Quarterback's Surprise Baby (Bad Boy Ballers Book 2) (27 page)

I can honestly say I have never felt this way before. And god is it good.

"How was your dad doing today?" I ask softly, realizing we never talked about it.

She looks up at me, such warmth in her eyes. "He's getting better. Getting stronger. Can I tell you something funny?"

"Sure." I caress her waist, and wait for her to speak. “Funny strange, or funny haha?”

"Well, as you would say, I don’t rightly know. I’m not sure how to say this, but he thinks he saw my mother during his operation. I guess he had one of those what do they call them… near-death experiences, and he's come out of it convinced that he spoke with her." Her brow wrinkles a bit. "But the truly amazing thing about it is, it seems to have brought back some of his strength. I think because he loved my mom so much, he wanted to... I dunno, join her." She looks at me like she is assessing whether I think she's crazy or not. “And she told him no, that she wants him to live.” She wipes her eye. “I guess she wants him to take care of their kids, me and the little ones. But I think knowing that he might have something to look forward at the end of his life, seeing her, has made him more ready to face the world again.

"That's kind of… well, really beautiful," I say, and kiss her gently. "He loves her so much. It was obvious in the photos even, the way he looked at her, and the way they were always touching each other."

"Yeah," she says and snuggles up closer to me. “That’s the kind of relationship that I want to have,” she muses, and then quickly looks at me, perhaps afraid she’s said too much.

“Me too, Adisa,” I whisper as I tighten my arm around her and kiss her soft skin again.

We lay there a little longer and savor the time together.

I
wake up
, bleary eyed and groggy,  not sure where I am at first. Then my eyes clear a little, and I recognize the afghan on the living room couch, and as I move, I feel arms circled around my waist.

"Where you going, baby?" I hear. Nicholas' voice.
Oh God, he's gotta get outta here! We must have fallen asleep after our love fest last night. The little ones don’t need to see this. I don’t need to be answering any questions at this point.

"Nicholas, wake up!" I hiss. "You have to wake up, you have to get out of here, the kids are going to be up any second."

I frantically pull my shirt on and grab his pants from the coffee table. He blinks a few times when I throw them to him, and they drop near his feet.

"What's going on?" He says, rubbing his eyes.

"Nothing! Just you have to go." I gesture to the door, frantic, but he doesn’t seem too responsive.

"Ok," he says, but instead of getting moving, he leans back on the couch. "Just five more minutes," he mumbles.

Despite my worry, I have to take a second to admire just how adorably gorgeous he is. The way you can see the lines of his muscles through his shirt, his forearms, veiny and a little tanned, his blue eyes crinkled behind dark eyelashes, the ruffled hair.

"Seriously, Nicholas, unless you want to explain our thing to my brother and sister... and eventually my dad." I say, emphasizing the last part. Looking in the reflection of the television, I try to tamp my hair down a bit, but I'm sure it's a mess.

"Is that what this is about?" He says, suddenly opening his eyes.

"Well, yeah!" Doesn't he realize what that means?

"In that case," he pulls the afghan back over him, "I can go back to sleep." But he grins as he says it, and his eyes gleam with love.

"What do you mean?" I get up and sit next to him.

He grabs my hand and squeezes it softly. "Adisa, I hope you understand I plan on being here with you for the long haul. If you'll have me."

"Really?"
Jamal never said anything like this. Never ever.
"Do you mean that?"

"I've meant everything I've ever said to you," he assures me, before pulling me toward him. "Baby, I love you," he whispers. So it wasn’t just pillow talk last night. It wasn’t sex feelings, but maybe it’s deeper than that.

"Oh Nicholas," I say. "I love you too."

"I love you guys too!" I hear in a squeaky voice from the doorway. "I knew you loved each other!"

It's Chikae and she runs over and puts her arms around us, smelling like sweetness and sleep. "I knew it," she mumbles into my shirt. I make faces at Nicholas over her head. Why couldn’t we have just ended the night sooner? Now the kids are involved. I grimace for a second, but then his words replay in my mind: “I plan on being here for the long haul,” and I can’t help but smile wide.

"What are you doing up, sweetie?" I ask her. "It's really late."

"Or really early, depending on how you look at it," says Nicholas. He pats her on the back as she hugs him tightly with the fervor only a child her age can muster.

"Can we have pancakes for breakfast?" I hear.

"Sure baby, no problem.”
Might as well make a party out of it right?

"If you want, I can make them," Nicholas offers. “It's one of the few things I can do very well in the kitchen.” He winks at me. “In fact, you might call it my specialty. Are we all hungry now?"

"Actually, you know," I say, suddenly ravenous, "I am."

