a brain that would react well to oxygen deprivation.
“You don’t have to do that now,” I said. “I’ll help.”
“You rest. You’re ready to pop.”
“So are your cheeks.”
“Well, just wait.” He pointed to the picture on the box. “You’ll thank me. This is better than that Snoogle thing. I know you wanted it, but that sounds like some weird Muppet mating call. This is better. It’s for you to lay on.”
“Jude, please.” I kept my voice soft. “Put it down. I think you need to go and rest.”
“Why?”
I held out my hand. A long moment passed before he reached back to me.
His tremble had gotten worse.
I squeezed his palm. “I know you think I’m crazy right now.”
“Pregnancy crazy or doctor crazy?”
“Good question.”
I’d accidentally nested my way into the kitchen and shifted the plates and bowls to opposing cabinets. Then I went through Jude’s locker at the practice facility and tidied up, which he didn’t find nearly as amusing as the other members of the team.
But this wasn’t about the pregnancy. It was about him.
“I’m worried about you,” I said. “You know that.”
“I know.” He pulled away. I expected that. His mind was set on the damn mattress, and he returned to inflating it. “But think about it this way.” He puffed. “If I was really doing bad.” Another huff. “Would I be playing this well?”
“What do you mean?”
He wiped his mouth and blew again. “If my head was really screwed up, wouldn’t I be hurt more? Slower? Having more physical problems?”
“Here’s the funny thing about the brain—you may never know how badly its hurt. You’re still injured. It’s chronic. You’re going to live with this the rest of your life. The migraines are telling you to slow down. But you aren’t listening.”
He blew hard, but his eyes rose to me. “I am listening, Doc. And I know what you want.”
Everything? “I don’t think you do.”
“You’ve been protective,” he said. “And I understand that now. It’s…nice to be taken care of.”
I patted my tummy. “Likewise.”
“But I think I can do this, Rory. I know it’s dangerous, but it’s the championship game. This is the culmination of my career. I feel good. I feel ready.”
I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think he did either. “Are you sure about that?”
“It’s late in the season. No player is one hundred percent.”
“You’re way less than one hundred percent. You’re like…not even passing, Jude.”
“Good thing I’m the team’s rusher.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’m making the decision.” He heaved a breath into the mattress. The damn thing wheezed more than he did. “I’m gonna to do it.”
My heart crushed, and not because Genie bounced in my tummy, trying to impress the man she thought was her daddy.
The man I wanted to be her daddy.
I pinched my eyes shut, waiting as he pushed two more breaths of air into the slowly inflating mattress.
“Okay,” I said. “I understand.”
The plastic tip fell from his mouth, and his hard work tooted back out with a soft eeee.
“You do?” he asked.
“It’s one more game. We can get through one more game, especially the championship.”
Jude grinned. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
“Permission to be absolutely terrified while you’re on the field?”
“You have nothing to fear, Rory.” He reached for me but got tangled in the plastic. Somehow he’d looped his foot through the belly hole and yanked too hard, nearly tripping. “Though if I break a leg on an inflatable pregnancy mattress, they won’t let me within five miles of a stadium.”
“Careful. I’m not an orthopedic doctor.”
“Take the stethoscope off, Doc. I don’t need an MRI, but I could use a cheerleader.”
“You have a deal…as long as I don’t have to wear the skirt.”
“What about pom-poms?”
“Only because it’s the championship.”
Jude grinned, wrestling with the mattress once more. “You’ll see. I’m gonna play, and I’ll do it safe. We’ll get the win, and then…”
I met his gaze. My heart fluttered in the best way.
This was it.
I heard it in his voice, saw it in his eyes.
The same promises and hopes and secrets I’d kept for so long. He felt it too.
And he was going to tell me.
“And then…?” My voice hushed as I gazed at the most beautiful, most amazing man I’d ever known.
“And then we make a judgment call.”
Not the declaration I’d imagined. Less romantic and more…clinical. “What sort of judgment call?”
Jude lowered his head and huffed into the mattress once more. “About next season.”
No.
No, no, no.
I pushed myself off the couch in a fantastic feat of strength. “You aren’t serious? Another season?”
“A lot can