Long: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  I sighed and looked at the label. Sure enough, it was non-alcoholic sparkling cider.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Never doubt me, kid.”

  “I won’t. Not ever again.”

  “Good.” He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and poured two drinks. “Here’s to your health and our baby.”

  “Cheers.”

  We clinked and sipped. I smiled at the bubbles.

  “So, how about the tour?” I asked him.

  “Angling to get into my room already?”

  “You wish,” I said.

  “Sure. Whatever you say.” He grinned at me. “Here’s the kitchen.”

  “Lovely,” I said.

  I followed him into the living room. “This is where the real magic happens.”

  “Smells like feet.”

  He laughed. “That’s Hynes.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Come on. This is the bathroom.” He pointed at a door. “And that’s Hynes’s room.” He pointed at another door.

  “Where is he tonight anyway?”

  “With a few guys at Dom’s.”

  “You weren’t invited?”

  “I’m always invited,” he said. “I chose this little gathering instead.”

  “Choosing me over your friends? I’m flattered.”

  He smirked at me. “Good.” He walked to the end of the hall. “And here’s my room.”

  I stepped inside. It was surprisingly neat. A queen bed dominated the center of the room, with a small desk off to one side and two end tables. The closet was closed, but there was shockingly little clutter.

  I sat down on his bed and he sat down next to me. I felt nervous all of a sudden, though I didn’t know why. We both understood why I was there and what was going to happen, and I frankly couldn’t wait for him to slowly strip the clothes from my body. But I was also nervous, like this had never happened before.

  He smirked at me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a lovely home,” I said. There was a black duffel bag near my feet, sticking out from under the bed. “Hey, didn’t you have this bag with you the other night?”

  He glanced down at it. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just making an observation.” I frowned. “You left suddenly and then you had this bag.”

  “That’s what happened,” he confirmed. “Go ahead and ask.”

  “Ask what?”

  “You want to ask what’s inside the bag.”

  “I do, but I also know I’m being super nosey and rude.”

  “It’s actually for you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Presents already? I think you’re moving a little fast.”

  He laughed. “It’s more for our kid, actually. Go ahead and open it if you want.”

  I frowned and handed him my drink and then grabbed the bag. I slowly unzipped it.

  Stacks of cash. I reached my hands in, my eyes wide. Stacks of twenties filled the bag.

  “Holy shit, Gibson. What is this?”

  “Five grand,” he said. “I know babies aren’t cheap, and neither are pregnancies.”

  “I thought you were broke.”

  “As far as anyone else is concerned, I am, but I’m trying to make some money for you.”

  “Where’d you get five thousand dollars in cash from?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Seriously, Gibson, where?”

  His face got serious. He stood up and set the cups down on his desk and then looked at me. “Are you sure you want to know? Once I say it, you can never go back.”

  “You’re freaking me out.”

  “Remember the first half of the game? Remember how I played like shit?”

  “You weren’t that bad,” I said, “but yeah. I remember you guys were losing at halftime.”

  “I threw the half.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What? Are you kidding?”

  “No. I got in contact with some guys that run some sports betting, and they paid me five grand to throw the first half.”

  I shook my head, completely blown away. “How would that even work?”

  “People bet on more than just who is going to win and who is going to lose. They bet on the winners at halftime, the spread, all sorts of shit. Nobody bet that Mountain was going to be winning at halftime, and these guys made a lot of money.”

  “Gibson,” I said softly, completely in shock, “you cheated. You bet against your own team.”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t bet. I won the game in the end.”

  “Yeah, but still. Gibson, who are these people?”

  “The mob,” he said, so simply that it made me want to scream.

  I stood up, my head dizzy. “I need to go.”

  “Avery, wait.”

  I walked out of his room quickly and didn’t look back.

  “Avery,” he said, following me, “hold on. I can’t make money like normal people. If I’m going to help you, I had to do this. It was my only choice.”

  “I believe you,” I said, “but I’m still freaked out. I have to go.”

  “Avery,” he said again, “hold on.”

  I stopped at the door. “You don’t owe me this,” I said.

  “I know,” he answered. “I owe my kid.”

  I bit my lip and then shook my head. “I’ll see you later, Gibson.”

  I quickly left his apartment. He didn’t call after me again.

  I couldn’t believe it. My head was spinning as I walked my bike back toward my apartment. I couldn’t believe he would do that, get involved with the mafia. I couldn’t believe he’d throw a game, even if it was just part of a game, just to make some money.

  Sure, it was money for our child. At least that was what he said. He could have gotten paid much more than that and I’d never know. He could have been doing this sort of thing for years.

  I felt dizzy and confused. I had never imagined someone getting involved with the mafia like this, let alone acting like it was no big deal.

  I thought I understood Gibson, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the honorable guy I thought he was. Maybe he was just like everyone else, willing to do whatever just to make some money.

