The Playbook

by Emilia Beaumont

  Cramp started to set in, and I began shivering—the aftershocks of what seemed like an endurance session taking its toll on my barely used muscles. I forced my legs to lose their grip on Jacob’s waist, and he stepped away. The smell of sex mingled in the air with the steam, even though the water was still running. I stood, a bit wobbly, and reached for one of the towels on the cart just outside the shower. We didn’t say a word as we went through the motions of getting dry. I toweled off briskly, needing to get back into my clothes before anyone decided to come find us. I heard him cut off the shower and grab a towel himself, the silence deafening now. I didn’t know what to say, and my heart thudded in my chest. What did this mean for us now? Could I forgive him for what he’d done? Were the three little words he’d said, oh what seemed so long ago now, true?

  “Lucia.”

  I looked up to find him studying me. There was a towel clinging low on his hips. I had forgotten how well-formed his body was, and my mouth went dry at the sight, my hands wanting to touch him again. My body wanted to shed my clothes again. I couldn’t deny it any longer—I was head over heels for him. It didn’t matter what career he had, he was the object of my affections, the father of my child, and that wasn’t going to change. Of course the anger and hurt he’d caused me still lingered, but I knew I could give him a second chance. He deserved at least that. I could see he was hurting, too. His own buried troubles were coming to the surface. I had to be careful if I broached the subject; there was something nasty between him and his father, an unresolved and unhealed wound that had been niggling at him all these years, like a splinter that had dug itself a cozy home, festering beneath the surface. We would talk about it, if he wanted to, but not yet. Now he needed hope, needed to see there was a future for him.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurted out, keeping my fingers crossed that this was the right time to tell him.

  His eyes widened, and he stumbled back as if an invisible hand had slapped him. He said nothing, and I fumbled with the still-open buttons on my shirt, looking down and away from him. If he wasn’t going to be happy, I didn’t think I’d be able to look at him again.

  All of a sudden his hands covered my own, stopping me from completing my task and forcing me to look up at him. His eyes were blazing, full of questions, and his throat was working hard. “You’re pregnant?”

  “A few weeks, yes,” I answered as he gripped my wrists gently. “Seven positive home tests, all the signs, and one doctor’s confirmation.”

  “Seven tests?” he asked, arching a brow. “What were you trying to prove?”

  “It’s not every day that you need to prove something so important,” I said, dying to know what he was thinking. He grinned then, and I felt some of the worry of how he might react to the news slip away. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be a bad thing after all. “A baby?”

  “As far as I can tell,” I joked as he brought one of my wrists up and kissed it softly, sending a spiral of heat down to the center of my body. “Unless you are half alien or something?”

  “Wow,” he answered as his arm slipped around my waist. I felt my own body react to being pressed up against his naked one and tried without success to dampen down my hormones. Wasn’t there something about craving sex while pregnant? If so, I was in for some fun over the next few months or so. “I’m going to be a father? Oh wow, I’m going to be a dad,” he said, the happy realization of what it all entailed finally hitting him.

  His words nearly caused me to burst into tears, the wonderment of the way he spoke them so reverently erased any doubt in my mind that Jacob wanted to be involved in this child’s life. “Yes,” I said softly, winding my arms around his neck. “You are going to be a daddy.”

  He brushed a kiss over my lips before stepping back and grabbing his clothes off of the floor, looking a bit confused. “I… we need to go somewhere and talk, Lucia. About everything.”

  “Okay,” I said, the moment gone for now. The wonder on his face was replaced with a serious expression, set and determined. “We can go to my office. We’ll have privacy there.”

  “No,” Jacob said sharply. “I-I need to get away from here. Somewhere with alcohol. We can talk and celebrate at the same time.”

  I couldn’t help but smirk and slid my feet into my heels, looking down at his state of clothing. “Well, hurry up and get dressed then.”

