Quarterback's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  I drive slowly back to the house, making sure that she’s behind me the whole time.

  I think mostly of Lia, and a little bit about football. I think about my shoulder, but it doesn’t overwhelm me or anything like that. My thoughts turn to Jack and to my parents. Damnit, why does he have to be such a fuckup? He’s a smart guy. And it’s not like he’s not applying himself. It’s just that he’s applying himself in all the wrong directions. I wish I could straighten him out somehow.

  If he gets caught with that stolen equipment, and he almost certainly will, since his intelligence apparently doesn’t extend to the world of criminal endeavors, then he’s going to be going away for a long, long time. He’s got expensive stuff with him, and not only that, but he’s got so many priors at this point—the judge will take one look at him and throw him behind bars to rot.

  I try to convince myself that it’s not my problem, but the reality of it is that it is my problem. My parents simply don’t have the energy to deal with it. It’s a constant heartbreak for them.

  But what am I supposed to do?

  It’s not like he’s just a simple drug addict. It’s not like I can just pay some treatment facility money and make the problem go away.

  As far as I know, there aren’t groups for criminals who want to change their ways. There aren’t exactly therapists you can talk to to help sort out your problems with the law.

  Or maybe there are. What do I know?

  But the main thing is he doesn’t want to change. And… there’s something more. I’ve always known what I wanted out of life. Football, that’s a big one for me. Jack, he didn’t seem to have it together. He never had a plan…

  I’m finally home. I pull slowly into the driveway, checking the mirrors again to make sure Lia’s there. I can see her smile through the windshield, looking radiant and perfect.

  She parks behind me in the driveway, and we get out of our separate cars at the same time.

  “Hey,” I say, smiling at her.

  She smiles back at me.

  “Nice looking place,” she says, looking up somewhat in awe at the house.

  “Eh, it’s nothing crazy,” I say.

  “It kind of looks crazy to me, crazy big. But then again you saw where I live.”

  “Your place is nice,” I say.

  “It’s OK,” says Lia. “It’s enough for us, and for when Will gets older.”

  I nod.

  “Well, I’ll show you the place.”

  “Ah, the grand tour,” she says, imitating a highfalutin’ British accent.

  I don’t know why, but it makes me laugh.

  “You crack me up,” I say.

  “It’s not that hard, trust me,” says Lia.

  That makes me laugh even harder.

  I take her into the house and show her through the downstairs.

  “It’s really nice,” she says.

  “Now you’re not going to be one of these women who sees that I’ve got a bit of money and suddenly wants to sleep with me,” I say, joking.

  “Hey, how about a quick tumble here on the couch,” says Lia, giving me a wink.

  “You know it doesn’t work if we’ve already slept together.”

  “What doesn’t work?”

  “Your grand plans to get all my money.”

  “I’ve got to try, though, right?”

  “The real trick,” I say. “Would be to get me to knock you up. That’s an old classic.”

  I say it like a joke, and we’re both laughing. Laughing right up until I say that, that is.

  She stops laughing, cold, dead in her tracks, while I’m still laughing.

  A serious look comes across her face.

  “What is it?” I say. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Oh, no,” she says. She looks as if she’s thinking of something, something far away and perhaps painful. “I was just thinking of something else.”

  “Come on,” I say, anxious to ease out of the strange moment. “I’ll show you the upstairs. But you lead the way up the stairs. I want another chance to check out your ass.”

  “You’re not supposed to say that,” she says, giving me a playful pat with her hand. She’s back, smiling and laughing again. “You’re supposed to engineer some scheme that will force me to walk up the stairs first.”

  “I thought it’d be easier if I just said it.”

  “You’re really clever, aren’t you? All that stuff about reading books, that was just to impress me wasn’t it?”

  “You got me,” I say. “I’m just a dumb jock like all the rest.”

  “I figured as much. But speaking of that… maybe we should take a look at that shoulder before we move on to any extracurricular activities.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

  “That’s what they’ve always called it?”

  “Come on, off with the shirt. Let me take a look at that shoulder.”

  “Fine,” I say, groaning in pain as I take off my shirt.

  “It’s still hurting?”

  “It’s seems to be worse now,” I say, wincing.

  Lia starts quizzing me on when and where the pain is. I answer the best I can, which is a little difficult. I start to realize that I’ve actually had the pain more consistently than I’d previously thought. It’s just that I tend to sort of tough it out and ignore it.

  “Well you really shouldn’t do that,” says Lia. “Ignoring it is just going to make it worse. I know that’s what all you sports guys want to do, just tough it out, but it’s really the worst thing you can do for it.”

  “It’s not like I had much of a choice. It’s either play or I’m out of a job. And it’s not like I didn’t try to get it looked at.”

  “Quite, I’m going to see what I can figure out.”

  Lia takes my arm in her hands and starts manipulating it, moving my arm so that the shoulder joint will move in specific ways. She watches my face carefully to see when I wince in pain.

