Nixon (Raleigh Raptor Book 1) Page 4

  “You look like you’re about to faint,” Liberty joked from the exam table, where she sat kicking her feet under one of those long, printed skirts without a care in the world.

  “Have you seen the dimensions here?” I pointed to the poster-sized diagram.

  She flashed a smile and shook her head. “It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal?” My eyes widened.

  “I’ve seen babies born all over the world,” she said with a shrug. “Doctors, no doctors. Pain meds or natural. The heart of the Andes or the jungles of Africa. It’s all the same.”

  “No doctors?” My chest tightened at the thought of her giving birth somewhere without proper medical care. Nick had had the best doctors and it still hadn’t made it.

  “Relax, big shot. There are plenty of doctors here in Raleigh. Speaking of here, you guys are in town this weekend, right?” she asked, leaning back on her hands.

  “Yeah.” I turned away from the horrific poster and took a seat on the stool next to the table. “We have four more preseason games before the real ones start.”

  “You looked good out there last weekend.” Her gaze dropped down my torso with a little grin. “Good…form and all.”

  “Really.” That look was going to get her fucked on the exam table if she kept it up—I wanted her that badly. I wanted to remember every breath, every shudder, every sigh. I wanted to recall with crystal clarity the exact sound she made as she came. The half-memories were killing me.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Really.”

  Two knocks sounded at the door, and as Liberty said to come in, I realized she’d distracted me and did a damn good job of it. I’d stopped staring at the poster and focused on her instead.

  The doctor was all smiles as she came in with the nurse, and I was stupidly happy she was a woman, which made zero sense. I just didn’t like the idea of a man putting his hands on Liberty, even if it was purely for medical reasons.

  Great, now I was regressing back to a Neanderthal.

  The doc ran through a series of questions from the opposite side of the table, and I took note of every single one. How Liberty was feeling. How she was eating. How she wasn’t gaining weight.

  Wait…what? Was she not eating right?

  “Don’t stress, Dad. It’s common not to gain much in the first trimester, especially with morning sickness,” the Doctor reassured me as Liberty laid herself flat on the table.

  Dad? Well, that’s why we were here, right? And morning sickness?

  “You’ve been sick?” I asked Liberty.

  She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “It hasn’t been—” she paused as our eyes locked.

  Don’t you dare lie to me.

  “It’s pretty much horrible,” she admitted as if she’d heard my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry.” I meant it.

  “It’s really okay,” she whispered, and even though the doc was currently tugging her waistband down a few inches, it felt like we were alone in the room for those few seconds.

  “Little cold, here,” the doc warned as she shot gel out of a bottle onto Liberty’s lower belly.

  Her stomach was toned and sloped gently from her rib cage to flatten out and nip in at her waist. She was how far along now? Almost ten weeks? Shit, she hadn’t been eating enough.

  “Let’s see if we can find this little guy without using the transvaginal wand,” the doc muttered as she swiped the probe over Liberty’s belly and pressed.

  “Trans-what?” My voice hitched.

  Liberty laughed but smothered it when the doc shot her a look.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” I asked, watching the monitor, which looked like a bunch of wavy shit and sounded like someone was drunkenly running their mouth over a microphone.

  “Mom’s HCG levels are slightly elevated, and she told me that you’re a twin,” the doc answered, her eyes narrowing on the monitor. “Identical or fraternal?”

  “Identical,” I answered, dropping my eyes to Liberty’s belly. My jaw ticked. She was pressing really fucking hard.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Liberty assured me.

  I lifted my eyes to hers.

  “There we go,” the doc said, and both our heads turned toward the monitor at the rapid whoosh-whoosh sound that filled the small room.

  The course of my life shifted.

  The screen still looked like a black and white impressionist painting to me, but I knew what that sound was. My heart skipped a beat or two in response.

  “That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” the doc announced, clearly pleased.

  Liberty’s breath caught, and a smile spread across her face.

  I stopped breathing entirely.

