by Ava Miles
“What?” she asked, coming to an immediate stop.
“I don’t know how he found out I was here, but Farley is lurking by that white van.”
“No!” She immediately tensed up. “Farley is the worst.”
“I’m so sorry, Grace. There may be more of them out there.”
He rubbed the lower part of her spine when she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
“We can do this two ways, Grace. If I leave alone, there’s a chance Farley and any others will follow me. But I can’t be sure one of them won’t stay around to photograph you. In that case, you’d have to face them alone. I don’t like that idea, by the way.”
He could feel her closing up, reverting to the unhappy woman she’d been months before—and it made him want to tear something apart in frustration.
“We should go out together,” she said, her voice cracking.
“You know I’ll have your back, right?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “I hate that I’m already afraid of them taking pictures of our baby—even in my belly. This is never going to go away, is it? Even though you and I aren’t together, this baby will always be the son or daughter of the Super Bowl winner Jordan Dean.”
All the ground they’d gained seemed to have vanished right before his eyes. His hand fell away from her back. “I don’t want our kid to be harassed any more than you do, Grace. I’ll do my best to keep him or her out of the media. I can’t promise more than that.” He wished he could. He wished he could rip every camera away from every reporter. If he had his way, he’d make a bonfire of them.
She was silent for long enough to make him sweat. “I know you can’t promise more than that. All right, let’s go. I might hate this, but I won’t cower.”
Before he could say anything, she pushed open the door and strode into the street. He jogged to catch up with her.
Farley rushed forward, already snapping pictures, and a couple more reporters popped out of their vans like gophers, cameras at the ready. His stomach sunk when he caught sight of the man with the professional grade video camera. This was going to be on the news, not just in the newspapers.
“How does it feel to be shopping for the new baby, Jordan?” Farley called out, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight.
The son of a bitch always wrote a little puff article to accompany his photos. Every single one of them squeezed the First Amendment for all it was worth. “Wonderful.”
Grace was walking swiftly like she’d done before, heading to her car.
“Grace! Can we have a picture of you and the baby bump with Jordan? Every Atlanta Rebels fan wants to see Jordan’s baby mama and her cute little bump.”
Jordan gritted his teeth and kept his hand on Grace’s back. “Not today, guys.”
The reporters swarmed around them, flashing more pictures. Jordan and Grace kept moving, even though they had to slow their pace. He noted Grace already had her keys in her hand, ready to jump into her car.
“Everyone knows you put out a statement saying you’re the father,” Farley said, crowding way too close for comfort, so close, Jordan could see the pattern of broken veins across his bulbous nose. “But did you have a paternity test, Jordan? It’s a little weird to learn you’re going to be a daddy after you break up with someone.”
Jordan staggered to a halt, and Grace stopped beside him. This time she put her hand on his arm, warning him.
“The baby is mine,” he said in all but a growl.
“What’s it like not being together with your baby mama?” Farley said, and the reporters surrounding them were all grinning now. “You sound a little touchy, Jordan.”
Farley knew how to rile him up to make better pictures. “Stand aside, guys, so I can escort Grace to her car.”
Grace started forward again when Jordan increased the pressure on her back. The reporters were forced to walk backwards as they advanced.
They were thirty yards away from her car when Farley shouted, “Come on, Grace! You might be too dull for Dean, but you’ve never been a bitch. Show us that baby bump Atlanta’s QB gave to you.”
Jordan was in the man’s face immediately. “Don’t you dare talk to her that way! Now back up, Farley, or I’ll call the police.”
Farley was still taking pictures as he jeered at Jordan. Since he had his camera on rapid speed, he’d have hundreds of them by now. Great.
“Show us that baby bump, girl,” another reporter called out from behind Jordan.
“Don’t touch me!” Grace cried, and Jordan turned to see her slapping at a man’s hand. He’d been reaching toward her belly.
He saw red. “Leave her alone!” He shoved the reporter away, wrapped his arm around Grace, and led her away from them.
The reporters followed them, smelling blood in the water. Jordan had lost his cool completely, and Grace was holding her belly like she was protecting their baby from jackals. He noted a few of the reporters had accomplices, men waiting in running cars, ready to follow them.
“We’re taking my car,” he said, changing their course and leading her to the passenger side of his Maserati.
She didn’t argue with him. When they were both in his car, she huddled in her seat to prevent them from taking a good photo of her. He turned on the car and had to gun the engine to get the remaining jackals to move out of his way.
And then the chase began. They followed him out of the parking lot. Normally he would have raced off—ignoring the speed limit—but Grace and his child were precious passengers.
“What are we doing, Jordan?” she asked finally, her breath choppy. “I need my car tomorrow.”
