False Start: A Football Romance (22 page)

Chapter Twenty

Skila

"Hey, where you going?" he asks hoarsely.

"I'm going to make breakfast."

"Ok," he replies, rolling over and pulling the covers above his head.

I search the cabinets, looking for pancake mix and coffee, but I find nothing, so I decide to mix my own.

I think
back to how my Nana used to make them. I light the burner and pull some eggs from the refrigerator. The batter is lumpier than I recall, so I stir more vigorously. I can't help but laugh at myself. I've never been the best cook. I pour the batter in the pan and search for a spatula. I turn the pancakes, and the urge to pee hits. I turn down the burner and dash to the bathroom. I finish and open the door, only to be met by billowing smoke as the loud, screeching sound of the smoke alarm reminds me of how badly I suck.

"Well, damn." I mutter, running to the stove, yanking the pan from the burner, and turning on the water.

"Sky? Is everything ok?" Kip asks, running into the kitchen, coughing from smoke inhalation. I figure at this point I have two options. I can either fall into a ball of tears and melt on the spot, or I can suck it up and make the best of an already bad situation. Running toward Kip, I grab his arm and drag him away from the kitchen.

“Run, Kip.” I scream pulling behind me.

“Why are we running?" he yells back at me. I stop in the hallway and open the linen closet door, hiding both of our bodies behind it.

“There’s a fire breathing dragon in the kitchen. Didn’t you see all the smoke? Shh. He’ll hear you,” I say and then rush down the hall. Kip follows closely behind me. When we near the bathroom, my legs are swept out from under me and I’m suddenly lifted in strong arms that cradle me on each side of my body. He makes a turn for the bathroom, and after entering, he kicks the door closed before setting me on the counter.

“What are we doing in the bathroom?”

“Dragons are terrified of water. Didn’t you know?” You’ll be safe in here while I go tame the beast, my lady.”

“Why, thank you, Sir Kip.” He laughs before capturing my lips with his own. I don’t want him to ever stop kissing me, but he pulls away and runs to turn on the shower.

“Stay in your tower, my princess. I will fetch you when the beast is no more.”

“Be safe.”

My shower is amazing. I spend the next ten minutes letting the hot water wash away the remnants of our lovemaking, and then I climb from the warm, steamy room and make my way back to the kitchen. I’m surprised to see that the smoke is cleared away and the kitchen is cleaner than before I started cooking.

“Are you hungry?”

I nod and pull up a bar stool to observe. The way he moves around the kitchen is like a symphony of graceful movements, much like when he’s on the court. "What are you making?" I ask, looking at the various ingredients he's pulled out.

"French toast and dragon bacon. I figured you can't go wrong with bacon,” he replies with a wink. The smoldering remnants and burned smell of my disasters quickly dissipate into the smell of bacon and cinnamon. It’s almost orgasmic, in a sense.

"Where did you learn to cook like that?"

"Well, my grandmother took us in after our parents died, and I was always watching her cook. Nothing was ever simple. She was always experimenting with recipes. After I got to be about fourteen, I started helping and have been cooking ever since."

“It smells wonderful." He smiles, handing me a plate and sitting on the counter next to me.

The first bite is exquisite. "Oh my God," I mutter. "It’s so good."

He smiles and lightly elbows me in the ribs. "What can I say? I'm multitalented.”

I nod and shovel another forkful into my mouth. "Mmm."

"Those sounds are familiar," he says, trying to hide the grin playing at his lips.

"Oh hush," I reply, covering my mouth.

"You know it's bad manners to talk with your mouth full." I nod and flip him the bird.

"Now, that can surely be arranged." I can feel the blood beginning to flush my cheeks. Swallowing my bite, I level my best resting bitch face at him.

“Save it, Buster, or you won’t be getting anything of the sort for a
while.
”

He shoves a bite of French toast in his mouth and mimics zipping his lips tight. I nearly choke, I’m laughing at him so hard.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kiptyn

"Sky?" I ask as she's slipping on her shoes.

"I know this is supposed to be a brunch and movie date, but I kind of had a different idea. You game?"

"Well, that depends on what you have in mind," she replies with a suspicious look on her face.

"It’s a bit of a surprise. Do you trust me?"

"I suppose. Am I at least dressed appropriately?"

"You're perfect. I mean, you're dressed perfectly." She nods and stands, smoothing the skirt of her dress.

"Let’s go then." I nod and take her hand. She smiles and shakes her head, following my lead.

She sits in the passenger seat, facing forward with a half-smile on her face. When I pull into the parking lot at the local VA nursing home, I feel her staring at me.

