3. Peyton

3

Tomorrow, Elle and I have our appointments for our ultrasounds. We plan to go together to save the guys from having to drive into downtown. Mostly, it saves our sanity. It never fails, some other driver will piss either Ben or Noah off, and then a mood is set. I'm trying to remain positive and think only happy thoughts. I figure if I tell myself this is going to work on the first try, then it will work, and I won't have to continue going back. I'd be happy with one round of shots. I know Noah would be.

I caught him reading about IVF and the process even though we know everything there is to know about it. Thanks to social media and vlogging, mothers and even some fathers detail their journeys. The highs and lows, the good and the bad. Even the ugly, which I appreciate. I know it's going to be ugly. I hate being poked and prodded and as much as I'm looking forward to morning sickness, I'm really not. No one enjoys puking, even if there's a good outcome at the end of the duration. That shit hurts and since the accident, my bones ache.

I grip the railing of our balcony, tip my head back, and close my eyes to let the sun beat down on me. I love being in California, with the warmth, the ocean, and of course the sun. But I miss home. By home, I mean Beaumont. I never thought I'd miss it as much as I do, but ever since Elle moved back and I've gone back and forth a few times to see her, I've realized that's where I want to raise my family. Deep down, one part of me hopes Noah takes an offer from a different team, maybe one closer to Beaumont. But then, there's a part of me who wants to be here, near my parents so my mom will be there when I need her. Because I'm going to need her. The football analyst in me wants him to stay in Portland. We've made a good home there and have a lot of friends. Friends I'd miss, but who could come visit wherever we are. I'm not foolish enough to think those friends won't be traded, although I imagine Julius would retire if that was the case.

Behind me, Noah's on the phone. I glance over my shoulder and see him pacing. His hand is in his hair, tugging at the ends. He's frustrated and rightly so. The Pioneers are taking their sweet time making him an offer. Honestly, all of this should be a no-brainer. He's the face of their franchise and has a Super Bowl under his belt. Not many teams or quarterbacks can say they've done that with an expansion team in the time he's been there. Yet, they're dicking him around. Which makes me wonder about my job. Is it worth staying if my husband isn't there? I've had other offers before, from teams here and on the east coast. Noah has options, as do I. We're definitely not a packaged deal, but it is nice. And now I wonder if I am the cause of their delay. Do they want me gone? If they do, they just need to say so.

I pull my phone out and press the contact for Liam. Normally, I'd video chat, but I don't want Noah to hear his dad's voice and come out here.

"Hey," Liam says when he answers. "Everything okay?"

"Hi and yes. Can't a girl call her father-in-law?"

Liam chuckles. "No, but she can call her uncle. What's up?"

When he refers to himself as my uncle, I smile. My memories from childhood are fuzzy, like everyone's. The older you get the less you remember. I remember Liam and the day he walked up to the pew. At five, I knew he was going to change my life. Be someone I could count on no matter what. With him, I still got to be Mason's little girl, his football loving daughter.

"I'm worried about Noah," I tell him. "Between this baby stuff and the Pioneers dragging their feet, he's stressed. I think he can use some dad time."

"That can be arranged," he says. "I'll be there tomorrow. Does that work?"

"Yes. I'll make sure your room is ready."

Liam laughs again. "As if it isn't immaculate already."

"Hey, I can't help it."

"Sure, you can't. Anything else? Are you okay?"

"I'm nervous," I tell him. It's not like any of our matriarchs have been through this and I'm not na?ve enough to think Elle's struggles will be like mine. I face an uphill battle without an ax, but with all the support in the world. The problem with the support is they can't get me pregnant or make sure I stay pregnant. They can hold and care for me. Be there when I tell them I don't need anyone. The hurdle is me and I can't fix me. "And scared."

"We have to believe everything is going to work out the way we want," he says. "Is your mom going with you?"

"No, tomorrow is just an ultrasound. It won't take long. Elle and I didn't think she'd want to sit in the waiting room."

"Makes sense. All right, I'll see you tomorrow. Love you, P."

"Love you too, Uncle Liam."

We hang up and I find my husband is still pacing. I wish there was something I could do, but his contract is out of the scope of my responsibilities. It's my job to show him and the others where they need to attack, move better with and without the ball, and how to move ten steps ahead instead of waiting for the obvious.

When I walk into the house, Noah looks at me and sighs heavily.

"I gotta go," he says into the receiver and then hangs up. Most people would slip their phone back into their pocket or set it down. Not Noah. Not today. His phone flies into the couch, bouncing off the cushion and tumbling to the floor. "Fuck!"

