by Amy Brent
We moved to the bed for a second round, then fell asleep in each other's arms. I drifted off to sleep, thinking that this little “vacation” was turning out pretty damn good after all.
* * *
In the morning I was up and getting dressed before Hal had even woken. When he woke up, he sat up in the bed and looked me over. A blissful grin was on his lips, as he was no doubt reliving our experiences from the night before. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.
I didn't look at him. “Good morning.”
“In a rush to head out?” he asked, the grin fading from his lips. He got up and went over to the window, peeking out through the curtains to look at the street below. “Looks like they've plowed. You won't have to worry about being stuck here. But I'd like it if you'd stay for breakfast.”
“I really can't,” I said.
He stepped over to me and put his arms around me, then kissed my shoulder. “Why not?”
“Because this was a mistake.”
He pulled away, a hurt look on his face. “What? Why?”
“Because,” I said. I huffed and searched for my jacket. “Because of who you are. Because I'm not in a good place right now. I...”
I looked up at him. My heart ached at the pain in his eyes. I reached up and caressed his cheek. “It was nice, Hal. It really was. But we have different lives, from different worlds.”
“That doesn't mean...”
“Yes, it does,” I said. “I'm sorry, Hal.”
I gathered my things and hurried out the door before he could try to change my mind. I didn't want to regret what we'd done. It had been a wonderful experience. But now, in the light of day, I had to remember all of the reasons that it had been a bad idea. I had a life to get back to, and it was a life that this billionaire football player had no place in.
I went back home, my car trudging through the snowy roads amidst all the backed-up traffic. Plows passed by me here and there, and the main roads were mostly clear, but a lot of local roads were still covered in a few inches of slush. When I finally got over the bridge and back home, my back was sore from being in the car for so long. Though the workout I'd gotten the night before might have been a contributing factor.
I spent the next few days working from home, typing up both the Jonas GMS story and the separate story on Hal Masterson. I obviously left out any details of what had happened between Hal and I, focusing purely on the financial aspects. I was none too flattering. My story painted Hal as a lucky man who'd stumbled into his fortune, making his millions off the hard-working backs of people like Brett Jonas. I gave him credit where credit was due: his investments had surely helped the Jonas Corporation to grow, and without the money they would never have achieved the success that they had. But Brett Jonas and her family had done the hard work, and Hal had simply gotten rich off of it.
Which was not to mention how overpaid Hal was as an NFL quarterback. I ripped right into the economics of sports player salaries and how ridiculous it was that fans were charged ridiculous prices for tickets, food, and merchandise at the games, while the people who worked at the snack bars were paid little more than minimum wage, and the rest went to the players. It was a scathing review of the football industry specifically, and the sports business as a whole
I sincerely hoped that Hal would never read it.
I emailed the final drafts to Jim down at the office so he could look them over. A few days later, when I was back at the office, he called me in to go over the stories.
“Well,” Jim said, looking over the pages I'd sent him, “I'll say this, you sure didn't pull your punches.”
“I'm a reporter,” I said, standing in front of his desk with my arms crossed. “It's my job to tell it like it is.”
“You're right,” he said. “And I like what you did here. I've got a few edits—you were a bit harsher than you needed to be, and I want to give these a more neutral tone—but all in all you've done good work. I'd like you to expand on this. Do some more research into the goings-on in the sports world. Research the economics of it. Ticket prices, those crazy high markups on beer and hot dogs, that sort of thing.”
“Jim...”
“Come on, Jane,” he said. “This is good stuff. I want to see more of it.”
I had no interest in having any more involvement in the sports world, but it seemed like I was stuck with it. At least I'd found an angle that I could embrace, attacking the economic disparity between the overpaid players and their underpaid concession stand workers. People always talked about how the workers at places like Walmart and McDonald's were underpaid, many of them barely able to live off their minimum wage salaries. I could draw on that area, lay out some parallels, and write some compelling pieces on the subject.
I went back to my office to see what else I could come up with. While I was sitting there, my phone rang. It was Hal. Again. He'd called more than a dozen times in the last few days, but I'd ignored every call. I couldn't deal with getting involved in another relationship right now. But I also knew I didn't have it in me to hear the heartache in his voice when I shot him down. The easiest solution, even if it was the cowardly solution, was to ignore his calls until he moved on. I was sure that soon enough, he'd find some nice young honey among his fans, and he'd forget all about me.
A few weeks later, our lead sports writer, Frank Gafferty, stuck his head into my office and said, “I think you broke Hal Masterson.”
I turned towards him, my face going pale. Did he know what happened between Hal and I? How had he found out?
“He blew his last three games,” Frank said, stepping into my office. “Reports are he's been distracted. Everyone's saying it's because of that article you wrote.”
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. If it was about the article, then no one would know that I'd slept with Hal. “He's that broken up over my article?”
“That's what they're saying.” Frank shrugged. “Word from the locker rooms is he talks about you all the time. Can't seem to get you off his mind. It's screwed up his concentration. People are screaming for your head.”
“My head?”
