Nixon: A Raleigh Raptors Novel

by Whiskey, Samantha

  “You’re a horrible liar,” she said, her voice light, loving.

  I had missed her so much, and while this month had been an amazing time catching up with her and helping the locals…pieces of me were still in Raleigh.

  “How can you still not know if you’re together?” she asked, taking up a good ole’ mom lean against the table across the room, her arms folded over her chest. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked me, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  “I don’t know, Mom.”

  “He calls you every week,” she said.

  “He wants to check on the baby.” I folded my hand over my growing bump, and the baby kicked in response.

  “You love him,” she said.

  “I do.” I’d never tried to deny it. “But I shouldn’t have to give up everything I’ve ever worked for just because we have a baby together. Why is his dream more important than mine?”

  “Did he really mean it like that, Lib?”

  I shook my head.

  No, Nixon hadn’t meant it like that, but in reality that’s what it came down to right? His career held more value over mine because it returned the most secure income. Sure, it came with paparazzi and life in the limelight, but the money? It would protect our baby, make sure it had the best healthcare, the best schools, the best everything. But I hadn’t been raised with monetary values, so it was hard for me to wrap my head around it. Even with my profession, where I helped people explore their own minds, I was at a loss on how to fix the situation between Nixon and myself.

  “You’re not happy. Admit it,” Mom pressed.

  “Not everything is about my own happiness,” I argued.

  “Not everything has to be about self-sacrifice either,” she said, crossing the room and kneeling next to me. “Look,” she said. “I know I raised you differently than most kids of your generation. And I don’t regret a second of it. I raised you to stand on your own and explore the world and value substance over quantity. But having a partner who matches your ambition, your passion, and your drive, is not a bad thing. You deserve someone who loves you, and so does this baby. Not everything has to be one or other, Lib. There is such a thing as compromise.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” I asked, swallowing hard. “I’ve been going over and over our fight in my head, trying to find some way back to common ground. But…I can’t get past the fact that his dream is more important than mine.”

  “You want him to give it up?”

  “No!” I sighed. “Of course, not. He’s brilliant at it.” I bit back a smile at the memory of watching his games, how he lit up on that field, and the pride I felt cheering for him. “But, I can’t just throw away my life because of a man.”

  Mom sighed, then kissed me on the forehead. “Well, once you figure out what brings your life the most value, you come find me.” She pushed off the floor and disappeared to our shared room.

  Her words sunk into me like the drops of rain on the ground outside. I was miserable because I missed Nixon. So this grand dream of mine? Did it really fulfil the longing I’d had all my life?

  Not really, not anymore.

  But I was so, so proud of the work I was doing here—not to mention the fact that the research hours and internship alone would send me right to graduation. And the idea of leaving it stung me almost as much as the distance between Nix and I.

  A ringing from my computer screen chimed before I could fully succumb to my pity party, and I quickly answered the call.

  The screen took a few moments to de-pixilate, but soon Nixon’s face filled my screen. He hadn’t shaved since the last time we’d spoken from the look of scruff lining his strong jaw. Purple smudged beneath those dark eyes which were now locked and walled off like they’d been when we’d first met.

  “Hi, Nix,” I said, my voice cracking.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, no light dancing in his eyes. No smile shaping those delicious lips. Though, to be fair, I could tell I looked as miserable as he did from the small box showing my image on the screen.

  “Good,” I said, scooting back enough so he could see my belly.

  His eyebrows raised. “Getting big,” he said, then cringed. “I mean the baby. Not you. You look incredible as always. A little tired, but incredible.” He cut off his ramble, shaking his head. “Are you sleeping enough?”

  I found the floor very interesting.

  “Lib,” he chided.

  “It’s hard,” I said. Not being with you. Not talking with you before we go to sleep. No midnight kisses that burned me from the inside out. “I can’t get comfortable or settle my mind.”

  Nixon nodded. “I understand that, but sleep is really important for the baby’s development.”

  “I know that.” I didn’t mean for the bite to slip into my tone, but my emotions waged a war inside me. All I wanted to do was reach through the screen and touch him, talk to him with nothing between us. Heal him.

  He remained silent for longer than was comfortable.

  “You’ve been doing great on the field,” I said, and his eyes met mine.

  “You get the games out there?”

  “I wish,” I said. “But I look up the live scores every game.”

  A hint of a smile played at his lips but was gone in a blink. “Well,” he said. “It’s all I have to focus on. To distract me from…”

  My absence.

  The baby’s absence.

  God, had I become that woman? The one who kept the man’s baby from him out of what? Spite?

  No, that wasn’t it.

  It was career vs. career, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

  “How are the boys?” I asked, desperate for any detail of his life. “Hendrix still up to no good?”

  “Yeah, we went out last night,” he said, and my stomach dropped. I smoothed my hand over the large bump instinctively.

  “You went out with Hendrix?”

  “Yep,” Nixon’s lips popped on the word, and I swallowed a mouthful of acid. Going out with Hendrix usually equated to extravagant clubs, and plenty of women willingly draping themselves all over him…and his companions.

