Hail Mary (The Mavericks Series)

by Julianna Marley

  Copyright © 2016 by Julianna Marley

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book, Hail Mary: The Mavericks Series, is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and/or events are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or not living, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise; except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  Cover Design & Formatting: Shanoff Formats

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon…

  Acknowledgments

  For the best thing that has ever been mine.

  For my own baby girl.

  Jocelyn Kay

  “There is bravery in being soft.”

  “Where the heck am I?”

  Whitney Scott looked down the long empty corridor adorned with jumbo action shots of various Carolina Mavericks players plastered all over the walls. She had somehow managed to not only get completely lost landing her in which she only assumed was the basement of the building, but she wasn’t even entirely certain she was in the right building at all. As much as she hated to admit it, she shouldn’t have pressed her boss to let her do this errand. Not today. But she also couldn’t just sit home and do nothing. The quietness and waiting around was only leading to more thinking and right now, having too much time to think was bad. Very, very bad. All she needed to do was to find the General Manager’s office and drop off this invoice from the draft party that her wonderful bosses had thrown for the football organization a few weeks ago. It made sense that nobody was in the basement of the Mavericks stadium. She knew enough about the team from planning their events to know that the season wasn’t due to begin for another few weeks or so. She had promised her boss, Ross, that she was well enough to deliver this invoice, but at eight days past her due date the waves of contractions growing stronger with each passing hour, nearly taking her breath away, she wasn’t so sure anymore that it had been her wisest decision. Despite having contractions for the past day and a half, she had an innate feeling she was going to be in labor and delivery sooner rather than later. Leaning against the picture covered walls, she braced herself for another round of pain. Yes, this definitely had not been her best idea, but as her mama always enjoyed reminding her, she was impulsive and once she got an idea in her head, there was no stopping her. Her bosses, of course, knew nothing of this and so when she had begged them to let her do this one errand, they caved in like she knew they would. Now all she had to do was find this gosh darn office, deliver the invoice and somehow drive herself to the hospital because she was almost positive that she was going into active labor.

  “Hello?” she called out again, catching a small breath. It was pointless, really. The place was as dead as an ice cream shop in the middle of a snowstorm. Although they didn’t get snow. Not in South Carolina. Snow would be nice, though. Born and raised in Louisiana before moving to Charleston, she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen actual snow, the pressure of another contraction reminding her that it wasn’t the time to be concerned with weather-related fantasies. Maybe if she could just get to the end of the hall there would be a janitor or a security guard, or just someone who could lead her to where she needed to go.

  “Somebody?” she yelled again grabbing her stomach, trying to keep track how far apart the contractions were coming. Pulling out her cell phone she pressed the call button for her obstetrician, as the no service icon flashed up in the corner of the screen. That’s right, she wouldn’t have reception because she was lost in a basement somewhere with not a single soul in sight. Sliding down to the floor taking the pressure off her legs, she leaned her head back against the wall, the height of the pain taking her breath away. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be at home cozy on the couch or watching Bravo before her water broke, giving her a warning sign that the baby was coming. Then she would drive herself to the hospital, check herself in and get a nice dose of pain medication before she had a chance to feel any of the agony that was now rippling through her body. No. This was definitely not how it was supposed to be. Bracing herself again for another surge, she breathed hard. Gosh, she should have taken those lamaze classes that her other boss, Liv, had recommended. But she just hadn’t understood how strategic breathing would help with pain in the middle of pushing a human out of your body. She understood it now though. The contractions had started days ago and when she had called her doctor’s office they told her not to come to the hospital until they were five minutes apart. Or was it three minutes? So she had muddled through the pangs of pain, even managing to get a pedicure. Although her mama would had frowned upon her having contractions in a pedicure chair, she was bored and it felt as if this baby was never going to come.

  “Hello!” she yelled out again just for better measure. Clenching her stomach, she braced for the torture again. She needed a game plan. If this pain got any worse, she was convinced that her last vision in her short twenty-nine years of living would be the Mavericks quarterback holding up a trophy on the wall of a basement inside a football stadium.

  “Somebody help me!” she cried, falling over on her side grasping her stomach, the pain taking over. “Anybody.”

  Turning off the water Shay Cunningham was convinced his head was still in a fog from all the partying last night. He swore he had heard someone, but he also knew he was the only one at the facility today, as usual. Walking out of the shower, he made his way towards his locker cubby. Reaching for his small bag, he fetched his deodorant. He had come to work out, clear his mind and condition his body, but it was still the off-season and workouts and training weren’t mandatory yet. Although, in three short weeks it would consume him and his teammates’ lives for the next six months, hopefully ending in him holding the Lombardi trophy up over his head in his first Super Bowl win. He hadn’t become one of the leading scorers in the league by not working hard and perfecting his skills while others were enjoying their last precious weeks at home.

