Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance

by Sosie Frost

  And my stomach lurched.

  Thud.

  I grunted as we tumbled from the couch and collapsed in a panting pile of almost-regret and awkward-relief.

  “Are you okay?” Jude laughed as I twisted under him. I freed my arm from his leg. “Sorry. I thought…”

  I forced myself to speak—to say anything as quickly as I could before the truth escaped.

  “You mean rug burns aren’t normally part of a kiss?” I asked.

  “I usually save that for later, Doc.”

  I nervously laughed. The fake giggle even annoyed the baby. Genie decided to bubble in her lamp, and I clamped my lips shut before any magic hurled out.

  Jude helped me to my feet, granting me a charming, carefree smile. “I think we’ve got this kissing part down.”

  “Yeah.” I struggled to breathe.

  “I didn’t jostle Genie, did I?”

  No, but he’d tumbled everything else inside me.

  I pulled away, washed in guilt so thick I swore he saw me sweating it out.

  What was I doing?

  It was wrong of me to think and feel the things I did for Jude, especially since I was pregnant.

  Especially since it was another man’s baby.

  Especially when I knew I’d be raising the baby alone. I had to put Genie first. The baby was my life now.

  And I’d love her more than my heart could ever break for Jude.

  “I should get ready for the movers,” I said. “They’ll be here soon.”

  Jude winked. “Sure thing, darling.”

  “Right…” I gave him an awkward gun-slinger tip of my fingers. “Daddy.”

  He chuckled, and I escaped from his touch, his scent, his presence.

  I should have called the movers and cancelled everything. Should have told him it was a bad idea, and that this would only get us in trouble.

  I couldn’t have a fake relationship with Jude.

  Not when everything already felt so real.

  6

  Jude

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  My question broke the stillness. In the dim morning light, Rory’s face bathed in shadows.

  Her gorgeous eyes widened with a dangerous curiosity. “I’ve been ready, Jude. I’ve been waiting forever.”

  “You know we can’t go back after this.”

  “I know.” Her breathing wavered. “But I want you to take me.”

  “I promise I won’t go too fast.”

  “I just need you to get me there.”

  “Tell me if you need me to stop or slow down. I want to be safe.”

  “I always feel safe with you.”

  “Then say the word, Doc, and I’ll take you on a magic carpet ride.”

  Rory tossed me the keys to my Jeep and grabbed her lunch. For the third time, she peeked into the paper bag and frowned.

  “Okay, I’m ready to go. But can you run me past the store super quick? I’m not feeling this peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  I handed her a twenty from my wallet. “Treat yourself. Or, you know, eat in the cafeteria with the rest of the team.”

  She refused the money, but I stuffed it in her bag regardless.

  “I can’t eat with you guys,” she said. “All those smells make Genie mad. She gets out of her lamp and stomps on my stomach.”

  “She?”

  “What?”

  I shouldered my bags. “You keep calling the baby a she.”

  “I do?”

  “Ever since you told me about her. Do you have a feeling? Mother’s intuition?”

  Rory went quiet.

  Uh-oh.

  Her pregnancy hormones ticked like an active bomb strapped to her tummy. And, like an idiot I kept plucking the wrong wires. I backed off.

  “Never mind,” I said. “It’s not important.”

  Rory looked away. “I guess…it just seemed like the right thing to call her.”

  “Then I’m sure it is. Go with your instinct.”

  Rory’s lip trembled. Shit. My instinct was to duck and cover.

  Too late.

  The tears welled. Rory covered her mouth. She sobbed.

  I dropped my bags. This wasn’t the first time I’d accidentally made her cry, and one of the many times I had no idea why she got upset.

  “Oh my gosh.” She sniffled. “I didn’t even realize I was calling her a her. I had no idea. I never thought about it. The baby was just…something in my life. She wasn’t…she wasn’t…”

  I froze. Did I hug her or dive away? Give her a smile, or offer her more money?

