Oh holy fuck. I’m the worst husband ever. I left my phone on the counter by the mirror where they did my hair and freaking makeup earlier. Yes, I’m this close to losing my man card and no way can I ever admit this to anyone, especially Owen. I’d lose respect points for sure.

“Who was it?” My heart starts to pound and I try to ignore it. It’s probably nothing important. Most likely it’s Owen griping to me about Fable or Fable griping to me about Owen. They’ve been getting in lots of arguments lately only because her patience level is zero and Owen is completely freaked out by the creature who was once his sister.

“Your wife. Well, it really wasn’t your wife. More like a message from her.” The assistant’s narrow face is solemn and I swear to f**king God, my heart goes from a full gallop to a dead stop in a matter of seconds.

“What’s wrong?” The words rush out of me and I rub the back of my neck, digging my nails into my skin as ice-cold shock washes over me. At the same time, it’s so damn hot in here. The sun is glaring down from the giant windows above us, making my head sweat.

Right now, though, I’m sweating for a purely different reason.

“Well, um, this is sort of weird for me to tell you since I don’t even know you, and I wanted the person on the phone to tell you this since he claimed he’s your brother-in-law, but …”

“Just spit it out,” I say, cutting her off.

“Right.” She nods multiple times, her head doing this weird little bobbing thing. “Your wife is in labor.”

Relief floods me at hearing the words. I’ve been on edge for months. Fable pregnant is a scary thing in itself, but it’s ten times worse when I’m not with her. She’s been by my side throughout most of her pregnancy, especially these last couple of months since the season ended. I’ve left for a few business things, including another endorsement deal I got and a team meeting we all were required to attend. She’s stayed mostly at home with Owen, who’s around quite a bit. He just finished his freshman year last week. He plans on taking a summer trip to Hawaii with his friends since he never went on a grad trip after his senior year of high school, but he’s not leaving until Fable has the baby. He’s sticking around for that because he’s a good brother.

And Fable would strangle him if he missed the birth of his niece.

“How long ago did the call come in?” I ask as I glance up at the clock on the opposite wall. I’ve been here for hours and now I’m more than eager to get home to my wife. I can’t miss her having this baby. She’d be devastated.

“A few minutes ago.” The assistant holds out her phone toward me. “Your brother-in-law asked that you call him back.”

Shit. I bet Owen is panicking right now. I know I would be if I were him. Fable wasn’t supposed to go into labor yet and she’s probably totally freaking him out. He’s still a teenager and the last thing he wants to deal with is his laboring sister, I’m sure.

Grabbing the phone, I dial Owen’s cell number, not surprised when he answers after the first ring. “Thank God you got the message.”

“Nice to hear your voice, too. Now let me talk to your sister,” I tell him.

“Dude.” Owen pauses for a moment and I can tell he’s walking. Exiting a room or something—I’m not sure, I can only imagine. “She’s been in labor for hours. I only just now convinced her to come to the hospital.”

“Wait a minute, hours?” I left the house only a few hours ago myself. What the hell? “Is she all right? Is she in pain?”

“She’s in labor. Of course she’s in f**king pain.” Owen blows out a harsh breath. “This shit is scary, man. You need to get back here quick. I think she’s going to have the baby soon. She’s screaming and yelling and cursing like you would never believe. I can’t handle it.”

“Well, get over yourself because you’re going to have to handle it until I get there.” I make a gesture at the photographer. “Hold on, Owen.” I place my hand over the phone. “I’m out of here. My wife is having a baby.”

Everyone starts clapping and whistling, and I go to the changing area to grab my bag. The assistant runs after me, calling my name and asking for the clothes I’m modeling, and I tell her I’ll pay for them as I exit the building.

“Sorry, dude, I had to get my stuff—I’ll be on the quickest flight home I can.” Fable’s at our Santa Clara house and so is Owen, awaiting the birth. “Are you at the hospital?”

“Hell yeah, we are. She wanted to stay at home until I finally convinced her I was going to freak if she gave birth on the carpet,” Owen mutters.

I can hear him telling her that, too. “Is her doctor there?”

“I guess so; I don’t know. She wouldn’t let me call you for the longest time. She said she didn’t want to disturb your photo session, which I thought sounded totally lame, but she told me you’re making a shit ton of money so I guess I shouldn’t give you any grief. But yeah. She said this photo shoot was like the most important thing ever right now.”

My girl, my wife, the mother of my about-to-be-born child, drives me absolutely frickin’ nuts sometimes. The most important thing is her and the baby. “How long has she been in labor?”

“You’re gonna kill me,” Owen says.

“Tell me, Owen.”

“Since this morning.” He pauses. “Before you even left, she said.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I wouldn’t lie about something like this. You know it.”

Jesus. “And when did you get her to the hospital?”

“A couple of hours ago. About an hour or so after you left.”

She’s been laboring all morning. We were told at the birthing class that first babies tended to take a long time to get here. “Let me talk to her.”

“She’s gonna be pissed that I called you.”

“Does she expect to keep me in the dark about all of this? What’s the matter with her?” I shake my head as I head outside, thankful when I see the hired car that brought me here is still waiting by the curb. The driver slides out and comes around, opening the door for me before I get a chance to do it for myself. I climb into the backseat, the phone still clutched to my ear.

“Did she want to have the baby on her own without me there? Give me a break. Tell her I called you. Now get her on the phone.” I’m clutching the phone tight, gazing through the window and watching the giant industrial buildings pass by but not really seeing them. I don’t care about anything but Fable and the baby and that they’re all right. Nothing else matters, nothing’s important. All I can focus on is Fable and the fact that she’s about to have our baby.

And she wasn’t going to tell me? Really?