  “Did you have a good time?” I asked, unable to keep the hollowness from my voice.

  “Are you serious?” There was a growl to his tone I couldn’t help but miss. Nixon’s rough edges were one of the first things that had me falling head over heels for him.

  I shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

  He raked his palms over his face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t have a good time. Because you’re not here. Because the mother of my child is half a world away and she can’t sleep, and I have no idea if she’s eating well or if there are poisonous insects close to her living quarters. Or if the water is clean enough for her to drink. I have no control over the situation, no way of protecting you or my baby. So, no, going out for a few drinks and listening to some music was not as fun as it should’ve been.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, that hole in my chest cracking another degree. “Nixon, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t ever want to put you through this.”

  He blew out a breath. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”

  “You should,” I said, imploring. “I want you to talk to me. To be honest with me. I don’t want you to push me away.”

  He groaned. “And I didn't want you to run away from me. Remember that?” he asked, his eyes heavy. “You said you wouldn’t run.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t, either.” I could barely get the words out, my heart aching at the pain in his eyes.

  “And look where we are.”

  The silence settled between us, neither one of us having a solution. A month hadn’t helped us figure this out, and I wasn’t sure if there would ever be a way out of the mess we’d tangled ourselves in.

  But, there was one thing I knew with absolute clarity.

  “I love you, Nixon,” I said, having nothing else to give him but that single truth.

  A heavy sigh rushed past his lips
as he moved and reached for the keyboard. “You have no idea how much I wish it was enough.” He clicked, and the screen went black.

  I shut my laptop with shaking fingers, the sobs wracking my body in waves.

  This was my dream life?

  This pain, this aching hurt, this half-awake living?

  I’d told countless friends and prospective clients to chase their own happiness, and the rest of their lives would fall into place around that singular goal.

  Was I happy here? Sure, to some degree. But not in the way that likely benefited anyone in the way it would if I was complete, whole, healthy—both mentally and physically.

  Nixon had been a mirror image on that screen—empty and aching and raw.

  I’d put that ocean between us, shattering us.

  And I wasn’t sure how the hell I was going to cross it to put our broken pieces back together again.

  19

  Nixon

  I rubbed the back of my aching neck as I climbed up the stairs toward our—my—bedroom. Was I really so whipped that I still thought of it as ours even though she’d been gone over a month? Yes, yes I was.

  After the hit I’d taken in the fourth quarter, I’d been ordered to soak in the tub, but I just couldn’t handle the emotional hit of that room, not until I was too exhausted to see straight, and even then I wasn’t sleeping. There was too much of Liberty in there…and not nearly enough. She’d looked so tired when we’d talked yesterday. She’d looked almost as miserable as I felt.

  “Honey, are you sure I can’t make you a sandwich?” Mom called up the stairs. The second she’d heard what had happened, she and Dad had driven down. They hadn’t even warned me they were coming. They’d simply shown up on the doorstep—Mom looking worried as hell and Dad studying me like I was one tackle away from dying. To him, I probably was. As much as I’d held it together when Liberty walked out, I damn-near lost it at the sight of that truck in the driveway. He’d driven the one I’d bought him.

  “I’m good, Mom,” I answered. “But thank you.”

  “Leave the boy alone,” Dad muttered. “You can’t fix a broken heart with a turkey sandwich.”

  “You’re right,” I heard Mom answer thoughtfully. “I’d better make some chicken soup.”

  “Not my point, love,” Dad responded, his voice fading as I walked into the nursery.

  I shut the door, then leaned against the wall beside it and let my body slide down until my ass hit the ground.

  At least she’ll get to spend some of her time out of this paparazzi-filled fishbowl you call a life. Liberty’s words were a shot across the bow because they were true.

  I’d decorated my daughter’s nursery with maps of the world so she could plan her adventures, but her mother was trying to raise her in a world that came with adventures included. Take away the disease, the bugs, the war-torn countries, and general danger that accompanied those adventures, and I’d almost have to admit that maybe Liberty had it right.

  But right or wrong, she sure as hell had my daughter…and my heart, if the thing still existed. I felt hollow, like someone had come along and scooped out everything inside me that was capable of producing an emotion and left me this hulk of a shell.

  I fucking missed her. I missed her laugh and her smile. I missed the mess she left in her wake—the scattered books and forgotten dishes. I missed the scent of her hair and the feel of her in my arms. I longed to hear the way she’d gasp when I put my hands on her, and see the look in her eyes right before she came—that little jolt of surprise and wonder. I even missed the way she’d call me on my bullshit. I missed everything about Liberty.

  And the worst? I ached to feel our baby kick at the sound of my voice. Did she think I’d abandoned her? I lifted my knees and put my face in my hands.

  The door opened, and I bit my tongue to keep from snapping at Mom. It was pretty fucking amazing that they’d dropped everything and come. I just wasn’t ready to talk about it.

  The door shut and someone joined me against the wall.

  “Sitting in here isn’t going to bring her back,” Roman said softly, raising his knees to mirror my position.