  “Oh right, yes, that would help wouldn’t it?” he said with a sweet laugh. It was good to hear him like that, a little more relaxed even with the bombshell I’d just drop on him.

  Jacob dressed quickly, and I flipped the lock on the shower before leading him out a back entrance used for laundry deliveries, where no one would be expecting us to be. Instead of trying to find my car, I hailed a cab and we climbed in. I gave the cab driver my address. It was risky to go home, but it was far too early to go to a bar. And given the nature of what had just transpired at the stadium, my father would be tied up with the press for hours. Merry would also be out of the picture. She was away visiting a friend for a few days, helping her to redecorate, too, so the guest house would be safe for the moment.

  Jacob’s hand found its way onto my thigh. He caressed it absently while he stared out the window during the drive. I let him be with his own thoughts, knowing he needed time to process everything. We arrived about ten minutes later, and I reached into my purse for my key card.

  “This is your father’s house?” Jacob said as the gate opened and I started to walk up the drive. The huge mansion loomed in the distance. “I can’t be here, Lucia.”

  “It’s a good thing that we aren’t planning on going there then,” I remarked and took his hand, leading him along the well-worn path to the guest house. I pushed open the door and stepped into the cool interior, waiting on Jacob to follow me. Finally he took a brave step inside. “Welcome to my little domain.”

  He looked around as I went to grab a beer and one bottle of water from the fridge. I never did have much food, but I always made sure that I was stocked up on beer at least. He accepted it gratefully, and I took a seat in my favorite overstuffed chair, watching as Jacob sat on the couch and popped open the beer. “Ah,” he said after his first sip, “that’s better. Tastes good.”

  “More in the fridge if you want,” I said with a shrug. “’Cause I won’t be drinking for a while.”

  He looked at me, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, right, yeah. So are we really doing this?”

  “Yes,” I answered, my hand straying protectively to my stomach. “Not that I had planned on having a child now, but I’ve gone over it every which way from Sunday, and this is the right way for me. Don’t ask me to—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he replied hastily, his eyes widening. “I mean, you are going to let me do this with you, right? You aren’t going to tell me to take a hike because of what happened before, ’cause I really, really want to be part of this, Lucia. You and the baby.”

  I caught his drift, flushed, and skirted past it. “I would never deny you your right to be a father.”

  He nodded and sat back on the couch, taking another long sip of his beer. “I guess you are wondering what happened between me and my own father?”

  I sat forward, hoping he’d see the sincerity in my eyes. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’m here to listen… not as a therapist, either, as a friend,” I said.

  “Just a friend?” he questioned.

  “Well, no,” I said with a smile, “as someone who cares for you a whole lot.”

  25

  Jacob

  She wanted to listen. I wasn’t surprised at all, but it did feel nice that someone actually wanted to listen to me, to hear about my past. After all these years no one had ever taken the time to ask me if everything was okay at home—not my teachers, nor my friends’ parents, no one. So, why couldn’t it be the mother of my child? I smiled a little then, taking in the word. Lucia was to be a mom, and I was going to be a fucking dad. I thought
this day would be years down the line. I never thought of myself settling down or even bringing a kid into the world, but the moment she’d told me, my heart had decided this was what I wanted. The news couldn’t have come at a better time. Was I ready? Hell no. The thought of having someone who would look up to me, who would push me to do my damn best for them, that made my boots quiver with fear, but it still meant more than anything.

  I looked down at the beer in my hand, bringing my thoughts back to the present. Lucia cleared her throat then took a sip of her water. She was beautiful and patient, and I didn’t deserve her… “You want the Cliff Notes? Or the full version?”

  She joined me on the sofa then and slipped a warm comforting hand into mine. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

  “God, where do I even start?” I said, mainly to myself. Was there even a beginning to the story that had become my miserable life? I supposed there was, but perhaps I was too young to realize it at the time.

