Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (77 page)

* * *

I
t’s
in a daze as I go upstairs after the call, shoving clothes into a suitcase I find in one of the bedroom closets. And I’m numb as I scrawl the note across a paper towel in the kitchen - the irony of this whole thing starting and ending with a ballpoint pen and a napkin not being lost on me.

The ring slides off with the help of a little soap. I pause, closing my eyes and breathing, before finally placing it on the note and stepping back.

It’s time to go.

It’s time to stop pretending and stop running from my life and just
play the part
I was meant to play.

Goodbye
, I think, before I turn and walk out of the best home I’ve ever known.

I
’m
at drill practice with my passing coach Damon, gearing up for the first game of the season, when fucking Derek comes jogging onto the field.

I frown as he comes huffing towards us in his suit, looking like he’s about to have a damn heart attack as he waves his hands in the air.

“I’ll, uh, give you a minute,” Damon says flatly, nodding at the sweaty Derek stumbling towards us.

“Thanks. Sorry, man. I’ll make sure he’s brief.”

“Make sure he doesn’t die on my field,” Damon smirks, before he heads off towards the water station.

“Austin!” Derek’s face is red and puffing, his eyes looking insane.

“Derek, what the fuck, man, I’m at
practice-
”

“You weren’t answering your phone!”

I stare at him. “Cause I’m
at practice
, Der-”

“Tina,” he blurts out, wheezing.

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“Tina,” he says it again as he looks me in the eye. “Austin-” he shakes his head, his eyes wide. “This shit just went nuclear.”

Oh, shit.

* * *

F
uck
.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My phone is still blowing up with shit from teammates, from the management team, from my coach, from Kyle, and of course from my mom, but I’m ignoring all of it as I roar through downtown LA.

I don’t know how the
hell
Tina’s found the balls to come out with fucking “DNA proof” considering I have literally never touched her, but I’m not even really thinking about that facet of the whole thing right now.

Because I know she’s seen it.

I’ve called Natalie about four dozen times since leaving Damon in the lurch back on that field, all right to voicemail.

Yeah, she’s seen it.

I can’t even imagine what’s going through her head right now - can’t even imagine how much she probably
hates
me for it. It’s bullshit, of course, but what the hell do you say to “proof” like that? And hell, even if I can prove to her it’s a lie, what then? She’s still just been
humiliated
across the front cover of a fucking nationally syndicated gossip magazine.

It’s playing out
exactly
how she said she never wanted it to - with her being
left
and burned by one of my “dalliances”.

I swore to her it’d never be like this, and yet here we are - another guy in a long history of fathers and fiancés and now
husbands
royally screwing her over.

I brake sharply at the brake-lights in front of me, swerving into the breakdown lane of the 405 and roaring illegally past the traffic.

Fuck it
.

Because nothing matters but getting to Natalie right now. Nothing matters but getting home and making this right, and showing her that I
am
capable of being the man she needs.

Because I’m done lying to myself. I’m done with the “but why should I care” bullshit, because this is so far past a paper-napkin arrangement now.

I gun the engine as I swerve to dodge a road cone, blasting down the off-ramp.

We’ve moved
way
past that into something bigger, and more real, than either of us saw coming, and I damn well know it.

I just have to make sure she does too.

* * *

M
y house is empty
.

“Nat!”

I’m storming through every room in the house, shouting her name, but she’s not answering.

Because she’s gone.

I can feel the blood pumping in my veins, my head spinning as all the fear and all the worst case scenarios from my drive over here all come to fruition. I make a last pass upstairs, as if somehow I’ve missed her, before stumbling back down to the kitchen.

And that’s when I see it, and my heart just fucking
sinks
.

It’s the ring. The ring I don’t even remember buying, or putting on her finger. But damn if it still isn’t the biggest slug to the gut I’ve ever even imagined.

I hold it up the light, feeling the color drain from my face as I slowly shake my head, not wanting to believe. I look down and see the note, scrawled across the paper towel, and my heard just breaks.

I’m barely aware of the doorbell ringing. I’m only half conscious of stumbling to the door, the ring still in my hand as I open the door to the man in the suit with a briefcase.

“Mr. Taylor?”

I’m blinking as he passes me the manila envelope with a cold, neutral look on his face.

“Have a good evening.”

No…

Divorce papers. The thing is full of fucking
divorce
papers -
real
ones to dissolve our very
real
marriage.

This
is real. This is the end of all of it, sitting right there in front of me. There’s even little post it notes showing the places to sign our names, and she’s already signed her parts.

Jesus Christ.

It’s worse than any game I’ve ever lost, and hurts more than any sack or hit I’ve ever taken. I lost, hard. I played a game, and I got my damn ass handed to me.

