“That’s not funny at all. Lightning crotch sounds like torture or the name of a bad superhero.”
I snort. “Exactly, which is what—” A wave grips me, insistent enough that I stop mid-thought and press a hand against the cushion.
“Ligaya?” Tristan’s voice sharpens.
“I’m OK,” I say quickly, the spasm easing off almost immediately.
He exhales, but I can feel the tension humming through the line.
“You’re doing this without me, and I hate it.”
“Tristan, you’re always with me,” I say and add, to distract from his melancholy, “My mom and your mom cleaned the entire kitchen today. Bonded over vacuuming.”
“That’s the only thing keeping me from losing my mind with missing you . . . knowing you have family so close. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Tristan. And I’m fine.”
His pause is loaded, like he’s gearing up for a big declaration. “You should know, Ligaya, every time I’m out there, it’s you I’m playing for. You, the babies, the future we could have if Columbus decides to extend my contract.”
“They will. Kick ass tomorrow, and they’ll have no choice but to keep you for the next ten seasons.”
“I’ll take a three-to-five-year contract. Enough to set something up before retirement.”
“Look at you, living your retirement days in style.”
“If it’s with you, it’s definitely in style.”
We haven’t talked about marriage directly, at least not since that strange proposal. Yet we want the same thing. That’s clearer now more than ever.
“I love you, Ligaya.”
“I love you, too.”
I could say the words a thousand times and they still couldn’t fully capture how much I feel for Tristan. We’ve come so far and yet we’re only getting started.
CHAPTER 48
LIGAYA
Just shy of dawn, I wake up.
Not because of discomfort or the need to go to the bathroom.
My body pulls me from sleep because something is off. It takes me a second to realize the problem.
The babies aren’t moving.
I try to breathe through my panic, because surely I’ll get the usual nudge or glide. These two are relentless at reminding me of their imminent entrance into the world.
Silence has never been louder.
Stillness has never been so alarming.
I call out to my mother sleeping in the living room. She runs in, sleep worn but relatively alert.
“What is it?”
“I need to go to the hospital. Something’s wrong.”
