“How did he sound when you talked to him?
“Good. Ready.”
“Tonight’s going to be different. I can feel it.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say, trying to let go of my worry.
“I usually am.” He winks. “Come on, let’s take our plates to the living room so we can watch the preshow before the fight starts.” He rubs his hands together excitedly.
“Okay. You want something to drink?” I ask, on my way over to the fridge.
“Water’s fine.”
I open the fridge to get him a bottle of water and another Braxton Hicks contraction squeezes my stomach. I pause and close my eyes and wait for it to pass, but my eyes pop open when it squeezes me harder, forcing the air from my lungs with a quiet breath.
“You okay?” Bas asks, waiting for me to turn around.
“Mm-hmm,” I say. “Just looking for some water.”
He pulls the other refrigerator door open. “It’s right there,” he says, reaching over my shoulder to grab it.
“Oh…” I release my grip on the door handle as the contraction passes. “I guess I didn’t see it.”
“Hey,” he says, putting his hand on my arm. “Sam’s going to be fine.”
I inhale a deep breath and exhale it quietly. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I really do. Now, come on, let’s go watch.”
“Okay.”
We take our food to the living room and sit on the couch in front of the ridiculously large TV Sam had mounted above the white brick fireplace between the built-ins that go up the wall on either side.
“This is incredible. It’s like we’re there,” Bas says, staring up at the giant screen.
We welcome you to our live coverage at Madison Square Garden, where tonight we’ll see current titleholder Carey Valentine and former champion Sam Cole battle it out in the light-heavyweight title showdown…I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a crowd quite this excited. Carey Valentine fans are ready to see him prove that he deserves the title he’s defending tonight, which he took from Brody Crawford just last month…Which, of course, many say is a title Crawford himself didn’t actually earn—a title Sam Cole carried for a few years, not months…Look, we all know you’re a Sam Cole fan, but some small part of you has to think he’s met his match. Heck, some would argue that he met his match in Las Vegas when he lost his title to Brody Crawford…Brody Crawford? No way. Crawford’s a great fighter, but he’s not Sam’s match. That loss had more to do with Sam and less to do with Brody…You’re saying Sam beat himself that night…That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ve talked to Sam and I believe wholeheartedly he wasn’t in a good place that night…Mentally, you mean?…That’s exactly what I mean. The loss of Joe Maloney took its toll on him, and he wasn’t ready to be back in the ring…Do you think he’s ready tonight?…I talked to Sam about twenty minutes ago. The Sam Cole we’re going to see tonight isn’t the same fighter we saw in Las Vegas…I sure hope you’re right. That would mean one heck of a show for this New York crowd.
I put my plate down and squeeze Sebastian’s hand as the commentator introduces Sam, articulating every syllable as he says slowly, Ladies and gentlemen…Sam…Cole!
“Lucy…Lucy! Ow!” Sebastian says, pulling his hand away.
I ball my empty hands into tight fists and squeeze my eyes shut through another contraction.
“Lucy, what are you doing? Sam’s getting into the ring.” He wraps his hand around my arm and shakes me. “Hello? Earth to Lucy.”
I exhale loudly and open my eyes as it leaves me, sucking in another breath. “Sorry,” I pant.
“What is happening?”
“It was just a contraction. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’ve been getting them for months. I’m fine,” I say, turning my attention back to the TV. I watch Sam bounce from foot to foot inside the ring, cheering on the excited crowd as “Phenomenal” blares through the arena speakers. I smile softly as my anxiety begins to subside. “He looks like himself tonight.”
“Yeah, he does,” Bas says, bringing a forkful of rice to his mouth as he watches intently.
The camera zooms in on Sam’s face, and he looks into it and says, “You watching, baby?”
“Oh, my God,” Bas says over his mouthful, bumping my arm with his.
I smile and nod. “We’re watching,” I say quietly.
For those who don’t know, Sam is going to be a father soon…Very soon. In fact, his fiancée, Lucy, wasn’t able to make it tonight because she’s too far along to leave their home in Atlanta…No doubt, she’s watching this on TV and routing for Sam…We wish them both the best.
“Ahhh,” I groan, leaning over.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Bas asks, but I can’t answer.
“Another contraction,” I grit through my teeth.
“Lucy, are you sure these are Braxton whatevers?”
I nod and breathe through it, until it goes away. “Yeah, the doctor just checked me yesterday. He said I had at least two more weeks. I wasn’t dilated at all. I think I just need to get some water. I probably didn’t drink enough today. I’ll be right back.” I get up and go to the kitchen to pour myself another glass of water.
“Hurry up,” Bas calls from the living room. “They’re about to start.”
“Be right there,” I say as another contraction grips me. I lean over the sink and suck in a lungful of air, but it’s forced out with a loud, “Ow.”
“Lucy?” Sebastian walks into the kitchen and sees me hugging the kitchen sink. “Are you having another contraction?” I nod, but don’t answer. “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m fine. I just need to sit down.” I take my glass of water back to the living room and Sebastian follows me.
I sit back down on the couch and stare at the TV as Sam and Carey circle each other inside the ring. Sam waits for Carey to throw the first punch, but he dodges it and follows with a fast right hook. At the same time, my stomach tightens under my shirt again.
“I have to pee.” I get up again.
“You can’t hold it?” Sebastian asks, glancing up at me quickly before turning his eyes back to the TV.
I shake my head and walk down the hall, slowly pacing up and down it, until the contraction passes. But before I reach the living room, another one wraps around me, squeezing tight. “Ahh,” I cry, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Oh, my God,” Sebastian says, finding me holding on to the wall. “I’m calling the doctor.” He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his joggers. “What’s his name?”
“No.” I shake my head. “You don’t need to do that. It’s just Braxton Hicks. I’m not in labor.” I catch my breath and walk back into the living room.
“Are you self-diagnosing right now?”
“Look at the stupid brochure,” I say, pointing to the Stages of Labor pamphlet on the coffee table. “Women think they’re in labor all the time. It’s normal to have contractions like this at the end.”