Numb, I stumble into the living room, absently grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the bar cart and slumping into a chair. I hold the ring up again and slowly shake my head.

Fuck.

This is what losing the war feels like. And its knowing too late how I really feel that hurts the worst.

I take a swig right from the bottle, allowing the burn to creep down my throat before I raise it up in the air - a toast to no one.

To the time I was married.

Buckley looks up from the couch across the room, whimpering weakly before turning to look towards the front door.

“She’s not here, pal,” I mutter. “She’s gone.”

He whines as he puts his head back on the couch, his tail wagging once before going still.

She’s gone
.

I bring the bottle to my lips and take a swig, followed by another.

And then a third.

I’m breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest as I bring the ring back up to my face.

I don’t quit at anything. I’ve worked my ass off to get from nothing to the place where I am now. I’ve chased after what I want with every single ounce of strength I have for my entire life.

But when the game’s over, it’s over.

Sometimes, you’ve just gotta know when to go pack up and go home.

The whiskey burns less and less the more I slug back. By the time it’s half gone, I’ve got an old Waylon Jennings record cranked up loud, my fist in the air, and the room blurring around me.

She’s gone.

And somewhere deep down, I knew this was always going to be like this. I knew it from the start and walked
right
into it.

Over the stereo, Waylon wails about a
Good Hearted Woman,
and “lovin’ a man in spite of his wicked ways” as I tilt the bottle back.

Walked right into a shot to the heart.

The world goes black.

“
H
e’s not coming
, Natalie.”

There’s a cold feeling in my stomach as I turn away from the window of Vince’s downtown penthouse to look at him. He’s sitting at the dining room table across the large, marble-floored open-concept from me, his hands steepled in front of his face.

I’ve been staring out the window at nothing, like I’ve been doing for the past week and a half since I arrived here with a single suitcase and a mountain of regrets.

Since I walked out of Austin’s house and quietly closed that brief chapter of my life.

Calling Vince back, and listening to that little chuckle of
triumph
when he agreed to meet me felt like giving up. And coming back here - with everything that means and everything that
will
mean going forward - feels like quitting.

Because that’s
exactly
what it is.

But there was never any “winning” at this game, I know that now. This was certain from the start, and there was never anything else for me but this one path that I’ve been groomed to walk all my life.

Even if for one brief moment, I was silly enough to think there was.

I plaster a thin, strained smile at Vince, forcing the somber look from my face. “Hmm?”

Vince sighs, shaking his head. “Your
experiment,
Natalie. Your little walk on the
slumming
side.”

I tighten my mouth, shaking my head. “Vince-”

“No-no, dear, we’re past that.”

He smiles benevolently at me - the look he’s been giving me all week like he’s this magnanimous person,
forgiving
me for my sins.

“No more jealousy, and no more talk of the past.” His smile curls at the corners. “I thought we understood our
arrangement
.”

Our arrangement -
the one that “settles the debt,” as Vince put it when we sat down on that awful day a week ago. The day I signed my soul away. Marriage, a baby as soon as possible, and the family “debt” goes away where Austin is concerned.

You do what you have to do.

Because even after the tabloid story - even after the pain, the betrayal, the humiliation, and the having to come back to Vince
,
I still can’t bring myself to hate the man that showed me for one brief moment that things could be different.

So now there’s a new ring on my finger and a new man who needs me to smile for the damn cameras.

I’m in a free-fall - stumbling in denial, in pain, and in a sort of numb state about how I got to this point. And I’m lost - lost and alone like I’ve never been before.

Of course, Vince doesn’t know -
can’t
know - about the pregnancy. Then again, neither does Austin, but that’s the way things will be - the way they
have
to be. The wedding is next week, booked the second Vince’s lawyer received the divorce papers Austin sent back signed.

So, I’ll marry Vince, and after -

I shudder, the same horrible
breaking
feeling inside that I’ve felt all week.

After the wedding, I’ll do what has to be done.

I haven’t yet -
God
no.
Nothing
has happened with Vince since my return, because I haven’t been able to stomach the
idea
of even sleeping in the same room.

I don’t know if I
ever
will.

After the wedding though, I’ll do what has to happen to make sure the debt is paid. It’ll have to be quick, so there’s no doubting it and no question from him that it’s his.

It’s such a psycho thought, like I’m one of those jaded player’s wives. But here I am, pulling the same card I once wrinkled my nose at even considering.

Because debts need to be settled, and even if part of me
hates
the cocky, smooth-talking Texas boy who I somehow let steal my heart, the other part of me won’t ever be able to.

Because for one small moment in this life, I saw what
could
be.