“Hello?” I hear her breathless voice and my knees wobble, thankful I’m already sitting down. I feel like a dumbass but I don’t care.

“Fable.” I blow out a harsh exhale and close my eyes. “Tell me everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine.” Her voice drops. “I’m in labor.”

“I know that, baby,” I say wryly. “And why didn’t you call me when this started?”

“It started before you left but I didn’t want to ruin your day. Plus, at first I thought it was bad indigestion. I don’t know. This photo shoot was important today. You said so yourself. I didn’t want to disturb you.” She pauses. “Did Owen call you?”

“No, I called Owen because I’ve been thinking about you.” The little lie isn’t a big deal, not when her safety is of the utmost importance to me. Besides, I had been thinking of her. I’m always thinking of her.

“You have?” She sounds so far away, and my arms ache to hold her and whisper encouraging words in her ear as she starts to push our child into the world.

“When am I not? And I’m headed to the airport so I can get back on the plane and come right to you.” I hope like hell they have a seat available on one of the bazillion airlines that fly out of LAX. She’s an hour away, flight-wise, and as every minute passes, I could be losing my opportunity to see my baby being born. I’ve got to find a flight somewhere.

“Finish your photos fir—” An agonized groan comes out of her and my heart leaps into my throat, nearly choking me.

“Fable.” She says nothing, just pants little breaths into the phone, and then another low moan sounds from her. Holy shit. She sounds like she’s dying. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“It’s just …” Another breathless pant, another little grunt. Both sounds are like a punch to the gut. “A contraction.”

“Baby, I’ll be there as fast as I can, I promise. You can count on me.” I end the call before she can protest or say another word. I clutch the phone tight and keep my gaze focused on the window, my brain going at a million miles a minute as all the worry and trepidation and fear is coursing through my body.

I’m about to become a father. Sure hope like hell I don’t miss the actual birth of my daughter.

Fable

The pain is agonizing; I’m not going to lie. Anyone who glamorizes birth and what a lovely and miraculous thing it is is a flat-out liar. This sucks. I can’t get comfortable, I’m pretty sure I’m as big as a house, and my nervous little brother is making me even more nervous. Oh yeah, and irritated. So much I asked him to stay away from me because he’s driving me nuts.

I woke up with a contraction before Drew even left for Los Angeles. I thought it was just a twinge. I’d been having them lately—nothing too severe, just enough for me to pause in whatever I’m doing and breathe through it.

But these little twinges of pain wouldn’t stop. They soon became more and more frequent. I sent Drew to Los Angeles, clutching my contracting belly as I watched him drive off to the airport. I talked to Owen and ate breakfast with him. I took a shower, I cleaned our bedroom, and then I started packing my bag, the contractions coming faster now, and even closer together.

This is exactly how Owen found me minutes later, shoving ten nightgowns into my suitcase along with five nursing bras and an extra pair of flip-flops because I can’t wear real shoes anymore, my toes are so swollen. Everything about me is swollen, especially my boobs.

All the bras I packed are giant and utilitarian. Nothing cute and sexy. Not that I think my husband believes me cute and sexy anymore.

Fat and grumpy? Oh yeah. I am most definitely that.

Owen had immediately questioned why I was packing so much weird stuff and I finally confessed I thought I was in labor. You would’ve thought I’d told him I was dying, from the look on his face. Luckily enough, he snapped to attention and came through, making sure I had everything I needed, loaded up the car with my stuff, and wouldn’t let me carry a thing. He helped me out to the car and escorted me in as I went through an awful contraction.

I didn’t tell him that part, though. Just clenched my teeth and dealt with it silently. I would’ve made a really excellent pioneer woman, I’m sure.

I’m in bed at the hospital, in my own private room. Considering I’m the wife of the star quarterback of the 49ers, I receive only the best treatment at this place, which I’m taking advantage of. My brother is outside pacing the halls. I just talked to Jen on the phone, who’s excited and nervous for me.

My husband is nowhere to be found.

Of course, this little baby girl of ours decides to show up on the day her daddy is out of town. He’s been a constant by my side since the season ended. We traveled together to a few places for business until I couldn’t travel anymore per doctor’s orders. Then we stayed home and I went into full-on nesting mode, cleaning everything in sight and setting up the baby’s room.

Drew helped, since he thinks I’ve turned into this weak woman who can’t lift a thing. I just let him pamper me. He put together the crib, which was a study in patience on his part. He sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by various parts for hours, cursing up a blue streak, frustrated beyond belief. I tried to help him, but he finally told me to leave because I was only making it worse.

He finally did get that crib put together. We hired someone to come in and paint the room. The players’ wives held a baby shower for me and they gave me so much amazing stuff for the baby, I started to cry. Right there in the middle of my shower.

I have turned into an emotional wreck, I swear.

The doctor just came in to examine me and said I was dilated four centimeters. I need to be up to ten. The hardest part of labor is coming, she warned. Considering those words just struck fear in my heart because oh my God, labor has been pretty difficult up to this point, I know I’m going to need Drew to get his ass here soon.

I need him to hold my hand and tell me everything’s going to be all right. I need him to stare into my eyes and let me focus on him and nothing else. I need him to kiss me and let me curse and be my rock …

The door bursts open and in walks Owen, looking frazzled, his hair a wreck as if he’s been wrenching it between his fingers. “Have you heard from Drew?”

“No.” I scowl at him. “Didn’t I tell you to stay the hell out of here?”

He rears back at my words. “God, you’re bitchy when you’re in labor.”

“You push a seven-pound baby out of your va**na and tell me if that makes you bitchy or not, okay?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, which is sort of impossible since my belly gets in the way.

“Damn it, Fabes, you just said the V word.” He shakes his head, looking completely traumatized.