Rookie Playing For Keeps #Wattys2015 #NewAdult

Chapter 1 Part 1

Chapter 1

Present

The continuous beeping of the monitor is the only sound in the darkness. It seems to bounce off the cold, shiny floor and echo around us as we wait. I'm exhausted and as I sit here, my mind wanders back and forth, replaying the events that led us to this lemon-scented hospital room. I close my eyes and pray again that everything will be alright as I clench the stiff white blankets in my fingers.

The loudspeaker in the hallway crackles and then a cheery female voice pages a doctor to one of the other floors. I suck in a deep breath and slowly exhale, my fears that we might not pull through this causing my stomach to knot beneath my ribs. Money can buy a lot of things, but the assurance of life is not one of them.

I should have known that choosing Jackson Rider would not be the only challenge I would ever have to face. I fell hard and fast for my amazing quarterback, leaving little time for my family to get used to the idea. Defying them in order to go after what my heart wanted was the most difficult thing I had ever done up to that point, but our experience this past year has shown me that allowing Jackson into my life was just the beginning.

A nurse passes by in the hallway outside, her shoes squeaking quietly on the tiles. I watch my husband's eyes flutter in his sleep, the scruff of his whiskers lining his strong jaw. My lip trembles a little on its own accord and I fight back the lump in my throat. I'm afraid. Not the kind of fear that softly whispers to you, but the kind that materializes in front of you, reaching in and gripping your insides. My eyes drift down to Jackson's chest and I watch as it expands with air and then slowly deflates, his breathing rhythmic and mesmerizing.

I can't count the number of times I've watched him sleeping like this, my own breath dancing in time with his, but tonight I can't seem to get centered enough to let our breathing sync. The vice of anxiety has clamped down hard on my lungs. I want to be strong for him-for us, but it's so hard when I know that at some point I might have to surrender to the idea of letting us go.

My thumb runs across the ring finger on my left hand. Jackson picked out my wedding ring-a beautiful reminder of the intensity with which we love each other-during our whirlwind romance, certain right from the start that I was his missing piece. I was the one who'd faltered. So many things were steering me determinedly in another direction: my own fears, the void left by my late mother, and the influence of my father and brothers. When your own confidence is wavering, it's easy for those around you to give compelling arguments that will steer you off course. My oldest brother, Ben, especially, tried hard to push me down a path he thought would ultimately lead to my happiness, but now we all can see how misguided that was. Despite my stubbornness and naiveté, it's always been Jackson, from that very first night in the darkness outside my building.

"Blood pressure is a little high." I am startled by the voice of a middle-aged nurse standing by the bed. A light has been switched on. Was I sleeping? "If it keeps moving in this direction I'm going to need to call the doctor." She jots down a few things on a small pad of paper. I imagine that our stay may already have caused a shortage of little note sheets, each hour bringing a nurse back in here to jot something else down.

"Okay," I say, but it comes out as more of a whisper. The nurse lays her hand on top of mine and gives me a soft squeeze. She stops at the sink and washes her hands before leaving the room and shutting off the lights.

"Maddy?" Jackson stirs in his sleep and adjusts his large body, a look of agony stretching briefly across his face before he settles again. I'm not sure I've ever loved anyone as much as I love him in this moment. This man is my entire world and I know that you should never allow that to happen, but how could I not? I fought for him and he fought for me. That says something about what we have and if it means that I depend on his happiness for my own, then so be it.

The clock on the sterile white wall reads 1:35. We've been here for over twenty-four hours now. When we first arrived we were hopeful that the doctors would find a solution, but as the time ticks on, the probability that something is irrevocably wrong has grown so loud in this silence it is almost deafening. It's too late-or actually too early in the morning, now-to reach out to our family for company. They are all dozing in the waiting room, anxious to hear word.

Who would have imagined our families sharing the same small space the way they are tonight? I'd thought it might take them a while to move past their individual hopes for us, but they surprised Jackson and me both when they accepted us with open arms. Jackson slipped right into the fold of my family, golfing with my father and calling him almost daily with business information. And I gained a mother figure, something I had longed for after years of trying to find my way without maternal guidance.

I feel myself drifting again, the numbers on the clock growing blurry. I try to fight back, telling myself that every time I fall asleep I risk wasting what little time we might have left. In the end, though, I'm no match for the days of sleep deprivation and I rest my head against the crinkled white sheets, allowing the gentle, persistent beeps of the monitor to guide me into a dream of a happier time.

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