𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 [t.s, t.k]

THIRTY SEVEN | TAYLOR

THIRTY SEVEN | TAYLOR
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"How much time do we have?" I ask Brittany, twisting the key in the lock, cautiously looking around.

As I unlock the door, Brittany replies, "About ten minutes until halftime ends. I think we can get this done by then."

"Oh, definitely," I say, stepping inside. Brittany and I groan, gagging to an awful, emitting scent of body odor taking over the room. I smack my palm over my mouth, coughing. "God, it stinks in here."

"Ugh, tell me about it," Brittant snarls. "That's why I absolutely never step foot in a locker room that belongs to a bunch of dirty football players. I don't care what Pat tells me. Big dumps were taken in here, I can tell you that."

I laugh, choking on the forbidden sour stench. I immediately spot Travis' locker, hurrying over to the cubby. His number, 87, was pasted on a red banner, followed by his name, the team he played for, and how long he's been playing. His spare jersey and tights were neatly folded on the shelf, underneath were a pair of yellow cleats. A change of clothes that he likely worn at practice were laid out over top. "Hey," Brittany suddenly announces, "his locker is so organized. Pat could literally never--" her statement triggers Taylor to turn her head to her left side, eyeing Pat's cubby that was not at all neat, "--You're a lucky girl, Taylor."

Travis wasn't necessarily the cleanest man on the planet. He struggled to clean up after himself, like if he were to spill a food or beverage in the kitchen, he'd leave it there. It annoyed me from time to time, but his kind heart made up for it. Just because he wasn't clean, does not mean he isn't organized. Travis was big on organization and codifying his items. Perhaps cleanliness wasn't part of being a man or whatever. "Yeah, Travis is really good with that, surprisingly."

I bring my attention to what I originally came in here to do. I kneel down on the thin carpet, sliding the small steel door to the side. The only object behind it was the one I was searching for, Travis' dufflebag.

I clutch onto the bag, yanking it into plain sight. Sighing, I reach my arm to the back pocket of my skinny jeans, pulling out a pink stick. Brittany kneels down next to me, gently placing her hand on my shoulder, sensing my anxiety. "Don't be nervous, Tay, he's going to love this. He's going to be so happy. You both deserve this."

She's right. "Pencil and pen," I order, holding out my hand.

Brittany shuffles, digging into her pockets. She pulls out a pink index card, followed by a pink glittery gel pen. "You're right. He's going to love this. He's wanted a kid for as long as I can remember. This is what he wants."

I flick the cap off of the pen and press its ink onto the paper, writing: Merry Christmas to the new Daddy in town.

I panick as the clock is striking three minutes before the third quarter starts. I frantically fold the paper around the pregnancy test, shoving it in his duffle bag. I fall back on my behind, heaving with many emotions at once. "Okay, so that's done. That's done. Three more things to go," I say. Brittany holds her hand out, ready to pull me up to my feet. "Holy shit. That was the scariest shit I've ever done."

"But you did it," Brittany says softly. "You did it and I'm so proud of you. Your man is going to fucking love this shit, and then beat Andy for trusting you with the keys and not him."

My lip curls into a smile. "You're right."

"Always are, aren't I?" She tries, interlacing her fingers with mine. "Now, let's go watch out boys play that sweaty ball game they love so much. You know when your man gets a touchdown, he's going to be looking for you in the suite. If he can't find you, he might cry."

____

"Oh, my God. Don't leave me," I whine, grabbing onto Brittany's bicep as she stammers away with her husband.

I watch as she tugs him backwards, staggering over her feet. She cups my cheeks in her palms, "Girl, no. This is your moment. You can do this without me."

"But--"

"No, Tay. They're all galloping out of the locker rooms now like wild horses, and as far as I know, it's your husband and Andy left in there. Wait outside the door for him. He's going to want to see you standing outside that door more than anyone else. I'll meet you at the after party."

I nod. Brit squeezes my hand reassuringly before catching up to her husband, Jackson, and Chris. Gulping, I watch as Donna and Ed, Jason and Kylie bob their heads to the direction Travis would be appearing from at any time shortly. "You got this, honey," Donna encourages.

"He loves you," Jason adds on.

I take a deep breath, crossing my arms below my chest as I spin on my heel and head for the door. Tapping my foot against the floor, I in and exhale at an unsteady rate, waiting for Travis to appear. Why was I so nervous? Is it bad I am dreading for this moment to subside?

Just as I begin to lose hope, the door busts open, causing me to jump a little. One foot out the door reveals a very joyful and overwhelmed Travis, drowning in a puddle of his own happy tears. He's approaching me, arms wide.

"Oh my God, oh my God," he stresses, his voice clearly strained as he looms to me.

He's sobbing. But this time, he's not sad. He's happy. For once in a very long while, he may actually be starting to see the light of day, accepting that not always are things going to be as gloomy as he once imagined.

He wraps his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. He spins me around. "I'm going to be a dad," he kisses my neck, "you made me a dad, baby."

He kisses me again. His hot tears are dripping onto my cheeks, but I don't mind. "I love you," I whisper. I might be crying too.

"No. You don't even know how much I love you. I'm going to be a dad. Thank you so much, baby. You're so incredible. This is the best Christmas present I've ever gotten."

You are the best Christmas present I've ever gotten, Pretty Boy.