● Team Griggs once again won the silver medal in the league’s tournament. It was close and a nail-biter to the end, but unfortunately, this year the saying “always a bridesmaid, never a bride” seems to ring especially true.
● Team Reeves played a solid game all season and perhaps deserved better than her bronze finish. There’s always next time, though, right?
With so many shake-ups and surprises, the Real Coaches’ Wives certainly kept the game interesting this year. Who knows what lies in store for these team managers in the future? There’s no doubt it will be lively.
Epilogue
THE NEXT AUGUST
It’s funny how we end up in situations we never expected. I blame Brook, J.J., and the whole game of fantasy football, which—when you think about it—is why I’m currently in my delicate, about to explode, condition.
If I hadn’t joined the fantasy football league, I wouldn’t have met Brook. If I hadn’t met Brook, I wouldn’t have married him. If I wouldn’t have married him, I wouldn’t have agreed to make a baby with him. If I hadn’t agreed to have a baby, I wouldn’t be a million months pregnant and past the point of popping on a ninety-degree (and humid) August afternoon.
If I hadn’t joined the league, I’d probably be sitting in an air-conditioned car dealership office trying to decide whether or not I wanted a bean burrito or veggie burger for dinner while I watched E!
A burrito and TV sounds like heaven as another contraction hits.
“Just breathe. Or push. Or do whatever it is you’re supposed to do. Oh, shit, I don’t know what you’re supposed to do.”
I hiss at J.J., who throws up his hands in defense, like he’s afraid I’m about to throw a punch at him.
If I had my pick of birthing partners, my first choice would obviously be Brook. For one, he’s the father. If anyone is going to be here to witness the birth—three days after the due date—it should be him. He has a calm, soothing way about him. Plus, he’s a pro at coaching people to do their best. So, yeah, he would be the first person I’d draft in this moment.
Unfortunately, he’s not here. Thanks to the assistant job he secured at the University of Nebraska, he’s at a coaches meeting. Based on the stream of texts blowing up my phone, I can expect him soon. Until then, I’m stuck with a backup, which might be too generous of a term to describe J.J.
I grip on to his hand—or ear, I can’t be completely sure—and bare down through the pain. There’s a scream, and again, I don’t know if it’s his or mine. Either way, my ears are ringing as the contraction fades away.
“Jesus, Harper.”
I don’t have time or patience for J.J.’s swears. I suppose I should be more considerate of him—or at least grateful for his help—because I’m sure this isn’t where he wants to be either.
When my water broke while we were watching a pre-season NFL game, it was between having him, Scott, or Christopher come with me. I opted for J.J. There are just some things a brother shouldn’t see when it comes to his sister. I shouldn’t have even gone over to Scott’s house for the game. I wasn’t feeling particularly well (back cramps that turned out to be labor—who knew?), but Brook thought it would be a good idea for me to get out of the house.
So that’s how I ended up watching Chad Baker make a 50-yard passing touchdown during the first possession of the game. I was jumping up to do my victory dance when my water broke. Scott was so excited about the touchdown he barely made any comment about what I did to his favorite recliner.
This baby is obviously Brook’s. It was just waiting for football to come back on TV before arriving.
“So, Harper.” J.J. takes a giant step away from my bedside. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Now?!?!?”
“Well, it’s kind of time sensitive.”
“Fine, but be quick. The contractions are getting closer.”
“It’s about the fantasy league. I know you said you were retired, but we haven’t had any luck finding another player to fill your spot and we’re drafting in a couple of days.”
“Why don’t you ask Kelsey? She’s wanted that spot for years.”
“I thought about it, but she really doesn’t know anything about the game and we need this to be competitive.”
“What about Amelia?”
“Nope. Wade says she’ll never do it.”
“How about the guys from Houston? The ones who used to be in the league a couple of years ago.”
“They’ve moved on.” Building up his courage, he returns to the bedside and takes my hand. “Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
I can already feel my resolve slipping. “J.J. I—”Another contraction hits, cutting me off in my moment of weakness. When it too passes, I release a shout of frustration. “I can’t do this. Tell me what to do.”
“I don’t know.” J.J. steps out of arm’s reach of me. “Just, like, find your happy place, dude.”
Find my happy place. I’m already here, or close enough. I mean, we’re in Lincoln and Brook is an assistant coach. But we’re on a whole different level.
A few days after we confirmed we were expecting—which came with a fair amount of tears from both of us—Brook got the call from the university. They wanted him on their coaching team. In one week, Brook fulfilled two dreams: He was going to be a father and he was going to coach for his alma mater. I’m not sure which news made him cry more. Even if I could, he swore me to secrecy on how much he blubbered.
Then we bought a house. It needs a little love—which is crazy considering how much we have going on—but it has a lot of room to grow. The best news is we don’t have any roommates—official or unofficial—under our roof. After J.J. finished his counseling, he went back to the dealership and took a coaching role with one of the youth teams. It seems to suit him, just like Lincoln suits us. It’s where we see ourselves in the present. We need both the room and the stability.