  I took a breath a let it all pour out. “My mom died in a car accident when I was five. I overheard the officers telling my father that she hadn’t felt a thing, that it was quick. But I wasn’t sure I believed them. The horrified looks on their faces as they stood on the doorstop told the five-year-old me that they were lying. Thinking back about it now, they probably always did that—to lessen the grief for those loved ones they had to visit. What made it worse, though, was I was supposed to be in that car with her.”

  “How so?”

  “She’d come to collect me from a friend’s house, but she hadn’t turned up on time—three guesses as to why. She’d probably responded in a tone my father hadn’t liked or forgotten to buy enough beer. It would’ve been something inane, but regardless, he would’ve beaten her for it.

  “I’d waited for a little while, the time passing without my realizing it as I played with my friend. But it wasn’t like Mom to forget. We had a routine, you see; she’d pick me up every Wednesday from Charlie’s and just the two of us, we’d go run some errands—sneaking in a stop at the Double Scoop for ice cream. My dad never knew anything about it. It was our little secret, and he just thought we’d gone shopping. So when it started to get dark, and Charlie’s mom started to put their dinner out, I got worried. It wasn’t far from our own house, so I just walked home. I think we must’ve missed each other on the street. When I got home, Dad was passed out on the couch, his arm and bloodied fist dangling off the side, almost lifeless. And Mom was nowhere to be found. I checked everywhere, but the only thing I found was a small pool of still wet blood with a few drips trailing away from it in the kitchen.”

  Lucia squeezed my hand, and I suddenly realized I was crying. I sniffed the tears away and continued.

  “As I got older and ran the memories back over and over in my mind, I started to piece things together, my theory being he’d hit her so hard that she must’ve bumped her head. I dunno, maybe he gave her concussion or something, and when she got in the car to come get me… well, yeah, she obviously wouldn’t have been in any state to drive. Of course, I couldn’t prove any of this—it was too late, anyway. Far too late. I wondered many times why she stayed, why she didn’t leave him. If we’d left just one day earlier, she’d still be alive.”

  I took a deep breath, finding a shard of hurt still twisting within me, a dagger piercing my heart. I barely remembered my mom, but the pain never went away.

  “Before my grandma died, she made sure that I knew what kind of man my father was and how much her daughter had suffered at his hands—like I didn’t already know. He’d turned his attention to me, you see. ‘He will get his someday,’ she wheezed, still smoking a cigarette even though the cancer had eaten its way through her lungs. ‘You just be patient and wait, Jacob. Don’t show him any piece of you that is scared, or he will take full advantage of it. Suck it up and be a man, and as soon as you can, you leave, ’cause they’ll make you go back with him. You hear me?’

  “She died a few days later and I found out that she had been right about not having anywhere else to go. I was a burden to him,” I said, clenching my hand tightly around the bottle. “A constant reminder of my mom and what he had done. And since she wasn’t around for him to beat on, he turned to me. I had my first black eye at six.”

  “Oh my God,” Lucia breathed, “why didn’t anyone do anything about that?”

  I gave her a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “Not for a snot-nosed kid from the wrong side of the tracks. No one gave a shit. They all had their own problems.” I didn’t want to look at Lucia. I didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes. “So when I was old enough, I signed up for anything that would keep me from having to go home.” I told her how I had no money of my own—what kid does? And I wasn’t able to get a job until my mid-teens, but my grandma’s words stuck in my head. I had to get out and away from him. Luckily I was still able to do a ton of things to keep out of his way—baseball, football, anything sports-related, really. I can still remember my first coach, Eric Danes, and how he had taken a shine to me, inviting me over to eat when he knew I hadn’t had a proper meal in days. His house had been so different from my own—even the atmosphere, you know, was lighter. There had been nights I wanted to be his son and live in his house.”

  “What did your father think of your decisions?” she asked softly. I cleared my throat and took another swallow of beer. “He liked it, actually. He pushed me to excel at any and all sports. The only problem was when I didn’t do my ‘best’ or let him down. He was careful to hit me where no one else would notice. I’ve had cracked ribs more times than I care to admit.

