It had been almost seven months since Baker Mayfield last saw her. The breakup had been messy, full of timing issues and unspoken feelings neither of them were ready to face. Football had filled the silence for him—film sessions, practices, travel—but she’d never really left his mind. Every now and then, something small would remind him of her—her laugh, her old hoodie that still somehow ended up in his laundry, the way she always teased him before games. He missed her more than he wanted to admit.

He never expected to see her again. Not like this.

It happened on a humid afternoon in Tampa. He’d stopped by a friend’s barbecue, lowkey and casual, when she showed up—invited by mutual friends, completely unaware he’d be there. The second she stepped through the gate, the air changed. She froze when she saw him, her hand instinctively brushing over her stomach as if to hide it. But it was too late—he saw.

For a moment, Baker just stood there, blinking like he was seeing things. “You’re…?” he started, his voice catching halfway through. She looked down, guilt flashing across her face before nodding softly. His mind spun—months of silence suddenly making sense, all the unanswered messages, the distance. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly. There was no bite to it, just confusion, hurt, disbelief.

She explained—how she didn’t want to distract him, how she thought it was too late, how she wasn’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t interrupt. He just listened, eyes glassy, jaw tense. Then, after a long pause, he took a step closer and said, barely above a whisper, “You should’ve told me… I’d have been there.”

When she let him place his hand on her belly, one of the twins kicked, and it broke something open in him. His grin was small but real—half laugh, half tears. “Already strong like their old man,” he murmured, shaking his head with a watery chuckle.

Baker wasn’t perfect, but in that moment, all the noise in his life went quiet. For once, it wasn’t about football, or fame, or the next game. It was about her—and the two little lives that were his, waiting for him to show up. And he would.