Epilogue One

Willa

Two Years Later

I am so nervous to make this post—even more nervous than I was about taking a stand on politics for the first time. My finger is shaking, partially because I know what is going to happen once I do this but also because I'm so damn excited.

I inhale deeply. I didn't sleep well last night because today is such a big one, and because Blake wasn't with me. He isn't allowed to sleep anywhere except the team hotel until the championship is over.

Kevin clocks my sigh, from where he stands at the doorway.. "Are you alright? Need some crackers or anything?"

"I'm fine." I wave him off. "Just nervous. More nervous than I've ever been."

"Because it's the championship again?" He raises a brow.

I nod. "Because Blake is playing and I'm performing. But we're also about to make a huge announcement."

"Is that today?" He plays dumb, a gentle smile on his face. I think he might be as proud and as happy as my own father.

"You know it's today." I tilt my head to the side, wanting his approval. Although he's not related to me, he's taken on such a father figure role in my life, and I like to make sure he agrees with the decisions I've made. "We picked the best day, huh?"

"At least you won't have people immediately asking if you'll be touring again."

I slip my hand down to my stomach. It's subconscious now. I'm glad we're finally announcing. It's been hard to hide the last fourteen weeks, especially with rehearsals for the show I'll be performing at half-time. In the early weeks, I would run out of the dance studio, puke, pray to the Lord that it would be over quickly, and then head back in. As I've been dancing on my heels, my center of gravity has changed, and it's been difficult, but somehow I've made it through.

I can't wait to see Blake win another championship tonight, perform at half-time, and announce that we're going to have our first child—all in the same day. Going back to my phone, I hover my finger over the post button. I know I have to do this before I go onstage, because everyone will notice when I do. I have a bump. It's not big, but it's big enough, and I'd rather not have people commenting on a weight gain or questioning if I'm pregnant or not without me giving them the okay. My ten-pound gain isn't much, but it will be talked about.

Quickly, I tag Blake's account, and then sit with the caption I crafted last night.

Willa: I loved you before I knew you. Before your dad and I even thought about you, I had dreams—dreams of a little boy with dark hair, so unlike mine, hanging onto my pinky as we crossed the street in New York at Christmas. I dreamt that when I was twenty-two years old, and I've held it close. Through a miscarriage a few years ago, through relationships that I knew wouldn't create you until I met Blake and realized with one glance...he was my future. As were you. The instant you were created, I knew.

Your dad and I have enjoyed every moment of keeping your upcoming entrance a secret, but I agreed to do the show at half-time three weeks before I got pregnant with you, and then your dad had to go and upstage me by being the best player this year and getting himself there too. This is our first football game as a family, and I can't wait to hold you on my lap while you wear a Whitfield jersey and we watch your dad do his thing. Without further ado—Baby Whitfield, coming in August. We can't wait to meet you.

I make sure the picture we took of me holding our ultrasound while sitting in Blake's lap is there, too. Our smiles are from ear to ear, and there are a few tears in my eyes. I've been extremely emotional since we found out. With another sigh, I press post and brace myself for all the opinions everyone is going to have for us.

Blake is at a team lunch to make sure they're ready for tonight. My phone buzzes.

B: I love you! We're both going to have amazing nights, and our baby will know he was at the championship with his parents.

I roll my eyes. We haven't found out what the gender is yet—we want to wait for the ultrasound we're having in a few weeks, but Blake keeps calling it a boy. I'm worried for either gender—whichever our baby's biological sex, they will each have their own comparisons to deal with. But I know more than anything we'll be supportive of whatever they want to do.

As I wait under the stage, and then get my cue, I inhale deeply and vow to take this in. Who knows when I'll back on stage again?

"Are you ready?" I sing.

And in this moment, I know without a doubt that I am.