The Outside Child

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “What changed her mind?”

  “I did. She’s never seen me this happy.”

  Brayden wraps his deliciously muscular arms around my midsection. His body presses against mine as he places slow kisses on my neck. There’s more heat in here than in the kitchen.

  “I can just let them cook, and we can slip away . . .”

  Brayden kisses me once more and then releases his embrace. “My mother is looking forward to this, babe. She wants to impress your mother. We can finish this later.”

  “Promise?”

  “Pinky swear.”

  Brayden opens the door and holds my hand as we walk back into the kitchen. Mama is now wearing a matching hat and apron to Marilyn’s outfit.

  “Where did you two slip off to?” Marilyn asks, then shakes her head. “Oh, goodness, I don’t want to know. Wash your hands, Chenille, dear, and come put on your uniform.”

  I don’t know what makes me laugh harder, wash your hands or uniform. Tears form at the corners of my eyes from choking down my giggles. Brayden doesn’t care. He just lets loose.

  “Get out of here, Brayden. Go find something to do. I think your father is shooting pool with Kent in the game room. Go join them. We’ll have this dinner whipped up in no time.”

  “It’s going to take a few hours,” Mama says.

  “A few hours? Hmmm . . . maybe I should change my shoes.”

  Oh, my goodness, this lady thought she was going to cook an entire holiday meal while wearing Jimmy Choo pumps. I help her unbuckle the straps and hand her a pair of flip-flops from her bag.

  “Now I’m ready,” Marilyn says. “Let me at that turkey.”

  “I was thinking you could start with the vegetables. They need to be chopped,” Mama says.

  Marilyn eyes the pile of celery, onions, and bell peppers with contempt. “That seems incredibly boring.”

  “Oh, but it’s the most important part,” Mama says. “We have to have good dressing for the turkey, and that doesn’t happen without the veggies.”

  “But I want to stuff the turkey,” Marilyn says.

  “We won’t stuff it, because it takes too long to cook that way, and sometimes it dries out,” Mama says. “But we’ll make a nice pan of dressing to eat on the side. It’ll be wonderful.”

  Marilyn seems to be warming up to Mama, like I knew she would. Mama is going to make Marilyn think she really helped cook this meal.

  “You’re a makeup artist to the stars, huh?” Marilyn asks as she waves me over and hands me a knife and a cutting board.

  I start chopping a bell pepper while she chops celery.

  “To a few stars. I hope to get some major clients, and maybe go on tour with a musician or band.”

  “Well, I’d like for you to do my makeup tomorrow evening. Joseph and I have a party, and I’d like to make an entrance.”

  “You want to slay all the other women in the room?”

  Marilyn laughs. “Yes, girl. I want those other hussies to ask themselves if I’ve had work done.”

  “You want me to take some years off, then? I’ve got you. My contour game is solid. They will think you had Botox and a face lift.”

  “You might just be my secret weapon. How much is your deluxe package?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t charge you. You can get the family discount.”

  Marilyn pauses her chopping as if she’s considering this. Then she starts again.

  “Family?” she asks.

  “Brayden feels like family to me, and you’re his mother. So, yes, you get the family discount.”

  “All right then. I’ll take it.”

  I think we’ve just turned a corner. An olive branch was offered and received. We’ve got a long way to go, but chopping vegetables together and me doing her makeup is a very good start.

  Chapter 23

  I didn’t think I’d become a football fan just by watching Brayden play. I thought I’d become a Brayden fan. But now I watch the games even when I’m home in Atlanta. I even watch the highlights on the cable sports networks.

  So I’m here at this playoff game, not just as a girlfriend, but as a fangirl. I read the stats on the other team, and they are favored to win. The Dallas Knights are underdogs, but I want them to win.

  The game starts off tough. First quarter, Brayden makes a completion, but then fumbles. It’s recovered by the opposing squad’s defense, and they score a touchdown.

