by Lane Hart
In six or seven years, if I’m lucky and don’t get hurt sooner, my football career will end. The money will start to dry up, and then I’ll be a normal guy once again. Is it too much to ask to want someone who will still want to be with me even then?
I’m not psychic, but I’m almost certain that I’ll never have a future with a chick who’ll gladly suck my dick without me even knowing her name.
“Have a good night,” I tell the bartender over my shoulder while quickly making my escape out of the office and the bar.
Only once I’m sitting in my Land Cruiser do I turn on the overhead light and pull out the small sheet of paper from my pocket. Inside is what I assume is the bartender’s name, Natasha, above her phone number, and below that is the name Bianca Williams and a Wilmington address about ten minutes from my house. I assume Bianca is the girl I’m looking for.
Bianca.
Nothing about that name rings any bells which makes me feel like shit. How could I have unprotected sex with a woman and not remember her face or name?
Never again will I get drunk again. And I should be seriously thankful that my STD tests from June all came back clean.
I decide to wait until tomorrow morning before hunting down Bianca Williams, telling myself that it’s late and I’m fucking exhausted. But the truth is I’m not in as big of a hurry as I was before to get rid of Brady. Actually, I’m rather hesitant about taking him back and leaving him with a mother who abandoned him. Can she actually be trusted with him?
Tomorrow morning I’ll go see her, and we’ll talk about custody. Tonight, I’ll prepare myself for the possibility that she may refuse to take Brady back.
I don’t know which is scarier, wondering if she’ll want him or not.
Setting the car seat down on the porch of the cute little one-story cottage home Tuesday morning, I’m feeling a mixture of nervousness and a little excitement, thinking of finally seeing what could be the mother of my son again.
Watching Brady sleep soundly in his seat since, you know, the sun is up and he’s obviously nocturnal, I realize that I’m gonna miss having the little guy around all the time if Bianca has changed her mind. We’ll probably have to settle on joint visitation, although it will be nice to sleep fully through the night once again. In such a short time, though, I realize that I’ve already grown attached to him.
For the first time in my life, someone has depended on me to take care of them, to keep them safe and fed. He was more than just my responsibility. I actually enjoyed being the one who provided for him, and more and more often I find myself thinking about someday teaching him how to walk or how to throw a football…
But I’m not cut out to be a full-time dad.
My schedule is too stressful, and I’m constantly traveling. It wouldn’t be good for Brady to grow up getting carted off from one stadium to another. Like the pediatrician said to me yesterday, babies need routines or whatever. Not to mention the fact that the media hounds would always be drooling to get a peek at him to earn a few bucks for some tabloid photos. It’s a miracle that we’ve kept it quiet this long.
Besides, a baby needs a mother in his life, even if she occasionally makes bad decisions, like dropping him off with a stranger.
Taking a deep breath, I finally reach out and push the doorbell, hearing the chimes echo from inside the house.
I’m expecting a raven-haired, tattooed girl to open the door, the one that I only vaguely remember thanks to my friends’ description of her.
Instead, I come face to face with a tiny, sweet-looking lady in her late twenties or early thirties wearing very feminine pink and white striped satin pajamas. Her blonde hair is cut short so that with it pushed behind her ears, it’s even with her chin. Not wearing an ounce of makeup, she has high cheekbones, and her tan skin is flawless, nearly luminescent. She’s just one of those natural beauties, but her big, stormy grayish-green eyes are red-rimmed and sad as they blink up at me, waaayyy up at me since I’m towering at least a foot and a half over her.
“Can I help you?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest with an unimpressed frown on her face. It’s a much different greeting from the usual flirty smile and batted lashes women typically give me. I guess the bags under my eyes are not very attractive, and my blue wrinkled tee and jeans are unimpressive.
“Hi, I’m, ah, looking for Bianca. The Limelight said that this was the, um, address she listed, you know, on her employment application or whatever,” I try to explain, but it comes out somewhat tongue-tied, which is definitely a first. I’m sure it’s just the lack of sleep slowing down my tired brain.
“Who are you?” the lady asks with an annoyed sigh and tilt of her head like her neck is hurting from looking up at me for so long.
Everyone knows who I am, especially in this city. In fact, I don’t remember the last time a woman didn’t recognize me right away as some sort of professional athlete. Obviously, this little fairy princess is not a football fan, which I have to admit is a damn shame.
“Why are you looking for Bianca?” she prompts, moving her hands to her hips impatiently while I continue to stare down at her, remaining uncharacteristically mute.
“Oh, well, ah, funny story,” I start, choking out a gruff chuckle that I try to cover up as a cough. “A few days ago, I believe Bianca may have left something of hers behind on my doorstep.”
“What? What did my sister leave?” she asks in annoyance.
Stepping aside so that my large frame is no longer blocking the view of him, I wave a hand in the direction of the sleeping baby.
Taking a step forward, the woman gasps and sinks to her knees in front of Brady, reminding me of Roxy’s initial reaction. After she slaps a palm to her gaping mouth, her eyes begin to leak, which for some reason makes my chest ache for her.