"Me too!" Chikae runs into the kitchen as fast as her little legs can take her. I follow her and sweep her up unto my arms, brushing her hair out of her eyes, so that she can grab the butter and syrup from the tall cupboard, and we put it on the table.

Nicholas gets up and rummages around the fridge quietly making preparations for the pancakes, and Chikae and I snuggle a bit on the bench seat after we finish setting out plates and napkins.

"Are you going to marry Nicholas?" She whispers to me. Nicholas is singing to himself, so I hope he hasn’t heard this newest question.

"I dunno baby, we're just really good friends at the moment. You can't always tell where things are going to go." I scratch my nose, stalling. Trying to think of something that will get her off this topic. I don't want Nicholas to hear her pestering me.

"Well
I can
tell and I say you
are
." She looks at me with a triumphant expression on her face. "You're going to have a big wedding and six babies!"

"Six babies!” I laugh. "I’m pretty sure that part is not going to happen, my love," I say. "Where did you get that idea?"

"I can just tell.” Luckily for me, she seems to be moving on and is engrossed in playing with my hair.  “Mommy, I mean, Addy, can I go wake up Darius?"

"Too late for that," we hear. Darius' voice comes from the doorway. He stumbles in in his dinosaur onesie, his favorite outfit to sleep in, and flops down on the bench with us, leaning on my other side.  I feel so cozy with these two snuggle bugs, with the smell and sizzle of pancakes coming from the stove, and hearing Nicholas humming in the kitchen as the light through the windows gets brighter. Maybe I should have six kids. Maybe Chikae is right.

It might be fast, but I know this is different than anything I have experienced before, and I also know it really feels like what I want.

Darius pulls on my sleeve. "What’s he still doing here?” He whispers. Then excitement fills his voice. “Is that pancakes I smell? Does Boss Man know how to cook?" We all go into the kitchen and sit at the table.

"You're darn right," affirms a grinning Nicholas as he stacks some steaming pancakes onto a plate. "It'll be ready in a couple minutes. You kids want to wash your hands and then pour yourselves some juice?"

"For pancakes, I'll do any-thang!" announces Darius, his eyes wide. "You know it!"

"Me too. Any-thang!" parrots Chikae, while I shake my head, nearly snorting with laughter. My brother and sister. These kids, where do they get it?

... and I wonder what Nicholas' and my kids will be like?

All six of them?

* * *

S
omehow over the
next few days, which turn into weeks, Nicholas ends up staying at our house, falling asleep on the couch with me, and finally we just move to my bed. He helps with the kids, we stay up late talking, dreaming together about what we want each of our lives to be like, what our lives might look like if we were together. His presence begins to seem natural, necessary. He helps with the kids, watches them and plays with them. Cooks for all of us, learning recipes with some help from me, or cooks with me, and when we’re tired he orders something or takes us all out to the restaurant.

Speaking of the restaurant, they didn't seem too upset when I called them tonight to quit my job. I guess they've been getting along without me for awhile. Still, my voice was shaking as I called them:

“I’m so sorry, but with my dad's illness, and taking on the responsibility of the house and the kids, I can't really see that I can continue working, at least for the time being.” The tremor in my voice must have revealed my anxiety about it, but it's true. If I need to, I'll take the emergency money hidden in the closet and get us through this rough patch before I leave the kids all the time with a sitter, even if it is Nicholas. He’s gotta get back to work though at some point, doesn’t he? For more than the few hours he’s putting in now? Maybe not. If I’m honest, he didn’t make it in all that often. Rain and I used to talk about that. I wonder how she’s doing, running the show outside his office without any help from me.

"Ok, Adisa," said my restaurant boss. "I understand. The door is open if you want to come back though, and if there's any way, we will accommodate you if you want to return." There was a pause. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes, for certain," I said, trying to sound optimistic. "Dad's on the rebound and as he gets better, I know that he'll take on his old responsibilities. But right now, this is what's most important for my family, and I have to respect that."

"Of course," he said. But he sounded a bit tired, which made me feel a little guilty. "Well let us know if you need anything, and if there's some way we can help."

Everything seems to be going as well as it possibly can, but I worry… I guess because that's who I am. But when I let my mind wander, I wonder what will happen if Nicholas decides he doesn't want to stay with us, if he gets tired of me and our life. Surely, what I can offer, what we have, is no match for the kind of lifestyle he’s used to. The man is a billionaire by now. He could have whatever he wants, whoever he wants. He could have the heiress to a fortune, a trophy wife, a blonde-highlighted-plastic-surgery-having-Versace-wearing goddess to sail around on his yacht. So why does he stay with me and my kooky brother and sister? But I am grateful for his eager help. And more than anything, I am ecstatic that this man that I have had a huge crush on for months is with me, loving me, caring for us. It’s making a stressful time a lot easier. And my dad should be coming home soon as well. At that point, Nicholas will want to return to his place in the country I guess. But by all measures, he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. I guess what he said is true.  