  The Los Angeles Stars’ fans scream and cheer, because that touchdown puts their team up twenty-one to three. But I’m not concerned with them. I’m too busy staring down at my man on the field. I’ve never seen him this upset.

  Their head coach pulls him over to the sidelines and tries to talk to him, but he stares straight ahead. I wish I could go down there and talk to him. Shoot, I almost wish his mama was here. Maybe she’d know what to say to him.

  Brayden stays on the bench for the next couple of drives, and then he’s finally back in. But he’s still not on his game. He doesn’t complete another pass even though the quarterback throws a few to him. Something isn’t right.

  A few moments before halftime, he finally catches another pass, but he fumbles it again. This time the Stars’ defense doesn’t recover the ball, but the damage to Brayden is the same.

  He storms off the field and kicks the water cooler. When the rest of the team goes into the locker room, Brayden stays on the sideline. I hate that I can’t text him, or reach out to him, or soothe him. I can’t do anything except watch this unfold.

  “Brayden’s gotta get his head in the game today,” Trudy, one of the Dallas Knights’ wives says.

  I don’t know how to respond. Is she saying this because she wants me to agree, or is she just merely making a rhetorical statement? It’s the first time one of the wives has approached me with any conversation about Brayden specifically.

  “He’ll have a stronger second half.”

  “I sure hope so, else we’ll all have some bitter men on our hands this evening.”

  Okay, first of all . . . football is a team sport. This isn’t just on Brayden. I don’t even know who her husband is. He’s probably a kicker or something. Shoot.

  Second half is worse than the first, because it’s not just Brayden dropping passes and fumbling, it seems like the entire team is off. The quarterback gets sacked multiple times. The kicker misses two field goals in a row.

  The Dallas Knights aren’t just losing this game. They’re giving it away.

  Final quarter the score is thirty-five to ten, and the Knights really don’t have much of a chance to turn this around. It doesn’t seem to stop them from trying, though. They rally on the last drive and almost score a touchdown.

  But they don’t. And now the Stars are taking a knee and letting the clock run out. Just like that, it’s over. The Dallas Knights are out of the playoffs.

  This time, there are no happy and joyful hugs after the game. Most of the players trudge out of their exit, eyes not leaving the ground. I don’t see Brayden at first, but finally he comes out, with his head held high. There are no fans back here, so he doesn’t need to do that. I mean, if he wants to be broken about this loss, he should allow himself to feel broken. Wait. I hope he isn’t doing this for me.

  I run up and throw my arms around his neck. His hug back is weak in comparison to the last time we were here. He doesn’t lift me off my feet and spin me around, either. I compensate for his lack of warmth with all the heat I can muster in this January cold.

  When he lets go of our embrace, I notice that his eyes are wet. Not filled with tears, but spent. The tears were there; he’s just strong enough to hold them back now.

  It seems like a man crying over a football game would be a turnoff to me. Like if someone asked me if a man crying over sports is masculine, I would probably say no. I mean, before tonight. But looking at Brayden who has the strength to hold it all together when he wants to break down—this is the epitome of strength. And it is definitely masculine and hot.

  I j
ust want to climb him like the chocolate tree that he is.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I don’t know if I still want to go out. Can we just stay in for the night?”

  “Yeah, baby. Let’s stay in tonight. We can stay in all day tomorrow, too, if you want.”

  He wants to nurse his wounds. I get that. Except he can leave his wounds to me. I’m gonna be the nurse, the doctor, and the cure.

  Chapter 24

  When we wake up in the late morning (almost noon), our clothes litter the floor in Brayden’s enormous master bedroom. I shiver from the January chill that’s in the air, even with the heat on in the house. But Brayden stands staring out the window wearing only a pair of snug boxer briefs. I can see his facial expression from his profile. His eyebrows are pulled together in a frown, he holds his lips tight, and a vein throbs at his temple.

  Clearly, my man is stressed.

