Secret Baby Scandal

by Joanne Rock

  Will you live in the same state as your son? What are Tatiana’s plans now? As if he flipping knew. As if she cared about him enough to tell him. Her law firm had sent him an efficient packet of options for possible co-parenting agreements, but he’d been too disheartened to wade through the legalese.

  “Get your head in the game!” the quarterback coach shouted at him across the field as if Jean-Pierre was a distracted JV player and not one of the league’s elite.

  Actually, with how he’d been playing all week in practice, the JV comparison felt kind of accurate.

  The coach’s whistle trilled from the sidelines, calling an end to the day’s team workout. Jean-Pierre would still prepare for hours with the offensive coordinator, with the quarterback coach and then on his own to be sure he understood the game plan and his opponent. But whereas at another time he might enjoy the challenge of going up against Henri and really pitting their strengths against each other, this week he felt as though someone had put a fist in his chest and stolen his heart. No doubt this was what heartbreak felt like.

  The ache was so literal it was ridiculous.

  And how ass-backward was it of him to realize what all that hurt was about now that it was killing him. He loved Tatiana. He was just too blind to recognize that feeling for what it was. He’d spent so much time living in his head, methodically moving through his life, that he’d forgotten how messy and painful emotions could be. You couldn’t control them the way you could manage a game plan or manipulate a play.

  “Reynaud!” The shout didn’t surprise him. Someone or another had been chewing his ass all week for his piss-poor efforts on the field.

  Turning, he was surprised to see Jack Doucet himself storming toward him. He noticed most of the rest of the team had already headed indoors to shower up and head home. Actually, now that he thought about it, some of them would be talking to the press since there was a scheduled media hour after this practice.

  More time to face the firing squad about his shortcomings as a man. He hadn’t even managed to communicate how much he loved the mother of his firstborn. Thinking about that made him welcome whatever diatribe Jack Doucet had in store for him.

  “Yes, sir?” Jean Pierre lifted a towel from the metal bench along the sidelines, swiping the sweat from his face and hair. The team had practiced outdoors in the November cold, but the sharp gray wind didn’t penetrate a helmet.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?” The coach slammed his clipboard onto the bench with enough force to make the metal ring. “You’ve got the eyes of the whole football nation on you, and you’re lumbering through this week like a homesick rookie.”

  A kind assessment, in Jean-Pierre’s opinion. He nodded, knowing the coach wasn’t close to finished.

  “As your coach, I’m so furious with you I want to start your backup.” He pointed a finger in his face. “But as the grandfather of your son, I’m going to ignore all that for the sake of my daughter and ask you what you’re going to do to fix this mess you made with her?”

  Surprised at the question, which bordered on warm and fuzzy from a coach with a legendary temper, Jean-Pierre lifted a wary gaze to Tatiana’s father. The older man glared at him, but there were lines on his brow that suggested he was worried more than he was angry. Concern etched his features.

  With nothing left to lose, Jean-Pierre told him the truth.

  “She needed me to tell her I loved her. And I, like the cerebral half-ass that I am, hadn’t worked all that out in my head yet.” Remembering the look in her eyes gutted him. “In other words, when the game was on the line, I choked.”

  “Who looks for love in their head?” The coach’s face screwed up as though he’d gulped down grapefruit juice. “You figure that out in your heart, Reynaud.”

  “Not my area of expertise, sir.” He looped the sweaty towel around his neck and scooped up his helmet to head indoors.

  The coach held up a hand to stop him. “You didn’t answer my question. How are you going to fix this?”

  The pain in Jean-Pierre’s chest tightened into a knot.

  “I proposed twice.” He’d put a lot of thought and effort into the second go-round, thinking about what he’d say and studying diamond choices. Hell, he’d even taken her to a boathouse roof, a nod to their past he was sure she would appreciate. But he’d been focusing on the peripherals and not the only thing that mattered to her. “Your daughter isn’t a woman to give unlimited chances.”

  Jack Doucet shook his head. “My daughter is a woman who deserves to know she’s worthy of love. So even if she sends your ass to the showers for a third time, I suggest you inform her about what’s in here.” He jabbed his finger into Jean-Pierre’s chest protector with enough force to send him back a step.

  Before he could answer, the coach turned on his heel and barreled away. He was only a few yards away when he called over his shoulder.

  “And get your head in the damn game while you’re at it.”

  Easier said than done.

  Dropping to the bench on the sidelines, he reached into his bag, where he’d stashed his water bottle and headphones. Finding his phone, he gritted his teeth and pulled up Tatiana’s contact information. Her image filled his screen for a moment, her dark curls and pretty smile so beautiful that he couldn’t breathe.

  Maybe the people who are slow to love are the ones who love the most, he texted fast, knowing he needed to say it before he second-guessed himself. By the time they’ve finished studying all the angles and assessing the situation, they are heart-deep. Please see me after the game on Sunday.

  He wasn’t surprised when there was no reply.

