Page 85 of The Decoy

“The thing where you pretend you’re not uncomfortable,” he says, walking over to my side of the bed. He leans down, placing one hand over my stomach. “Are you still having contractions?”

“They’re just braxton-hicks,” I say, shifting slightly in bed. “They’re not timed, but they are annoying. What time do you need to be at the complex?”

Brody pulls his phone from his pocket and looks at the screen. “OTAs start at four today. But listen, I don’t have to go. I can tell Coach you aren’t feeling good. I don’t really feel great about leaving you home alone this late in the game.”

“Brody,” I say, closing my laptop and looking him in the eye. “I know OTAs aren’t technically considered mandatory, but I also know it’s good for you to show up consistently, even as a veteran member of the team. You can’t miss practice every time I have an ache.”

He doesn’t look convinced. He drops to one knee beside the mattress, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes scan every inch of my face with an intensity that turns me on.

“I don’t care, Princess,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my lip. “I just feel like I need to be here for you and our boy.”

“Yesterday, the doctor said I’m barely two centimeters,” I remind him, running my fingers through his hair. “And that first babies take forever. If labor actually starts today—which it won’t—I call in for a helicopter to come get you. Now go. I’ll just be sitting here managing my inbox.”

Brody stares at me for a few seconds, then he leans in, pressing his mouth against mine in a slow, deep kiss that tastes like coffee.

“The fact that you have a helicopter pilot on standby is wild, but in this case, it makes me feel much better,” he says against my lips, then lowers his face and presses a kiss to my belly. “Be good for mommy, and stay in there until I come home,” he whispers against my skin.

“You know what I was thinking about earlier? We haven’t settled on a name yet. I think we should probably do that, don’t you?” I point out.

“Yep, that would be good. He can’t live his life as baby Vaughn,” he grins, standing up and walking to the closet to grab his duffel bag. When he walks back out, he gives me one last look. “I love you, Mrs. Vaughn.”

“I love you, Mr. Vaughn. Now go.”

I watch him leave, listening to the familiar sound of his steps down the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, I stand up to go get more water downstairs.

I make it two steps toward the doorway when a sharp pressure clamps around my stomach. A sudden, unmistakable splash of warm fluid soaks through my pajama pants, right onto the floor.

I really hope that’s not pee.

But the water continues running down my leg, so yep, my water broke.

The annoying braxton-hicks contractions immediately escalate into a whole event.

“Okay, it’s fine,” I gasp, clutching my belly as a wave rips through my lower back, my body telling me this is go time. “Just a little strategy change for the day.”

I walk over to the side of the bed and grab my phone from the nightstand, my hands shaking slightly as I dial Brody. It rings once before his voice fills the speaker.

“Hey, miss me alr⁠—”

“Turn around,” I breathe, sitting on the edge of the mattress as another contraction hits. “Looks like our son is done waiting.”

“I’m on my way.”

We’ve been at the hospital for four hours now, and it all feels like a blur.

By the time we got to the private wing of the hospital, my contractions were coming every three minutes. Now, I’m usually great at maintaining my composure under pressure, but child labor is no joke.

The pain isn’t just physical, it’s like an all-consuming force tearing through my body stripping all logic and control from me.

“You’re doing incredible,” Brody’s voice is steady beside me.

He hasn’t left my side for a single second. He holds me up through every contraction, sweat dripping off his brow. And the grip I have on his hand would have broken a lesser man’s fingers. But he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

“I have to say. I’m not a fan of this,” I gasp, my vision blurring with sweat and tears as another contraction hits. I brace my upper body against the back of the hospital bed, my hand clutching his tightly. “Fuck me, this hurts.”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, his forehead coming down to rest against mine. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Lean into me.”