Rough Play: A Football Romance

by Kira Ward

  “Me too.” I turn into him and he kisses me. But then he looks at me and he must see something on my face because he pulls away.

  “I’ll go get your stuff out of the car. I’ll be back.”

  I stand at the railing and watch him go. Then I slip into his bathroom and touch his things, noting the brand of toothpaste he uses and the name of his cologne. You can learn a lot about a person by their toiletries and I feel like I’m finally learning things about Magnus that he was able to hide by not bringing me into his home. But this doesn’t feel like a home, if I’m honest with myself. It feels more like a stop on the way to something else. And that makes me sad.

  I undress and climb into the shower, loving the idea that this is the place where Magnus showers every morning. It makes me feel closer to him in a weird sort of way. I hear him come in and I wonder if he’ll think it’s strange that I got into the shower like this. But then he opens the door and joins me.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about doing this with you?” he asks. “After that weekend in Denton, I can’t stop thinking about loving you in the shower.”

  I take the bar of soap from the shower caddy, get it wet, and create a lather between my hands as I turn to face him. The smell reminds me of him, a sort of cedar scent that reminds me of long walks in the woods. I touch my soapy hand to his chest and he just watches, his hands at his sides.

  “I always imagined you in this big, fancy house with all this fancy furniture. For some reason I was convinced you’d have a huge brick porch and a pool and that you’d throw parties out there every weekend.”

  “I’m afraid my life is quite boring, my love.”

  I shake my head. “You should have more stuff. You should have some sort of roots.”

  “I’ve never had roots.” He brushes a piece of wet hair from my face. “I told you my mom took off when I was six and my dad fell into a bottle as a result. What I didn’t tell you was that my mom left to be with another man. She has this whole other family. I saw them once, when I was in high school. Three girls and a boy. She’s like this soccer mom who devotes herself to her kids.” He shakes his head. “I can’t really blame my dad for falling into a bottle over that.”

  “It must be hard for you, too.”

  He shrugs. “She likes to pretend my dad and I never existed. So I pretend she never did.”

  “What about your dad?”

  He takes the bar of soap from my hands and begins lathering up his own hands, setting it down so that he can run his hands over my breasts, washing them quite thoroughly. I think he’s not going to answer, but then he sort of sighs.

  “My dad could barely look at me most of my childhood because I reminded him too much of her. And when he did look at me, it was usually to tell me what a loser I was. He told me constantly that I was just like her, that I was a quitter and a fuck up. He told me I would never amount to anything.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah. But it spurred me into proving him wrong.”

  “Have you thought about seeing him again? Talking to him?”

  Magnus stiffens a little. “He’s reached out to me a few times. Probably just wants money.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know my dad. He’s a lost cause.” He runs his hand down over my belly, letting his fingers linger on the lump growing just above the line of my hips. “If you’re wondering what kind of a dad I’ll be—“

  “No, I’m not. I’m just…I want you to be happy. And I feel like there’s a lot of unresolved stuff there.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t need to go backward to be happy. I just need to be with you.”

  I reach up and kiss him. He pulls me close and returns the kiss, deepening it as he explores my mouth like it’s the first time. The hot water is relaxing me, but his kiss is tightening my muscles with anticipation. My lower belly aches for him, the need growing with every second that passes. It must be the same for him because he lifts me and pulls my hips up toward him as he slides inside of me. I close my eyes and bite my bottom lip, pleasure bursting through me like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

  We kiss for a long time, barely moving against each other. But then he begins moving deep inside of me, pressing me hard against the cold shower wall. I wrap my legs around him and tug him closer, leaving him little room to move, but the rocking of his hips is like heaven as he presses hard against my clit. I come hard and quick, digging my nails into his back as ecstasy washes over me. He stops moving, content to just sit and watch my pleasure wash over me. Then he gently sets me down on my feet and turns off the water, snatching a towel from a nearby cabinet and wrapping it around me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so pampered. He carries me into the bedroom and lays me on the bed, rubbing lotion into every inch of my body. And then he crawls into bed behind me and slides inside of me again, making love to me slowly and gently, his touches so considerate that it takes my breath away. We come together, riding that wave until neither of us as the energy to move.

  “I love you,” I say as I drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Magnus

  It’s nice having Cricket to come home to every night. We play Detroit that Sunday. Knowing she’s in the stands during the game makes me want to play better than I ever have before. And I do. We kick ass, winning the game 56-14. The press is all over me afterward. It’s the first time I face the press after the TMZ article about Cricket’s pregnancy comes out. That’s all they seem to want to know about.

  “Did you know she was pregnant, Magnus?”

  “We’re you surprised?”

  “Did you plan this?”

  “Are you getting married?”

  I try to be polite, but I’m not answering any of these questions. We’re two weeks from the playoffs. You would think the press would be more interested in that.

