Fair Game: A Football Romance (73 page)

“Can we sit down?”

She nods, and I move to the couch where there is plenty of room for her to sit next to me, but she takes the overstuffed chair across from me instead.

“So no birth control, huh?” Her head drops into her hands, and I see a big tear fall from behind the veil of her hair and splat on the hardwood floor between her feet. I want to go to her and kiss her tears away and comfort her, but she’s made it clear that she needs distance.

“My doctor said I had endometriosis. I didn’t think . . .”

“How long have you known?”

“A week.”

“Look at me, Holland.”

She sniffs loudly, and I look around for a box of tissue. I spot one on an end table and hand her the whole box.

She lifts her head, meeting my eyes, and my heart cracks down the center into two pitiful pieces when I see the tears streaming down her face. I’ve never seen her cry, and I vow in this moment to do whatever it takes to keep from ever seeing it again.

“Here.” I hand her the tissue, and she blows her nose.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to lie, King, really. I just thought . . . I got caught up in everything, and I was drunk and—”

“Shush, I know . . . you didn’t think you could get pregnant. There’s no sense in rehashing the past. It is what it is, and now we need to deal with it together.”

“This is all such a big mess now. I can’t go to Juilliard this fall, and my mama’s livid. She wants to kill you, ya know. My daddy can’t look me in the eyes, and I feel like shit.” Her words tumble out like an avalanche, faster and faster until she chokes—or hiccups, I can’t tell which. She looks so young sitting there with her puffy eyes and clean face in a t-shirt and cut offs. It’s hard to believe I ever took her for twenty-one.

“Will you please come over here, Holland?” I have to comfort her. She’s miserable, but she needs to be in control, so I ask instead of using my usual upfront ‘Get your ass over here’ technique.

I wait and hold my breath. This is important. If she will come and sit with me, we might have a chance. If she won’t . . . well, then . . . then I’ll just have to work harder to earn her trust. We sit in a sort of face off for much too long, and I’m about to break the silence when she stands and steps around the coffee table that’s between us to sit next to me—not too close, but on the couch just the same.

“Thank you,” I say and reach out to take her hand.

“So we made a mistake—a big one—but everyone makes mistakes. We just have to work harder to fix this one.” Relief ripples across her face, disappearing as quickly as it came. She wants to believe me. That’s a start.

“How did you find out?” she asks.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we stay united in our decisions.” I rub the back of my neck before looking back into her eyes.

“Holland, do you want to keep this baby?” I’ll move heaven and earth to keep that baby growing inside of her, but I know that ultimately, it’s her choice. She nods her head up and down without hesitating, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank God.” Sebastián said her mother wanted me to convince her to have an abortion, so I was pretty sure she wanted to keep the baby, but my dangerous lifestyle scares her, so there was that chance. My business is hardly conducive to having a child, but for Holland, I’ll happily step down. I’ve never met anyone I could imagine spending the rest of my life with until her, and I’m not about to let her go again.

I give her warm hand a quick squeeze and smile. God, I want to kiss her so badly right now. I can almost taste her sweet mouth, feel her soft lips gliding over mine.

“You really want the baby?” she asks.

“More than anything in the world—no, scratch that—not more than you, but that kid’s a close second.” A brick wall crumbles between us as soon as those words leave my lips, and she’s crawling into my lap with her arms around my neck. Sobs rack her body, but now they aren’t cries of defeat and regret. They’re tears of relief.

“Shush, shush, baby, it’s gonna be okay. We can do this.” I slide my fingers through her silky hair, relishing every opportunity to touch her. Every time she lets me in, it’s like another second chance. She feels so fucking right in my arms. Despite the fight we have ahead of us, I have no doubt that we are meant to be together.

Chapter Nineteen

Holland

I’ve known I’m pregnant for two weeks now, and it still hasn’t sunk in. King is also back in my life, another thing that hasn’t sunk in.

“Holland, honey it’s time to go,” Mama says. She has taken to pretending nothing has happened. She drives me back and forth to
STRINGS
to practice and to lessons, chatting about the weather, television shows, and any other insignificant bit of small talk she can think of. All the while, I have been watching too many YouTube videos about giving birth and reading
What to Expect When You're Expecting
every chance I get. That’s how we deal with problems, I guess. She ignores the issue, and I immerse myself into it.

“Coming,” I holler down the stairs. I’ve never considered not playing the violin, but I came close a week ago when I vomited in the trash in my practice room. Kneeling there alone with the stench of puke in my nose, a thin sheen of sweat on my forehead and tears streaming down my face, I wanted nothing more than to drop my violin and go home, crawl between crisp, clean sheets, and stay in bed . . . forever. Mama is relentless, though. She’d rather die than see me quit playing. She wants me to have an abortion so I can go to Juilliard this fall as planned. She’s never said the words out loud, but it’s clear that she’s not interested in being a grandma. She’s always wanted me to succeed in the music world, and I’ve never given her any indication that I wouldn’t, because until now, we always wanted the same thing. Now that it may not be a possibility, she’s starting to fray at the edges, like it’s her dream being crushed, not mine—and maybe it is. I’ve started wondering if she has been pushing me all these years because it’s something she wanted. She played all through school and college, and even auditioned for a spot in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, but she wasn’t awarded the spot. She saw my talent and jumped at the chance to live her dreams through me. I can’t believe I never saw it.