  “I played both baseball and football through middle school until I won the quarterback position on the varsity team in my first year of high school. My father got wind of it and forced me to concentrate on football, stating that my money chances were higher there. He was always talking about how I’d take care of him—how I’d pay him back once I made it big. It was like I owed him just for existing, for being unfortunate to have been spawned from him. He was ruthless and ten times worse than any of my coaches. There were many nights when he forced me to throw spiral after spiral though a tire he’d rigged up in our backyard. I had to do it so many times in a row before I was allowed to stop. And the numbers just kept climbing. First it would be ten times in a row, then twenty, then fifty. Sometimes, I could barely move my throwing arm the next morning as a result.

  “When did the beatings stop?” Lucia asked.

  I looked at her, her expression full of compassion. “They didn’t, not really. The frequency dropped when I was old enough and big enough to fight back, and that was around my junior year. I’d thrown an interception in an important game, causing it to be a lot closer than it should’ve been. And though we won, my father made sure I would never forget the mistake I’d made.”

  “You worthless excuse for a son!” he raged, pushing me against the wall hard, his hand wrapped around my throat. I could see the whites of his eyes, his spittle raining down on my face as my head banged against the wall. “You almost blew our chance at greatness!”

  “Our chance?” I asked, feeling the rage build up, swelling like an unstoppable storm. “There is no ‘our’! This has nothing to do with you!”

  “You ass-wipe,” he said as I fought against the hand at my throat. “I have clothed and fed your miserable behind for years. You owe me, and don’t you EVER forget that.”

  He released me then, laughing as I crumbled to the floor in a fit of coughs. “You’re a little piss-ant, weak as a twelve-year-old girl, but I will make you strong so you don’t throw like shit again. I’ll beat it into you if I have to.” He lifted his boot to kick me, but I got there first. My foot shot out, stopping him, pushing him on his ass across the living room floor.

  “Of course, it just pissed him off more, but I was able to escape and walked the three miles to my coach’s house, and he took me in without a word. I suspect he knew about the beatings all along but never said anything because I never did.

  �
�He’d still come to my games though, and stand glaring at me the whole time. He never cheered—unless you counted him calling me every name under the sun, like he was on the opposing team. It was as if he was daring me to make a mistake. Maybe he wanted me to make one so I would somehow get kicked off the team and have to come crawling back to him. And though his acts of intimidation did get to me somewhat, I muddled through. When the college scholarships started to pour in, he backed off a little,” I continued, remembering those days well. “I was so excited that I was finally going to get away from him for good, free to do whatever I pleased.”

  “I can only imagine the relief you must’ve felt,” Lucia said as she tucked her feet under herself and snuggled in close to my side. Absently I stroked her hair as the words continued to fall out; the dam had broken.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t wait. I took the offer that was as far away from home as possible, and for a kid who had never tasted any freedom whatsoever, my first year was nearly a disaster. Had it not been for the coaching staff riding my ass to bring up my grades, I would have flunked out. But in my third year, I broke nearly every record the school had,” I said, remembering the winning feeling, the high that could not be broken. “Scouts were showing up left and right to watch me play, and the bets were already starting to be laid as to where I would end up. I was getting all the sex I wanted, too, night after night.” Realizing what had just slipped out, I sheepishly looked up at Lucia. “Sorry, babe.”

  She gave me a warm smile, her hand straying to her stomach. “I don’t mind your past; it’s made you who you are today. You’ve been through a lot—a lot more than any kid should have to go through, and really, the only thing that matters now is our, I mean your future.” I swallowed hard, my eyes drifting to her well-placed hand. Hell yeah, that was all that mattered now. I was going to be the best fucking father any child could ever have. But it wasn’t just that. The woman who was listening to me, I would crawl a thousand miles to get her forgiveness. I would never feel worthy enough to be with her. She deserved a hell of a lot better than me.