  I finished her sentence with a hope and a prayer. “A…girl?”

  “Real.”

  Thick tears rolled over her dark cheeks. Rory fanned her face, but her voice still quivered. “It’s all so real all of a sudden.”

  “It hasn’t been real before?”

  “No!”

  “But it’s been twenty weeks.”

  That didn’t help. Wrong thing to say.

  “Oh, God. You’re right. It’s been twenty weeks, and I’m just now thinking of the baby as a real person? I must be the most self-absorbed monster in the world.”

  I reined her back to a kitchen stool and offered a bottle of water. “You’re not a monster. You’re perfectly normal.”

  “Oh, please.” Rory chugged the water. “I know it’s just hormones. I can tell you exactly the type and what their function is and why my body is producing them. But it just doesn’t help when I know I’m being crazy and I can’t do anything about it.”

  “Name of the game, Doc. But you’re doing everything you’re supposed to be doing.”

  “Yeah.” She sipped the water. “I’m so used to freaking out alone. It’s…nice to have you here.”

  Uh-oh. I expected a smile. I got the water-works. “I’m glad to help.”

  Her voice trembled. “God, Jude. You’re so…so…”

  Utterly confused?

  I welcomed her into my arms because I had no idea how else to comfort her. A pregnant woman could switch from hungry to sad to homicidal to exhausted just by flipping through the trending shows on Netflix.

  Make her a sandwich for lunch? She’d rage about chunky peanut butter. Stick a bow on the dog? She’d burst into uncontrollable tears imagining how she’d dress up the baby.

  It’d been a week of living together. I was already battle scarred. We had another five months to go. I’d need a bullet-proof vest, some chocolate, and a lot of warm baths—either to soothe her or to hide in with Phillip.

  “You’ve been so sweet.” Her voice muffled in my shoulder. “First you take me into your home, then you play this crazy game with a fake relationship, and now you give me lunch money…”

  The tears started again. Happy ones this time. We were making progress.

  “Now you’re giving me a ride to practice,” she said.

  I rubbed a tear from her cheek. She finally smiled, and the pressure on my chest eased.

  If only that weight hadn’t gone right to my cock.

  What the hell was wrong with me? I was trying to comfort this woman, a friend who needed help. And I couldn’t get our kiss out of my head. The one memory that might have been good to forget haunted me in forbidden and selfish pleasure.

  I was a gentleman. An honest man.

  But if I didn’t control myself, I wouldn’t be able to strap a cup on for practice.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’re already pretending to have a baby together. It’s time to take the next step—carpooling.”

  Rory checked the time. The mood swing shattered, and she dragged me out the door. “Oh, no! We’re going to be late!”

  We raced to the garage. Fortunately, I hadn’t put the doors or windows on the Rubicon, and we hopped right into the Jeep. Rory needed a minute after the vigorous exercise, but she waved for me to drive.

  “I’ll lean out if I get sick.” She pointed. “Go, go, go.”

  Good thing I had an expert navigator i
n my passenger seat. I wasn’t used to Ironfield, but Rory knew a shortcut that got us to the practice facility just in time to arrive with the team. We’d scheduled a public kiss, and our PDA quota for the day was met before we left the parking lot.

  Rory could check it off of the chart.

  I knew she was dedicated, but she had made a spreadsheet—in her spare time—to guarantee our appearances. She wanted to give the Rivets empirical evidence that we were a real couple.

  I didn’t argue. At least it got me a kiss, though as soon as I stepped onto the field, my focus switched to the game.

  After eleven seasons in the league, I knew how training camp worked. Conditioning in the hot sun day after day was taxing, but I was eager to prepare for our first exhibition game. This was the football I liked. Men on the field. Fans cheering from the stands. Players who ignored the heat and sweat and injuries to line up for one more drill.