"What?" I ask.

"This is the surprise?" she asks.

"Yeah. I thought this might be good for us, you know, with Camryn and all." She bites her lip and nods slowly.

"Do you know anyone here?"

"I know a few of them, but Mr. Jackson is my favorite. He was always around when Cam and I were growing up. I think he had a bit of a crush on my grandmother."

She reaches for the door handle and pauses for a moment. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Not as much as I'd like."

She draws in a deep breath and opens the door. Instinctively, I jump out and rush to her side. "What a gentleman," she says, bringing her hand to mine.

"I try."

"Well, keep it up. The nice guy stuff looks good on you."

"Ahh, Mr. Price! So good to see you again. Mr. Jackson will be pleased to see you," says Phyllis, the front desk clerk.

"And who is this lovely young thing?"

"Hi, Phyllis. This is Skila."

"Nice to meet you," Skila says, reaching her hand out to Phyllis.

"Oh no. We don't handshake here. We hug," Phyllis replies, coming around the desk and hugging her tightly.

"You know, young man, I had a love once. She was a sight. Much like that young lady over there," he says, pointing to Skila. "Petite and curvy, with eyes of onyx. Every time I close my eyes, even after all these years, I can still see her. Such a breathtaking beauty. But . . ." he pauses with a hitch in his breath, "In my time, it was frowned upon."

"What was frowned upon?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"My folks called it mingling with . . . well, I'll be polite—African Americans. The other term always offended me, and I'd cringe whenever my father would use it,” he says, shaking his head in disgust. I understand that feeling perfectly well.

"You see, my parents were very straight-laced and rather preachy. I didn't want to disappoint them, so I ended what could have been the greatest love I've ever known." The tears beginning to pool in his eyes make my heart ache for him. He wipes away the tears with a worn old handkerchief embroidered with the initials, TWS. I assume those to be hers, the way he takes such care not to fray the fragile yellow fabric.

"You want to hear the whole story? I remember it like it was only yesterday."

"Yes," I reply as I look over at Skila brushing a woman's hair into place. She isn’t paying any attention to me or Mr. Jackson. All her attention is focused on the elderly lady in front of her.

"November 5, 1943. It was just after dusk when we were attacked with no warning or anything. A couple of my buddies and I were in our barracks playing cards when the first wave hit.

The chaos hit like a wildfire. Everything happened so fast, it’s hard to remember all the details up until Gerald was hit and fell. I panicked, and with the sudden strength of Adonis, I threw him over my shoulder and rushed him to the infirmary. That’s when it happened. I saw her. Her name was Theresa, and she had to be a direct descendant of A
phrodite. She was stunning.

Reality hit me, and I knew Gerald needed immediate attention, so I turned away and ran to what was once the lobby. At the time, it was being used as an emergency room of sorts. I got him in the right hands and watched over him while they worked on him. He was lucky. The shrapnel missed his heart by only a couple of inches. Imagine my surprise when my Aphrodite was appointed his nurse. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She rebuffed me at first, but I think my charm finally worked," he says with a laugh.

His eyes light up every time he says her name, and his misty eyes show me the kind of love that only comes once in a lifetime. He looks at me and smiles. "Don't let people get in the way of your happiness. I did, and I've regretted it for so many years. Even after I married, I always thought about her."

I look over at Skila again, and she turns to smile at me. "Excuse me a moment, Mr. Jackson." He nods with a knowing glint in his eyes. I walk up to Skila and wrap my arms around her without so much as a word. She leans her head back and reaches up to softly touch the side of my face.

"I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are, and that no matter what anyone says, I'm not letting you get away."

She laughs and turns to face me.

"You know, I had my doubts about you, but I think if you keep this up, they may start fading." She hugs me and I close my eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of honeysuckles and home.

A few more hours at the Veterans’ home and we leave, hand in hand, with a new sense of who we are and what we want from life.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Skila

The last few weeks have been nothing short of amazing. Tonight is the last playoff game of the season, and the winner of this game goes on to the NBA finals in June. I’m covering the game for the
Los Angeles Daily Home
again. Since turning in my exclusive piece on Kiptyn Price, Ames has pretty much given me free reign. He no longer breathes down my neck, babysitting me. It’s a welcome relief.

Before we head to the stadium, we have a doctor’s appointment. It’s the first appointment for the baby, and I am beyond nervous. The butterflies in my stomach won’t settle down to save my life.