  As I headed home, I didn’t know who or what I could trust, not anymore.

  21

  Gibson

  She didn’t show up to take my vitals that next morning and didn’t respond to my text.

  I couldn’t believe I fucking told her. She was finally warming up to me, finally letting her guard down, and I fucking told her something so intense and crazy. No wonder she was freaked out. She probably thought I was some psycho mobster and was trying to run away as fast as she could.

  She just didn’t understand my world. She didn’t understand that it was close to impossible for me to live a normal life right now, not with all this intense pressure and scrutiny. I couldn’t get money the usual, normal ways.

  I shouldn’t have said anything. She was just asking about the bag on a whim; she didn’t really care what was inside of it. But of course I was a fucking idiot and wanted to tell her so badly, wanted her to know that I could take care of her and the baby.

  Her face told me everything. As soon as she saw the cash, she instantly looked terrified. She knew what it was, or at least she knew that I hadn’t gotten all that money any legal, normal way. Nobody had a duffel bag full of cash from a legal source. It just didn’t happen. Nobody walked home from their part-time job at McDonald’s with their paycheck in rubber-banded twenties.

  Still, even though it was from a shady source, and I had to cheat at football to get it, I did it for her. She had to realize that the reason was important and justified everything I did.

  It was just a sport. At the end of the day, football was just a fucking game. I was damn good at it, and I’d keep on playing because I loved the game, but it wasn’t really life-changing or important. It wasn’t like I let some guy die on my operating table in exchange for some cash
or something like that. I just threw one half of a football game. Nobody got hurt, and I got paid money that can do some actual good.

  She clearly didn’t see it that way. It wasn’t like I could explain, because she wasn’t talking to me. I went through my day, angry and distracted. Class flew by, and eventually I found myself at practice, dropping back and throwing passes like usual.

  But I could hardly concentrate on the field in front of me. I just kept thinking about Avery’s expression when she saw that cash. I really thought she’d be impressed, or at least happy that I gave a fuck about her. Instead, she had been absolutely horrified.

  It was a hot day, surprisingly hot, and I was drenched in sweat. The offense was practicing against the defense, and I was doing our usual passing plays. Guys streamed all around me, big men in full pads who loved hitting and getting hit. Football games were like tightrope contests. You had to stay perfectly level, perfectly balanced, or else you’d tip over the side and get smashed.

  That was exactly what happened to me. It was a normal play, nothing special. I dropped back to pass, but the defense rushed through.

  They weren’t supposed to hit me, since they didn’t want to risk injuring their star quarterback, but my head wasn’t in the drill. I just kept thinking about Avery and my mafia problem. As the defense closed in on me, I turned to scramble but ran right into a big defensive player.

  He fucking leveled me. Normally I would have gotten away from him, but I was just so distracted that I never saw him coming. He tried to pull up and not hit me, but it was too late. I was knocked down to the grass, the wind knocked from my lungs. I heard whistles blowing all over the place.

  “What the fuck are you doing, son?” the defensive coach screamed. “Are you fucking stupid? What’s he wearing?”

  “A red jersey,” the defensive player answered.

  “A fucking red jersey, you dimwitted fucking asshole. Do you know what that means, cockhead?”

  “Don’t hit him.”

  “Don’t fucking hit him, you piece of shit. And what did you do?”

  “Hit him.”

  “You fucking hit him, you silly titted dick swaddler!”

  I slowly go to my feet as the defensive coach chewed out his player with some really fantastic language. I was turning toward the sideline when my coach got in my face.

  “The fuck you think you’re doing out there?” he asked.

  “Practicing,” I said.

  “You fucking scrambled right into him. He only hit you because you let him.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “You’ve been making a lot of mistakes lately, Gibson,” Coach Taylor snarled. “Don’t fuck up, son. Get your fucking head in this game.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded and I headed to the sideline to get something to drink.

  This was typical football. The coaches yelled insults and lit a fire under our asses. That was how they motivated us to be faster, better, stronger.

  But I didn’t feel motivated. I felt like I was being fucked on both ends by some big motherfuckers intent on making me bleed. I was stuck between the mafia wanting more from me and Avery wanting less, and I still needed to figure out how to make more money.

  I was fucked, and now I was probably bruised, considering the hit I just took.

  But I wasn’t down. I wasn’t the kind of man that stayed down. I had to figure my shit out and get my head right, and I wasn’t about to lie down and take this shit. I was going to fight back, and I was going to win.

  Because that was what I did. I was a fucking winner.

  Practice went smoothly after that. I got my head into it and the defense came a little lighter, a little smarter. Nobody wanted to be called a cum-guzzling twat in front of their team. It just wasn’t dignified.

  Once I was finished with practice and showered, I headed back toward the apartment with Hynes.

  “Hell of a hit,” he said.

  “Yeah, man,” I answered. “Still feeling it in my ribs.”

  “Did you get it checked out?”