Some people might have been flustered by the prospect of moving halfway across the country for the second time in one year, but I was fine with it. I had already decided to work on Team Stitches full time.
It’s a good thing I did. The book took a lot more time than I imagined. When I saw the final proof before it went to the printer’s last month, I decided it had been worth it. Thanks to the unexpected publicity from the Northwood family during the last game of the season, preorders for the book—not to mention orders from our inventory and website subscribers—have gone through the roof. Kristen says they’ve never had a debut book make such a big splash, but Amelia and I aren’t letting it get to our heads. We’re obviously pleased about our success, but she has another baby girl at home to take care of, and I have a baby of my own on its way. Right now. We have a lot to celebrate.
“J.J., I can’t do the league. I’m having a baby.”
“So is Brook. And Wade has one. You don’t see either of them quitting.”
“I’m going to need you to move back.”
“Why?”
“If you don’t, I might murder you. And I don’t want my baby to have to visit me in prison.”
He does as ordered. “Will you think about it?”
“Fine. I’ll consider it.”
“Good. Christopher said we’d get you to cave.”
Maybe prison wouldn’t be such a bad place to be after all. Before I can hop out of the bed and strangle him with my IV, another contraction hits. The nurse steps forward to grab my hand. They’re getting so much closer, so much stronger. Tears fill my eyes as I realize Brook might not get here in time.
Then someone takes my other hand and rubs my back, murmuring words of comfort. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Brook. He made it. I have so much I want to tell him. How J.J. tried to re-recruit me for the league—in the hospital. How I don’t feel so scared anymore with him here. How I love him so much. But I can’t quite seem to form the words.
I collapse back against the bed and Brook wipes the hair away from
my brow and presses his lips to my forehead.
I give him a weak smile. “You made it.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” He says something to J.J., who nods and leaves with a parting wave. Turning back to me, he leans in for another kiss. “You’re doing great.”
“I don’t know. Is it too late to reconsider this whole thing?”
“Hey.” He covers his heart and pats his chest three times and points at me.
If possible, I’d melt right here on the gurney. “I love you, too.”
Before long, the doctor comes in and announces it’s time to push. Brook’s jaw clenches and he strikes a warrior pose. He looks like he’s about to go into battle, or lead a team onto the field to play for a title. My hand clasped firmly in his, his arm supporting my back, he gazes into my eyes. “You’ve got this, baby.”
I fight through the waves of pain and pressure until the doctor orders me to give a final push. That’s when Brook leans over and whispers, “We’re fourth and inches . . .” And I actually laugh. With Brook’s hand gripped in mine, and a grin on my face, I give it my all. When at last I open my eyes, I know I did it. Brook presses his lips to my brow and we both stare down at the little body the doctor is placing onto my chest.
This is our little boy—our son.
I don’t know how long we stay like this. My arms around our baby, Brook’s arms around me, both staring down at the little life we made. Minutes. Hours. It passes by in a blur while the doctor and nurses take care of the final details. It’s important work, but none of it matters as much as these first moments with my family. After some time, they leave us alone. Brook sends out a mass message to our family and friends.
After tears and gibberish, I’m finally able to find some real words. I wish they were more profound than, “Hey, kiddo,” but it’s all I can manage.
Brook places his hand over mine. “Good job, Mom.”
“Same to you, Dad.” Saying it sends a jolt of delight through me. Not because I have some fetish for calling him Daddy, but fatherhood looks good on Brook. Even better than I imagined. Realizing I’m being a baby hog the first day on the job, I scoot over to give Brook more room on the bed. “Want to hold him?”
He nods and moves closer. Carefully (maybe it’s me, but newborns are more fragile than I remember), I ease our son into his arms. Brook’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes go misty.
Yeah, fatherhood is a good look.
“Hey, little buddy.” Brook’s nose wrinkles. “Kiddo? Buddy? We’re going to have to come up with something better than that.”
“We will.”
“Not to point fingers, but your mom’s the one who insisted we wait until you were born to pick a name.”
“A decision I stand by.” I lean against Brook and stroke the soft patch of hair on our son’s head. “How were we to know if he’d be a Todd or a North?”
“I don’t care what happened on your flight. We’re not naming our son after Todd Northwood.”
“Party pooper.” I sigh, suddenly feeling like I’ve just run a marathon or lifted a car or . . . had a baby. “I guess we could always call him Chad or Baker, since he’s the reason you fell madly in love with me.”
“There are a lot of reasons I fell madly in love with you. If we used them all for his name, they’d never fit on the birth certificate. We’d need pages.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Speaking of things to figure out . . .” Brook studies me curiously. “Did you really tell J.J. you’d think about rejoining the fantasy league?”
“I did. I would have told him anything. It doesn’t mean I actually will.”
“He seemed to think you’re back.”
“I’ll claim duress. Or I’ll tell him I’m too busy. I’m a big deal now.”