  I finally sneak off and go home, surprised to find Cricket cooking up a feast in the kitchen.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” she calls when I come through the door. “I’m not sick for once, so I thought I’d make something to eat.”

  I move up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “I’m starving,” I say, nuzzling her neck.

  She giggles, setting down the knife she was dicing vegetables with and turning to slip her arms around my neck. We kiss for a long moment, her lips lingering on mine. But then she pulls away and returns to her work.

  “The game went well,” she says.

  “It did. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  She shrugs. “It’s not as much fun watching the game alone. But it’s exciting to be in the stadium.”

  “Except when balls come flying at your head.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, well, that had fateful consequences, didn’t it?”

  I move up behind her and kiss her neck again. “I always wanted to ask. Did you move in front of Amelia on purpose? I mean, if you hadn’t, it might be Amelia standing here in my kitchen right now.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’ve seen the video. It was headed right for Amelia, but you stepped in front of her in the last moment.”

  “It was instinct.”

  “I suppose.” I nuzzle her neck again. “You’ll be a good mother with instincts like that.”

  I run my hands over her lower belly, still fascinated with that little lump. And it seems to grow a little more every day. I try to imagine what a child of ours will look like, but sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture. But sometimes I can imagine a little dark haired girl with pretty green eyes like her mother.

  “This time next year you’ll come home to a little one crawling all over the floor.”

  “And her beautiful mother.”

  “Her? What makes you think it’ll be a girl?”

  “Just hoping.”

  She glances over her shoulder at me. “Most men hope for a son.”

  I kiss her temple lightly. “I want a beautiful little girl who look
s just like her mother. There’ll be time for a son later.”

  She laughs again. “You’re optimistic. What makes you think I want more than one kid? We’re both only children.”

  “That’s why we can’t have just one. We know how lonely it is to be an only child.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. Then she nods. “I get that.”

  “I want a houseful of kids. As many as you want.”

  She thinks about that for a minute. “Four, I think. That’s a good, even number.”

  “Two boys and two girls.”

  “Yeah. Sounds nice.”

  She pulls away from me to dump the vegetables she’d been cutting up into a bowl. Then she bends low to check whatever it is that smells so good in the oven. I lean back against the counter to watch, stealing a carrot from her stack on the counter.

  “Have you thought about names?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve just been trying to get past the morning sickness and the absolute exhaustion.”

  “What about Sofia? I’ve always liked that name.”

  “Or Abigail. That’s my other grandmother’s name.”

  I laugh. “You got stuck with Cricket when you could have been named Abigail?”

  “What’s wrong with Cricket?”

  “It’s an insect.”

  “It’s a traditional, Southern name.”

  “It’s an insect.” I take another bite of my carrot. “You don’t want to name our kid Cockroach or Ant, do you?”

  She tosses a wet rag at me. I just laugh.

  “So,” she says after a minute, drawing out the word, “I think we’ve been putting the cart before the horse. Don’t you think we should be talking about your career, my career, where we’re going to live for the next five to ten years?”

  I nod, staring thoughtfully at the floor. “My contract is up at the end of the season. Frank’s already started to negotiate with the Giants. They seem interested in keeping me around another couple of years.”

  “Have you had any other offers?”

  “Sure. Several, actually. There was even one from the Cowboys. I guess they’re looking to replace Romo in the next year or so.”

  She nods, lifting the lid on a pot on the stove to stir whatever is inside. “I have a two-year contract with the high school. I can probably get out of next year, but I have to finish out this year.”

  “That works out alright. After February, I’m free to go wherever I want until spring training.”

  “And after that?”

  “Would it be an issue for you, moving here?”

  “And leave my parents and all my friends? A little.”

  “I have access to a plane. You could go to Dallas as often as you want.”

  “With a new baby? That would be tough.”

  I go to her and pull her back against my chest again. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “I just…I’m going to need my mom around when the baby’s little.”

  I kiss her neck lightly. “We have time to figure this out.”

  “That’s the thing about me, Magnus. I need to have a plan in place.” She turns in my arms and looks up at me. “I need to be able to get my head wrapped around it before it happens.”

  “Okay. What about this? You keep your house in Dallas and we commute back and forth. Together. That way you don’t have to travel alone with the baby.”

  “That would be expensive.”

  “We have plenty of money.”

  “But you’re not going to be playing football forever.”

  I groan. “I know. I’ve made provisions for that, babe. I promise it’s not an issue.”

  She looks up at me, curiosity in her eyes. But she doesn’t ask.

  “The biggest question is, where do we get married?”

  “Dallas,” she says without any hesitation.

  I kiss her to show that I’m okay with that. And I am. The good thing about not having roots is that there’s no one whose feelings I might hurt by not including them in a wedding. I’m free to get married anywhere.

  “I’ve always imagined a small wedding in my parents’ backyard. Is that okay?”

  “That’s wonderful, love.”