  I made certain I was the first on the field and the last one off. It helped me to become the player I was. Yes, I was old. At the end of my career. But I understood the game better than anyone. Read the defenses. Saw the schemes. Knew where and when to block and juke. Age had destroyed my knees, but it honed my instincts, and I was going to use them to win.

  When this season ended and my locker was cleared for good, I’d take home the final piece of my career.

  A championship ring.

  And we were working hard to get it.

  Jack lined up the offense, keeping us past the scheduled AM practice slot. The coaches allowed it, and the players didn’t complain. No one wanted to be the first to admit they were exhausted after a full morning of drills.

  “Let’s run through the game plan again.” Jack huddled us together. “I know I’m being a hard ass.”

  “No one’s ever complained about that ass,” Lachlan said.

  “And no one ever will.” Jack pointed the ball at him. “Don’t get jealous, Charming.”

  “Just saying…one of us is the actual tight-end.”

  The ball was pitched at his head. Lachlan didn’t duck in time.

  “Here’s the deal,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how this season’s gonna go. Last year we…had some trouble after all that cheating bullshit. Apparently, that intel did help us win some games. We suffered without it. But not this year. We’re going to be prepared. We’ll practice these plays until they’re muscle memory. We’re gonna work together until all you see at night is my face. You’ll dream football. Eat football. You’re not gonna drill your girl without hearing my cadence in your head.”

  “Fine by me,” I said. I dunked a cup of water over my head. Was it always this hot on the field, or was the headache screwing with me? “I’ve got a lot to learn.”

  Jack grinned. “All-Star, you’ve probably forgotten more about football than we know.”

  He wasn’t lying.

  “This is a new offense. Gotta learn the ropes.” I nodded to the linemen clustered behind Jack, my guardians on the field. I’d owe them plenty of steak dinners by the end of the season. “I want to make sure I’m working well with all you fine gentleman.”

  “He’s such a sweet-talker.” Lachlan laughed. “Dude, you’re Jude Owens. Ain’t no one gonna stop you…unless she’s got a lab coat and clipboard.”

  I followed his gaze. Rory joined the trainers on the sidelines, swiping some information into an iPad and asking questions of a defensive player.

  She glanced over, caught my gaze, and dropped her iPad. She conked heads with the safety as she tried to pick it up, groaned, then clutched her stomach. She bolted off the field and threw up behind a bush. Hidden from the team…but in full view of the fans seated in the stands.

  No tears though.

  This was an improvement.

  “I wouldn’t mind a little TLC from Doctor Honeybuns.” DeSean, the center, winked at the linemen. “No offense, Daddy.”

  Jermaine, our left guard, offered a thrust of his hips. “He’s been playing doctor himself.”

  I hated anyone disrespecting Rory, but I let the comments pass. The guys needed to have some fun.

  “Doctor/Patient confidentiality, boys,” I said. “Come on, let’s get this done so I can get home for my check-up.”

  The offense hooted, but Jack pointed at me and Lachlan. “You two. You’re my fucking world this year. I’m gonna rely on you.”

  “Just give me the ball,” I said. “I won’t stop running until we’re in the damn championship. I’m getting my ring.”

  “And we’re gonna win it for you,” Jack said.

  He called the team to huddle up and checked the play with the offensive coordinator.

  I breathed deep, loving the scent of the grass, the sweat, the stale plastic of the pads. I’d give everything for a championship. My knees. My head. My pride.

  This was my chance.

  I wished I could say I was prepared for it. But lining up in the sun, sweating my weight in water and aching with a migraine, I was lucky I could even hear the play call or the coach’s whistles.

  After eleven years in the league, I could rely on instinct. My mind might have fogged in the pain, but I watched the plays—how Jack planted his foot, where the line pulled, how they shifted, when the gaps appeared. My strength pulled me through the plays and got me where I needed to go.

  Problem was I didn’t always recognize where I ended up.

  Jack called the play, a quick run up the middle with an audible. He snapped the ball, I surged forward, taking the handoff. I cut once, and, had we faced a real defense, I’d have found daylight to run.