“That you are.” Brook smooths a few of my stray hairs before turning his attention back to our baby. “Did he tell you they were changing a few things this season?”
His tone is enough to tear my eyes from my son’s face, which I’m pretty sure looks exactly like his father’s. “No. What’s the change?”
“They want to make it a dynasty league.”
“No shit.” Brook sends me a sharp look and I wave him off. The kid is too young to care if his mom has a potty mouth. “You mean we’d get to keep some of our players every season?”
“That’s a keeper league. This is a dynasty league.”
“Which is . . .”
“You draft a player, he’s yours until you drop or trade him.”
“Sounds like a keeper league.”
“It’s not the same.” The baby opens his mouth wide to yawn and Brook grins. “Without getting into the specifics, a keeper league is like getting an apartment with a player. A dynasty league is like putting a ring on it and saying, ‘till death or drop do we part.’”
Interesting. “So it’s like marriage?”
“Exactly.”
“I’d keep my players from last year?”
Brook nods. “So what do you say?”
Perhaps I spoke too soon about my future with fantasy football. I might need to put a call in to my agent and talk it over with the family. Maybe retirement doesn’t look so appealing after all.
A Pre-Season Message from the Fantasy Football Pro
Welcome to another season of football. Team Harper is back and out for redemption after her tough finish last year. The game will be a little different this time. The Mega Ballerz are building a dynasty with keepers from last season. Team Harper has yet to save anyone besides Chad Baker from last year and we can’t blame her. A fresh slate might be exactly what she needs.
Yes, Team Harper is out to clear her name and chase after the coveted trophy. But if anyone can do it, it’s her.
Now let’s play some football.
THANK YOU FOR READING the Queen of the League series. I hope you enjoyed hanging out with Harper, Brook, and the rest of the Mega Ballerz. While this is the final story in the trilogy, there’s always the possibility that Harper might just come out of fantasy football retirement again.
Until then, you can go back to Lincoln, Nebraska, the setting of much of these stories, in my new Amarillo Sour series. In the first book, Counting on You, Haleigh needs a date to her high school reunion, and Ian has a new dating app. He promises to help her find an impressive date if she’ll test it out for him. Along the way, they may discover they don’t need an app to find love.
Get it here >>
Also, be sure to check out Smyth Saves the Date. It's a free short story about a wedding planner as he finds his own happily ever after.
Download here >>
About the Author
LAURA CHAPMAN is the author of sweet and sexy romantic comedies. A born and raised Nebraska girl, she loves watching football, traveling, crafting, and baking. When she isn’t writing her next story, she is probably binge-watching Netflix with her cats Jane and Bingley.
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Books by Laura Chapman
The Marrying Type
Smyth Saves the Date
Playing House
Making Christmas
What Happens at Midnight
The Queen of the League Trilogy
First & Goal
Going for Two
Three & Out
Amarillo Sour Series
Counting on You
Let It Be Me (Fall 2019)
Sneak peek of Playing House by Laura Chapman!
SHE'S A WORK IN PROGRESS . . .
Bailey Meredith has had it. As an assistant at a prestigious interior design firm, she’s tired of making coffee and filing invoices. She’ll do just about anything to get out from under the paperwork and into the field for real experience. Then
she sees an ad for a job that seems too good to be true.
He's a fixer upper . . .
Wilder Aldrich knew she would be perfect for the crew the moment he saw her. His hit home improvement show only hired the best, and Bailey had potential written all over her. It isn’t just her imaginative creativity and unmatched work ethic that grabs his attention. There’s just something about her.
With chemistry on screen, it’s only a matter of time before sparks fly behind the scenes as well. But with Bailey’s jaded views on romance and a big secret that could destroy Wilder and everyone he cares about are either of them willing to risk it all for love?
Bailey Meredith tended to worry more than anyone else in her family.
Mama thought a woman should do her best and not fret about the rest. Her big sister, Paige, liked to live and let live—and boy, did she live. Nana believed in leaving everything up to the good Lord’s plan. Roger, her mother’s long-term gentleman friend, well, the only thing he worried about was whether or not the damn Cowboys—pardon his language—were ever going to make it to the Super Bowl again in his lifetime—no disrespect.
But Bailey worried. When she was in high school, she worried no one would ask her to the prom. (She ended up with three invitations, which opened up a whole mess of other concerns.) In college, she worried about making good enough grades to get into a graduate program at a reputable architecture school. (Again, she wound up having her pick, before settling on the University of Texas.) And just last week, she worried about whether or not she should renew the lease on her studio apartment in downtown Dallas. (She’d make that decision based on how the job interview went today.)
Oddly enough, she wasn’t worried about the interview. The way she saw it, if it went well and she got an offer, she’d be sitting pretty. She could either use it as leverage to get her current firm to pony up on their long-held promise to promote her from a personal assistant to a full-fledged designer. Or, they wouldn’t take the bait and she’d quit. If the interview didn’t pan out, well, she still had her job getting coffee for the people who were living her dream. At least it paid the rent.
Three & Out Page 27