And if I admit it to myself, I can tell that he is happy. Just very happy with the simplest things. As I am.

When I go to visit my father, he offers to take care of my brother and sister, or come with me, whatever helps us the most.

This man, my Nicholas Corbett, is special. He is my dream. I wish he never leaves.

E
very day
her father seems to be improving. Which is a wonderful thing in and of itself, but also seeing him regain his strength makes me feel like Adisa will soon be set free. Not that she resents her father for this. She doesn't seem to, or perhaps she wouldn’t let on. But at this age she needs to be searching for something that will be her vocation in life, and it's a bit early to be taking on someone else's children, even if they are her brother and sister. Especially as it's been thrust upon her and not something that she chooses out of her own volition.

But I'm starting to love them myself. If I'm honest, they are some of the most charming little kids, probably in many ways due to Adisa’s influence - and I can understand why she cares about them and their well being so much. These last few days have really made me feel at home with the whole family. We work well together, we get along nearly flawlessly, and we complement each other.

For me, this is my dream life. Not the sterile existence that I was headed for with Stephanie, but a sometimes messy, fun, and most importantly, love-filled journey. That's the reason I was born: to live, and to love. To protect my woman, and serve a family.

I
’m retching
over the toilet bowl for the second day in a row. That’s what I love, dry heaves. And the day my dad is supposed to come home from the hospital, too. This is fantastic.

“Nicholas,” I try to call out, but it comes out with a bit of a gurgle. He rushes in.

“What’s the matter sweetie?” He asks, a solicitous look in his blue eyes.

“Well, you can see for yourself, I’m sick again,” I say. “I must have a bug or the flu or something, because I do not feel well at all.” I turn back to the porcelain bowl. “You better go because I’m gonn-” But before I can finish that sentence, I hurl the contents of my stomach. Ugh. Such a lovely picture for my beautiful man.

“Aw, I’m sorry you feel so rough.” He kneels down, and puts one hand on my back, which ironically makes me feel like I might throw up even more.
Grabbing a handful of tissues I wipe my lips and throw it in the bowl and then sit back with a hand on my forehead. “Was it something I ate? Do
you
feel ok?”

“I feel fine, babe,” he says. There’s a funny look in his eye though, which gives me pause. “You weren’t around anyone sick, were you? I don’t think I was.”

“Nope, unless I picked up something at the hospital, which isn’t out of the realm of possibility,” I mutter. “Lots of time at the hospital means exposure to some germs, right? Lots of people get sick at the hos-” I turn quickly toward the toilet and this time I dry heave into the bowl. My stomach must be completely empty by this point, because despite the painful contraction, nothing more is coming up.

“Right,” he says doubtfully. “Sure they do. Hey do you want me to go and pick up your dad, and you can stay here?” He jingles his keys in his pocket. “I don’t want to leave you all alone when you’re not well, but I’m sure you and he are both anxious to get him home.”

“Unless I start feeling better right now, I think that’s the only way this can work.” The kids are at school, at least. So I don’t have to do anything but contemplate my existence on the hard cold tile of the bathroom floor.

“No problem.” He rustles the keys in his pocket, again, strangely. Nervously. “Do you want me to pick up anything for you?” There’s a pause before he says, “Like maybe… a pregnancy test?”

Oh Lordy. Is he serious? I want to protest, but before I can, I can feel my stomach in my throat again and I have to kneel above the pot.

“Ok babe, I’ll grab you some ginger ale and a few other things,” he says. I’m trying to pull my hair back when I heave again.

Once he’s gone, I do start to feel better, at least physically. We were pretty careful, all the time, to use condoms. But I guess that one night when he first stayed over, we ended up doing it bareback. I didn't think much of it because I’d thought I was past my fertile period, at least according to that app that I downloaded. But I guess apps aren’t exactly that reliable when things are so important, are they. What are we going to do? I’m not sure I can deal with this possibility right now, even though I know both Nicholas and I want babies, I always thought that I would be married before anything so final happened. At least it feels final. I can’t imagine not going through with the pregnancy, if in fact I am pregnant. My head is swimming with possibilities and fears.