I thank God for King’s support every day. When Savannah held up that stick with a pink plus sign on it, I thought my life was over. I didn’t believe her at first. I did another one, and when it was positive too, I made her go to the pharmacy for two more. I guess I thought if I did enough of them, one would finally give me the result I wanted.

Wrong.

All four donned bright pink plusses, like a neon sign in a bar window. I actually broke all of them in half and threw them all over the bathroom, screaming like a lunatic. I’ve come a long way in the past two weeks. I tried to deny the four positive tests, and then the reality of it all set in and I was terrified. I had to tell my parents, and I had to tell them everything. The lies had to stop. The guilt was eating me alive. I’m just not cut out for deceit.

Mama freaked out, to say the least. After a moment of sitting with her jaw in her lap, it was on. I’ve never seen her like that before, screaming and running around, flailing her arms, pointing her finger in my face. Daddy had to take her outside to calm her down. I didn’t wait around to see what would happen next. I went straight across the street to Savannah’s house, where I stayed for two days and two nights crying and blubbering until Daddy came to get me. He hasn’t said much about it at all, but he did want to meet King. I begged him not to get him involved, but he said King has a right to know, and he has a point. I just couldn’t bring myself to call him. One of them must have, though, because I know Savannah wouldn’t. She kinda hates him now for knocking me up and ruining my future.

“You look nice today, honey. Got your violin?” Mama tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear and smiles like she doesn’t have a care in the world. I’ve been playing along for days, but it’s weird.

“Yeah, it’s in the back.”

“Okay, missy, let’s go.”

I’m starting to wonder if we have a history of mental illness in our family, because she’s acting nuts. I raise my eyebrows and loll my head to the window while she backs the car out of the garage and down the driveway. Resting my elbow on the door handle with my chin in my hand, I watch the world go by and wonder what all the people in the cars and on the street are dealing with in their lives. Do any of them have an unexpected baby on the way, a drug lord boyfriend who’s six years older than them, and a ruined career? I’m guessing not.

Mom’s humming along with a pop song playing on the radio and tapping her thumbs on the steering wheel. Yeah, there’s definitely got to be some psychiatric history in our family tree.

When I’ve taken my seat in the orchestra pit, I slip my phone from my pocket and text King. Mama’s sitting back a few rows so she can’t see me. She took my phone the day after I told her I was pregnant, but King slipped me a brand new one yesterday when he stopped by. It’s surreal that he just pops in whenever he wants, and my parents allow it. I spend a lot of time at Savannah’s house. I left her out of my confession story. I knew they wouldn’t want me to see her again if they knew it was all her idea. I blamed a mystery girl instead. I told them I met her at a football game and she convinced me to use fake IDs to get into King’s club.

My text is answered immediately, and as always, he wants to know how I am, how I feel, and if I’m okay. God, the man asks me if I’m okay a million times a day, but I love it.

I feel like he’s the only person totally in my corner. I can see myself loving him. There’s no doubt about it. I felt it the night I met him, but the way he earns his living scares me. After a long day and night of talking it all through, he told me that he had been ready to give it all up until he found out I was nineteen. With everything out in the open, we were free to make some serious decisions about the baby and his business and Juilliard. Having the baby wasn’t debatable for me. I’d never be able to have an abortion. I can’t imagine purposely taking the life of a helpless baby, but even more than that, I’d never be able to hurt something that was part of King. The baby is due in February, and I’m delaying Juilliard a year if they will still take me. King assured me that it wouldn’t be a problem, but I made him promise to let me do it on my own, with no bribes or special favors. He agreed, but I’m not sure he wouldn’t secretly do it anyway if they refused me. He’s used to getting what he wants. In fact, I think I may have been the first thing he wanted that he couldn’t have.

Our problems are still as real as they were when we met. I’m still young and he’s still a drug lord, but the baby brings a responsibility to the table that can’t be ignored. He could have paid me off or done the minimal visitation and child support required if he hadn’t cared for me. It would have been much easier for him.

I told him how crazy my mama is acting and how Daddy won’t even look at me. He wanted me to come live with him, but I wanted to see if my parents would calm down. Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Other than the severe nausea, angry parents and delay at Juilliard, things aren’t as bad as I had expected, and I owe that all to King.

He’s been in contact with the dean of admissions at Juilliard about my delay and offered to pay my tuition when I go back. He dotes on me and spoils me. Even Savannah is starting to come around . . . a little.

My phone vibrates in my lap, and I turn it over quickly before the conductor reaches his podium.

I’m missing you. I’ll be over to see you later, and if you feel up to it, we can go for dinner, or maybe just to my place to relax and get away for a while.

I shoot him a quick reply
.

Mama might not like that.

Don’t worry about your mother. I’ll handle her. Pick you up at six. -Your King

The signature means he’s done, finished, no discussion, whatever he’s said is law, and the subject has been dismissed.