  I notice that as she does this, a new sort of demeanor starts to overtake her. She really acts like a professional. Not just in the way she moves my arm. But in the expression on her face. She has a serious, no-nonsense look in her eyes. She’s concentrating like I’ve never seen her concentrate before, in the way that most people simply can’t.

  “Does it hurt when I do this?” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say wincing.

  “OK,” she says, sitting down next to me. “I think I know what’s going on with your shoulder.”

  “You do? Is it bad? Is it a torn rotator cuff?”

  A torn rotator cuff could mean my permanent retirement. I’ll have to sit out at least a season, and then get surgery. And then I’ll probably never recover properly. No one will want me on their team, and I’ll fall to the sidelines.

  Then again, there are a thousand things I could do.

  But I want to play football. I don’t want to go out like this, without a fight.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  “Really?” I say, the hope seeping into my voice.

  “Now,” says Lia. “Before you get all excited, remember that I am in no way a physical therapist, and I never was one. I very well could have no idea what I’m talking about. And you’ve seen a ton of certified professionals. So… yeah… keep that in mind. But, I did study a lot when I was in college.”

  “If it works,” I say. “I don’t care whether or not you’re certified. Just tell me what your theory is.”

  “OK,” says Lia. “Your shoulder is a unique kind of joint, right? It can move any which way, unlike your knee, which only moves on one axis.”

  “Following you so far,” I say.

  “OK, so the shoulder is basically a ball in a socket. Now what happens is that it should rotate freely, but sometimes because of muscle imbalances and other issues, it can start to move in a way that causes impingement and other problems. If you imagine a rubber tire on the pavement, the tire wil
l actually roll along the pavement…”

  “OK…”

  “And that’s not what you want to happen. What’s happening is that the “ball” of your shoulder is rolling along just like a tire. But you want it to actually stay right in place.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “And that’s causing it to pinch something?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, but basically, yeah.”

  “So what do I do about it?”

  “Do you have a laptop here?”

  “Yeah, over there.”

  She gets up and I watch her thighs and ass move as she goes over to the laptop. She comes back and opens it up. I watch as she navigates to a physical therapy website.

  “This is a page that has some good exercises for this kind of problem… You need to strengthen some of your supporting muscles.”

  “I work out all the time,” I say. “I’m definitely not weak. Maybe it’s caused by something else.”

  Lia shakes her head.

  “I know you’re very strong,” she says, laughing a little. “But there are many muscles in the shoulder that work as stabilizers. They work to keep things in place. And normal exercises, like the kind that you do, won’t strengthen these muscles. If you follow the directions for the exercises on this page, you might see some improvement as your shoulder starts to return to its regular functioning…”

  “Wow,” I say. “This is incredible stuff. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this before. It’s really a shame you’re not working as a physical therapist.”

  “Well,” says Lia. “I didn’t really have a choice. I had to take care of Will. But maybe sometime I’ll get there.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Hey,” says Lia, a funny looking coming across her face. “There’s something I need to talk to you about…”

  “Can’t it wait?” I say, starting to rub her arms. My cock is already swelling at the thought of the fun we’re about to have with each other.

  Lia shakes her head. “It’s really important,” she says. “And… I’ve been thinking all along that I need to tell you, but I didn’t want to ruin anything between us… So I’ve waited longer than I should have… But I just can’t keep this secret from you any longer.”

  “What is it?” I say.

  I don’t know what to think. I have no idea what she’s going to tell me. She looks deadly serious, and more than a little worried.

  22

  Lia

  My heart is beating faster than it ever has before. I keep my hands down at my sides because they’re trembling terribly, and I don’t want Shane to see them.

  I’m not going to take the easy road any longer. I’m not going to pretend that I can just ignore this and that it’ll make it all better.

  I’ve got to be strong and actually tell him.

  I take a deep breath.

  He’s waiting, looking at me expectantly.

  I intentionally blurted out those words about needing to talk to him. I didn’t want to give myself the opportunity to back out.

  Life isn’t a sitcom. You can’t just suddenly say, “Oh, I wanted to tell you that I was thinking of buying a new car.” It just doesn’t work like that.

  OK, out with it, I think to myself. Just say it. He cares about you. He might be upset, but nothing terrible is going to happen.

  But what if it does? What if he’s so furious he never wants to talk to me again? What if he’s so furious he wants to sue me for full custody of Will?

  What if this destroys the budding relationship we have?

  I take another deep breath.

  OK, out with it.

  I glance up at Shane. I’ve been avoiding his eyes for a full minute now of intense silence.

  Out with it. The voice inside my head is screaming at me.

  I open my mouth, but nothing seems to come out at first.

  “OK,” I mumble, stumbling over my words. My tongue feels thick and heavy. My hands and feet feel like they’re made of lead. And they’re shaking too, which is a weird combination of sensations.

  “What is it?” says Shane. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

  That makes me feel a little calmer.