With a shaky hand, she reaches out and gently soothes her fingertips over Brady’s chubby cheek and then down to his little, balled up fists. Her touch is so loving and reverent that I almost feel guilty for intruding on such a private moment.
“Are you…are you his father?” she eventually asks, getting back to her unsteady feet while drying her face with the sleeves of her pajamas.
“No freaking idea,” I answer with another chuckle. “Still waiting on the DNA test results, but I guess it’s possible since I don’t remember shit about that night with Bianca…"
That’s the last word I get out of my mouth before the petite, sad, dainty-looking woman sucker punches me with her tiny fist, right in my fucking face.
“Ow! What the hell?” I ask while clutching my now throbbing chin. Sure, I get hit by three-hundred pound men all the time, but not smack dab on my pretty face thanks to the helmet and facemask I wear during games. “Why the hell did you hit me?”
“This is all your fault!” she exclaims.
“My fault?” I repeat. “I was drunk that night, but Bianca wasn’t, not that I remember. So I contend that this clearly falls fifty-fifty on the responsibility scale,” I argue. “And wow, it may not even be my kid! We won’t know until we get the results back Thursday or Friday. Who are you anyways?”
“I’m Bianca’s sister,” the feisty fairy woman answers. “I don’t know what she was thinking. She should’ve brought him to me!” she shouts before she bends over and picks up the car seat that’s half her size.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, growing protective of Brady when she starts to walk back into the house with him. “Is Bianca here? Because no offense, but I think this is between her and me.”
“Thanks to you, she’s dead! And no offense, but you can join her for all I care,” she says before slamming the front door in my still aching face.
Holy shit.
“Bianca’s dead? When? How?” I ask, completely confused since Brady’s only a few days old.
The wooden structure in front of me doesn’t answer any of my many questions, so I start pressing the doorbell, ringing it over and over again until I can get some answers.
Chapter S
ix
Callie
I can’t believe he’s alive and healthy! A beautiful little boy!
Unfastening his harness, I pull him out and hug him to me while sitting on the floor, not caring if it wakes him.
I was so fucking furious with Bianca for abandoning her baby, but now I feel guilty for thinking the worst of my drug dependent sister. I figured she had aborted him, or gotten high and tossed him carelessly in some dumpster.
I’ll always feel terrible for not forgiving my sister, for not doing more to save her, for kicking her out of my house after I found out about her and John’s affair, and then refusing to help her once she told me she was pregnant. But I’m so thankful that she didn’t harm her son. She should’ve left him with me, not some stranger, but I know I brought this on myself when I pushed her out of my life.
Vaguely, I notice that my doorbell is ringing continuously in the background. After it rings for more than a handful of minutes, I finally give up. The Jolly Green Giant outside is obviously not going away anytime soon.
Marching across the living room floor, I open the door with the baby still clutched to my shoulder.
“What?” I ask him.
“You can’t just drop that bomb and walk away from me, woman!” the Giant says with narrowed blue eyes.
“Yes, I can,” I tell him.
“Please tell me what happened to her,” he begs, looking so miserable that I cave on a sigh.
“Fine. You, if you are his father, stupidly knocked up my sister, who was a heroin addict. Since he seems healthy, I’m guessing that she stopped using while she was pregnant. But then after she had him, Bianca went and overdosed late Saturday night. She passed away Sunday. Therefore, her death is on you!”
“On me?” he asks with his jaw hanging open. And yeah, I can’t help but notice he has a handsome, sculpted diamond shaped face to match his stunning blue eyes. It’s easy to see why Bianca slept with him. Not only is he attractive; but even in jeans and a wrinkled tee, he looks rich, which is right up her alley. The Land Rover parked at the curb confirms as much.
“How is the fact that your sister overdosed my fault?” the Giant asks.
“You’re just like all the rest she screws for money,” I tell him. “How much did you pay her for sex?”
He cringes, telling me that despite his attractiveness, he actually did give Bianca money to fuck her. Ugh, that’s so disgusting. I start to close the door in his face again, but he quickly lunges forward and slaps a hand on it before it shuts.
“I don’t pay women to have sex with me,” he replies. “But yeah, okay, I may have given her some money that night, but I was drunk and confused. My friends said I thought I was in a strip club asking for a lap dance. I’m sorry I did that, and I’m sorry I slept with her. I’m…I’m also sorry that she’s gone.”
“Save your apologies since they aren’t worth a shit,” I reply with a scoff. “Now leave before I call the police.”
“Ha!” he laughs. “Go ahead. Try it. I’m sure they would love to stop by and get my autograph.”
“Autograph?” I repeat.
“Yeah. I take it you’re not a football fan.”
“No, not really,” I answer honestly since I’ve never really been into any type of sports.
“Well, I’m the starting quarterback for the Wilmington Wildcats,” he says while puffing his broad chest. “Last year I was the second best in the league.”
“Wow. Impressive,” I reply sarcastically with a roll of my eyes. “Now leave.”
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll leave, just as soon as you give me the kid back.”
