Chapter 79: A new legacy begins
For a heartbeat, the world fell silent.
The crickets still sang in the hedges, the fairy lights still blinked along the veranda, and the night still breathed warm and slow, but inside Sam, everything stopped.
Kayla’s whisper hung between them like a note suspended in air.
"I’m pregnant."
He blinked once, then twice.
His mouth parted and closed again as if he’d forgotten how to speak.
He looked at her, really looked as in scrutinized. He focused on the tremble at the corner of her lip, the brave steadiness in her eyes, the way her fingers had curled into the shawl at her collarbone like she was anchoring herself to courage.
"I...," He swallowed, then he laughed in disbelief, and then in wonder. "For real? Kay... you mean... you’re...?"
She nodded, cheeks shining. "I’m pregnant."
The words unlocked him as joy surged through him like floodlights turning on. He stepped forward, hands on her waist, forehead to hers, laughing and whispering, almost crying in the same breath.
He pulled her into his chest and lifted her an inch off the ground, spinning once on the cool tiles.
"Babe, oh my God, Kayla, are you serious?" He set her down and kissed her hair, then her cheeks, admiring the corner of her smile. "How long? When did you... how long?"
"Six weeks," she said, voice calm now, soft as the night. "I took a test before we left Barcelona. Then I saw a doctor, quietly, just to be sure. I wanted to tell you when we had... a moment. A real one".
She looked at him. "A moment like now. No cameras, no noise, just us."
He leaned back, eyes glassy. "Six weeks."
She watched him as if discovering him for the first time, the 21-year-old king of the world suddenly looking like the boy from Abraka who learned to chase dreams with bare feet and a stubborn heart again.
Inside, her thoughts bloomed. ’I guess, I made the right choice?’
’I was afraid he would worry about timing, about the season, about the pressure. I was afraid of putting more weight on his shoulders’.
’But look at him,’ she smiled without trying to. ’Look at this light on his face. If I could bottle this moment, I would keep it forever’.
Sam cupped her face, thumbs warm at her jaw. "Are you okay? Any nausea? Dizziness? Cravings? Tell me everything, I need to know everything."
She laughed. "Just some nausea in the mornings".
"I’ve been hiding ginger sweets like contraband, and I’m suddenly obsessed with oranges. It’s not glamorous."
"It’s perfect," he said, as if the word had been waiting its whole life to be used.
They moved to the garden steps and sat, knees touching.
Above them, the stars watched like quiet witnesses. In the house, the last string of carols faded as somewhere inside, Ian snored like an old generator. The night belonged to them.
"So," he said, rubbing circles over the back of her hand, "we’re having a baby."
"We’re having a baby," she repeated, grin spreading.
He turned, unable to help himself, and pressed a light, reverent kiss to her belly through the cotton of his T-shirt draped over her. "Hi," he whispered, and his voice broke on the single syllable. "I’m your dad."
Kayla’s breath trembled; she didn’t say a word.
Then...
"Names!" He suddenly said, eyes bright with mischief. "We need names. If it’s a boy, definitely Samuel Junior."
She laughed. "Too obvious."
"Okay, okay." He thought. "Efe?" He grinned. "It means wealth".
She tilted her head, considering. "I like it. Or Ofure," she smiled. "I saw it in an Isoko journal, it means Life is now peaceful, I like it".
Sam winced playfully. "And have the commentators in Spain break their tongues?"
"Fair point." She nudged him with her shoulder. "What about Alexander? Strong, classic. Alexander Moses. AM10." She teased.
He smirked. "Already giving him a number?"
"It’s genetic," she said. "I married a jersey."
He laughed, head thrown back. "Alright. But what if it’s a girl?"
Her voice softened. "Ewomazino, meaning goodness has come."
His smile gentled. "Ewomazino Moses," he said, testing the sound. "Or Ujiro. Or Eru, beauty."
Kayla’s eyes warmed. "I like Eru. Eru Kayla Moses," she said, and it sounded like a promise.
He touched her cheek. "Perfect."
They fell quiet, letting futures play out in the privacy of their minds; tiny hands and midnight cries, first steps on cool tiles, a first word that would feel like a goal in stoppage time.