  “OK,” I say. “Here goes nothing…”

  I stop dead in my tracks, unable to continue.

  “Come on,” says Shane. “You can tell me anything. Really.”

  I see it in his eyes. He’s a good person. He will understand.

  “Will is your son,” I suddenly blurt out. I say it so fast that I’m not even sure what I said is actually intelligible.

  “What?” says Shane.

  “Will is your son,” I say more slowly this time, making sure to control the timing of my words.

  “He’s my… son?”

  I nod my head.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very… I wasn’t with anyone else…”

  “He’s my son…” says Shane, slowly, very slowly.

  His expression is unreadable. His face seems completely frozen.

  He just sits there.

  I’m incredibly worried, waiting anxiously for his reaction. But honestly I already feel better now that I’ve actually told him. I don’t have this dark cloud hanging over my head anymore. And that’s really something… It was a weight that I felt in my bones, somewhere deep inside me, a weight that would never go away no matter what.

  “You’re… sure?”

  I nod my head again.

  “I wanted to tell you,” I say. “But… I thought I did.”

  I explain to him that voicemail that I left him, two years ago back at the end of college.

  “So you left me a voicemail and that was it?” says Shane.

  He’s starting to sound a little angry. This makes me worried. This makes my heart start to thump in my chest.

  Shit, maybe this won’t go very well…

  I start to feel like I should be crying. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

  My emotions are changing quickly. I’m back to fear and terror and sadness. Back to that overwhelming sadness that hangs over me…

  “I tried to tell you,” I say. “I thought you got it and didn’t want to have anything to do with me… I’m sorry… That’s why I let you think that I had sent that video. I wanted to see what kind of person you were. And then I realized that you had no idea after all these years… I’m sorry… I was so confused, and I didn’t know what to do…”

  Shane doesn’t say anything for a long time.

  “Just say something,” I say, pleading with him. “Come on, yell at me, or say something… Tell me something…”

  He looks angry.

  But his voice is a normal volume when he speaks to me. But I can hear the anger in his voice. He’s trying to contain it.

  “I had no idea,” says Shane. “I had no idea that he was my son. I had no idea that I got you pregnant. You should have made more of an effort to contact me. You should have done everything you could do to tell me.”

  “But it’s not that simple,” I say. “Remember we had a fight? I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with me… You didn’t have the best reputation concerning being kind, concerning your personality.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with it,” says Shane.

  “I’m sorry, Shane,” I say. “But you… You’ve got to admit that you’re partly to blame for this.”

  “I am?” says Shane. I can feel the anger radiating off of him.

  “Look,” I say. “I just want the best for Will. I want him to have a father. And… I don’t want to ruin what’s happening between you and I. I want something to happen…”

  “Oh, and what’s happening?” says Shane, his tone frigid cold.

  I just stare at him. I can’t believe the reaction that he’s having. The rational part of me is saying that it’s OK if he’s upset. The rational part of me is saying that it’s understandable that he’s not taking this that well. After all, if the roles
were reversed, I’d certainly like to know if I had a child out there that I didn’t know about.

  But I push the rational part of me to the very back of my head. I push it to a dark, dusty corner where I’m going to keep it.

  For now…

  I’m mad. I’m furious. I’m angry. Now I’m not shaking from nerves, but from anger.

  “You asshole,” I say. I practically spit the words at him. “So you don’t want to have a son? Worried it’s going to ruin your precious football career? Or you don’t want to have a son with me? Is that it?”

  “No,” says Shane, looking taken aback at how harshly I spoke to him. “It’s not that… It’s just a surprise, that’s all.” He doesn’t sound as angry now.

  But I’m angry enough for the both of us.

  “I’m going,” I say, getting up.

  I walk quickly to the front door, open it without looking behind me, and slam it closed.

  I’m standing in the darkening evening. The moon is out. Normally the moon seems to reassure me. But right now it seems to be this horrible ominous presence in the sky, hanging horribly over everything.

  What the hell did I just do?

  I called him an asshole, I think. I forget exactly what I said. That’s how it works when you’re shaking with anger.

  But why shouldn’t I be angry? We have a son together. How he got here isn’t important now, is it? What happened in the past is the past. That’s the way I see it. Shane should be overjoyed that he has a kid. He shouldn’t be acting like this…

  I get into my car and take a couple deep breaths before I crank the engine and back out of the driveway.

  Honestly, a big part of me is waiting to see if Shane will come running out that front door. A big part of me wants to see him coming to chase me down, to apologize to me, and to tell me that everything will be OK and that we’ll raise Shane together.

  But the front door remains closed. Shane doesn’t appear.

  Shit.

  This is about as badly as it could have gone.

  It’s supposed to be about an hour drive to get home.

  But as soon as I get onto the highway, I realize that it’s going to take far longer. I’m on the end of the on ramp, and I can’t even merge onto the highway, simply because there’s too much traffic. Completely bumper to bumper.