Okay, see you then. H

I turn the phone off and tuck it under my leg just as the conductor approaches. I sneak a peek out into the auditorium to check on my mother. She’s still looking at her phone. Good.

After a long, grueling practice, I slip out, surrounded by a dozen members of the string section, to the bathroom before Mama can snag me. I’ve swallowed back the nausea so long that my mouth is watering. I’m clammy, and I need some relief.

Thankfully, I make into the tiny, dark, two-stalled bathroom and vomit before anyone else enters. I wash my hands and brush my teeth with the toothbrush I’ve taken to carrying around in my bag before I exit and look down the hall to my right for my mother. When I turn left, I step right into a solid wall of muscle.

I don’t even get a chance to see who it is before King has swept me off my feet and into his arms.

“Oh.” I giggle when I realize who it is.

“You should really be more careful, Holland. I could have been a dangerous drug lord.”

“Uh, yeah. Next time, I’ll make sure to have my drug lord radar turned on.” I play along with the lighthearted moment, but I can’t help wondering if he realizes that he really is a dangerous drug lord that I should by all rights be afraid of. There is something about him though, something genuine and light that tells me he wasn’t meant for this lifestyle.

King was thrust into his illegal career after the murder of his father, and I worry every second of every day that he might suffer the same fate. What if he can’t get out? What if he does get out and somebody tries to kill him for leaving? There’s no one left in his family to take his place. Everyone else is dead, so who would even take his place?

“Are you hungry now that you’re empty again?” We’re walking down the hall toward the auditorium. King is walking. I’m being carried.

“How do you know I’m empty?” He looks down at me and lifts one corner of his mouth in a smirk.

“Holland, you just came from the bathroom after a two-hour practice. I think you set a record for hours without vomiting.” I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. He’s right. I puke a lot, and it sucks.

“Sorry, it’s not the most attractive way to start a relationship.”

“Hush, you’re beautiful all the time . . . even with your head in the toilet.” He laughs and I play slap his cheek.

“Your idea of beautiful is very different from mine then.”

“Maybe so, but you should be happy I dig a pukey girl.”

“Stop. You’re not going to start with that stupid nickname too, are you?”

“What nickname?” he asks, feigning innocence with raised eyebrows and batting eyelashes.

“I’m serious, King. Please, Savannah’s bad enough.”

“Okay, okay, you win.” His lips tenderly press against my forehead while he continues down the long hall.

“Where are you taking me? Mama’s going to be waiting. She’s probably already freaking out.”

“Don’t worry about your mother. I told her I’m taking you for the rest of the day.” His voice is calm and cool, and I wonder how the hell he pulled that off.

“She just let you take me?”

“Yes.”

“Without a fight or an argument? She just walked out and left me here?” I don’t believe it.

“You sound like you don’t want to spend time with me.” We’ve reached the door. He turns around to push through with his backside. Everyone has cleared out of the auditorium, and the lights are turned down.              

“I didn’t say that. I’m just really surprised. She has been acting so weird lately.”

“Weird how?”

“She acts like nothing’s going on, like I’m not pregnant and I’m still going to Juilliard.” His arms tighten around me, and I feel tension roll through his body.

“What? You know why she’s being psycho, don’t you?” I curl my fingers around the lapel of his suit coat, and he turns his face so that we are nose to nose again. Deep frown lines pucker between his eyes, I don’t like this, not one bit.

“Where do you want to eat?” he says.

“Where do I want . . . wait . . . King, don’t try to change the subject. You know something. Tell me.”

“Talk later, eat now, so where?”

“I’m not hungry, you pick.” I cross my arms over my chest and pout. Why won’t he just tell me?

“Okay, good. I was hoping you would say that—not the part about not being hungry, of course, but I’ve got this afternoon all planned out.

“Oh you do, huh?” So this wasn’t an impromptu visit. He has plans . . . after dinner at the club in a fairytale land, I know King can make just about anything happen in an instant.

We’ve made it into the parking lot, and King hasn’t even broken a sweat. He isn’t short of breath at all, but I feel a little guilty letting him carry me like a baby.

“You know I can walk, right?”

“Yes, I know. I’ve missed holding you. You’re not going to deprive me of that, now are you?” He looks into my eyes with a ‘you wouldn’t dare’ look and I surrender. I’m all his. He can baby me, spoil me, whatever. I’m okay with it all. I’m just happy I can see him without sneaking around.

“No, never.” I reach up and trail my fingers along his scruffy jaw, where he’s grown a little more than a five o’clock shadow. His dark eyes flit to mine and back to where he’s buckling me into the Rover. His hand lingers, gently pressing against my belly. A hot gust of dusty air rushes in around us before he closes the door. I watch him run around the front of the truck with his suit coat flapping and his carefully styled hair swirling in the wind. He’s breathtaking. The confident way he moves makes my heart swell when he slides in next to me, disheveled and smiling his model perfect smile . . . or is it? For the first time, I notice an imperfection in this beautiful man, a bottom tooth that looks like it’s been knocked out of the tidy row of pearly whites just a smidgen. I like it. It makes him seem . . . more human.