What do I do? I can't offer help because there isn't anything I can do on my end. This is the line we can't cross. We may work for the same company, but we aren't anywhere near the same. I can negotiate my own employment, he can't.

Maybe it's Allen.

Maybe Noah needs a new agent.

Because I'm at a loss, I stand there, waiting for my husband to say something. He doesn't. He picks up his phone and walks down the hall toward our bedroom. I choose not to follow. He's in a mood and sometimes we're better off apart when he's like this.

Instead, I sit down on the couch, pull my legs underneath me, and read the book about this one woman's journey through IVF. For the most part, it's inspiring. Except when she writes about miscarrying, and then losing her husband to an accident. What ensued was a battle over her eggs because she and his parents weren't on speaking terms. I can't imagine what she went through, but then again, my life situation is very different from others.

There was a time, back in elementary or middle school, where a group of classmates were convinced Noah and I were related and would tell anyone who cared to listen. It didn't matter what I said, no one believed me. They never let up on their theory, no matter how many people disproved it. The fact that he went to prom with me really sent those kids into a tailspin. I wish I could've seen their faces when they found out we got married.

Well, maybe not.

Noah returns. He stands there, still somewhat in the hall and partially in the family room. He looks angry, pissed off at the world. I say nothing and go back to reading.

"What are you reading?"

I show him the cover and he makes a face of disgust.

"Why are you reading that shit?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says. "Why put yourself through that? Those issues she wrote about are hers. Not yours."

"No, I certainly have my own, don't I?"

"I didn't say that."

"You literally just did." I go back to reading, not wanting to engage with him when he's like this.

"I'm going out."

"Okay."

"That's it? Just, okay?" He huffs.

This time, I set the book down and stare at my sour-faced husband. I love him with all my being but he's a pain in my ass. "Yes, just okay. Okay, you're going out. Okay, you're being a pissant. Okay, you're throwing an adult size temper tantrum."

"You don't get it."

"You're right, I don't. You have teams willing to offer you millions and you're holding out for a team that isn't even returning Allen's calls. Why? What's so damn important about the Pioneers?"

"You," he says matter-of-factly.

His one word gives me pause. I blink back a rush of tears and shake my head. "Don't stay there because of me," I tell him.

Noah drops his head and sighs, then walks toward me and surprises me when he drops to his knees and hugs my legs. "I'm sorry, baby." He kisses my legs, torso and finally my lips. "I'm so damn mad."

I thread my fingers through his locks. Now that he's not playing, he's let his hair grow. The ends curl and they make me hope our child will be lucky enough to inherit his curls.

"I know you are, but please don't base your decision on me."

"How can I not?"

He's right.

I trail my fingers along his hairline and down his cheek bone. "I love you for thinking of me, but don't let that drive you, Noah. We'll figure it out."

"How?"

"It'd be no different if I took a sideline reporting job. I'd have a home base and I'd travel."

"You know that doesn't work with your type of job, right?"

I nod. It also won't work if we have a child and we're not living together. The thing is, I'm not ready to give up on my career just yet. I lean forward and kiss him.

"I love you, Noah. No matter what you decide, things will work out."

He climbs onto the couch and pulls my legs over the top of his. He takes my book, looks at the cover, shakes his head, and then sets it down, making sure to save my spot. "I'm sorry I said what I did about the book, it's just that her story isn't yours and I don't want those thoughts in your head."

"I know."

Noah leans his head back, over the edge of the couch. "When did life become so complicated?"

"It's not complicated, we're evolving."

He half chuckles, half sighs. "My career's a mess. I thought re-signing would be a no-brainer."

"I can't help but wonder if it's me. Maybe they want to let me go but figure if they re-sign you, I come back."

Noah looks at me. "Do you think about quitting?"

I shrug. "At times. There are a lot of sports analysts who work and have children. I certainly wouldn't be the first, but I also don't want a nanny raising our child. Since you asked the other day, I've given it some thought. I just don't know."

"Well, I want to be wherever you are."

"What if that means not playing football or only seeing each other one day a week?"

Noah shakes his head. "The one day a week thing won't work for me, and I'm not sure if not playing works either."

"Then it looks like we're in a wait and see holding pattern. Maybe we need to take some trips to these other teams and document everything on social media. That might make the Pioneers get off their asses."

"I'll have Allen set some things up."

"Just wait six weeks."

Noah looks from me to my stomach. His hand rests there. "I wish it were me putting our baby in there."

"Me, too."