  It was called dedication.

  Unwrapping his white towel from around his waist, he wiped his chest hissing at the sting. The woman he had taken home last night really had a way with her fingernails as he looked down at the red scratch marks across his skin. Yeah, she had been a wild one. Lauren. No, Laura. Or was it Lainey? Oh hell, he didn’t know, all he knew was that she had been an adventurous one. Slipping on his Under Armour boxers he checked his cell for the time, knowing he wouldn’t get any texts or calls since he was in the locker room and nobody ever got cell service down here. He always figured it was some
sort of coach’s conspiracy meant to keep the players focused before games, without any outside distractions messing with their heads. Pulling his grey t-shirt with the team’s wave logo splashed across the front, he threw his dirty clothes in his duffel. Maybe he would call Myles and see what he was up to tonight? Maybe he would be down to go out and help him find someone up for the same kind of fun that Lainey had provided. Or was it Laurie?

  Shit.

  Myles wasn’t around, he forgot. He was in New York City at some fashion thing with his girlfriend, Charlotte. Shay liked Charlotte, he really did, but she seemed indifferent about her relationship with Myles. And as his best friend, he didn’t care much to be forced to share his wingman with a woman who wasn’t completely sure she even wanted to be committed to the big goof. Stuffing his keys inside his pocket, he heard the same grumble come from the hallway again.

  What the hell is that?

  It sounded like a whimpering animal. Snatching his bag, he threw it over his shoulder, walking across the open locker room, before shutting off the lights. He needed a nap because he was seriously beginning to lose it. He doubted anybody else would be here any sooner than they needed to be before the hell of training camp began. Turning down the long, cold hallway he saw someone laying on the ground a few feet ahead of him. Picking up his pace, he assumed it was a woman based on her light pink dress and he knelt down beside her. Unable to see her face in all the shiny hair casing her, she clenched her stomach. Lifting her head, he was hit with a pair of caramel colored eyes filled with unmistakable agony. He knew those eyes. He had seen them a hand full of times. Looking down at Whitney panting loudly and holding her stomach, he knew.

  Shit.

  She was having her baby.

  “Oh gosh, please,” she begged grabbing his arm so hard he actually had a momentary thought of her ripping it off. “Shay. I need your help.”

  As a wide receiver, he had been grabbed, seized, thrown, and jumped on by some of the biggest men in the NFL, none of them having a thing on Whitney’s grasp on him. “Okay,” he stuttered not moving. Shit, she was having a baby. He didn’t know a thing about babies, much less about actually having one. That kind of thing freaked him out. Made his skin crawl. “Ummm,” he stared before inching closer and trying to help her sit up, but she refused. He had seen things like this in movies, but Whitney’s loud screams echoing off the walls told him that this wasn’t like the movies.

  This was real.

  Too fucking real.

  “I need you to get me to a hospital,” she panted squeezing her eyes shut again.

  “Wait, me? You want me to take you?”

  How was he going to get a pregnant woman who could barely stand to a hospital? Plus, he had just had his car detailed, he couldn’t have her giving birth and having all that junk inside his Mercedes.

  “Let me call 911,” he offered reaching for his phone in his back pocket.

  “I tried,” she groaned rolling onto her back, the grasp on his arm loosening a bit as the strong lights caught the red highlighting her hair. “There is no service.”

  She was right. There was no service.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  What was he supposed to do? He usually prided himself on being calm in stressful situations, but this was different. Entirely different. He had suffered broken bones, snapped clavicles and more torn muscles than he could recall, but babies and all that freaked him the hell out. How was it not thirty minutes ago he was benching over three-hundred pounds on the bench press in the workout room and now he had a woman with a death grip on his arm ready to give birth? Watching her a moment, he knew her well enough to know that she not only worked for his captain, Jax Monahan’s wife, Liv, at her event production company, but also that she had a fiancé. Yes. Adam. He never liked the dude, always thought something was off with him, he just could never put his finger on it.

  Fiancé.

  Which meant this was his kid. He’d know what to do, right? Fathers were supposed to know about this stuff.

  “I’m gonna run upstairs and call Adam. Your fiancé, right?” he asked, wincing as she dug her nails into his bicep further. That one was going to leave a mark.

  “No,” she begged out of breath, making him wonder how she hadn’t passed out yet. “No Adam.”

  What? Why didn’t she want the baby’s father to be the one to help her with this? Surely Adam would know what to do before he did.

  “Listen to me Shay,” she swallowed hard, moving her head up to look at him, her brown eyes pleading. “Unless you want to deliver ma’ baby in the middle of this hallway with nothing but your shirt and whatever is in that bag,” she gasped again before letting out another stream of inaudible groans. “Then you get me to Memorial Hospital.”