“I’ll get your car, Gracie. Don’t worry about it.” He looked in the rear-view mirror and counted at least three cars behind him. “What do you want to do? Do you want to come over to my place for a while and sit this out?” They’d done it before, and both knew it could take hours.
“No,” she said, and her voice sounded expressionless now. “Take me home. They’ll camp out for a while, but hopefully they’ll be gone when I leave for work tomorrow.”
“Have they been coming to your apartment?” he asked. “Dammit, Grace. You didn’t say anything.”
“Don’t swear,” she told him. “I can’t take it right now. And yes, a few have shown up at my place. Thankfully not Farley. I think he’s just happy I’m not with his precious quarterback anymore.”
The bitterness in her tone had his jaw locking. “I’m sorry about this, Grace. You have no idea how much.”
He turned onto the interstate to take her to her apartment, filled with the sick sense that this was it—he’d never win her back. The media would always be a part of his life while he played football, and she couldn’t handle that. And who could blame her after a scene like that? But he still planned to ask her.
By the time he pulled up to her apartment, he felt as hopeless as he’d been on the night of their breakup. Since the reporters weren’t far behind, he jumped out to walk her to the door. She was already out of the car and striding to the front with her key out.
“I’m fine,” she barked out when he lurched forward to open the door. “Don’t worry about my car if it’s a problem. I can take a cab or ask Tony to pick me up.”
“I’ll get your goddamn car, Grace,” he said, his frustration spewing out of him. He paused when she jolted, then said, “I’m sorry. I’m just mad.”
“Me too,” she said, letting him come inside the apartment lobby with her—away from the reporters. “I’d hoped…”
He took her by the shoulders. “Let me come up so we can talk. What happened at the store between us—”
“No,” she said, stepping away. The new distance drove into him like a knife. “I had a weak moment, but this only confirms my decision. I won’t have the baby go through this, Jordan. It’s not fair. I just want our child to have a normal life. Like you and I did growing up.”
That was impossible. What she’d said earlier was true—their
child would be the daughter or son of a famous football star. It was out of his hands. “I told you I’ll do my best to protect you both.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t live next door to you,” she said. “I’m only making it easier for them to get what they want.”
Every nerve in his body tensed up. “Don’t say that, Grace.”
“Proximity might only makes things worse,” she said. “Look at today. If we’d just ordered things online, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“We can’t live in a cave, Grace.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. I hate it too. But it’s going to be okay. Just don’t…”
He had to take a moment to reel in his emotions. She released a long breath.
“Please don’t go back on what we’ve agreed is best for all of us,” he said, staring into her troubled eyes. “Not because of one bad moment. Besides, if you and the baby are apart from me, I can’t protect you as easily.”
“Jordan, how can you be so blind? You can’t protect me—us.” She put her hand to her belly. “Not when you’re the only reason anyone’s interested in us.”
His heart broke into a million pieces. “Don’t say that. Not that.”
“I’m going up,” she said, firming her shoulders. “Text me when my car is back if you manage it.”
After handing him the keys, she left him standing there with the reporters waiting for him outside.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do now.
Chapter 8
Grace spent a sleepless night lying in bed cupping her belly. Whenever the tabloid journalists surrounded her and Jordan, she felt caged in. Exposed. Now she realized their baby was going to be exposed as well. The worst part was that she had no idea how she was going to protect their child.
She reaffirmed her resolve not to get back together with him. She’d slipped up yesterday. It wasn’t going to happen again.
Jordan texted her early that morning, saying her car was back in her parking lot. He asked to come up and talk, but she couldn’t face him yet. She was too raw.
When she finally got out of bed, she received another text from Jordan.
Can you call me? The media is all over what happened yesterday. I bet reporters are outside your place and at the restaurant. I don’t want you going out alone.
A sharp spasm shot across her belly, and she took a moment to breathe through the fear. Heavens, she’d prayed it was over, but Jordan had lost his cool—and so had she. Of course the sharks would come, Farley in particular. Heading over to the windows that faced the street, she cautiously looked through the blinds and gasped. There were at least five TV vans out there with a host of twenty or so reporters camped out.
She texted Tony.
I know you’re not at the restaurant, but expect some reporters. There was a thing yesterday.
He immediately texted back.
I saw it on the news this morning. I was just about to text you. Are you okay?
She responded.
Working on it. Do you want me to stay home? I don’t want to make things tough for everyone.
It wouldn’t be the first time reporters had lingered outside the restaurant. She usually stayed home in these situations—it was easier for everyone that way.
Probably for the best. Rest. I’ll come over with something special later.
Tony always made sure she ate well.
Her belly gripped again, and she felt something damp between her legs. Alarmed, she headed into the bathroom and froze when she noticed some heavy spotting.
“No, no, no!” she called out, cupping her belly. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Don’t…”
Don’t leave me.
