Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers)

by Imani King

  “You just need a bit of re-branding. And Wingate—there’s nothing wrong with your record. My firm will want you, and if they don’t, Rich will help you find a job somewhere else. Even if we all screwed up this time, Rich knows talent when he sees it. And he’ll see it when he talks to you.” My heart is beating fast as my words all rush together. I’ll get this together if it’s the last thing I do. I know I will. I know I can.

  After a long pause, Wingate lifts his head and nods. “Carolina treated us like shit anyway. If I’m ditching my life here and going on a new adventure, it might as well be with you assholes.”

  The three of us stay up into the night talking and eating leftover food from the party, each of our voices a prayer that we’ll be better off somewhere far away from here. I have hope that we will be, because there’s no other way for us to go on. And if I have to use every ounce of energy I’ve got, I’ll get this man into the NFL again, because that’s where he belongs. Of course, he’s already talking about going back to school and finally getting his MBA, but I know better. Macklin Pride is a linebacker, and I’ll make sure that he always is. After a few drinks, even Wingate seems excited.

  That night, I go to bed next to Mack, where I’ve always belonged. Come what may, we’ll figure all of this out—and we’ll do it as a team.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “This shit is harder than it looks, Renata. You make it look too damn easy.” I tap my pencil against the GMAT study book. It’s Kaplan brand, just like the ones Renata, Wingate, and I studied with when we were in high school. Given the scores on the tests that I’ve taken, I’m pretty sure I won’t be landing myself at Berkeley any time soon. Naw, I think the University of San Francisco might be calling my name.

  That’s just fine. I already have a job at Renata’s sports agency, even though I’m working in a far lower position there than Wingate or Renata. I’m learning stuff, by and by. It feels strange to sit down for a living, but that’s just the way it goes sometimes. And I know I’m as lucky as sin—we all are. For some reason, Renata’s boss, Rich, thinks it’s a hoot to hire a football player with a messy past and a giant scandal that made the national news.

  “Nah, it’s not that easy,” she shouts from the back room of our little house. It’s not the gorgeous farmhouse I had built for Ren, but it’s far more suitable than that, somehow. The floors slope slightly to the side, and the wooden floors are worn in some places. But there’s an old marble fireplace, and there are trees around the neighborhood that cast interesting shadows on the floors and walls at all times of the day. “What’s not easy is making sure we have everything for this ceremony.”

  I chuckle. “We’ve got everything. I’ve got this suit on, even though I hate suits. Wingate has the rings, and Rich is bringing his little girl to be the flower girl. Even though we’re getting married at the damn courthouse.”

  “It’s not like we’ve got family we can invite, is it?”

  “We sent them cards. I call that enough,” I say. “They can choose what they do after that. I’m done with it, Ren. I promised your father I’d never marry you, you know. I did it because he was going to throw your name into ruin. And my parents’ and brother’s name, in addition to that.” I shake my head with the guilt and shame of the past. I should never have accepted it--and I should never have left. I didn’t know enough then to fight, but I can make up for it now. Renata’s love is one that’s worth fighting for, and I won’t ever forget that fact.

  A cool hand touches my shoulder, and I turn to see Renata standing there, clad in the only cream colored maternity dress she could find. “What do you think?”

  It’s a plain dress, with a deep V-neck that shows off her more ample cleavage, and a shiny kind of sash that sits just above the now visible bump. It’s not something she’d usually wear, but I guess when a woman is pregnant, she gets forced into the flowy kind of tops and dresses that have sashes like that. She picks at the dress a little bit and pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. I put my hands on her hips and move my hand to cover her swelling belly.

  “You look like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. That’s quite likely because you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” The words I speak are true. There’s an inner glow that comes from deep with her, a happiness that I didn’t see the first few weeks she was staying on my property. Now, she lights up all the time, and today, it’s especially beautiful.

  “I feel... fat. And swollen.” She puts her hand on top of mine. “Twenty-two weeks today. We’re getting there.”

  “We are. And there’s no world in which anyone would say you look either fat or swollen. Now let’s get on to the courthouse. I think we’ve got a few folks waiting on us.” I rise and take her arm in mine, walking her out to the curb where we catch an Uber that takes us into the city for our wedding day. I know I’m probably supposed to tell her I shouldn’t see her in the dress before we’re married, but we’re not the most traditional couple anyway. And it doesn’t matter anyway--all of our bad luck is over, and we’re moving along to the next thing, the wedding that’ll unite us as a couple for once and all.

  When we arrive at the courthouse, there are a few familiar faces smiling at us. Even Wingate seems happier out here, happier that he can truly be himself, that he doesn’t have to hide who he is. Calmly, I walk Renata to the front of the room, standing in front of the judge we picked to marry us. We didn’t write any elaborate vows, sticking instead to the basic stuff. The judge prattles on about the sanctity of marriage for a while and throws in a few things about how we have to stick together through thick and thin. Well, if only he knew what we’ve been through so far. Hell, he actually probably does. Everyone does. We’re a pretty damn good news story these days, and I’m surprised there aren’t photographers roaming around, ready to get the latest scoop. I guess it’s a bit boring when a scandal takes a turn and becomes a marriage instead. And then it’s time.