  I wasn’t sure who reached for whom, but our fingers laced as we stared at that monitor. My entire body flooded with a sense of…wonder. That little splotch of white in the center of the ultrasound was my baby. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name.

  That baby was mine.

  The doc moved the wand back and forth a little, using a mouse to click on the monitor. “It’s just the one,” she said with a little laugh. “No twins.” She glanced down at Liberty’s file. “You’re measuring right where you should be, and if I had to guess, I’d say this little guy was conceived right around the tenth of June, and he or she will be here about March fourth.”

  March fourth. That was great timing. We’d have all summer before I had to report for training camp, and there was zero chance I’d miss the birth for a game or some shit. I was completely, totally available.

  The doc wiped the gel off Liberty’s belly, then printed out a long strip of ultrasound photos.

  “What are you thinking?” Liberty asked me quietly.

  “That this feels like the best carnival ever, and you’re the photo booth,” I answered, grinning down at her.

  She laughed, the sound bright and full of emotion.

  “And March fourth is perfect.” I squeezed her hand.

  “Seems like a great day, doesn’t it?” Her smile was breathtaking, and I hoped she passed it on to our kid. Her eyes, too. And her laugh. It was a long list.

  God, I wanted to kiss her, but I didn’t. Because the baby in her belly was mine, but Liberty wasn’t. Not like that. But, we would be linked for the rest of our lives by that whooshing little heartbeat.

  Later, I’d let myself freak out that I was about to be a dad. Later, I’d figure out all the legalities of how to protect both Liberty and our little whoosh. Later, I’d think about how to break the news to Mom that I wasn’t married to her grandchild’s mom, and I’d probably leave out the part where I didn’t remember conceiving that grandchild. Later.

  Right now, I was going to let myself swim in happiness until I drowned in it. We were having a baby, and that baby was healthy.

  “Dad, you want one of these?” the doc asked as she lifted our photo booth strip.

  “Hell yes, I do.” I grabbed my wallet and opened it. Then I took the black and white picture and placed it next to the only other one I kept in there. Look, Nick, I thought as I glanced at his eighteen-year-old face grinning between Nate’s and mine. You’re going to be an uncle.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Nate…after I took Liberty to dinner.

  We had a tiny whoosh to celebrate.

  4

  Liberty

  Nixon: Coffee or tea?

  Me: Tea, normally. But I’ve had to cut way back since you impregnated me.

  I laughed as I sent the text and rolled onto my right side, hiking the covers over my shoulder. I shouldn’t be in bed, and with the southern summer, I shouldn’t be this cold. But I’d been a lot of things I shouldn’t be recently—pregnancy had finally taken hold of my body.

  Me: You?

  Nixon: During the season I try to stay away from all drinks that don’t hydrate properly.

  Me: And offseason? I recall you had a taste for bourbon.

  Nixon: Definitely. And if it’s offseason I’m known to indulge in a coffee every now
and then.

  I snorted at the thought of coffee as an indulgence only allowed during certain months of the year. Who could live without at least some caffeine?

  Nixon: Cats or dogs?

  Me: Both. I like the cuteness factor but since I’m a traveler by nature, I don’t have the heart to own a pet. It wouldn’t be fair to leave it behind once I earn my doctorate, or to cart it off every time I get the urge to fly.

  My fingers flew over my phone, and I didn’t bother setting it down after I’d hit send. It had been a week of these texts from Nixon Noble—everything from my taste in music to my favorite place to travel. He’d gotten extremely inquisitive after the ultrasound.

  I smoothed my hand over my belly, my heart swelling with the memory. The sound of the heartbeat, the gentle whir and whoosh the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. And Nixon’s reaction to it? God, that man was dangerous. The perfect exterior—all carved muscle and dark eyes—I could mostly ignore. But the genuine heart underneath that hardened front he put on? That was becoming increasingly hard to pretend didn’t exist. Because it would’ve been easy if he’d been some celebrity athlete jerk looking to bury this pregnancy in the quickest way possible, but Nixon had shown up in all the ways I’d never considered. And the way his dark eyes had melted at the sound of our baby’s heartbeat? Lord help me, I’d melted a little bit.

