Once the players kick off, the game rushes forward. It’s a struggle to keep up with what is happening, especially since I know next to nothing about soccer. All I know is that there’s a ball and a goal and what direction Levi is headed.

It doesn’t take a soccer guru to know, however, that Levi is in his element. Even if I didn’t know that he is one of the top and most sought after players in the league, his footwork alone would give him away.

He’s absolutely breathtaking to watch. The speed in which he runs is astonishing. The fluid way in which he weaves in and out of other player’s paths, kicking and passing the ball to his teammates, faking left and right, using his knees and head to send the ball through the air all keep me riveted. Every time he takes a hit, my heart stops, and every time he recovers and rushes forward it sends it thudding into overtime.

I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, chewing my bottom lip, as I watch Levi race alongside one of his teammates, guarding the ball as he kicks it downfield.

As they close in on the goal, so does the other team. It’s coming to a head and, from where I sit, it looks like a pileup waiting to happen. They’re all converging on one spot, on a collision course with one another.

A burly guy charges up from the left, headed straight for the guy controlling the ball. The crowds on both sides of the stadium are out of their seats shouting, and I’m certain something terrible is about to happen. I can feel it in my chest. This unbearable tightness threatening to smother me.

Then it happens.

Levi’s teammate kicks the ball backward with his heel, Levi moves in to retrieve it, and then, with a move that’s pure speed and agility, he spins around, toes the ball into the air, and jumps. As his feet leave the ground, Levi’s body contorts, rounding backward in a flip. At the same time, his leg comes up, connecting with the ball, and sends it flying over his head.

The goalkeeper lunges a second too late and the ball strikes the net.

It’s a score for his team, but I don’t have the time or luxury of enjoying the moment. What happens next steals what little breath I have left. The linebacker looking guy slams into Levi before he’s finished his flip, sending him sailing through the air. His body slams into the ground with a force that knocks my heart down into my stomach.

The referee’s whistle blows to signal the end of the game. The Chicago Fire’s won.

But Levi…he’s not getting up.

Soon, everyone notices. The coaches and medics rush to him, the teams stand aside, worry clearly marring their faces. The crowd murmurs. The announcer speculates. I hold my breath, my vision blurring as I watch the man I love lying there, motionless in the grass.

Please, God, let him be okay. I send as many prayers as I can to whoever is listening, hoping at least one of them makes it through. Levi needs to be okay. My hand finds my stomach as I think of our child never getting to meet its father, and I almost shatter apart right here. I can’t do this without him.

I don’t know how long he lays there, but it feels like an eternity. When I see the coach stand up and the other players back off, I hold my breath. Please repeats on a constant loop as I stare down at the field, at the spot where Levi is spread out in the grass. I catch a glimpse of his grass-stained cleats first, and I swallow down the lump of fear that’s been steadily rising in my throat since he went down.

The next part of him that’s revealed is his right leg, followed immediately by the left. There are some minor scrapes, but I don’t see anything concerning. No breaks that I can tell. Thank God!

The medics rise up and the circle of staff loosens even more, giving the first full view of Levi as they help him stand.

He’s standing.

I slap my hand over my mouth as a cry of relief explodes from my lips. Tears burst free and roll hot down my cheeks as I watch him take a few experimental steps. The scowl on his face tells me he’s pissed, which is great because it tells me he’s not in pain.

Almost as if he’s just realized that everyone is still watching him, he looks up. I can almost hear the crowd’s collective breath as they await his verdict. Then, with typical Levi aplomb, he shoots his right arm into the air and pumps his fist. The fans go absolutely nuts, celebrating the team’s victory without missing a beat. Levi’s injury scare is already forgotten.

As he walks closer, flanked by two medics and a couple of people I don’t recognize as teammates, his gaze lifts into the stands. He finds me in seconds, and as soon as our eyes meet, I feel my chest constrict all over again.

Waterworks. I dash the tears away, forcing myself to smile for his sake. Damn these pregnancy hormones.

Levi’s expression pinches and he veers left, saying something over his shoulder as he heads directly toward me. Swinging himself up into the stands, he ignores the medics’ protests and leaps up the few rows separating us. Once he’s standing in front of me, he grasps my face between his large, calloused hands.

“What’s wrong, princess?” he asks softly, making my heart clench as my emotions surge up all over again. His thumbs drag across my cheeks, taking the tears with them. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” I screech through what have become hiccupping sobs of profound relief. Throwing myself against him, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and bury my face in his chest. “Are you okay? I thought you died!”

His arms form a protective circle around me, and I sigh deeper into him, breathing in the smell of grass and sweaty man. I’m going to need a shower after this, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Slowly, I realize that Levi is shaking. Or, more accurately, his chest is shaking. Pulling back slightly, I look up at him, concerned, only to realize that there’s nothing wrong with him.

“You asshole! Stop laughing!” I slap his chest, which only sets him off more.

Gripping me tighter so I can’t break away, Levi says, “I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. It’s just that you’re so cute with your red eyes and snotty nose thinkin’ I’m dead.”

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at me! I was devastated,” I say as he pulls me closer, pushing my face into his chest and kissing the side of my head. I should be mad, but he’s in my arms and he’s okay, and right now, that’s all that matters.

“You should know you can’t get rid of me that easily, princess.” Drawing back, Levi pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look up at him. Sobering, he inspects my face, which must be a total mess. “I’ve never had anyone worry about me before,” he says quietly and with no small amount of wonder.

His confession strikes something deep inside of me—sympathy, anger, sadness. I feel them in equal measures. No one should know the kind of loneliness that this man has. Now that I know to look for it, I realize that all of Levi’s cockiness and arrogance have been nothing more than a façade designed to protect himself so he could pretend that he isn’t hurting inside.

I see in his eyes how much me being here—for him—means to him. It’s such a small thing, and yet it’s a big deal. Right here, right now, while staring into his eyes, I make a silent vow that he’ll never have a reason to doubt how much he’s loved.

Tipping my chin up, I brush a kiss over his lips. “You’d better get used to it then,” I respond. “Because every time you get on that field, I’m going to worry about you until you’re back in my arms.”

His blue eyes fill with emotion, something that is completely unlike the Levi I’ve come to know, and his lips part, ready to say something. But before he can, a low, rolling sound like distant thunder starts up around us.

Glancing up, Levi smirks and I stiffen as we realize that the whole stadium is watching us. And they’re chanting.