  “Nah. I’m fine.”

  He laughed. “You’re always fine, brother.”

  “You just worry about yourself. I saw you miss a few holes today.”

  “Yeah, well, we ain’t all perfect like you.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Anyway, how’d it go with your girl? I noticed she wasn’t over this morning.”

  “Fucked that up,” I said.

  “You did what now?”

  “I fucked that up. She’s not happy with me.”

  “What the fuck did you do?”

  “You know me,” I said, grinning at him. “I can always find a way to ruin shit.”

  “You’re a master of pushing people away.”

  “Even when I don’t want to.”

  “Look, man, you like this girl, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I do.” And that was true. This was about more than just our baby at this point. With Avery, it was about everything.

  “Then fix it. When you get hit, you get up. Right?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Nothing good happens when your ass is on the grass.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken,” he said.

  “Not sure how I’m coming back from this one.”

  “Try anyway. Then try again.”

  I sighed. “All right, Hynes, man. I’ll see you later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I grinned as I walked away. “Gonna go try.”

  I waved and then headed toward Avery’s apartment. Hynes just shook his head, laughing to himself.

  Avery didn’t live too far away. On a bike it would have taken me just a few minutes, but the walk wasn’t so bad. The town around MD wasn’t exactly a beautiful place. In fact, it was actually a shithole. I was pretty sure MD basically supported most of the town’s economy.

  But I wasn’t out for a leisurely tour of our run-down Rust Belt town. I had a mission, and a simple one: explain myself to Avery.

  I made it to her apartment not too long later. I headed inside, went up the stairs, and knocked on her door. I was determined, and I wasn’t going to be turned down.

  I heard some shuffling inside, and a minute later the door opened.

  Harper, Avery’s friend, smiled at me. “Hi, Gibson,” she said.

  “Hey, Harper. Is Avery home?”

  “She’s not here,” she said.

  I frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Look, I just want to see her for a second, to explain.”

  She smiled again apologetically. “I don’t know what’s going on between you guys, honestly, and I don’t want to know, but right now she’s not here.”

  I frowned and nodded. “Okay then.” I turned to leave, but Harper suddenly stepped out of the apartment and quietly shut the door.

  “Listen, don’t give up,” she said. “Avery is upset, but it could just be pregnancy hormones or something. I know she’s into you.”

  I grinned at her. “I wasn’t going to give up.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I said.

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “See you later, Harper.”

  “Bye, Gibson.” Harper went back inside and shut the door.

  I didn’t get to see Avery, and that was okay. I hadn’t really expected it to be that easy.

  But I felt encouraged. If her best friend was rooting for me, even if she was doing it on the sly, then I had a pretty good chance.

  I wasn’t giving up anytime soon.

  22

  Avery

  I skipped going to Gibson’s Tuesday and spent most of the day in the library. When I got home later that night, he showed up at our apartment. Harper got rid of him, but I was so incredibly torn.

  Wednesday morning came and went, and I couldn’t make myself go over to his apartment. I shouldn’t have had Harper lie to him yesterday, but I couldn’t face him, not yet at least.<
br />
  I just kept seeing that duffel bag of cash. The idea that he got that from the mafia in exchange for throwing the first half of the game kept haunting me. That was serious and could easily result in him losing everything he had worked so hard for.

  And he did it because of me. He went to the mafia and let them buy him because he wanted money to try to take care of our baby. He risked his career and everything he had built just to try to help me.

  That made me feel worse than anything else. It was crazy that he went to the mafia, and a little bit more than scary, but that wasn’t what was keeping me from him.

  Gibson had a future. He was one of the best football players in the country. I did some internet research on him, and apparently a bunch of professional teams were actively scouting him, and there were rumors that several were already planning to draft him.

  He had a professional football career ahead of him. And here I was, just some girl from nowhere with a baby inside her, and he was willing to risk all of that for me.

  It was too much. I couldn’t take that responsibility. I couldn’t be responsible for him losing his dream.

  He was willing to go too far for me. I wasn’t ready to let his life be ruined just because mine was, too. It felt good that he was willing to do whatever to make things right, to take care of me and our baby, but he didn’t have to. I could do it myself. I wasn’t going to ask him to throw his career away.

  Besides, he shouldn’t be getting involved with the mafia. That probably went without saying. He had worked so hard to escape that part of his past, and because of this baby, he was sliding back into his old, bad ways.

  All day Wednesday I floated through space. My head was basically somewhere else, either worrying about Gibson getting caught and losing his football career or about him getting too involved with the mafia.

  Class was a blur, lunch was a blur, and I was barely paying attention to the world around me as I walked my bike home. At least it was a beautiful day out, and everyone was relaxing on the manicured grass.

  My phone began to vibrate as I got close to the edge of campus. Assuming it was Harper, I pulled it from my pocket and answered it. “Hello?”

  “Avery.”