Scoring the Player's Baby

by Naima Simone

  “Why do you blame yourself, Ronin?” Kim asked softly. “She sounds special and seemed to be much loved. It’s heartbreaking that she died so young. But that isn’t God’s fault, or her parents’, and definitely not yours. So why are you shouldering the blame?”

  He closed his eyes. How had she known? Was it that obvious? No, he shook his head, answering his own question. Because no one else had guessed. Just Kim.

  “I entered the football draft because I wanted to provide for my family. But also because, with money, I could help ease her suffering, assist in finding a way to lengthen her life expectancy. But all the millions I make, and I couldn’t save her. How can I have a relationship, a family”—he paused, his voice dipping as he admitted the most painful truth—“a baby with another woman, when that’s what Grace wanted more than anything? To have all of that. With me.”

  “Oh, Ronin…” Kim whispered, tangling her fingers with his.

  “I know,” he interrupted her, guessing what her next words would be. “I know it’s unreasonable, irrational. But I failed her. When she needed me most, I couldn’t do anything. I was helpless, powerless.” He loosed a harsh rasp of laughter that abraded his throat. “And I’m sitting there in that meeting while they’re praising me about donating all that money to research for CF, for my knowledge, and dedication, when it was all a lie. None of what I did was selfless. None of it. I did everything so that I wouldn’t be alone.”

  “Now that’s irrational,” she stated, and he started, turning his head to look at her. Because the cool, crisp executive had returned. But when he stared into her eyes, they were soft, filled with understanding and empathy. “I can excuse everything else you’ve said, but you being selfish is a lie, and I won’t let you say it.”

  Though her voice remained matter-of-fact, the hand that cupped his cheek wasn’t; it was warm, tender, comforting.

  “I know a little something about guilt. I wrestled with it for most of my childhood and even into my adulthood. For so long, I blamed myself for my father not being with my mother, or even in her life peripherally. If I hadn’t been born, maybe her career wouldn’t have stalled as she took fewer jobs because she was saddled with me. If not for me, she wouldn’t have a constant reminder of all her ‘what if’s.’ But one day, on summer break from college, I was home, and my mom sat me down and laid down the law.” A faint smile curved her lips. She swept her thumb over his. “She told me that shit happens. Good shit. Bad shit. So-so shit. It all happens, and we do the best we can with the hand we’re dealt. That some of the things that had happened in her life were of her own making, and she owned that. But none of it—not one thing—was my fault. Of it all, I was the best thing that had come out of all her choices. That I made them worth the pain, the confusion, the loss.”

  She dropped her hand and grasped his once more.

  “I didn’t know your Grace, Ronin. But from what you’ve told me, I’d bet that she would tell you the same thing if she were here. She got dealt a really screwed-up hand. And if she could’ve changed it, she would’ve, because it wasn’t her choice. But loving you was. And you were the best thing in her life. You made everything worth the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, maybe even the hope. She wouldn’t want you to bear this guilt. For someone who loved life and grabbed it with both hands, she wouldn’t want you living half of one, mired down in a shame that doesn’t belong to you.”

  Ronin stared at her, stunned. No, she hadn’t known Grace, but she’d nailed her personality down. And part of him—that desperate for healing, for absolution part—grasped a hold of Kim’s words.

  Grace would’ve liked Kim. Her honesty, low tolerance for bullshit, and sarcastic sense of humor would’ve appealed to her. And Grace had been a nurturer, so she would’ve tried to ease Kim’s hurt, tend to the wounds that she so obviously wore and carried around.

  Yet, there was a strength in Kim that Grace would’ve admired.

  This time, it was he who cradled her cheek, sweeping his thumb over the regal slant of her cheekbone.

  God, she was so damn beautiful. So strong. And when she lowered her fucking guard, so vulnerable and soft.