  “Good!” Coach Thompson joined the offensive coordinators and took over the drill. “Run another audible, Carson.”

  He did as the coach asked. We set for the play. Jack shouted the audible.

  “Two-Fifty-Five!”

  I listened.

  “Dumbo Simba!”

  It was a pass.

  No—

  A run.

  “Hercules Red!”

  My mind blanked.

  The fog drowned my thoughts, memories, emotions.

  I blinked. Nothing.

  The play was gone.

  And so was everything else.

  The time. The day. The fucking team I played for. My migraine fractured icy nails across my temples. The pain blitzed as the ball snapped.

  I froze.

  What the hell was I supposed to do?

  My body moved absent of my mind. I dragged my feet, but they rushed forward. The steps were wrong. I knew they were wrong. But I couldn’t stop myself.

  I collided with Jack. He sprawled one way, I fell the other, and the ball popped out.

  Whistles blew.

  And I waited for the fog to lift.

  It was starting to take a little too long to clear.

  I sat up slow, but Jack was already there. He helped me to my feet.

  “You all right, man?”

  “Yeah…” I choked. His name didn’t come to my lips. It fizzled in the grey nothing of my head. I faked a smile. “Just ran the wrong route.”

  “Simba’s a pass. Red meant I needed you to block on the right.”

  “Yeah.” I’d never remember that. Not without flash cards, silence, and a night alone with my playbook. How the hell was I supposed to do that with Rory so close now? “I’ll get ya next time.”

  He thunked my helmet with his hand. Not helpful. “We got this, Jude.”

  “Hell yeah.”

  I hoped.

  The coaches dismissed the team from the heat and exhaustion. A shower helped to clear the last of the cobwebs, and a fist-full of Aleve was my normal after practice cocktail. The guys cleaned up and dressed. Jack caught me as I fit my t-shirt over my head.

  He tucked a sports jacket over his shoulders. My memory was hazy, but even a couple years ago, the Jack Carson I knew wouldn’t have been caught dead in a suit. Dead in a ditch, maybe, but not a suit.

  But I respected a man who took responsibility for his life.

&
nbsp; I also respected the hell out of his wife’s patience.

  “Feeling good?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Knees okay?”

  “Fine now.” I grinned. “Ask me again when I wake up tomorrow.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Jack hesitated. “I’m just, checking. You know?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m excited for this season.”

  I nodded. “Me too.”

  “It’s going to be a tough year.”

  I knew where he was going with this. “I’m good to play, Jack. The coaches say I’m good. The doctors say I’m good. Team neurologist says I’m good—and she’s a hard ass, believe me.”

  “I don’t care about them,” he said. “I want to know if you think you’re good to play.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “No one can get into your head and really look around—only you.”

  “You don’t think I’m healthy?”

  “I can’t make that call. You can. You tell me.”

  This wisdom was coming from a man who once had the worst reputation in the league—a partier, a drunk, a womanizer. But I’d been around long enough to see hot-shots come and go. Jack had honestly reformed, but I doubted even he understood the challenges I’d faced, conquered, and still feared.

  “Believe me. I’m ready to play.”

  “And the drill on the field today?” Jack asked. “You didn’t run the wrong route. Your head glitched. You ran the same play twice.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “How many of those mistakes do you make in a day?”

  I didn’t need a lecture. “You do your job, Jack, and I’ll do mine. All we need to worry about is getting the ball in my hands.”

  “Bullshit. You have plenty more to worry about. You should be scared shitless.”

  “Why?”

  “You have a kid on the way, All-Star. You need to be thinking about the baby.”

  I quieted. The baby wasn’t just getting real to Rory today. Genie was suddenly a very real part of my life.

  “I have this under control,” I said.

  He didn’t believe me. “How do you manage the memory problems? Crib sheets around the house? You’re a quiet guy, so people probably don’t notice when anything’s wrong. Do you cheat by calling people man or buddy or sport?”