  She smiles. “I want to get married soon. I don’t want to waddle down the aisle because I’m eight months pregnant.”

  “Okay. The sooner the better.”

  “You’re going to be so busy the next few weeks. When do you think you’ll have enough time?”

  “After the Super Bowl.”

  “That’s the first week of February?”

  “Yeah.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. “Spring break is the end of February. How about then?”

  “Okay.”

  She smiles really big, bigger than I think I’ve ever seen her smile. “Good.”

  I pick her up and set her on the edge of the counter, stealing her lips again. We kiss until whatever is boiling on the stove begins to boil over and she pushes me away. I watch her fuss over our dinner and I suddenly realize what this feeling that’s settled in my chest is. Contentment. I’m content having her here.

  That’s new.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cricket

  It’s odd being alone in Magnus’ house. He leaves early in the morning for practice and then leaves again late in the afternoon for team meetings and more practice, so I spend more than the majority of the day alone. But when he’s home…he’s so kind, so gentle, and so thoughtful. Like most little girls, I’ve always imagined what it would be like when I found the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. But I never imagined he would be like Magnus. He is so much better than I could ever have dreamt.

  But I am alone. I wander the condo, touching his things—the few he has—wondering what it was like for him, these last four years, living here alone. I’m so close to my parents that I can’t imagine not having family around all the time. And that makes me think about Magnus’ parents. I know he would rather have nothing to do with them, but I find that intensely sad.

  Magnus has a small office off of the living room. I know I shouldn’t, but I search the drawers of his desk, looking for any information on his parents. I find a packet of letters in the very back of a drawer, all unopened. They’re all dated within the last two years. And they all have a return address for a man named Malcom Fuller.

  Are these from his father? Why hasn’t he opened them? Why did he keep them?

  I open one, feeling like I’m invading his privacy. It’s the first one, dated just over two years ago.

  Dear Son,

  I know you probably don’t want to have anything to do with me and I can’t say that I blame you. I was a miserable father, a miserable provider, and a miserable human being. But I wanted you to know that I finally hit rock bottom and realized what I was missing by constantly drowning myself in a bottle. I’ve gone to rehab and I go to AA meetings every night. I’m trying to make amends to the people I harmed during my addiction and you, son, are the one I hurt the most. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. I know asking you for forgiveness is asking too much, so I won’t ask. But would it be impossible for us to begin fresh? To find new ground to build our relationship on?

  It was signed, hoping to hear from you.

  I fold it back up and slip it back into the envelope, feeling horrible for having read it. I start to slide it back into the drawer, hiding my invasion. But then I find myself wondering what would happen if someone gave Magnus a little push.

  Wouldn’t he want his father at his wedding? Wouldn’t he want the chance to make amends? I saw the way he looked at my family at Thanksgiving. He misses family. And there’s this little part of me—I know deep down that Magnus is going to be an awesome father—that believes Magnus needs to make amends with his father before he can believe that he can be a good father himself.

  I tell myself I’m doing this for my child as much as for Magnus.

  I wait until the end of the regular season. Magnus is so wrapped up in
the playoffs that he’s off in Jersey, practicing twelve hours a day. He’s pushing himself, barely taking the time to call and check in once a day. He won’t notice when I take off for a few hours one Saturday afternoon.

  I was surprised to realize that Magnus is from Texas. I should have known, but I never really asked and he never really offered. But he is. He grew up in a small town outside of Denton called Argyle. And that’s where his father still lives.

  It’s a short drive, just a little over an hour from my front door. I listen to the playoff game on the drive. The Giants don’t play until the divisional playoffs next week, but this game is important because it’ll determine the Giants’ opponent for next week if they win tomorrow. When I find the house, I hesitate a moment, staring up at it from the curb. It’s a small house, probably just two bedrooms. But it’s well cared for. There’s a new roof and it’s been recently painted. And the lawn, small as it is, is green and carefully manicured.

  Not what I was expecting.

  I climb out of the car, feeling a little awkward in my movements. I’m barely moving into the second trimester, but I already feel my center of balance shifting forward. Another week or two and I’ll have to invest in some maternity pants, or at least some stretchy pants that allow for my growing lump.

  I walk slowly up to the front door, tugging my heavy sweater tighter around my shoulders. I knock before I can change my mind. A little uncertainty has settled in my chest, making me wonder if I’m making a fatal mistake. What if Magnus sees this as an intrusion on his privacy? What if he can’t forgive me for doing this? What if his father hasn’t changed as much as that letter suggests? What if I’m inviting disaster into our lives?

  But it’s too late to change my mind.

  The door opens and a man who looks so much like Magnus it’s impossible to not acknowledge the relationship stands there, looking down at me with open curiosity in his eyes.

  “Hi,” I say softly. “I’m—“

  “I know who you are. You’re Cricket Monahan.”

  I incline my head slightly.