by Kata Čuić
Rob blows out an audible breath.
I don’t glance at my friends, but I feel the weight of their stares, their pity.
Evie’s probably having an epiphany. I’m actually surprised she isn’t shouting to the heavens how everything she thinks she knows about me makes sense now. Mike’s probably thinking the same thing.
It never used to piss me off before. I didn’t give a damn what other people thought of me.
“Oh, and I started a sex therapy ring in college.” I stare directly at Evie. “All those orgies you thought I was having? Yeah. I wasn’t.”
Confessing that doesn’t make me feel a damn bit better. I never wanted to be anyone’s hero.
The only woman whose opinion of me matters believes she’s not special. She loves me, but she doesn’t think I know the definition of the word. I had a plan to beat that defense into the sort of submission that makes her moan, but I can’t think straight anymore.
Amira puffs out a few quick breaths as she lowers herself into a chair.
My head might be swirling in the clouds right now, but her jerky movement snaps me to attention.
I flatten my palms on either side of her wide belly. “Is our girl okay?”
She nods, but pain shimmers in her black eyes.
“You lying to me?”
She shakes her head, but her lips are rolled between her teeth.
Her stomach feels tighter than normal beneath my hands.
“Is this a contraction?” I might sound a little panicked. I might be a little panicked. I am definitely regretting popping an extra two pain pills before the baby shower. I can’t be anything less than crystal clear if it’s D-Day. “Are you having a contraction?”
Suddenly, we’re surrounded by a group of people who’ve been practically frozen until now.
Evie nudges me aside and flattens her hands over the top of Amira’s belly.
For all the fighting a few minutes ago, they exchange a worried glance that makes it seem like they’re BFFs now.
“You’re not contracting at the top, so it’s probably Braxton-Hicks,” Evie says with a weirdly soothing tone of voice that’s the total opposite of how she sounded inside. “Don’t panic. You’re technically full-term. It’s been a long, high-stress day. This is totally normal.”
“It wouldn’t have been high-stress if it wasn’t for you,” I mutter. I’d rather scream, but that’s not exactly low-stress.
Evie ignores me and continues speaking directly to Amira. “I’m sure you’ve read everything under the sun by now.”
Amira nods, but she also squeezes her eyes tightly shut.
Oh, shit. This is bad. Real bad.
I should not have taken those damn pills, no matter how much my knee fucking hurts.
“Practice contractions can actually last as long as transition stage contractions,” Evie explains. Probably to all the guys who are standing around, feeling fucking useless. Maybe that’s just me. “Keep breathing through it. We’re going to get up, go to the bathroom, then walk around a little to see if they ease up or get stronger. If they get stronger, we’ll start timing.”
Amira wraps her hands around Evie’s wrists, white knuckling them like a steering wheel in icy conditions. “Can’t…go…in…the house. Don’t want…my mother…to know.”
It’s my turn to explain something no one else knows. “She doesn’t want her mom anywhere near the hospital when she’s in labor.”
“Okay,” Evie agrees easily. “Is there another entrance we can go in? Sometimes, just peeing helps determine if it’s real or practice labor.”
That’s weird, but I’m not going to give birth anytime soon—or ever—so I take her word for it. I thumb behind me. “The patio wraps the whole way around the house. Keep walking until you hit the hot tub. The doors lead into the workout room. There’s a bathroom in there.”
Crazy how the first time Amira puked into that toilet, I had no idea it was because of a baby that would become mine.
Evie nods, then wraps her arms around Amira like she’s going to do the heavy lifting.
I almost laugh. Evie’s half Amira’s size. “You think I’m gonna fucking trust you with her after what you pulled today?”
“You think you’re in any better shape to handle me while you’re high on Vicodin?” Amira grits out.
That puts me in my place pretty quick.
Maybe it’s the pills, but the sight of Evie leaning forward to kiss Amira on the cheek makes me pop an instant chub.
Bad, boy! Down! No! We’re mad at both of them!
“I’m sorry,” Evie whispers against Amira’s cheek. “You have to understand I’ll do anything to protect these guys. I owe them my life.”
Amira turns her head until she and Evie are practically full-on kissing.
I’m going to pass out.
“I can’t compete with that,” Amira whispers against Evie’s lips.
Evie furrows her brow, but she doesn’t put space between them. “What makes you think you have to?”
Kiss and make up.
I must say it out loud because I actually feel the slap to the back of my skull.
It’s Rob. He shakes his head. “Dude. You have got to learn how to quit ruining things for yourself.”
I agree with that. One hundred and ten percent.
“Come on. Let’s walk through these contractions and see what we’re dealing with.” Evie grunts as she helps hoist Amira to her feet.
Amira throws her arm around Evie’s shoulders like she really does need someone to hold her up.
There’s no way a midget can carry an Amazon.
I maneuver to Amira’s other side.
“No,” she breathes and meets my worried gaze with a determined one of her own. “Stay. You started this. Now’s your chance to finish it. Get the closure you’ve always needed, Alex. Start a new chapter with no regrets.”
I stare at the strange duo as they hobble away at a snail’s pace. I’ve got this bad feeling in the pit of my gut that this next chapter is going to be full of regrets, too.