But before I deal with all of that, I have to make dad’s bedroom out of the living room, so he doesn’t have to deal with stairs. I try to put all of the pregnancy concern out of my mind, and deal with the tasks at hand, but it’s tough. My stomach is still churning every now and then as I pick up any stray clutter in the living room. I can’t help but think of all the beautiful moments Nicholas and I shared here when the kids were in bed, secretly loving each other over and over again. All night sometimes. Most of the time, if I’m honest. Lots of chances for a condom to fail, or a stray drop to get where it’s not supposed to be. And that can mean a baby. My mother’s sweet face pops into my head. If only she were here, if only we could talk. Make sense of things.

Mom, I ask in my mind, am I pregnant? And if I am, will I be anywhere near as good a mother as you were to me? To us?

I can’t say if it’s really her, but an answer does come to me.
Baby, you will be a great mother, because you have the love of generations behind you -- you are the culmination of centuries of love.

Somehow just “hearing the answer” makes me feel good, strong, and capable. And in reality, how much different can taking care of a baby be than taking care of my whole family for the last few months? Honestly I’ve never had this kind of responsibility, but I’ve stepped up when nobody else would or could, and I understand a lot more than I ever did about how to run a family and a home. And if there’s another little person here, another mouth to feed, I’ll handle it. Even if Nicholas for some reason feels differently, and doesn’t want to stay with us, another member of the family will just be another person to love and care for. Besides, the little ones are getting to be older, and they can learn to help around the house, do some chores, maybe do their own laundry, even. That sort of thing. It’s time for Darius to go from learning to be a good boy to a good man.

I put some magazines on the side table for my father, along with a little bell and a pitcher of water with a small glass. Carefully I place the remote there too, and pull out the hide-a-bed sofa which already has clean sheets made up. Good thing too because all this moving around is definitely not helping my queasiness.

The temptation of the comfortable bed I just prepared is too much for me, and laying down on the mattress,, I touch my belly gently. Little baby, are you there? I ask. I wonder about names. If he's a boy, should we call him after Nicholas? Nickie? Or a girl, Nikki?

Of course, this “baby” could be nothing more than a bad burrito that I ate. But if so, Nicholas would probably be sick too.

Hard to say. My heart says yes though, that there’s a new heart beating in my body, a heart made from the love of Nicholas and I - a love that I want to endure forever. And if there isn’t a baby, right now I have to admit to myself that I want there to be one soon.

Will the baby have my eyes? Or his smile? I picture Nicholas holding a bundle of sweet-smelling infant, wrapped tight in a soft little cocoon. I imagine him delicately moving a little bit of blanket to gaze adoringly into the little one's eyes, his love pouring out of him into the baby, my love pouring out of me into both of them.

And with my hand on my belly, and Nicholas name on my lips, I begin to doze and dream. Then my beloved’s voice calls my name.

"Hey Adisa," I hear at the door. "Are you feeling any better? Any chance you can come give me a hand out here?”

“Be right there!” I rouse myself out of my sleep and off the couch, and run to welcome my father.

"Daddy!" I yell, and hug him with enthusiasm, while still trying not to jar him in any way or squeeze him too hard. He's still pretty tender, obviously, and quite weak. "I made you a bedroom out of the living room. Just for now. You can go back in your own bed when it’s easier for you to take the stairs. Is that ok? Come this way, how are you feeling? Sorry I didn't come to pick up, I have an upset stomach. But Nicholas said he’d get you, so I knew you’d be well taken care of. How was the drive back?" I realize I’m talking like a house on fire, but I’m just so excited that he’s back in the house and that things will have a chance to return to normal around here. Slowly. Eventually.

"Settle down, little one," My dad says, shuffling to the house with a smile on his face, his breath in white clouds like smoke against the cold air coming in through the open door. "I'm ok, I'm ok." Nicholas takes him by the arm and helps him along the way to the living room, after handing me the few bags of supplies and my dad's things.

"Do you need anything?" I ask dad. "A cup of tea, or maybe a sandwich? How’s your appetite? Are you hungry?" I find I’m still doing the motor mouth thing, but I just can’t help it.

"No I'm just fine, just need a soft place to rest these weary bones," he says. His voice is still weak, but it has a little bit more of his old self in it. “Just glad to be home,” he says. “You can stop hovering, baby. I’m ok.”

I look at his frame as he disappears into the living room.. It’s looking thinner than before. He is definitely improving, but there will still be a bit of time before he can really be the strong man he used to be. I hope he gets there sooner rather than later - or never. Like my mother was emotionally, he was always something of a paragon of physical strength in our house, and to see him getting so weak is something I didn't know would be this difficult.

But that's life, I guess. It moves on, and you can’t stop it - and you can’t even change it much.

We both help him to the couch and he lays down gratefully. "That's better," he says, as I lightly cover him with the afghan blanket, and in less than two minutes, his eyes are closing and he begins to snore. Poor man. My heart fills with love and concern.