Gasping in horror at the thought of letting this baby go after just getting him back, I release the door to hold him to me tighter with both arms around him. “Not gonna happen,” I tell the giant.
“Then I’m not leaving,” he says as he enters the house, causing me to take a few steps backward so that I can look up at his face without getting a crick in my neck.
“You said you may not even be the father!” I respond with a huff.
“Bianca left him with me because she obviously wanted me to take care of him,” he says, his words hitting me like a slap in the face. Or a punch, sort of like the one to his hard chin that left my knuckles swollen and aching.
“I’m her next of kin, so I’m his next of kin unless you turn out to be his father, which I wouldn’t be so sure of. If that is the case, then I’ll see you in court,” I warn him.
“You can’t be serious,” he mutters, running his hand through his jet-black hair that I now notice looks vaguely like a Mohawk. On anyone else, the hairstyle would probably look ridiculous, but on him, well, it doesn’t make him less attractive.
“Look, hot shot,” I start. “I appreciate you bringing him by, but your job here is done. Go back to getting drunk, fucking random women, or whatever else you do.”
“Hotshot?” he repeats with raised eyebrows and the right corner of his lips lifted in a smirk.
“Whatever,” I answer. “Yesterday I had to say goodbye to my twenty-three-year-old sister before they cremated her. I thought she had the baby and tossed him in a dumpster or…or traded him for drug money, so I’m relieved that you’ve kept him safe. But now he’s my responsibility, not yours.”
“Unless I’m his father,” he replies. “And if so, how do I know that you’re gonna take care of him? With everything you’ve got going on, you seem rather emotional and unequipped to look after a baby. So, I’ll just hang on to Brady until the test results come back,” he says before reaching for the baby on my shoulder.
“Remove your hands from him, or I will bite them off,” I warn him.
Ever so slowly he drops his hands and stares at me for several long, silent moments.
“What do you say we compromise?” he asks. “We should talk, get to know each other. Let me take you out to lunch, and Brady can come with us.”
“You want to take me out? What, like on a date?” I ask skeptically.
He nods in response.
“Hell no. Are you as delusional as you are tall?” I scoff. “I don’t even know your name.”
His reaction is definitely not one I was expecting.
Chuckling, the giant raises his fists in the air and exclaims, “Yes, finally!”
“Finally?” I repeat.
“Yeah, finally,” he answers.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“That means, game on, baby,” he replies, followed by an enormous grin and a wink that warms me up from head to…well, not down to my toes, but a much lower spot, giving new, literal meaning to the phrase “panty-melting smile.”
And then I can’t help but wonder who the heck this man is and what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
Chapter Seven
Quinton
“Who are you, anyway?” the cute pixie lady asks as I follow her further into the house, refusing to leave despite her repetitive demands.
“Quinton Dunn,” I say. And when she finally faces me again in the quaint little living room, I offer her my hand to shake. She hesitates before quickly removing her palm from Brady’s back to take it. Brady’s palm can’t be much smaller than hers.
“Callie Clarke,” she responds in a rush that I barely catch. “How long have you had him?” she asks, taking a seat on the sofa.
“Since Saturday night,” I tell her, lowering myself onto the seat across the coffee table from her.
“And Bianca…she just…left him with you?” she asks, looking down at the baby on her shoulder as if she already loves him and can’t imagine a mother doing such a thing.
“Yeah, he was in the seat, and there was a bag with food and a few diapers, along with a note that said he was mine. She didn’t even put her name on it.”
“And let me guess, you had no idea which of your many…romps he came from,” she assumes correctly. But I decide to try and minimize the truth, because for some reason I don’t want her to know the full extent of my manwhore ways. She
already dislikes me, has punched me in the face and rejected me, so why make it worse?
“Sunday I had a game, and last night it was getting late, but it only took me a day to track Bianca here. So I don’t have as many romps as you think,” I reply, withholding the fact that it was my friends who remembered what her sister looked like and not me. Without Cameron and Nixon, I would’ve been so fucked.
“So, Cassie, do you live here, you know, alone?” I ask while glancing around the living space that’s definitely all feminine.
When my question is met with silence, my eyes finally meet her cloudy gray ones that still look irritated at me, like I’m a dirty, mangy, stray dog that won’t leave.
“It’s Callie, and do you really think I’m gonna open up and give you, a stranger, the intimate details of my life?” she asks with an indignant huff.
She thinks I’m a stranger, the man millions of people recognize on sight.
Nice.
“Guess not,” I reply with a smile I try to hide since her reaction to me is exactly what all other women’s should be. Getting to my feet, I tell her, “Well, it’s been great meeting you, Callie, and I’m really sorry about Bianca, but I should get him back to the house.”
“You can go, but he’s staying,” the woman looks up and says, clutching Brady to her shoulder.
“Look, there’s no reason to be difficult. Just like we don’t know if I’m his father, we don’t even know for sure if Bianca is the one who left him on my doorstep, right?”
“She was found after she had just given birth, but there was no sign of the baby. So I think it’s safe to assume…” she argues with moisture filling her eyes.