  But he would honor his coach’s suggestion because it was a good one. Tatiana deserved to know how he felt, even if she’d already closed her heart to him forever.

  * * *

  Tatiana caused a stir in the Zephyr Dome when she arrived at the Hurricanes’ home field in New Orleans on Sunday. The tabloid coverage of her romance with Jean-Pierre had spilled into the mainstream media so that she’d become a recognizable face in this particular crowd. Although she’d had a security guard escort her to her seat—a measure taken by a stadium staffer who’d quickly realized she was starting a mob scene in the concession area—Tatiana had been approached by one fan after another before the game. She’d obtained box seats in the first row closest to the field, so they were excellent seats. But seeing the attention she received, an usher had requested that she move to the Hurricane owner’s private box—an invitation she knew was a sought-after commodity even among celebrities. Yet she felt too awkward to sit with Jean-Pierre’s family after the way she’d left the Tides Ranch during Erika’s wedding.

  She was only here because Jean-Pierre had sent her a text asking to see her.

  Pulling her phone from her purse shortly before halftime, she double-checked the message that had landed in her in-box on Friday.

  Maybe the people who are slow to love are the ones who love the most. By the time they’ve finished studying all the angles and assessing the situation, they are heart-deep. Please see me after the game on Sunday.

  She’d reread the words so many times she could have recited them in her sleep. She probably had the last two nights, in fact. But seeing them on the screen of her phone, with Jean-Pierre’s name at the top, reminded her that he had been the author of those cryptic lines.

  Not that she’d come to the game with any illusions about his feelings. But
he’d asked to see her. And since he had yet to return any of the paperwork outlining their custody arrangement for César, she thought seeing him would facilitate that necessary step. It was all very logical and practical, just like him.

  Except how did he know that those who were slow to love might love in any special way? The question had replayed over and over in her thoughts ever since the text had arrived.

  Now, as the whistle blew signaling the end of the first half of the game, the teams on the field relaxed and strode toward their respective sidelines before heading into the locker room. The music in the stadium increased in volume and many fans stood to seek refreshments in the concession area or wait in long lines at the bathrooms. Tatiana stayed in her seat, wondering if she was crazy for being here. She’d convinced her mother to fly down and babysit César for her during the game. It had been hard watching Henri and Jean-Pierre face off, but they were tied going into the half.

  Fourteen to fourteen.

  “Look, Ms. Doucet!” A fan wearing black and gold Hurricanes’ colors and team gear on every part of her body turned in her seat next to her and gripped Tatiana’s knee. “You’re on the big screen!”

  Following where the woman pointed with her eyes, Tatiana spied an image of herself on the jumbo board over the football field. She tried to smile since the fans were cheering for her even though she’d worn a Gladiators jersey, but she saw that her pretend smile looked more like a grimace.

  As the electronic screen switched over to highlights from the game, the fans cheered for other things and Tatiana allowed her attention to return to the field. The players vacated the sidelines and the cheerleaders took up positions. Automatically, her gaze sought out Jean-Pierre, only to see him still on the sidelines, scanning the bleachers.

  He shielded his eyes from the sun since the retractable dome was open today. Close to where he stood, fans pointed him downfield.

  In her direction.

  Heart in her throat, she watched the highly unorthodox interaction. Her father would be furious if his quarterback didn’t get into the locker room pronto. The team made adjustments during halftime and Jean-Pierre would have a key role to play. Except now the fans were all in an uproar because he was jogging alongside the high wall of the bleachers.

  Toward her.

  “Tatiana!” he shouted, lifting a hand to give a wave.

  Helmet removed, he was sweaty and his face had a smudge on one cheek, as if someone’s cleat had landed on his face. But his dark eyes were locked on her; he was oblivious to the fans, who were going berserk to have him this close. It didn’t matter that he played for the opposing side. He was a Reynaud. One of the game’s elite.

  And he only had eyes for her.

  Standing, she leaned over the rail, not even caring that all the eyes of section A-101 were following their every movement.

  “Hi,” she said, perplexed. It wasn’t like Jean-Pierre to pull unorthodox moves. That had always been Henri’s claim to fame. “What are you doing?”

  He leaped up to grip the metal railing in front of her and the fans shouted and crowded her. She hadn’t realized half of section A-101 had left their seats to get closer to the action. Jean-Pierre hoisted himself higher and fans reached over as if to pull him into the stands.

  She feared a riot or a stampede, but Jean-Pierre just shook off the help with a grin that she recognized as his public face, the disarming charm that all the Reynauds employed with ease when they needed it.

  “I’ve got this!” he called to the fans. “Just here to see this beautiful lady.”

  Female fans swooned. She could honestly hear the collective sigh.

  “Jean-Pierre?” She wondered if this was a publicity stunt, but that would be so out of character for him. “What’s going on?”

  “I love you.” His muscles flexed as he held himself there like a gymnast on the high bar. “I needed to tell you in person, not in a text. But I couldn’t wait another minute.”