  “Short of turning myself into a third-world country in desperate need of mental healthcare, I’m not sure there’s much that will.” I let my head fall back against the wall.

  “Then go after her.” He elbowed me. “Get off your ass and go get your woman.”

  I gave him a good glare. “It’s not that easy. We’re in the middle of the fucking season.”

  “And that’s your biggest problem?” He shook his head. “You have more money than you’ll ever need. You’ve never given a shit about public opinion, so fuck it. Go get her.”

  “You don’t get it, Ro. She doesn’t want to be gotten. She doesn’t want to come back here. She wants me to give up everything I’ve worked my ass off to build. She wants me to stop honoring my brother. She wants me to follow her around to places I can’t possibly protect her or our daughter. The only way she wants me is on her terms.”

  “Damn. Must suck to fall in love with someone so stubborn.” He sent a little side-eye my way.

  “I’m just saying that there’s no cute, easy answer here. She fucking walked out.”

  “Yeah. She did. It sucks. Tell me something, though. You still love the game?”

  “Hell yes, I love it. Lately, it’s the only place I feel…anything.” Football had always been a constant for me, and it was the only thing I was holding onto now.

  “You love her more?”

  My gaze snapped toward his, and he met it head-on. “I shouldn’t have to choose.”

  “You shouldn’t, but maybe you could, anyways.” He shrugged. “Look, I know you’re not one to break out the diary and shit, but I’ve never seen you destroyed over a woman before. I can’t ever remember seeing you destroyed over anything, come to think of it.”

  “Would you give it up?” It would be like cutting off a body part.

  He looked over at the window. “You have no idea what I would do to be with the woman I love.”

  My eyebrows hit the ceiling.

  He noticed and shook it off. “If I loved someone. Theoretically…I’d give it all up. The game. The money. The fame. Fucking take it. None of that shit keeps you warm at night.”

  “Hendrix would disagree.”

  Roman laughed. “He usually does.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?” I asked rhetorically.

  “She still love you?”

  I raked my hand over my hair, tugging at the strands. “She says she does, but she said that before and still walked out.”

  “You believe her, though, don’t you?” He stood.

  I thought of her sunken eyes, her sallow complexion, and the pure misery that emanated from her every time we talked over Skype. For someone who was supposed to be living her dream, she looked like she was stuck in a nightmare.

  “Yeah,” I finally answered. “Yeah, I believe her.” Wasn’t sure there was anything I could do about it, but I believed her. “Doesn’t change anything, though. We’re in the middle of the season, and she’s in the middle of nowhere, Brazil.”

  “Distance isn’t a thing,” he said with a shrug. “You think it is, but it’s not. It can be just as hard to hold onto someone standing three feet away as it is to hunt down a woman in the Amazon. I told Hendrix I’d meet him, so I’m out. Need anything?”

  “No.” My eyes narrowed slightly on my best friend’s face. “Going out with Hendrix, huh? Don’t think I don’t notice that you never bring home the blondes. Brunettes and redheads all day long, but never the blondes. Wonder why that is?”

  He cursed. “Last time I checked, the woman you loved was in the middle of the jungle. There’s plenty of business to mind on your own plate right there.”

  He walked out and shut the door behind him, leaving me alone in the nursery. I’d built this place with so much love, but that wouldn’t matter if she never slept in that crib. The love was for her, no
t a place.

  My love for Liberty? That stretched from North Carolina to Brazil, no matter how complicated this all felt. That was the bottom line, wasn’t it? At the end of the day, the money, the fame…even the game didn’t matter if I didn’t have her beside me.

  I picked up my phone, scrolled through my contacts, and hit call.

  “Noble?” Coach’s voice filled my speaker.

  “I need some help.”

  * * *

  Thirty-two hours later, the pilot muttered a swear word as he put us down in the middle of a small clearing. Small meaning, lord-let-us-make-it-through-the-trees.

  I ditched my headphones, grabbed my pack, and climbed out of the helicopter as the pilot powered the rotors down. He’d been paid—and paid well—to hang tight for the next twenty-four hours.

  Fuck, North Carolina had nothing on this level of humidity. My shirt clung to my skin as I turned my ball cap backward and headed toward the small crowd of children that had gathered to stare at the helicopter.

  I’d spent three of the last thirty-two hours learning a few phrases in Portuguese, and now it was time to make an utter ass of myself.

  “Good morning,” I managed to say as my heart slammed. What if this was the wrong camp?

  The kids all nodded but regarded me with more than a little suspicion.

  “Where can I find Dr. Jones?” I asked, praying to the translation gods that I’d gotten it right.

  The kids all looked at one another.

  “Liberty?” I tried.

  “Ahh!” They all started talking at once, and I was less-than-gently herded toward the camp. The place was massive. I’d seen the tent layout from the air, so I had a general idea that they were moving me toward the smaller, living-sized tents rather than the giant medical ones.

  “Liberty!” one of the boys said and pushed me through a set of canvas flaps.

  I stumbled into the tent and was met with a middle-aged woman wearing a very perplexed look. “God, I’m sorry.”