"How did he do on the ride?" I whisper to Nicholas.

He meets my eyes with a small smile. "Pretty good. I tried to take a less bumpy route, so that I wouldn’t be disturbing him but I couldn’t avoid everything. Every time we went over any kind of hump he let out a little groan. Broke my heart.” He runs a hand through his thick hair.  “I'm sure he's going to need some rest right now - and maybe one of us should try to get him up for a little walk later. Doctor said he'd be needing to do some very light exercise every day to build his strength back."

"Ok, good to know.” My dad seems peaceful now, and I don’t want to wake him. “Let's go into the kitchen," I say as I grab Nicholas’ hand. I whisper as we walk. "Did you get the test?"

"You betcha I did," he smiles again, but this time there is a shy sweetness in his face. And maybe a bit of hope? I can’t tell, maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, but I feel it too. He holds up a bag. "Right here."

We sit down at the table, and I take it and look at the box, which promises “99% accuracy” in big bold yellow letters. My heart jumps as I trace them with my fingers. Am I ready? Should I take the test now? We stare into each other's eyes, and he reaches for my hand, stopping its nervous movement.

"Whatever it says, we're in this together." His hand softly traces the lines of mine, then he picks it up and kisses it softly on the back, and then turns it over and kisses my palm tenderly, giving me shivers. "Know that I love you, Adisa."

"And I love you, Nicholas, with all my heart. I don't know how this all happened, but it did. And if I have anything to say about it, it's going to last." My heart feels open as the blue sky, and his eyes are shining with love that I can’t help but return.

After a long moment, we stand up, and he gives me a big hug, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing before leading me to the bathroom.

"Time to pee on a stick," I whisper, trying to lighten the moment a little, hoping laughter will somehow assuage my fear. My grin probably is making me look like a crazy person. But what can I do? I’m nervous, excited, full of love, and scared as anything.

"Go for it," He grins back and pats me lightly on the butt as I go into the bathroom.

Once I close the door, the possibility of this pregnancy seems so real it makes my hands shake, but I try to wrap my feelings in Nicholas' soothing words. Jamal never would have said something like what Nicholas has to me. He’d have probably said something like, “You on your own, baby. Shoulda taken that pill, it’s your own fault.”

Thank heaven I’m not going through this with a trifling man like Jamal. Crazy that I felt at first like he and I were meant to be together. When a man like Nicholas was in store for me!

I know that Nicholas won't let me down -- the long talks we had told me that he really does want kids. And so do I, with him. Maybe I wouldn't have chosen this exact moment to have them, but even so, I'm sure I can handle it. Or we can. Together. That’s what he said.

I unwrap the package, and am glad to see my hands are shaking a bit less. The instructions are pretty clear. Just uncap, pee on the stick, put the cap back on, wait for three minutes. One line, not pregnant. Two lines, pregnant.

Unzip my pants, do the deed, and then wait - that’s all there is to it, right? I peer at the window, where my fate lies. Well, our fate. There's a pink line. But is there another? I think I see something. Oh god, I do see something. It's very faint, but there's clearly another line appearing. I put the test down on the vanity and look myself in the eye in the mirror I’ve been staring in since I was a little girl.

"Can I do this?" I ask myself quietly, but another voice answers me, internally. The soft voice of my mother, a soft voice with an edge of steely strength.

"Darn right you can. Just take it -"

"One day at a time." I whisper it to myself. "One day at a time." I see in my eyes, in the antique glass: the fortitude of my mother, and in the slight creases in the corners, her humor. I know I am part her, and I know I can have this baby.

I can do this. And with Nicholas at my side, I can do anything.

Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle and peek out, expecting to see him. But he's not waiting outside the door now, so I put the test in my pocket and go looking. I find him in the kitchen, getting the kettle on.

"Your dad woke up and said he could use a cup of tea after all, and I thought you might want one too," he says. The expression on his face belies his curiosity.

"Baby," I put my hand on his arm. He puts down the kettle.

"Baby?" He asks, and I hand him the test.

"Baby!" We say together, and laugh. He hugs me and spins me around.

"Oh Adisa, I'm so happy," he says into my hair. "I can't believe this."

"Me neither." His strong arms feel so good around me, so reassuring. And with more than a hint of that electricity, that chemistry that flows between us right down to my core. "I guess it wasn't a bad burrito after all, huh?"

"I guess not!" We smile at each other, and in his eyes I can see the love and affection I've always dreamed of having in my life; the pure joy at the news, and the simultaneous realization for both of us that we are going to spend our lives together. I've never felt so purely happy.