  “Do you, Macklin Jason Pride, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” I gulp hard and look over to Renata, and she nudges me like she’s reminding me of what to say.

  “I do,” I say, still gulping. I don’t even know how I got the words out.

  “Do you, Renata Olivia Young, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The judge looks at us expectantly.

  With a smile, Renata nods. “I do.” Wingate comes up and hands us the rings, and we exchange them silently--small gold bands that represent the change we’ve both gone through to get here. We’ve both been drastically humbled, brought to a place where we’re much closer to being normal people, much closer to the people we once were in high school, in college. When I slide the ring onto Renata’s finger, this feels like how it should be. This feels truly right, like what we should have been doing all along. She slides the other ring onto my finger, and for the first time in my life, I feel complete.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the judge says, and we hear clapping and shouting from the other people in the small, cramped room. Without hesitation, I take Renata into my arms and hold her close a moment before kissing her. Her belly sits between us, a reminder of the good things to come. I look into her deep, beautiful eyes for a moment, and I put my lips to hers. Her lips are full and soft and sweet, and we melt together right there, probably a little longer than we should.

  “Congrats, y’all,” Wingate says with a put-on country accent. “And I’m pretty sure you guys can stop kissing now.” We all dissolve into laughter. Still gripping Renata’s hands, we watch as our witnesses sign the marriage certificate. And just like that--with as little fanfare as possible, we’re married for once and all.

  Wingate comes up and puts his arm around me. “You always knew you were going to marry her, didn’t you?”

  “Ever since sixth grade. And I might have an inkling before that,” I reply.

  “Go on, you two. You did not know that, Mack!” Renata punches me gently in the arm.

  “Ouch!” I yelp and rub my arm in mo
ck pain as we walk out of the courthouse into the bright, sunny day. “I did so know it. We just had an interlude where that might have been in question. Just for a little while.”

  “Like that time I got you engaged to a ruthless psychopath.”

  “Don’t be so hard on Kinley, guys,” Wingate says. “She might just be a narcissist. In fact, I think that might be the case. I hear she’s dating Nick Jonas now. Poor guy. Doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.” Wingate shakes his head as we walk down the street. The day is warming up, and I pull off my jacket and carry it over one arm. There’s nothing I want to do more than get this gorgeous, curvy woman back to our house and make love to her for the rest of the day, but I do suppose we need to eat.

  “That’s a fact,” Renata replies. “Something was wrong with that girl. And I’m glad it’s not us dealing with it anymore.” She’s silent for a moment, and I know she’s thinking about the decisions we all made during that time. She’s apologized over and over, but hell, she was just doing her job. And I was the one who was acting out in the first place—I was just too stupid to realize that it was Renata I needed all along. My beautiful Renata.

  The three of us walk along, and it’s clear that we’re all thinking of Kinley and the whole debacle with Eddie Davidson. We shouldn’t be.

  “We need some burgers. In fact, I fully prescribe burgers for all three of us.”

  “Sounds good,” Renata says, pulling me close. We move on to talking about where we should dine, and if we should take our meal over to Golden Gate Park or not. The end vote has us headed there, and we all walk over together with our lunches and fountain drinks. It might not be the wedding and reception either of us had in mind when we started out on this journey, but I know for certain it’s the best-tasting meal I’ve ever had in my life. Maybe it’s because the burgers are particularly good—they are, in fact—or that the restaurant we stopped at had cream soda and fresh-made root beer on tap. But I’d wager it’s more because we’re all sitting together—me, my wife, my best friend, and the child I’ve always wanted. It doesn’t matter if the future is uncertain, if it holds things that we’re not expecting. What matters is us.

  After I take Renata home later, we fall in bed together and make love—carefully at first and then faster and more enthusiastically. I tell her she’s beautiful—she is—and that she’s the sexiest woman in the whole city—that’s a fact too. We don’t have a honeymoon planned since I need to take the GMAT and get on with my life, so we stay in bed for the rest of the weekend, talking about how we can enjoy the short time we have where it’s still just the two of us. We plan for date nights and movies, dinners out at Indian and Japanese restaurants, and long walks in the park as she gets closer to her due date.

  There’s no mention of football, and for now, that’s okay. It’ll enter back into our lives in some way, at some time. I feel it in my bones.

  For now, there’s me and Renata. And that’s more than enough.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Three Months Later…

  The phone rings in the middle of the day on a Saturday—and it’s our land line. No one ever calls our land line. I’m suddenly suspicious, and my palms start sweating. We’ve been talking to a few different teams on the West Coast, and both Mack and I are anxious. Even though he’s in classes at USF part time, I know his true talent lies on the field. Tentatively, I step over to the phone and pick it up.

  “Hello?” My voice wavers when I pick up the line. There’s silence on the other end for a brief pause. And then a man’s voice responds.

  “I hope I’m talking to Renata Young.”

  I gulp like I often do when I’m picking up the phone these days. Macklin’s job offers haven’t exactly been rolling in, but a girl can always hope when she’s picking up the phone, can’t she?