Stepping from the claw foot tub in Kip’s master suite, I study my growing body in the full-length mirrors lining the walls. My baby bump has been growing steadily. Even now, it looks bigger than it was just yesterday. Running my hands along the stretched skin, I imagine meeting my beautiful baby, holding his soft body in my arms, and kissing his sweet head. Excited doesn't come close to describing the way I feel.

Kiptyn walks in the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang low enough on his hips that I can see his sexy ‘V’. I imagine tracing it with my lips. Slowly.

“Feel better?” he asks, coming to stand beside me. He fills his hands with lotion, and after rubbing them together to warm it, he places his hands on my belly. Every morning, he does the same thing, coating every inch of my body in cocoa butter to help with dry skin and stretch marks.

He drops down on his knees and runs his hands along my legs, up, up, up until he reaches the apex of my thighs. His fingers run along my swollen lips, teasing me. My head drops back, and a loud moan escapes. His touch doesn't linger long, and before I know it, he’s done. He leans forward, pressing his lips against the baby.

“You be good to your momma today. Daddy will be watching,” he says before kissing every inch of my stomach.

God, I just want to melt on the spot. I love hearing him talk to the baby. Hearing him say the word
Daddy
turns me into a puddle of liquid. I want to hear it over and over and over. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Of course, our relationship isn't perfect by any means, but I'm happy, happier than I have ever been in my life.

Only one thing could make it better, but I’m not pushing. If he decides he wants to be with me long-term, then he will tell me. I know his wanting to be a father to my baby has more to do with the fact that he’s his brother’s child. I’m not stupid. I know if it had been a stranger’s baby, then Kiptyn would have been out the door in a heartbeat. It doesn’t upset me. I’m happy, content knowing that my child won’t grow up without a father the way I did.

I confess, most nights I lie in bed wondering if he will still want me once I have the baby, if he is only staying with me to be certain I'm well taken care of and that the baby has all he needs. I practically moved in here the week after I found out. At nine o'clock that morning, I called the doctor’s office and made an appointment.

They couldn’t get me in for two weeks since I’m a new patient, and the anxiety over that fourteen days has quadrupled. I’ve bought a dozen more pregnancy tests and taken one almost every day since Kip first told me. I keep worrying that I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream.

Part of me is worried they’ve made a mistake. I just know I’ll walk in the door and they’ll shamefully let me know that there was an error in the bloodwork. “You're not pregnant, Miss Parker.” I dread hearing those words. All my life, I had been told I couldn’t conceive, that there was no way my uterus would carry a child after the accident. I can’t tell you how many different opinions I had gotten, praying someone would give me a small ray of hope.

Kip refuses to let me go alone. I think he senses that I need someone there with me, someone to hold my hand and just be there for me. When the doctor walks in, the first thing he does is congratulate me. I burst in tears again. Kiptyn holds me close and explains as best as he can why I'm reacting the way I am. I let him take over, keeping my head buried in his chest, not peeking out until the doctor asks if I’d like to try and see the baby.

He explains that the ultrasound might not be able to pick up a clear image yet since we aren’t sure how far along I am, but I barely hear him. I'm going to get to see my baby and get the proof that I need, that this is real and not some sick joke.

I lie on the hard, bench-like table and lower my pants so the doctor can squirt some gel on my belly without getting it on my pants. The gel is cold, and I flinch.

“What’s wrong? Is it hurting?” Kiptyn asked, and I feel more than see his willingness to protect me from whatever unseen anomaly is hurting me.

“No, it’s just cold,” I say, reaching for his hand.

“It's ok, Dad. I promise that nothing about this procedure will hurt her.” Kiptyn tenses, and I worry that the doctor said something wrong, but when I angle my head back and look at him, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

The moment he touches the probe against my stomach, my breath locks in my throat. I hold it there, captive, until the loud thrum of a heartbeat fills the room. “Well, I think it’s safe to say you're a bit further along that you thought,” the doctor says, and tears leak from the corner of my eyes. I can’t believe it. I’m going to be a mommy.

“How far along?” Kip asks, taking the words from my mouth.

“Hmm, it looks to be roughly fifteen weeks, give or take a day.” Fifteen weeks. Three months, and I had no clue. In less than six months, I will be a mom.

Kiptyn pulls me to him, kissing me on the side of my mouth, pulling me out of my silent reverie. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold onto him. I kiss his shoulder. I want to tell him what he means to me and that I can’t go on without him. I want to hear him tell me I'll never have to, but I don’t, and neither does he.

“Congratulations, Mommy,” he says with a wink, and this moment is sealed in my heart for the rest of time.

“Congratulations, Daddy.”