Sam saw a little life toddling across a sunlit kitchen in Barcelona, then racing under Abuja rains in the summer, a life that would touch both worlds and belong fully to both.
"What do you want them to know?" she asked.
He answered without thinking. "Where they come from".
"Abraka dust and Catalan skies," he smiled. "I want them to know that love looks like grandparents shouting in the kitchen and teammates bleeding for you on the pitch".
"That it’s okay to dream weird, impossible dreams and to fall while chasing them, because falling isn’t failure. And for them to watch One Piece," he laughed. "Very important".
"Also, I want them to know that faith is quiet and strong, and that their mother is the bravest person I know."
She blinked fast, a laugh catching on the edge of a tear. "No fair."
He squeezed her hand. "I want to be like my dad," he said. "Less shouting, more... steady. Present. Even when I’m away. I’ll plan it, and I’ll manage it. I won’t be the guy who loves trophies and forgets bedtime stories."
"You won’t," she said, deciding it for the both of them. "And I’ll be the one who makes home feel like home. We’ll build a little world and let football visit it, not rule it."
He nodded, storing the sentence somewhere he wouldn’t lose it. "We can split time. Spain during the season, Nigeria in the summers".
"We’ll teach them both languages. English, Spanish, and Pidgin," he grinned. "Maybe a little Urhobo. They’ll understand grandma’s scolding in at least three tongues."
Kayla snorted. "And Sophia will teach them mischief."
"And Ian will teach them bad jokes and how to cheat at swimming," Sam said. "I’ll handle dribbling. You handle... everything else."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "Deal."
They drifted through practicalities like stepping stones across a quiet stream.
The first scan, he wanted to frame it.
The first kick, he swore he’d feel it even if he was in an away hotel room in Pamplona. He promised to call from every bus, every tunnel, and every strange city, to talk to a belly and to the person it would become.
"What about the season?" she asked, gentle.
He exhaled, honest. "It’s a lot. But this...," he nodded at her, "this is bigger than a season, bigger than anything. I’ll talk to Hansi, we’ll plan. I’ll miss nothing that matters."
She studied him. "You wanted to be the best, the real GOAT."
"I still do. But legacy isn’t just lifts and records." He looked back at the dark garden where the bonfire had been. "Legacy is someone calling you ’dad’ and believing you’re safe."
She closed her eyes, absorbing the sentence into her bones.
"When do we tell them?" he asked, suddenly boyish again. "Your pick. Now? Morning? New Year’s? My mom will scream loud enough to wake the neighbors."
Kayla laughed. "Morning, let’s have one night that belongs only to us."
"One night," he repeated softly, savoring it.
They rose and walked the path between the hibiscus bushes, fingers intertwined, a little slower now, as if the night itself had become sacred ground.
At the door, he paused, then dropped to his knees, pressing his ear, smiling. "I can’t hear you," he whispered to the quiet inside her, "but I know you’re there. I can feel you, and I can’t wait to meet you."
Kayla’s hand combed through his hair, tenderness overflowing. "You’ll be a good father," she said, voice steady with certainty.
He stood, eyes shining. "Because I have a good mother for my child."
She kissed him then, slow and sure, a seal over the moment. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
"Legacy," he murmured.
"Family," she answered.
They turned out the veranda light and stepped inside. The house hushed, the world paused, time pinned to a single perfect evening.
The trophies could glint in far-off cabinets, and the chants could roar in distant stadiums tomorrow. Tonight, the only sound that mattered was two hearts steadying into a new rhythm.
In the quiet of their room, they crawled under the sheets and lay facing each other, whispering little jokes and half-formed plans until words dissolved.
Before sleep took them, Sam reached across the tiny space, palm flat and warm over the future between them.
"Goodnight, Eru," he teased.
"Or Efe," she countered, smiling in the dark.
"Or both," he said, grin audible.
Kayla’s last thought before sleep was a prayer and a promise braided together. ’Let this love be a home. Let this child know joy’. She genuinely prayed.
And Sam’s was simple, fierce, and unshakable.
’I’ll carry the world and still be here’.
Outside, Abuja exhaled.
Inside, two young hearts beat steady, and a third so small it could only be imagined began its quiet part in the song.
A new legacy had begun.