Lucky Number Eleven

Chapter 26

Layla

Ring!

My head shoots off the island counter, the bar stool wobbling beneath me so hard I think I'm going to fall. I clamor down, rubbing my eyes, trying to figure out where I am.

The phone continues to ring as I get my bearings, the sky outside the kitchen window dark. Glancing at the clock, it's just past ten. The last I knew it was eight-thirty when I sat down to work on an advertising contract.

Ring!

"Shit," I grumble, grabbing my lit-up phone and pulling it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hey." His voice is quiet, warm like a fleece blanket on a cold winter night. "Were you asleep?"

"Yeah. I fell asleep in the kitchen. Must've been tired."

"Are you getting enough sleep? Eating enough?" he chuckles. "We know you're eating enough."

"Go to hell," I laugh, yawning. "I was up late last night. Guess I can't be doing that anymore."

"What were you doing?"

"A little of this, a little of that."

"Huh." He takes a deep breath, blowing out slowly. "I just wanted to check on you. See how you were doing. I haven't talked to you since yesterday afternoon."

His sincerity is on the surface, not at all hidden. The tenor of his voice gentler than I have heard. There's an intimacy to it that causes me to fall back into the cabinet.

"I'm good. Hanging in there, you know?" I say. "How are you?"

"Just finished a workout and dinner."

"What did you have?"

"I threw some chicken breasts in the oven. Nothing fancy."

"I'm impressed. I don't even bake chicken breasts. I just buy them in the deli," I laugh.

"You need to eat red meat more than chicken. The iron is good for you and the baby."

My jaw drops. "What?"

"I . . . um . . . I was asking the nutritionist today that we work with at the Legends facility. She said to make sure you're eating lots of iron and folate and calcium. There's a delivery service where you can order plans especially for pregnant women and—"

"Branch. I'm good," I say softly. "I know what to do."

"I just want to help."

His words hit my heart, but it's the way he says it that slays me. Tears flicker in my eyes, making the lights look like kaleidoscopes. "I really appreciate that."

"I hope you don't get mad," he says, a hitch in his voice, "but I ordered you five boxes a week. They'll be delivered. If you don't like what they send, you can go online and customize them. But I thought, you know, maybe it would make things a little easier for you."

"That's super sweet," I whisper.

There's a pause in the conversation, not exactly an awkward moment, but one we haven't traversed yet. It's born more out of respect and consideration than a failure to know what to say.

"I go to the doctor the day after tomorrow," I tell him. "If you want to go, you can, but you totally don't have to. I'll let you know whatever they say."

"What time is it?"

"Four."

"I'd like to go, if you don't mind."

My cheeks break into a grin. Heading down the hallway, I flop onto my bed, one hand on my stomach. "Want to meet me there?"

"Could I pick you up?" he asks. "Maybe we could grab dinner or something? I don't know. It just feels like something we should do together, right? Or am I wrong?"

"I'd like that."

"Good." He clears his throat. "So, did you ever get your boxes unpacked?"

Looking around my room, I see the stacks of cardboard. Some are empty, some are full, and I have no energy to care. "No. They're still looking at me. Some of them, anyway. I've decided you might be right and I'll just trash them."

He laughs. "We can have a bonfire together. Just burn it all to the ground."

"Sounds better than unpacking at the moment," I yawn. "A lot of it is just extra stuff for the guest room—baby's room, I guess, now—and things that I have nowhere to put."

"I'm going to have to get one of these rooms ready for a baby. How do I do that?"

"I don't know," I admit. "A crib. A changing table, maybe, if you'll use it. I don't think a baby really needs that much. A lot of people just get excited and want to buy it all."

"What camp do you fall in—buy it or don't buy it?"

"My heart says buy it but my budget says don't," I admit. "I figure between the two of us, we'll have a good balance. I'll keep the baby frugal and you can spoil it."

"A guy in the locker room today was showing this video of his kid in one of those cars that look like real cars, right? They're battery operated and they really drive them around. Have you seen these things?"

"Yes," I say, grinning at his excitement.

"Our kid is going to have a fucking fleet of those things."

We laugh, Branch's a little self-conscious and that makes my heart swell.

"Just try to save it for a birthday or Christmas," I suggest. "Don't just get things because it's a Tuesday."

"I'll try. No promises." He takes a deep breath. "I've been thinking about what it will be like when the baby comes. There's so much you don't think about until you think about it."

I lay the back of my hand across my forehead as I listen to him speak.

"You'll be a great mom, Sunshine."

"Thanks," I say around the lump in my throat. "Our baby will be lucky to have you as her dad."

There's a giant pause. "Thank you," he whispers.

"For what?"

"I don't know. For believing that I can do this. For not writing me off from day one or sticking it to me when I was a dick when you told me. You've definitely proved you're the better person, but it's not like we didn't know that already." He blows out a breath. "I need to go so you can go to sleep. But I just want to say one more thing."

"What?"

"I don't want you to be scared to call me."

The lump grows bigger, merging with the swelling of my heart, and I can't speak.

"I have a lot going on," he says slowly, "and as the season gets started, it's gonna get crazy. I don't want you to hesitate to tell me if you need something or think I'd want to know something, okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"The other players' wives don't tell them shit until the season is over. They only want to focus on football from August to February. I wanna know if something is wrong or you go to the doctor. I might not be able to go and you might have to leave a message, but it . . . it matters to me, Sunshine."

"Thanks," I croak.

"Go to sleep," he orders. "You'll get your first food box tomorrow."

"Branch?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"No problem."

He's gone before I can say anything else, but it's just as well. The tears that come, this time from a good place, fall fast and hard. Curling up on my blanket with no energy to even get beneath, I fall quickly into a deep, peaceful sleep.