  “It’s Renata Pride these days, I’m afraid.” I stand by the couch in the tiny house I bought years ago. It’s not the one Mack built for me, and it’s barely affordable by San Francisco standards. But here we are—and we’re happy. I pat my growing belly. Thirty weeks this Saturday. The baby kicks hard before the man responds.

  A football player like Daddy, Mack keeps saying. I have to remind him each time that I’m carrying a girl. He waves his hand at me like it doesn’t matter and tells me she’ll be a professional athlete anyway, no matter what sport she chooses.

  Or maybe she’ll be a sports agent. Or a lawyer or doctor or artist—or anything at all.

  God knows I won’t be making the same mistakes my parents did when they hurt me so bad in so many ways.

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line. And then that booming, masculine voice again.

  “I’m hoping you can help me with an issue I’m having.”

  “What issue is that?” I tap against the baby’s foot, and she kicks me back again.

  “It’s the end of the season, that’s the problem. And another season is coming after that. And my linebacker is completely out of commission. Leg’s broken in two places, back fractured, broken arm. Not from football, mind you. But from mountain climbing. What an asshole. Now, I hope everything’s going to be okay with him... but we’re going to need a free agent. You got anyone on tap?”

  I gulp hard. This seems like a trap—a joke. It couldn’t be the call we’ve been waiting for. Not really. All of a sudden, a million thoughts flood my mind. Will we have to move? Do they really want Mack? Are they willing to take a chance on all three of us—Wingate, Mack, and me? As big and pregnant as a beached whale? They’d better if they know what’s good for them. I adjust my attitude—and my voice. “With whom am I speaking?”

  “Josh Faison, CEO and owner of the San Francisco football team. I think we have some talking to do about salary. Now from what I understand, you all have been off of the football payroll for some time now...”

  After that, things move quickly, time speeding up and slowing down all at once. I go to grab Macklin and pull him into the conversation, and at once, we’re agreeing to the very thing we thought would never happen. It’s funny. When you give up on a dream—like I did on the idea of Mack and me ever happening—and then it comes to you all over again, there’s the strangest feeling that none of it is really happening. That’s how we both felt during our conversation with Josh. Hell, I think that’s how we’ve felt for the entire year of our lives, going to ultrasounds and packing up to move across the country to be with each other, finally.

  None of it has seemed like it could possibly be real. After all the mistakes we made, after all the negative emotions and bad ideas, we’ve been finally, truly together. Even Wingate forgave us and begrudgingly moved across the country to start his life anew. It helps that he’s been dating a football player out here and has gotten away from Charlotte, North Carolina for good.

  All of that happened, and then this.

  This golden thing, the answer to every single one of our prayers.

  As it turns out, California is far more accepting of a prodigal son than anywhere in the South—or even in the Mid-Atlantic. The owner of this team doesn’t see a man who had been accused of partying, seducing countless women, breaking an engagement, having an affair, and drawing his teammates into his reckless abyss. Instead, he saw an incredibly talented linebacker that his backwards team gave up for absolutely no reason. I guess this is the way life can go when dreams start to come true. Life speeds up for a flurry of moments and then slows down to meet you where you stand.

  We’re both stunned, completely amazed. With all damage Kinley Edwards and Eddie Davidson did in the Southern region, they never knew that their reach wouldn’t extend to California. Now, as I hang up the phone, Mack is employed and will be making twice what he did before. Since we’re no longer paying for the debts of our families, the money will be ours. With a new baby on the horizon, a new house will be too.

  ***

  Before this phone call, we had settled into our life in San Francisco in my tiny house, budgeting to make a single salary work i
n the most expensive place in the entire country. And thank God Rich had seen me in the same light—an incredibly talented sports agent who made one mistake. Our agency might not be in favor with several of the teams in the South, but we're focusing our efforts on other sports, whose managers and owners don't give a happy damn about the inner politics of football and old school owners who back their players into corners.

  The life we had planned was all well and good, even though none of us had any idea what a professional football player might do with his life coming into “early retirement.”

  And now, there’s this.

  There’s me, thirty-eight weeks pregnant, sitting in our box seats for the first game of the season. As the players file out onto the field, one after another, the baby kicks even though she doesn’t have much room to move anymore. She’s getting bigger by the day, and I can feel her deep in my body, everything in me expanding to accommodate her. If she’s anything like her father—and I hope she is, in all of the good ways—the world will eventually rise up to meet her when she displays her talents. I stand up when I see Mack on the field, his new number, 48, emblazoned on his front and back. Someday, someone will buy that jersey and make it theirs, proud that Mack became part of their team. We might not be from here, but California holds a lot of our secrets and histories fro the time we spent here in college. It holds our future, too. And there are many summer days here where we have to wear long-sleeved shirts. We both like that—and we know our children will too.

  After a spell, Wingate comes to join me in the box seats, putting his arm around my shoulder and shaking me hard once, and then again.

  “Can you believe it, Ren? We’ve finally arrived. This isn’t anything like it was before, is it?”