Dad casts a worried glance at me. “Maybe you should follow them. We can talk about this later.”
“No. We’ll talk about it now.”
Amira’s right. I don’t want this hanging over my head anymore. I want to be as good of a father as my dad’s always been. I can’t do that if I’m still keeping secrets from him. All I’ll be able to think about are the secrets my own kid might keep from me.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I should have told you when I found out all those years ago. I just…I didn’t know what to say.”
I’ve only seen the guy cry three times in my entire life. I’ve never seen him blush before.
He scratches the back of his neck and stares at his shoes. “You’re, uh, really gonna make me air the dirty family laundry in front of Rob and Mike?”
I glance at the guys beside me. They look just as confused as I feel. I’m pretty sure neither of them popped a couple Vicodin this morning, so I must not be hearing Dad wrong.
“They are my family. What do you mean, dirty laundry? I caught Mom having an affair, and I never told anyone. We’re the ones with secrets. Not you.”
His gaze is clear and steady when he raises it. “I wish you had told me when it happened. It kills me to think you’ve been carrying this around for years when it was never your burden to bear.”
I don’t like the sounds of this. “It should never have been anyone’s burden to bear. It should have never happened. Divorce exists for a reason. Cheating is never okay.”
Rob blows out another breath then sinks into a nearby chair.
If he’s having an epiphany about the night I decked him for cheating on Evie, then I’ll actually give him that.
Mike plants a hand on my shoulder. His eyes hold memories of all the conversations we’ve had about this topic.
Selfless, not selfish.
A picture comes into focus. One I don’t like. Not at all.
I stumble backwards.
Mike pushes me down into another chair.
“You—you set it up? You set her up with another guy?” I choke out.
Dad licks his lips and nods. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “I thought she was dying, son. I couldn’t cure her, but I could give her experiences. Things she might never live long enough to see or do.”
“And you thought having an affair was something she was going to eventually do anyway if she lived long enough?”
“No.” He shakes his head. A little too rapidly. “I asked her to make a bucket list of things we could do together while we had time.”
I shake my head very, very slowly. “That was not something you two did together.”
The expression on his face makes me throw up a little in my mouth.
“Alex didn’t catch you having a threesome,” Mike says. Out loud.
Definitely throwing up in my mouth. Do not want that mental picture to form.
“She used to love reading all these romance books,” Dad explains. “I joked that I could set her up with one of those reverse harems she was always reading, and we laughed about it. But then, I thought...why not? Why not give her that? I thought I was going to lose her anyway.”
I’m never going to have sex again.
Dad shrugs. “She’d only ever been with me, and I’m just…average.”
Mike coughs.
Rob chokes on air.
I have no idea what air is.
“So, yeah.” He shuffles his foot against the cement. “I set it up. I figured we’d start one-on-one then work our way up to it.”
“Did you?” Mike asks. “Work your way up to it, I mean?”
I shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t notice. He’s hanging on Dad’s every word.
“No,” Dad admits. “She hated being with someone else so much. I think she only went through with it that one time to make me happy. I was pushing for the bucket list, and she was just trying to survive each day. Looking back, it was selfish of me. I thought I was trying to make her happy, but really, I was just trying to play the hero because I couldn’t fucking fix anything.”
I glance at Rob.
His head hangs between his shoulders. He mumbles, “I know how that feels.”
I have an epiphany.
I’m Rob. I’m Dad.
At least from Amira’s point of view.
I’m not cheating on her because she asked me to, and I’m sure as hell not pushing her into another man’s bed, but I’m up on my pretty white pony anyway.
How could she realize how much I love her when she’s been pregnant since she got here? All she sees is a guy who’s trying to play the hero. All she remembers is phone calls with a guy who told her he was in love with someone else.
Fuck.
“I, uh, I think I need some help.”
Three sets of eyes settle on me.
I look at Dad first. “I’ve been an asshole to Mom for years. I have no idea how to make it up to her. I don’t even know how to apologize. I’m not sure I can let go of this much hate at the drop of a hat, even knowing the truth. It’s like a bad habit now.”
Dad frowns, but his eyes hold understanding. “I’m gonna go talk to her. Explain everything. You’re her son. Her firstborn. She’s always loved you, no matter what. She’ll be ready when you are.”
“It might be awhile,” I admit. “I have a lot on my plate right now. The baby’s due any time, and—”
“Is it true?” Dad blurts. “It’s not yours?”
I can’t. I can’t say that. Not even to these people who I trust. “She’s mine in every way that matters.”
“Son…” Dad reaches for me.
I hold up my hand. This has to be crystal clear. “This wasn’t Amira’s doing. She didn’t trap me into anything. I’ve loved her for a long time, but I fucked up. I let her go when I should have held her close. That baby girl should be mine. I asked for this chance. I asked for this privilege. No kid should have to grow up without a dad. I can do this for them. I want to.”
“Family isn’t always blood.” He nods toward Mike and Rob. “You know that better than most.”
“We do,” I answer.
Dad pats my knee. “Then, we’re behind you a hundred percent. I’m gonna go talk to your mom. You should go check on your baby mama.”