  We made love all night, and he’s still not back to himself. Well, I’m not back to myself, either. I’m sore like I went to the gym last night.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  He turns to me and relaxes his frown. He doesn’t quite make it to a smile, but he does stop frowning.

  “I made so many mistakes last night. I keep thinking about things I’d do differently if I could go back in time.”

  I climb out of the bed, dragging the blanket behind me. I close the space between us. As I stand before him, he stares down at me, hunched over a bit to bring his face closer to mine.

  With both hands, I reach and pull him into a kiss deep enough to erase his uncertainty.

  “Next year you’ll be better,” I say. “Now, all you can do is rest. So, come back to bed.”

  “What if there isn’t a next year?”

  “No next year? I don’t think they’re going to cut you for what happened, Brayden. You’re not the only one who wasn’t at his best last night.”

  Brayden laces his fingers through mine as he kisses my throat. The blanket slips down a little because I forget to hold it up. I forget everything when Brayden is kissing me.

  “What if they do cut me? Is there still an us? Are we still a thing?”

  I feel myself frown at this question. It’s insulting, really, that he continues to wonder if I’m in it for his status.

  “There’s an us, as long as you can survive not being a baller.”

  Brayden chuckles. “I don’t even know what that looks like.”

  “Well, one day you won’t be playing anymore, so it’ll look like retirement.”

  “Not there yet.”

  “I know you’re not, so why are we having this conversation?”

  He lifts me into his arms and carries me back to the bed wrapped in the blanket. I feel the warmth between my thighs start to reignite, as I bury my face into his neck and inhale his perfectly masculine scent.

  He lays me down and unwraps the blanket like he’s opening a gift on Christmas Day.

  “I love you.”

  My heart skips. He’s said it before, so I don’t know why it makes me emotional today.

  “I love you, too, babe.”

  His eyes ask me if he can partake. My smile tells him yes.

  Then he eases down and kisses my forehead.

  “Go shower, and get dressed,” he says. “I want to take you on a road trip somewhere.”

  I’m trying to figure out why we can’t have this road trip after he takes me to the top of the mountain. Because I’m ready for the mountain.

  “Can we go later?” I ask in a whiny voice.

  He chuckles then nuzzles my neck. “We can finish this later. I want to take you somewhere that’s special to me. It’s going to be dark when we get there.”

  “Do I need to pack a bag?”

  “A change of clothes is fine, but we won’t be going out on the town. You don’t need your whole suitcase.”

  Wherever we’re going must not be very far, because I have to be back in Atlanta in a few days and he’s not telling me to bring my suitcase. I guess Miami Beach is out.

  Wait.

  I am getting used to being a baller’s girlfriend. I don’t know if I would want to give all of this up. And how in the hell can I date another guy after Brayden? This better be forever. Shoot.

  I climb out from under Brayden and hurry into and out of the shower. When I step back into the bedroom, Brayden has showered, too, in the spare bathroom.

  I don’t want to put on clothes now. I want to snatch his towel off and crawl back into bed.

  “I promise we’ll finish later,” Brayden says, just like he’s reading my mind. “I don’t want to drive in the dark.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  Brayden just smiles at my impatience and grabs the little backpack with my overnight things.

  This better be good.

  Chapter 25

  This was going to be good—no, great. Brayden glanced over at Chenille as she dozed in the passenger seat of his SUV. She’d wrapped herself in a little blanket and turned on the heated seats, so Brayden knew that her conversation wouldn’t last long, and it didn’t. She was asleep before the end of the first hour. It was okay, though. He needed time to think.

  Brayden was taking her to his cabin in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and they would be there soon. He touched the lump in his jacket pocket: the ring he and his mother had picked out at Tiffany and Co. He was going to propose.

  Chenille was beautiful as she slept. An ebony angel, inhaling the stale air inside the car and exhaling fairy dust and magic. Brayden touched her face. She stirred, but snuggled farther down under the blanket.