  “When you were doing your research on the hala plant and tree, did you also read that it’s durable, tough, resilient? While most plants can’t survive sandy soils, salt water, or the hot and windy parts of the island, hala can. It’s a stabilizer that endures through heat, wind, and drought. And it’s prized by Hawaiians.” He cocked his head, studying her lovely silver eyes, the patrician lines and angles of her face, that beautiful, pleasure-giving mouth. “You, Kim, are the hala plant. Even in the roughest, most uninhabitable and adverse environment, you thrive, grow stronger. Yeah, you’re prickly with razor-sharp edges that sometimes warn people to keep their distance,” he murmured. “But you’re also beautiful, protective, and sweet. And so much more powerful than you give yourself credit for.” He drew her onto his lap, tucking her head under his chin and holding her close. “Thank you, hala.”

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered.

  Somehow, she knew he thanked her for gifting him that little bit of peace with her body. Then for giving him some absolution with Grace. Did all of his guilt disappear? No. But he’d been shouldering it for years; it wouldn’t evaporate in a single conversation. But she’d started the process.

  Still, that she hadn’t needed to ask what he referred to both warmed and scared him.

  Warmed her because they had a connection.

  Scared him because they had a connection.

  Scared the hell out of him.

  Because the past two years, he’d convinced himself he wasn’t good at relationships. That he wasn’t the staying kind. Yet, for the first time since Grace, part of him wanted to be.

  But that other half—the half that remembered his brutal existence after her death, the feeling of helplessness and powerlessness—couldn’t take that step toward her. Shrank from it.

  An acrid, bitter taste filled his mouth, and he loosened his embrace, shifted Kim from his thighs. He rose from the couch, retreating from the desire, the longing she ignited in him that had him wishing for the impossible.

  Oh, fuck.

  The fear of failing again, of hurting again, of losing someone again—it lurked in his chest like a spider crouched on a web, ready to strike and trap him in its sticky web. Tonight, his reaction to the meeting, the memories of Grace, had revealed to him, more than anything could, how he couldn’t handle another relationship. Couldn’t bear it if he lost Kim or, God forbid, the baby. Distance. Somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten his intention to maintain distance. But it wasn’t too late. He could—he could protect himself.

  Expelling a long, quiet breath, he dragged his hair back from his face.

  He had to get out of here. Think. Regroup. Remember what he and Kim were to each other. What they weren’t.

  Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her forehead. Inhaled the intoxicating musk of fruit and sex.

  “I need to go, Kim,” he murmured against her skin. Straightening, he paused and stared down at the top of her head for a long moment, then headed for her apartment door.

  Somehow, some way, he had to get this back on track. Get his emotions under control. His fucking life under control.

  For the second time in a week, he prayed.

  Because he was going to need all the help he could get.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kim hurried from her bathroom, her bare feet slapping on the hardwood floors as she fastened the back of her earring.

  Damn it, she was running late.

  But after the restless night she’d spent tossing and turning, she wasn’t shocked. It hadn’t helped that her sheets seemed to have absorbed the essence of Ronin, and she’d been surrounded by his wind-and-rain scent. Nor did it help that his hasty exit kept playing on an endless loop in her head.

  Part of her had wanted to follow him, chase him down, and demand he let her hold him. But the other, louder, more cautious part
had urged her to do just what she’d ended up doing—sit there, curled up on the couch, numb, until she moved to her bed.

  Christ, what are you doing?

  The admonishment rang in her head, and she had zero answers. Well, that wasn’t quite right. She had one: she was playing with fire. And not just a little, contained campfire for roasting marshmallows and s’mores. This was an out-of-control, raging wildfire, ready to devour any and everything in its path.

  And yet, she couldn’t step away from it.

  That made her either an idiot or a masochist. Probably both.

  She entered her bedroom and made a beeline for the closet. Plucking a pair of light blue heels that went with her black dress off the rack, she dropped to the bed and slipped a foot into one shoe. As she fastened the strap, her mind latched onto its apparently favorite subject.

  Ronin.