Even if it
was
all just a beautiful lie.

“
S
o
, are you excited?”

I shrug weakly. “Sure.”

Vivian shakes her head and slips her arm into mine as we leave the new, different dress shop where I’ve just been trying on wedding dresses.

Again.

She smiles as she tightens her grip on my arm and steers me across the street.

“Where are we going?”

Vivian grins. “Mother’s recipe for stress and hard decisions.”

I shoot her a questioning look and she rolls her eyes.

“We’re going to get drunk, silly. On gin if we
really
want to truly become our mother.”

Shit.

Vivian pulls me into an upscale cocktail place, and we breeze through the mostly empty bar room to two empty stools.

“Viv, it’s a little early.”

She shrugs. “Perfect. If only it was breakfast, than we’d
really
be following Loraine’s recipe.” She turns to the hipster-looking bartender wearing suspenders. “Gin martini, up with olives.”

He looks at me and I shake my head. “Just soda water, thanks.”

Vivian groans. “Nat, I’m drinking before noon on a Wednesday because I am your
sister
and you need me right now. But I am
not
doing it alone.”

She turns back to suspenders. “Another gin martini, and please make hers
extra
dirty,” she says with a flirty wink at the guy.

Shit. Double shit.

She turns to me. “This is going to sound terrible, given that you’re getting married in a matter of days, but…” She gives me a sympathetic look. “It’s only marriage.”

I choke out a laugh, looking down and picking at the cocktail napkin in front of me.

“I mean, look, Vince is…
fine
, right? I mean he’s never hit you or anything has he?”

“Viv, he
cheated
on me.”

She rolls her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “Can I ask you an awkward question?”

I nod, and she purses her lips. “Do you love him? Vince, that is.”

“No,” I say it without hesitation.

No, because my heart’s already been stolen by the last man on earth I should have given it to. The man with the voice like leather and tobacco and honey, and the eyes like a wild forest.

Vivian smiles sadly. “Well, then, why stress about it? Look, everyone knows what this is - what this marriage thing really is between you and Vince.”

I almost choke on my tongue. “They
do?
”

Vivian rolls her eyes. “Nat, of
course
they do. It’s an arrangement - a convenience. Like Marnie Summers, or basically any of the other girls we grew up with. God, it’s what our own mother did. Twice.”

The bartender comes back over with our drinks, and I roll my eyes as Vivian bats her eyes and lets her fingers trails his as she takes the drink from his hand.

She turns back to me. “Look, it’s not about love, but then, that only exists in cartoon movies with singing woodland creatures anyways. This is the
real
world, and in this world, you need to do what you need to do.” She shrugs. “If that means marrying Vince Capra and having a kid or two before he gets bored and starts banging his secretary, then who cares? You don’t
love
him, and hell…”

She raises her martini glass to me and grins wickedly. “
You
can have your own torrid affairs. Now drink.”

I look down at the martini in front of me and shake my head.

Viv makes a face. “Natalie, I swear to God- just drink it.”

“I’m really okay, Viv.”

She makes a grumbling sound at me as she frowns. “Will you stop being such a baby and-”

And suddenly, I can practically see the lightbulb go off above her head.

“Oh. My. God,” she says quietly, her eyes wide. “
Vince?
”

I roll my eyes, pushing tears away as I feel my face start to crumple.

“Oh
God
, Nat.” She quickly wraps her arms around me, hugging me close as I shake my head.

“
God
no.”

“Austin?”

I sniffle out a groan. “Of
course,
Austin. God, who do you think I am?”

She pulls back from me, biting her lip and smiling. “Hey, just asking.”

She grabs a napkin from the bar and leans close to carefully blot at my wet eyes, her thumb stroking my cheek.

“He doesn’t know, does he.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyways. “Neither of them do.”

Viv gives me a pained look. “Oh, God, you’re not going to play it off like it’s Vin-”

I look up and meet her eyes, and she stops.

“You are, aren’t you.”

I nod.

My sister sits back in her bar stool, shaking her head and wrinkling her face. “Well, that’ll work until the kid ends up being
really
good at football.”

I choke out a laugh, which immediately turns into more tears before Viv hugs me close again.

“
I don’t know what to do, Viv,
” I whisper out hoarsely into her shoulder.

She pulls back from me again and smiles sadly as she squeezes my hand. “None of us do,” she says quietly before turning and nodding at the bartender.

“Can I get both of these in like, a bigger glass?” she says, pointing at the two martinis.

The guy gives her strange look.

“Yeah, just, dump ‘em in a pint glass or something. I’m drinking for two now, it appears.”

She turns back when he walks away and gives me a wry smile as her eyes dip to my belly.

“Or three, I guess.”