  The world around me continued to shift and mold into something new and shiny every time I discovered something new about this baby.

  My baby.

  Nixon’s baby.

  Me: You?

  I sent my usual response after his stream of random questions. As much as he wanted to get to know me, I was equally curious about the quarterback.

  Nixon: Dogs. I don’t have one but someday I wouldn’t mind adopting one.

  Well, that was adorable.

  Nixon: Favorite sport?

  I bit back a smile. This was most definitely a trick question.

  Me: Hockey.

  I laughed at my own joke.

  Nixon: Ouch!

  How could he not remember? Well, I suppose I didn’t remember much from our trip to Vegas, but me gazing at him with the nervous moon-eyes of a super-fan would be hard to forget, I assumed. I’d been a Raptor fan for years, and I had many a jersey with Nixon Noble’s name sewn across the back.

  Me: What? Your brother is epic on the ice.

  In truth, I’d only seen old games on YouTube. I’d had to look him up after the Vegas trip. And while I didn’t know a thing about hockey, I’d seen enough of Nathan Noble’s highlight reels to know he was an exceptional athlete. The gene was strong in that family.

  Nixon: He’s engaged.

  Me: I remember. I loved Harper’s ability to be both welcoming and direct. Have you ever been engaged?

  The question tightened the breath in my lungs. These texts the past week had been mostly surface-level stuff or things that just made me laugh. But past relationships? I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed some invisible line between us.

  Nixon: That’s complicated.

  I scrunched my brow as I read and re-read the text. How could it be complicated? You either put a ring on it, or you didn’t.

  Nixon: You?

  Me: Nope.

  Not many men lining up to date someone who traveled as much as I did. Of course, college had kept me grounded for a few years, but my summers were spent traveling the world. Trying to do some good where I could. And once they handed me my doctorate? I couldn’t wait to set sail. Even with a baby on my hip, the kid would be raised like I’d been—with a pack on its back and an eye on the horizon.

  A wave of nausea rolled my stomach like my bed had suddenly sprouted a sail and soared onto open seas. I cringed against the onslaught, taking deep breaths through my nose and out my mouth. The sickness was one thing I could live without—and there was no morning about it. It hit me whenever the hell it felt like it—day, afternoon, night, or that point between sleeping and waking, it didn’t discriminate when it wanted to make me hurl up my guts.

  Nixon: How are you feeling?

  God, it was like the man had a sixth sense for whenever I was about to puke. But, to be fair, that was ninety percent of my day lately.

  Me: You seem awfully concerned for my well-being for someone who wasn’t sure I was telling the truth.

  The three bubbles danced for a few seconds before disappearing. Then they popped up again, only to disappear again.

  Me: I was teasing. And shitty. At the moment, I feel like I’m on a boat in a stormy sea and my stomach is barely making it.

  Nixon: What can I do?

  What could he do? I’d already googled every safe home remedy for morning sickness and tried them all to no avail.

  Me: I’m fine. Thanks though.

  Nixon: Get some rest.

  Me: Already in bed, Quarterback.

  Those dots popped up and disappeared again, and I rolled my eyes. What could he possibly be struggling with?

  Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that he’s trying to get to know his baby mama without actually committing?

  I shoved my phone under my pillow, ignoring that annoying voice in my head, and shut my eyes. I focused on my breathing until the nausea had subsided, pulling the covers up to my chin. Sleep finally claimed me, my body exhausted from vomiting most of the morning.

  Two months down.

  Seven to go.

  God, I hoped I was strong enough to survive this.

  “Liberty!” my roommate Heather shouted across our tiny apartment. “You have a visitor!”

  I groaned but set down my copy of Phantoms in the Brain and capped my highlighter. I swung my legs over my bed, knocking off a few more psychology books along the way. This was my final semester, and the workload was heavy. It didn’t help that my energy had been zapped since hitting week ten of the pregnancy either.