I wait until he closes the doors behind him before turning to my brothers. “I don’t want to end up a fucking addict. My knee’s bad. I can’t hold off on surgery much longer.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mike huffs.
I point at him. “Concussion.” Then, I point at Rob. “A whole fucking laundry list of shit I’m sure we still don’t know.”
Rob tips his head. At least he’s not denying it. “We can cough up the rest later. For now, what’s stopping you? Contract worries?”
I nod. “That, and I don’t want to be laid up when the baby arrives. I’m trying to hold off until she’s at least a month old.”
They know what that means. Trade season is the off season.
“They’re not gonna trade you,” Mike insists. “You’re one of their top players.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But, I’ve got another problem that makes a trade look pretty good to the front office.”
“What?” Rob asks.
“Not what. Who.”
They exchange a confused glance before waiting for me to spill the rest.
“Blake Mayview.”
“That cannot be true,” I hiss into my phone as I wedge it between my cheek and shoulder while digging for my car keys in my purse. “Why wouldn’t the obstetrician prepare us for that?”
Evie’s laugh nearly deafens me at this close range to the speaker. “Because women are shamed for being women at a systematic level? OBs care about the babies way more than the incubators.”
I can’t deny the truth in her statement. I work in professional sports after all. Most of the men I speak with view women’s bodies as a playground for their pleasure even as they cling to disdain for so-called jersey chasers. Those clients are the biggest challenge to my sense of professionalism. It’s not my job to impart a different worldview to them. In fact, it’s considered wildly unethical.
“I’m telling you,” she insists. “Get yourself a stool softener and ask Alex to install a bidet on the master bath toilet. You can thank me later.”
I intend to. From putting aside her mistrust in me to imparting a wealth of childbirth and postpartum knowledge that no one talks about or writes about in books, Evie has become a trusted confidant in only a week’s time. Explaining to Alex what I’m going through isn’t the same as having the ear of someone who empathizes. It’s not like I want to discuss any of this with my mother. Most of the female friends I’m still in contact with are career-oriented. Children are nowhere on their radar.
A baby wasn’t part of my five-year plan either.
I certainly never imagined bonding with someone I once viewed as an enemy over labor and delivery options.
“Is there anything else I should ask Alex to do in the next week that I haven’t thought of?” I step into the hallway outside my office at the Sharks facility and head toward the exit.
“No,” Evie admits. “If you’re still pregnant two weeks from now, that’s a totally different ballgame though.”
“What would he be able to do if I go over my due date?” I will cry if that happens. Truly. I’ve never cried so much in my life as I have in these past nine months, but if I go even a day over, I will cry my eyes out. No amount of sweet gestures or whispers of adoration from Alex will be enough to soothe me.
I’m waddling down the hallway with swollen feet and ankles as it is. I’m wearing sandals at work because I can’t put regular shoes on my feet.
I also have to stop and lean against the wall to catch my breath after only walking a few steps.
“He can order you extra spicy food, massage your ankles thoroughly, and bang you as often as possible,” Evie answers. “They sound
like old wives’ tales, but those tricks are actually effective.”
Pressure intensifies against my lungs. It’s not the baby tucked under my rib cage. It’s the elephant in the room, weighing me down. I pushed Alex to get his closure. I don’t want to be a hypocrite.
“Did he? Bang you as often as possible?” The words rasp against my throat like razorblades.
I’m not stupid. I’m far less naïve than I was in college when Alex gave me the sexual education of a lifetime. He’s been with many women. He’s no saint, even if he has an intrinsic need to play the knight in shining armor. Sex isn’t about sex, as he once told me. Sex is about power. Sharing an orgasm with someone is an equal exchange of the heady stuff. Giving someone power over not only your body but also your heart and your mind is another thing entirely.
Giving another person that much power terrifies me for obvious reasons. I’ve avoided an arranged marriage for so long, all I know how to do is cling to the little power that’s been afforded to me.
I can’t lie to myself anymore. I’m only using Alex’s love for Evie as an excuse to protect myself.
She laughs. The sound doesn’t fit my mood. “Rob? Yeah, I, uh…” She winces. “I think I almost broke him. Being pregnant was what I imagined taking Ecstasy would feel like. I wanted it all the time. He couldn’t keep up. It was wild.”
“No. Not Rob,” I whisper. I should be laughing with her over that shared admission, but I can’t. I’m too afraid of the question I haven’t asked yet. “Alex. Did Alex bang you as often as possible?”
There’s a stretch of silence that goes on for an eternity.
“No,” she finally says, her voice a low hum against my cheek. “We’ve never even kissed.”
That’s all she says. She doesn’t deny that he loved her. She doesn’t try to explain it away as a misunderstanding or a mistake. That’s not what scares me.
“Did you love him?”
Just because she chose the man who was already legally her husband doesn’t mean anything. Professional football players sit on the couch in my office and talk to me all day about their many affairs, both emotional and physical. I hear the worst of love and relationships from behind my desk. I’ve seen it from my parents. I’ve feared it for most of my life. If there’s any chance Alex and Evie might rekindle their romance days, weeks, months, years from now…I can’t. I can’t do this.