  Just like the night before, she couldn’t prevent the flood of memories from filling her head. His almost visceral pain and grief. His desperate need as he took her. His confession.

  Oh God, his confession.

  Her fingers trembled around the strap, and even though the minutes ticked away, she paused, and clasped her hands together. So many things had gone through her mind as he talked. Ronin had been in love. Still loved, if his lingering grief was any indication. Ronin felt guilty about having a baby with her, felt that it was a betrayal to the memory of the woman he’d loved.

  How can I have a relationship, a family, a baby with another woman, when that’s what Grace wanted more than anything? To have all of that. With me.

  Those words had been brutally honest and raw. And they’d punched a hole in her chest. She’d tried not to show her reaction, hadn’t wanted him to penalize him for his truthfulness. And given that they weren’t in a relationship, her hurt shouldn’t even have existed. But if she’d harbored any latent, nebulous hope that maybe, just maybe, they could be more than co-parents, that hoarse, pained admission had torpedoed it.

  Ronin wasn’t available.

  God, it’d hurt for him to pull away from her and leave out that door.

  Yet, as much as her heart had seemed to throb like an open wound in her head, she understood. Yes, the ending of her marriage had seemed like a death at the time. But Ronin’s Grace had actually died; there was no “seemed like.” His childhood friend turned lover was gone to him forever, making his loss so much worse than hers. So, yes, she got why his heart wasn’t available to anyone.

  Didn’t mean hers hurt any less.

  Kim could not bask in denial; she cared for Ronin. How could she not? He was kind, loving, protective, unselfish, and sexy as hell. But his profession hadn’t changed. The lifestyle that went along with it hadn’t changed. Yes, Ronin was attentive to her now. But Matt had been, too, in the beginning. And Ronin possessed a reputation. Shoot, when she’d met him, he’d been fending off a persistent one-night stand. When the novelty of her and the baby wore off, would he return to being that man who jumped from woman to woman like a game of sexual hopscotch?

  She couldn’t say yes. But she couldn’t say no, either.

  The only thing she knew for certain was she couldn’t risk suffering the kind of pain she’d endured with Matt. That experience had leveled her. With Ronin, she had the suspicion it would be like taking a demolition crew to a building, leaving nothing behind but dust. And now knowing that he had a damn good reason for backing away from emotional entanglements…

  Her hand settled over her stomach. And it wasn’t just her now. She had to be strong for this baby. She couldn’t afford to risk her heart when it would affect an innocent child’s well-being, too.

  Sighing, she finished sliding on her shoes and exited the bedroom. Oh yeah, she was definitely running late. Grabbing her coat out of the hall closet, she collected the rest of her belongings and headed toward the front door. Just as she grabbed the knob, a knock reverberated through the wood.

  She frowned. Who in the world would show up on her doorstep at seven thirty in the morning? Leaning forward, she peeked through the peep hole. Then she stumbled back, shock sending her reeling. Her briefcase and purse dropped from her numb fingers. Another hard rap sounded, and all she could do was stare. Even though wood separated them, she still clearly saw the man standing on the other side of the door.

  Matt.

  For several frantic seconds, she considered retreating farther into her apartment until he went away. But then, she delivered herself a mental slap. Get it together. She refused to cower, afraid to look her ex-husband in the eye. Especially when he’d appeared at her apartment unannounced and most definitely uninvited.

  Inhaling deeply, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door.

  “Matt,” she said, silently congratulating herself on the even, calm tone that completely belied the swarm of emotions buzzing inside her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Kim,” he greeted her. “Damn, babe. It’s good to see you.”

  There’d been a time when his smile had lit up her heart, and she’d felt like the luckiest woman on the face of the planet to be the girlfriend and later the wife of such a handsome, successful man. He’d wined, dined, spoiled, and loved her…until one day, he didn’t.

  Now ice covered that organ that had once thumped so crazily for him.

  “I’m headed out to work, Matt, so…” She arched an eyebrow, still wondering what the hell he was doing outside her door.