  Nearly tripping over a stack of laundry I’d meant to do yesterday, I made it through my closed bedroom door and was instantly assaulted by sound—too much of it. The TV blaring from the living room, some MMA fight on the screen. Monica and Julie laughed with their boyfriends from the couch, the sounds bouncing off the walls and twisting my nerves. I smoothed my hand over my stomach, shaking my head at the sensory overload my little peanut had decided it would add to the super-fun list of side effects I experienced on a daily basis.

  Heather met me halfway in the hallway, barely holding back a wide-eyed gaze as she skipped toward me.

  “Why are you making that face?” I asked, and then halted as I came around the corner.

  Nixon freaking Noble stood just inside my entryway, looking exceptionally handsome in a Raleigh Raptors T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, slightly breathless. Sure, we’d texted an insane amount over the last week, but I’d never expected him to show up unannounced at my place. Especially after the last time he’d seen it and had practically made him physically ill with the chaotic way we kept it.

  “I wanted to talk to you—”

  “Holy shit!” Monica’s boyfriend—Tyler—cut off whatever Nixon had been saying as he leaped from the couch and stopped in front of Nixon. “You’re Nixon Noble!”

  And here we go again. Cory, Heather’s boyfriend, had been the one to fanboy over Nixon last time he was here.

  The strained smile that had been on Nixon’s face moments before disappeared in the span of a breath, replaced by a charming, confident grin as he outstretched his hand. Tyler shook it, not bothering to try and hide his awestruck gaze. Shane, Julie’s boyfriend, quickly joined Tyler in fanboying all over the place.

  “Dude,” Shane said. “That scramble play for the winning touchdown last year against the Titans was sick!”

  Nixon nodded, his dark eyes calm, cool, calculated—you’d think there was a camera hidden somewhere in here.

  My stomach tightened, and I blew out a breath. God, I guess there could be—I mean, we all had cell phones, right? Any one of my numerous
roommates could whip one out and start recording—

  “Is it cool if we get a picture?” Tyler interrupted my thoughts, proving exactly what I’d been thinking.

  Poor Nixon, who could live like that? No wonder he had so many different faces—the one I’d seen when I’d dropped our baby bomb on him, the one he wore when he’d first heard his baby’s heartbeat, and the one he allowed the media to see.

  “Sure,” Nixon said, his tone polite and accepting.

  I chewed on my lip as I watched him take several selfies with the guys, and wondered what kind of face he’d wear when no one was watching.

  “Guys,” I said when Tyler and Shane had started spouting off past Raptor stats.

  “Oh, right,” Shane said, blinking the stardust out of his eyes. He shuffled back to the couch, Tyler on his heels after saying a quick thank you to Nixon.

  I jerked my head toward my room, waiting for Nixon to follow.

  “Sorry for showing up unannounced,” he said as we walked down the hallway. “But—”

  “Oh, God!” I groaned, covering my nose and mouth with my palm. Julie’s damn fresh-water fish tank sat on a pillar tucked into a decorative alcove in the hallway just outside my room, and the metallic-fishy smell had been unbearable recently.

  I bolted down the hallway, rushing for the one and only bathroom in our place, and thanked God no one occupied it as I hurried through the door. I barely made it to the toilet in time before the little breakfast of saltines I’d eaten made a comeback.

  Warm hands touched my back, smoothing circles near my spine. For a second, I figured they were Heather’s, but then I realized just how big and strong they felt against me. I jolted a little as I turned my head to find Nixon hovering behind me, a concerned look in those dark eyes.

  “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

  I turned back to the toilet and retched again.

  Brilliant. Just what I needed—a side of mortification to go with my overwhelming uncertainty of life right now.

  Taking deep, slow breaths, I concentrated on soothing the nausea rolling my stomach. Once I felt we’d reached the safe zone, I flushed and pushed off the porcelain, instantly heading to the sink to brush my teeth. Nixon watched me, his arms crossed over his massive chest.