“They blame you for the team losing,” Frank said. “You know how sports fans can get. If Hal said his Fruit of the Looms were bad luck, his fans would be forming a mob to torch the underwear factory. I've checked some of the bigger online forums. They're smearing your name, saying you're trying to destroy football.”
I rolled my eyes and snorted. I couldn't care less what a bunch of rabid sports fans thought. “All that means is that my writing is getting a lot of attention,” I said. “They can smear me all they want. You can't pay for that kind of publicity.”
After Frank left, though, I couldn't help but wonder if my article was really the reason Hal was so distraught. None of his fans could know what had happened between Hal and I. What if, I thought, he was losing his games because he couldn't get me off his mind?
Had the man really fallen for me?
* * *
I finally decided I had to call Hal. Not because I wanted to. Not because I was ready to. But because I missed my period.
Three home pregnancy tests later, I was convinced of the truth. There was no avoiding it. Hal had been on my mind for weeks, and now I was out of excuses. I picked up the phone and found Hal's number. He still hadn't given up on me, as evidenced by the missed calls I still got every few days. He'd also sent flowers, chocolates, and a giant pink teddy bear to my office. My coworkers had been talking about it for weeks, trying to figure out who the mystery man was who was sending me so many gifts. I never let them see the name on the card.
I was ready to dial the number, but I couldn't make myself hit the call button. This sort of news really couldn't be delivered over the phone.
I'd have to talk to him in person.
I checked the schedule of Hal's games. Next Sunday, he was playing in New York. That was about a two hour drive from where I lived, but I could manage. I wasn't sure how I'd get in to see him once I was there,
but I knew I had to do it this way. He deserved to hear the news from me face to face.
I spent the days before the game going over what I planned to say, over and over again. I couldn't find a way to get the words straight in my head, which was funny, considering that I was a writer. I thought about writing it all down so I could organize my thoughts, but that was too impersonal.
When Sunday finally arrived, I left early to beat the traffic, driving upstate towards New York. I got there with plenty of time before the game. I searched through the stadium, which held only small handfuls of people this early in the day, until I found a “Player's Only” area guarded by a large man wearing a black shirt that read “SECURITY across the back. I walked up to him and told him I was here to see Hal Masterson.
“Sorry, ma'am,” he said. “No fans beyond this point.”
“I'm not a fan,” I said. I pulled out my press ID badge and showed it to him.
“No press, either,” he said. “There's a press box reserved for...”
He paused and read the name on my ID. “You're Jane Edison?”
The scowl on his face told me that he knew about my scathing article and the effect I'd had on Hal.
“Just a moment,” he said. He stepped to the side and spoke into a radio. I couldn't make out what was being said, but I heard an angry tone coming from the voice at the other end.
Before the security guard said anything to me, the door behind him opened and Hal came bursting out. “Jane,” he said, breathless. It looked like he'd run all the way here. “I'm so glad to see you.”
I looked him over. He was only half-dressed for the game, his chest bare and glistening with sweat. He drew some looks from the other people in the stadium, a few of them whispering his name.
The security guard stepped up and leaned close. “Mr. Masterson...”
Hal glanced at the man, then looked around at the fans ogling him. He took my hand and said, “Come with me.”
He led me through the door and down a hall that lead to the locker rooms. He pulled me into a room to one side, filled with equipment for physical therapy.
As soon as we were in there, he kissed me.
He didn't stop at just a kiss. His arms reached around me, caressing my generous curves. I held myself stiff for a moment, then melted into his embrace. I'd wanted this, even when I'd tried to deny it. I still felt like I was a mess, that I would screw up any chance we might have at a real relationship. But I was aching for his touch.
“Hal,” I said, pulling back reluctantly. I touched my forehead against his as he held me. “We need to talk.”
“I know,” he said. “But you're here. That's a good thing. Right?”
I looked into his eyes. He seemed so carefree and eager. I hated to break the news to him.
Better to get it over with quick. Like a band-aid.
I kissed him again, then stepped back, taking his hands in mine. “Hal,” I said. I took a deep breath. “I'm pregnant.”
“Really?” he asked. His eyes widened.
I nodded. I held my breath, bracing myself for his reaction.
“That's wonderful!” he said.
I let out my breath and stared at him in shock. “Really?”
“Of course it is!” He laughed, squeezing my hands. “Wow. Damn. Pregnant?” He grinned, fidgeting where he stood. “Damn. I'm going to be a father!”
I watched him carefully, wondering if the news wasn't really sinking in. “Hal, this is serious. What are we going to do? A baby is a lot of responsibility.”
“Everything is going to be fine,” he promised me. “I'll take care of you and the baby. You know I can provide for it. Our kid is going to have a great life.”
“But...”
“But what?” he asked. He frowned in concern. “What's wrong, Jane? Look, I know you haven't been returning my calls, but...”
I sighed and stepped back into his arms. “I'm sorry about that. I was...I was just scared.”
“It's okay,” he said, stroking my back. “Everything's going to be fine. We'll make this work.”