  His mouth tightened at the corners, though he didn’t lose his smile. “Work. Right. Some things never change, do they?” Before she could reply to that with a go screw yourself, he nodded toward the apartment behind her. “Can I come in? To talk?”

  “No.”

  He blinked, stared at her, as if waiting for her to expound on the swift and blunt denial. She returned his gaze.

  “Kim,” he murmured, extending an arm toward her. But she shifted, so his fingers only glanced over the back of her hand instead of wrapping it in his. Now his smile disappeared. “We can’t have this conversation out here.”

  “You’re only half right, Matt,” she corrected. “We can’t have this conversation, period. I told you over the phone that we have nothing to discuss. Our divorce has been over for a year. Why you’re persisting in”—she waved a hand back and forth between them—“this is confusing. We’re through.”

  “What if I don’t want it to be through?” he countered, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his dark brown eyes intent. Like most football players she’d met, he had a powerful charisma. She used to find that intensity sexy. Now it was tiresome. “How can you just give up on us?”

  “How can I—” She loosed a harsh bark of laughter. “Are you serious? I didn’t give up on us,” she snapped. “You did when you started fucking women behind my back while we were married. You. Don’t put this on me. I wanted a life with you, a family. You threw that away. And now, when you’re playing Monday morning quarterback, I’m supposed to just fall back into your arms, into a lie of a marriage, as if nothing happened.”

  “I made a mistake, babe. Both of us made mistakes,” he insisted, his excuse only enflaming her more. “Neither of us were perfect. You worked—”

  “So did you,” she pointed out. “But my job wasn’t as important to you. You wanted a doll that dressed up, looked pretty, and was there at your beck and call—when you actually came home, that is. I didn’t pull a bait and switch on you; you did on me. My job was fine until after we married. You changed, not me.” She paused, battling the stupid damn tears that threatened. She’d been through crying over this man. “And even if we weren’t spending enough time together, or I worked too much, that’s a marital issue we should’ve worked out together, through communication or even counseling. Tell me, how was screwing random women in strip clubs solving our problems?”

  He parted his lips, but she waved off whatever he would’ve said. “I’m done. We’re done, Matt. You already moved on while we were married. Now I have. Just…go.”

 
“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” he asked, his voice quiet, subdued. “Is that why you can’t let me back in?”

  Yes.

  No.

  She briefly closed her eyes. She was going freaking crazy.

  “That’s none of your business,” she said, shaking her head. “But you’re why there won’t ever be an ‘us,’ Matt. You betrayed me, damn near destroyed me. I could never trust you again. And I…” She paused, something in her loath to hurt him, but she had to make sure he understood. “I don’t love you anymore.”

  Hurt and anger flickered in his brown eyes, but after several moments, he nodded. “I get it, Kim. But I had to try one last time, just in case…” His jaw clenched, and he glanced away from her. “I fucked up.”

  “Yes, you did,” she agreed, this time without the heat, the fury. Because she was exhausted.

  “I’m sorry, Kim.” For once, the arrogance and cockiness had disappeared from his demeanor and voice.

  She read the sincerity of his apology in his solemn contemplation, and well, there was that, at least. But telling him, “it’s okay,” was beyond her. And at this point, forgiveness was, too. Instead, she stepped back into her apartment, her fingers closed around the door’s edge.

  “Goodbye, Matt.”

  And she closed the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ronin jogged off the indoor field, grabbing one of the water bottles on the sideline. Since it was the morning practice, the last forty-five minutes had been a walk-through of the game plan discussed in the offensive meeting. Wednesdays were their install day, where they learned all the new plays for their meet-up with Denver on Sunday. The same excitement that usually filled him at the challenge of pitting himself physically and mentally against another team zipped through him. Some players groaned at the big-ass playbook they were given every Wednesday to memorize like scripture for Bible study. But Ronin loved it. The mental part of the game thrilled him as much as outrunning a defender and catching the ball did.