behind Merit’s scream.

This scream is pure pain and panic.

Grabbing her elbow, I gently set her on the bed. Curling into a fetal position, she rolls back and forth, moaning. I keep whispering to her, trying to get her attention. Tears stream down her face, crushing my heart in my chest. After a minute, the pain seems to ease just enough for her talk. She chokes out my name, gagging on her sobs. “Holt…”

“Just your stomach?” I ask.

She nods.

Gently, I lay my hand on her stomach, willing my son to kick. He doesn’t.

“Are you bleeding?”

She closes her eyes and curls tighter.

“Merit, answer me. Are you bleeding?”

She blinks, trying to focus on my words. She looks drunk. “A little.”

Racing to the dresser, I throw on shorts and a T-shirt and kick my feet into a pair of old sneakers. Scooping her from the bed and into my arms, I head downstairs, only pausing for a quick second to pocket my cell phone from the table outside the bedroom.

Five missed calls. All from Merit.

Fuck. Me.

I am such an idiot.

After tonight, everything changes. I’m never sleeping without Merit—or without my cell phone—for as long as I have breath in my body.

I can’t keep pretending Delaney didn’t change anything. Because she did. She changed everything. And I’ve got to stop fighting it. I have to give into it. It’s the only way we’re going to heal.

All of us.

She leans into me, the heat from her tears burns my neck. “Oh, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.”

I kiss the top of her head. “I know, baby. We’re going to the hospital.” I grab the blanket from the back of the couch when I jog past it. Loading her into the truck, I tuck it around her, hoping it gives her a little bit of comfort. She always washes our sheets and blankets in a detergent that smells like lavender. She said it’s supposed to be calming.

The drive to the hospital is a blur. My heart is beating a thousand times a minute. And yet, it feels like it’s frozen in my chest. My emotions clog my vision making it hard to see. And yet, I’m hyper-focused on everything around me. I even notice one of the light-up letters is still burnt out on the building sign for Run and Jump and Twirl .

Despite the tremble in my hand, I have enough control in my muscles to dial the answering service for our doctor. They say they’ll get the message to him immediately, but I throw in a couple of curses for good measure. You know, just to emphasize the magnitude of the situation.

Throughout it all, I keep talking to Merit. Encouraging her, consoling her. Holding her hand. Raking my fingers down the side of her beautiful face. Trying to do anything and everything to soothe her fear and worry. Because I sure as hell can’t take away her suffering and screams, no matter how much I want to.

If only I could…

I would sacrifice myself—die, right here and right now—if only I could heal her. And our son.

Please God take care of her.

Speeding into the parking lot, I pull Merit from the truck. Before wrapping the blanket around her, I check the leather seat for blood. Relief courses through me when I don’t see any. Hopefully, she’s not bleeding that badly. If she were bleeding bad, I’d see it, right? No blood is a good thing, right?

By the time I’m ten feet from the door, I’m already hollering. “Hey! Hey! I need a doctor.”

The security guard rushes forward, holding his hands up, warning me to slow down. It only takes a second for him to recognize me. His eyes widen in shock, but he quickly recovers. He holds open the entry gate, bypassing the security check point and metal detector. “This way.”

I’ve never been so glad to be famous.

Merit wails in pain. Her body is tense and tight. Brittle and clenched.

No one can ignore her. Every head in the waiting room turns in our direction.

I rush past them and race to the nurses’ station. All of a sudden, three people are by my side, thrusting a gurney in front of me, ordering me to put Merit down.

I have no idea where they came from. Normally, I know everything about my surroundings. As a quarterback, you have to be aware of what’s happening around you. It’s all about perspective and periphery.

And yet, I completely missed these people.

They could’ve fallen from the sky for all I know.

An older lady seems to take charge. She has frayed gray hair and a pin on her shirt shaped like a guitar that says Nurses Rock. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“She’s in pain and she’s bleeding. It’s too early for labor. This can’t be it. Something else is going on. Something’s wrong.”

My voice is calm and steady and firm. A coach’s voice.

But inside? I’m anything but calm and steady and firm.

I feel like a dollar bill that’s been run through the washing machine.

“How far along is she?” the nurse asks.

I skirt around her, following them into the room, refusing to let go of Merit’s hand. “Seven-and-a-half months. She’s due October 3 rd .”

A guy about my age with red hair and glasses steps into the room, quickly putting gloves on his hands. “Merit Browning?”

I nod.

“Dr. Skinner called right before you got here. He’s on his way in.”

There’s a flurry of activity. Question after question. They guide me out of the way, saying I have to give them room to work. They push Merit’s nightgown up around her breasts, and when they spread her legs, showing her panties, I nearly collapse on the floor.

Blood.

The center of her white cotton panties is soaked in blood.

I close my eyes so tightly I see spots. Purple and black and yellow. They dance in a line across the back of my eyelids. When I open them, they’ve draped a cloth over her for modesty, and the doctor is giving her a vaginal exam. Without warning, he pulls his hands from her. “We need to get her to OB Imaging. Now.”

Merit’s in the middle of another spasm, retching back and forth on the bed, her face contorted in agony.

Lifting the side arms of the gurney, they immediately start pushing her away from the room. I’m already in the hallway, following them to the elevator, when the nurse squeezes my shoulder. “You’ll have to wait down here, in the waiting room. I promise we’ll come get you as soon as she’s done with imaging, as soon as we know more.”

“What?” I can’t even fathom what she just said. Is she fucking crazy? “She’s my wife. I’m not leaving her side.”

Wife .

It might be a white lie in words, but it’s not a white lie in my heart.

The nurse peers deeply into my eyes, shifting her face to block my view. “You don’t have a choice.” She nods, letting me know she understands my feelings. “I promise, we’ll get you back to her as soon as possible.”

The elevator bell rings, and the doors slide open. “Holt!” Merit tosses her head back, frantically looking for me.

Shouldering my way between the people, I grab her face, peppering her with kisses. Her brow is covered in sweat. “I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

The doctor nods at the open elevator. “We need to go.”

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” I repeat. “I’ll be right here waiting.”

Her eyes widen and tears roll down her face. Her cheeks are rosy and chapped. “I forgive you.”

I can’t fucking breathe.

“What?” My voice sounds fractured and full of disbelief. It doesn’t even sound like me.

“I forgive you. And I love you.”

Bending down, I kiss her lips. Her tongue grazes mine, and the passion and love that’s always been there grows even deeper. Without our permission, the doctor starts pushing the bed into the elevator. Quickly giving her one last kiss, I watch in stunned torture as the doors close.

The nurse guides me back out to the waiting room, telling me I need to fully register with the front desk and fill out patient paperwork. Bypassing that, I walk straight outside. The night air is sticky and hot, plagued with the smell of cleaning fluid and cafeteria food, like it’s permanently etched in the bricks of the building. Engraved in the concrete of the sidewalk, in the pine bark around the shrubs.

Folding my hands on top of my head, I pace back and forth, trying to compose myself.

It doesn’t help.

Sighing, I pull out my cell phone. My body’s shaking so badly I’m surprised I can even punch the numbers.

Deke answers on the second ring, his voice laden with sleep and panic. “Yeah?”

I repeat the words we’ve had to say too many times tonight.

“Something’s wrong.”