Then he was kissing me again, and this time I let go of all of my fears. There was still a lot to think about, a lot to plan for, but he'd taken the news far better than I could have hoped for. If he had been my ex, the news of a baby on the way would have sent him running for the hills. But Hal was actually excited!
We didn't have much time before Hal had to start his game, but we seized the moment. Hal lifted me up onto one of the tables they used for medical exams, caressing my body with his athletic hands. I kissed him hungrily, feeling a rush at the forbidden idea of fooling around right here in the stadium. My body grew warm as I ran my hands across Hal's muscular chest. Then my fingers strayed down to his uniform pants, tugging at the laces.
Hal dropped his pants, still wearing his cleats and his knee pads. I tugged at my own belt in a rush, afraid now of getting caught, but unwilling to stop what we'd started. Hal kissed my neck and nuzzled my soft skin while he helped me get my pants off. Then he took me right there on the exam table with eager, frantic thrusts of passion. I buried my face into his neck to stifle my moans, certain that someone would catch us, but not caring if they did.
“Come on, baby,” I whispered in his ear. “I need you. You're going to be a father. We're going to be a family.”
He grunted in exertion and pleasure as I guided him to his climax. Pleasure swept over me, filling me with a forbidden rush of energy. I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, panting and out of breath. He held me close, trembling, and I could feel that smile of pure contentment on his face.
We heard voices from the hall and quickly got dressed. We were mostly cleaned up when the door opened and one of the coaches found us. “Masterson!” he shouted. “What the hell are you doing? We've got a game to play!”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “On my way.”
He turned and gave me another quick kiss, then hurried off to prep for the game. I was led to a VIP box where I could watch the game. Hal was in true form this time, showing none of the distraction that had spoiled his last few games. He was a warrior on the field, full of energy, showing all of his fans why they loved him. The crowd cheered, and I even cheered along with them. I didn't really care which team won or lost. But I was caught up in the moment.
I cheered for the father of my child, and I knew that we were going to have a great life together. I knew I still had a lot of baggage to get over from my past, but for the first time in a long time, I could look to the future with hope about what was to come.
****THE END****
SECOND CHANCE
PART 1
CHAPTER ONE
The ocean breeze was strong as Mallory Linden walked out of her editing class and looked around the skies to see clouds gathering above. She sighed and tugged the teal hat that covered her thick honey colored hair down a bit before she took a step forward and gripped her messenger bag closer to her body. The Spring season could be so touch and go here on the Monterey peninsula and she winced as another breeze tore through the air and she found herself losing her balance as she yelped loudly. “Shit!” She was waiting to hit the ground when she realized that someone was holding onto her tightly before she looked up with wide blue eyes. “Oh my…thank you so much. Let me get my balance here.” Mallory knew that she wasn’t a light girl and it didn’t bother her at all, though she didn’t need a guy holding onto her for too long.
What a guy he was. Despite him being dressed in thick workout pants, Mallory could see how muscular his legs were along with the worried look in his eyes that were the color of a deep green forest. His arms were tense and strong and he helped her up even as she struggled. “Are you alright?” There was an accent to his soft voice as she stared at him and nodded slowly. “That could have been a bad fall. I’m glad that I was here.”
“I…yeah. Me too.” She blushed furiously and stood up to see that he was a good six inches taller than her five foot seven frame, at least. “Thank
you.” She gave him a nervous look and licked her full lips. “Do you go here?”
“Yeah, I’m a senior here and I’m helping a friend coach the rugby team. My major is sports medicine though I’d rather play than assist other guys.” He gave her a charming crooked smile and watched as she lifted her head and took a deep breath. “I’m Declan Meadows. Most of my friends here call me Deck.” He chuckled and shook his head. “That’s the polite name for me. I’ll spare you of the others.”
“I’m Mallory. Mallory Linden. I’m a sophomore. You don’t play? You only coach?” She asked him curiously as he seemed to narrow his eyes.
“I do but the assistant coach has a personal emergency. I’m just coaching until they figure out what to do, though I’ll step in if we’re down a man or two.” He shook his head. “I do love it here but even if I didn’t make it in America, there’s always home to play in.”
“Home? Your accent…is it English?” Mallory asked him as the trees blew violently around them. She looked up and frowned as he glanced around. “I’m sorry. If you have to go or anything, I don’t want to hold you up.”
“It’s not that at all. A bit chilly out is all. Do you have any classes coming up?” He seemed to study her face closely as she shook her head. “Something to drink then?”
“I’ll buy since you saved my life today.” Mallory smiled he shook his head and cracked another smile.
“It’s nothing at all, lass. My car is over here if that suits you.” Declan told her as he gestured forward to the huge parking lot with one large hand. They headed over as she pressed her lips together. “Yes, I am from England. I was born there but my Dad is originally from Ireland. I think my accent is a mix myself.” She raised an eyebrow when he unlocked the door of an immaculate black sports car that Mallory didn’t know the name of, though she knew enough to know that it was very expensive. Declan opened the door for her after hitting something on his key chain and she slid in as she took another look at him.