  She’d fallen off the swings once as a girl and it had felt just like this. Like the wind was knocked out of her. Like she couldn’t figure out quite what had happened.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your father will be losing his mind in the locker room any minute.” Jean-Pierre glanced down the sidelines at the runway that led into the visiting team’s locker room. “I have to go. But don’t leave afterward, okay? I want to tell you better than this. I just...” He shook his head. “Damn, Tatiana. I don’t expect anything from you. I just want you to listen.”

  Before she could reply, he kissed her hard on the cheek and then dropped out of sight. As he hit the ground with a thud, the crowd went wild.

  The whole, entire stadium.

  Because the jumbo screen was trained on Jean-Pierre even now, following the sideline antics with an up close view for everyone to see.

  As he jogged toward the runway, helmet in hand, she wondered if he knew he’d just declared his love for her in front of the whole world. Then, remembering this was Jean-Pierre, the most methodical, analytical, cautious QB in the game of football, she realized of course he knew what he’d done. He’d given her a moment that was unexpected, unscripted and from the heart.

  She couldn’t have asked for more proof that he’d handed her his whole heart.

  The total stranger in the Hurricanes gear next to her opened her arms to her, sharing a phenomenal game moment in the way fans do. It was crazy. And yet, she allowed herself to be hugged, congratulated and feted by all of section A-101, who were beside themselves with being part of a famous love story.

  When they’d finally freed her shortly before the second half started, she allowed the usher to escort her out of the box and up the stairs. She definitely needed to talk to Jean-Pierre for real. Without an audience.

  But now, she had every reason in the world to hope this really was the start of a famous love story. The emphasis, at last, on love.

  * * *

  Waiting in the wives’ lounge on the same corridor as the visiting team’s locker room, Tatiana could watch game highlights from the brother-versus-brother showdown. The Gladiators had lost even though Jean-Pierre had set a new career high for pass yardage. He’d played an incredible game, but the Gladiators came up short after Henri marched his team down the field with forty-five seconds left to put them in field-goal range, beating his brother by three points.

  The game had been epic, to steal an overblown adjective from the excited sportscasters whose coverage she now watched. Almost epic enough to overshadow Jean-Pierre’s halftime declaration of love, but not quite. She’d seen footage of his leap up to the stands at least five times while she waited for him to emerge. Only a handful of other women waited with her since the press interviews were still going on. Contractually, the players had to stay for a certain amount of time afterward to field questions.

  Unless they were injured.

  And in one of the kindest things her father had ever done for her, he texted her after the game to let her know that Jean-Pierre was being seen by a team doctor for a possible concussion. She’d been around the game—and her wily dad—long enough to interpret the text as his shorthand for saying that he’d officially excused his quarterback from press interviews. In other words, the coach had sprung his star early for her sake by supplying the media with the only legitimate excuse for not attending.

  When the door opened and Jean-Pierre’s large frame filled it, his dark hair still damp from his shower and his attire a standard issue t
eam T-shirt, he didn’t look like the bayou billionaire who’d escorted her to his brother’s wedding last week or introduced her to foreign royalty. He looked like her high school boyfriend after a rough practice, a bit banged up and bruised with a scrape over one eye. But his eyes definitely lit up at the sight of her.

  “You’re here. I hoped you would be, but I wasn’t sure.” Shouldering a duffel bag, he gestured toward the exit on the other side of the lounge. “Do you mind if we find someplace else to talk?”

  “Sure.” She hugged her arms around herself, feeling as nervous as a girl waiting to be asked to the prom—even though she was pretty sure the boy she liked now liked her back. “How long before you have to be ready for the team flight back to New York?”

  “It leaves at seven.” He held the door for her that led out into a quiet hallway. “But the coach knows I might need further evaluation from a local doctor, so I’m able to fly back tomorrow if necessary.”

  She couldn’t quite smother a laugh. “My father must really want us to have time to talk.”

  “He made that very clear.” He strode toward a side exit and nodded at the door. “My brothers sent a limo for me. It’s in the home team lot. If you want we could sit in there.”

  “Okay. My mother has César, so I don’t need to worry about him.” As she followed Jean-Pierre through the maze of corridors beneath the Zephyr Dome, she was glad to be with someone who knew the lay of the land. She was just glad to be near Jean-Pierre, period. She couldn’t wait to sit beside him and look in his eyes. Find out what on earth was going through that mind of his. “I hope Dad didn’t pressure you to—”

  “Absolutely not.” He steered her toward a limo nearby. “He floored me, actually, by giving me the best advice of my life.”

  “My father?” She hurried to keep pace with his long strides.

  A driver exited the limo and took Jean-Pierre’s bag before tipping his cap at Tatiana. While the chauffer stored the item, Jean Pierre opened the back door to the vehicle. They got in and he locked it from inside. Then he used a remote to lock the privacy window.