  Letting her head fall back onto the ground, she let out a whoosh of air. And if he hadn’t understood the urgency in her voice the first time, her shrieks bouncing off the walls around him did the job.

  “Now!”

  “Whitney, sweetheart, I’m going to count off and on three I want you to push.”

  Looking down between the middle of her legs, Dr. Mahone shifted comfortably as the nurse dabbed her forehead with a cold cloth. They really hadn’t been kidding when they said all modesty vanished during childbirth. She had never felt so ridiculous or terrified or weak in her entire life. When Shay had bolted through the hospital doors yelling, they had carted her off in a wheelchair situating her in a bed quicker than she could say the word ‘contraction’. How had this happened? Giving birth with nobody else around but Shay Cunningham of all people? Her cousin Charlotte was in New York City, due back within hours, her mama would have just made everything worse and her sister Georgie was elbow deep in books in her last month of studying for the BAR exam back in Louisiana. She couldn’t just pick up and leave and Whitney never would have asked her to. Poor Shay looked as freaked out as she felt, holding her hand, concentrating way too hard on a late eighties painting hanging against the floral wallpaper in front of him. When she had requested medicine for the pain, she watched the nurse’s head shake before enlightening her that she had, in fact, missed her window for any type of relief and that she was going to have to deliver this baby naturally.

  Yes. This was certainly not how it was supposed go. But for as freaked out as Shay looked and the few times she was pretty sure he was going to pass out, he was calming. Never moving or wavering. Just mechanical and still. That surprising her almost as much as how badly natural labor really hurt.

  “I don’t think I can push anymore,” she decided, shaking her head gasping for air. Staring up at the wall, she struggled to catch her breath.

  No. She knew she couldn’t push anymore.

  The pain felt like riding a wave, the height of it forcing her to be sick every time. Wiping her mouth again as the pressure subsided for a few seconds, she groaned banging her head back into the headboard.

  “Yes, you can. I have the head,” Dr. Mahone said calmly, taking a sharp tool from the nurse.

  What in the world is that for?!

  “One,” he called off ignoring her pleas.

  Looking over at Shay, his eyes stared back at her. They were so blue, so intense, and he nodded. “You can do this, darlin’.”

  Pressing her chin into her chest she prayed to the good Lord above that not only would she get this baby out, but that the pain would stop.

  “Two.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes feeling Shay squeeze her hand tightly.

  “Three,” Dr. Mahone yelled for the first time, startling her. “Push Whitney, push!”

  Letting out a loud scream she felt in her soul, her arms shook feeling a shift in the most natural and fascinating thing her body was capable of doing. But also, the most excruciating. “This really hurts,” she screamed louder before the sound of a small whimper filled the room and she slammed back against the bed, her vision blurry.

  Oh, dear God, please say it’s over.

  Her breathing chop
py, the sweat dripping from her hairline rolled down her cheek. Pieces of hair stuck to the side of her face, as the pain inside her body backed off slowly.

  “Well,” Dr. Mahone sighed, releasing a small breath behind his face mask. Meeting her gaze, his hazel eyes softened. “It’s a girl.”

  Gasping, the small aftershocks of pain surged throughout her body as her heart expanded.

  A girl.

  She had secretly hoped for a little girl, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Just like any other mama, she wanted her baby to be healthy. She hadn’t found out the sex despite her own wishes. Adam had made her promise that they wouldn’t find out; it all making much more sense now. Maybe knowing that he had a precious baby girl on the way would have made it more difficult on him to disappear. But none of that was important. Not now at least.

  She had a daughter to raise.

  Placing a pink and blue striped ball of blanket and dark hair into her arms, the graceful nurse who had held her legs up through the pushing not moments ago rested her precious baby girl against her. Yes. A sweet, beautiful, dark-haired angel to take care of.

  “Hi, sugar,” Whitney whispered, taking in the porcelain skin of her chubby cheeks. Flawless, smooth cheeks that she had made. That she had carried. Ones that didn’t resemble her own. Tracing her finger over the bow of her baby’s tiny pink lips, tears pooled inside her eyes at the magnificence in her arms. “I’m your mama.”

  She hadn’t picked out a girl’s name, convinced that she was having a boy and one that would have been named after his father. But looking down at the perfect angel in her arms, wrapped tightly in a delicate blanket, her small eyes fluttering open for the first time behind long rich lashes, there would be no name from her father. She was too perfect. Too pure. Too extraordinary. Swallowing back the dryness in her throat as the pain from the last few hours disappeared slowly, she stared down into a pair of caramel eyes that matched hers.

  “I promise you, angel,” she whispered, smiling for the first time in weeks. “We’re going to be a family.”