  He wanted to spend an entire lifetime with her and beyond, but the hold she had on him was frightening. The idea that she might ever leave him, or fall out of love with him, was unfathomable.

  Brayden was starting to understand why men got cold feet, and why Chenille put up such a fight in the beginning. Being in love like this meant giving away all power. It meant putting your heart in the palm of another person’s hand and hoping they didn’t squeeze too tightly.

  But he had to do this.

  He had to make her his own. Two had to become one flesh, and not just physically. They’d already joined in that way. He wanted the rest. Her soul and spirit.

  He pulled into the drive of his cabin. He thought about the preparations that he’d made and wondered if they were corny or too much. It was too late now to rethink it, though.

  “Wake up, babe. We’re here.”

  Chenille stretched like a cat and slowly opened her eyes. She squinted and looked around.

  “Where is here?”

  “Hot Springs, Arkansas.”

  “Arkansas? Oh, wow.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I can say that Arkansas did not pop into my mind at all. You surprised me.”

  Brayden grinned. “This is my cabin. I love it here. It’s the most peaceful place I know. Let’s go inside. It’s cold out.”

  Brayden grabbed his and Chenille’s small bags out of the trunk and walked them both up to the front door of the tiny, rustic cabin. It wasn’t anything like his other properties, and that was the point.

  “Close your eyes,” Brayden said.

  “Why am I closing my eyes?”

  “Obviously, there is a surprise inside. I’m putting a blindfold on you.”

  “Okay.”

  Brayden led Chenille through the front door. When they stepped inside, he bent down and untied her shoes.

  “Wait. What are you doing?” Chenille asked. “Can I take this blindfold off?”

  “Not yet, babe. Just trust me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Step out of your shoes.”

  While Chenille took her shoes off, Brayden did the same.

  “What? You got a chinchilla carpet or something?” Chenille asked.

  “Nope.”

  Brayden pulled Chenille to the middle of the room. She wiggled her toes around.

  “Is this . . . sand?”

  Brayden smiled and remo
ved the blindfold. Chenille covered her mouth with both hands, but the squeal made it out anyway.

  “You like it?” Brayden asked.

  “I cannot believe you did this. How long have you been planning this?”

  This was Brayden transforming his entire cabin into a little version of Jamaica. The hardwood floors were covered with sand, and big-screen televisions covered the wall with a scene from Negril’s Eight Mile Beach. There were even palm trees, hammocks, and beach chairs.

  “From the day I met you in Jamaica, my life hasn’t been the same.”

  Brayden dropped to one knee, and Chenille burst into tears. Her hand shook in his, and he kissed it tenderly.

  “I am going to love you forever, Chenille Abrams. I would love for you to be my wife. Please say yes.”

  Chenille put both her hands on Brayden’s face and pulled his lips to hers.

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Brayden stood up and lifted Chenille off her feet. He carried her over to the hammock and laid her down.

  “Shall we continue what we started earlier, future wife?”

  “Abso-freaking-lutely, future husband.”

  Chapter 26

  One year after the wedding

  “There are a million different directions we could go with this. Say the word and I’ll have you guys on every blog and morning talk show.”

  Brayden looked for any signs of affirmation in Chenille’s face. All he saw was indifference and boredom. Yes, Brayden’s manager, Drake Mills, wasn’t the most exciting human being on the planet, but he was talking about branding opportunities. Making money shouldn’t be boring.

  Drake sat down at his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting on y’all.”

  “No. We’re waiting on Chenille,” Brayden said.

  “I’m not holding anything up.”

  “You two have been the NFL’s fairy-tale romance since the photo spread of your wedding in People magazine.”

  Brayden wished Drake hadn’t brought up that photo spread. It wasn’t Chenille’s idea for those pictures to be in a magazine. Brayden had made the deal without asking her about it, and she’d been mad as hell.