She called her mom in a panic. Though her mother did a good job of hiding the worry in her voice, Grace could sense it. Her advice was to call her doctor without delay, which Grace did. When she reached the nursing assistant, she relayed her symptoms and was told to come to the office immediately.
Since the reporters would likely recognize her car, she called for a cab and asked it to pick her up in the underground garage. She didn’t text Tony because she didn’t want to worry him until she knew more.
She didn’t text Jordan because they were following him around too, and he would insist on meeting her. Besides, her mom had said it was best to keep calm, and she just couldn’t deal with so many confusing feelings right now.
No one followed her to the doctor’s office, thank goodness, and she was immediately ushered into an exam room. Dr. Jessica Saunders arrived moments later and examined her thoroughly. The spotting was serious, it turned out. Grace had placenta privia—a tear in the placenta. With full bed rest, Dr. Saunders was hopeful Grace would be able to carry to term.
Grace hung her head, trying not to cry. It was her fault for reacting to the press like she had—she knew it. Dr. Saunders recommended as little stress as possible until she reached full term, not wanting to risk an early delivery. Right now that stress involved Jordan—and Grace’s heart broke for all of them. She was going to have to tell him she couldn’t see him for a while, especially given the media’s renewed interest in them. There was no way she would risk losing their baby.
It finally sunk in that she wasn’t going to be able to work, the one thing that had always given her joy. And it would put Tony in a bind, which made her feel guilty. She knew Tony wouldn’t care about that, but she did.
In the cab on the way home, Grace called her mom and gave her the update. Her mom said she would fly out to see her as soon as she could get a ticket. The relief was so staggering, she almost wept. Then she called Tony and told him the news. His sigh was heartfelt, and he said he would come over to her place shortly.
He arrived with Italian wedding soup and Grace’s current addiction—freshly made chocolate Italian gelato. He assured her that everything at the restaurant would be fine. She could work on their new menu while at home. That soothed her a bit. Right now, she couldn’t imagine lying in bed all day, every day, doing nothing but worrying if she would miscarry.
She knew she should call Jordan—she owed him that much—but she was in full-on avoidance mode. To his texts, she responded briefly that she was taking care of herself. She wasn’t sure of what else to say.
Her mom arrived the next day, and Tony picked her up at the airport. She heard them enter the apartment together, but Tony must have realized they needed some time alone because her mom appeared solo in the bedroom doorway. Grace fought tears at seeing her. Her mom’s red hair was streaked with gray and cut in a fashionable bob that fell to her chin. Shorter than Grace and just as petite, she usually had a smile filled with sunshine, but her expression today was all concern
“Hi, honey,” her mom said and then crossed to the bed and pulled Grace into her arms.
“Oh, Mom,” she said, snuggling her face into her neck and bursting into tears.
Her mom didn’t say anything, just rubbed her shoulder. After a few minutes, Grace lifted her head and dashed at the tears streaming down her face.
“I’m so glad you came, Mom.”
“Where else would I be? Now, let me look at you.” Her mom gently rested her hand on her belly. “You’re still pretty small for thirty weeks. You’re not eating enough.”
“You sound like Tony. This media thing…it knocked me flat on my back. Literally.”
Her mom’s eyes narrowed. “You father and I watched the video clip on YouTube. I wanted to tear their hearts out for hounding you like that. I won’t say what your dad and the boys wanted to do.”
“Worse than tear their hearts out?” she asked, feeling the briefest smile touch her lips. “I got scared, Mom. They surround you and push you and call you names…when that guy tried to touch my belly…”
“No one should subject you to that kind of harassment,” her mom said, “and when I see Jordan, I plan to tell him to do a better job of protecting you and my grandbaby.”
Grace hated that they had to be protected at all. “I was
scared for me, but then it hit me that they might hound our baby like that. I can’t stand the thought of it, Mom. It’s not the kind of life I want for my child. I had so much freedom when I was younger. Riding my bike in the street with other kids or running through the fields.”
Her mom reached for her hand. “You don’t live in South Dakota anymore, Grace, and there’s no use hoping for what might have been. Don’t do that to yourself—or Jordan.”
She knew it wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “I haven’t always wanted this baby, Mom. Without Jordan…I thought we would get married and then have a baby, but he never asked me. Well, not until he found out about the baby, and we both know that doesn’t count.”
Her mom’s frown spoke volumes on that subject. “He’s an idiot.”
“But as it’s grown and moved around inside me,” she continued, “I’ve started to imagine what he or she will look like. I see other kids when I’m out running errands and I think, I’m going to have one of those. It overwhelms me sometimes. But then I think about being alone and wonder if I can do it by myself. I’m afraid I can’t.” It was one of the toughest things she’d ever said out loud because it meant admitting her own weakness. She felt like she was swimming in them these days.
Her mom lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. “Gracie, you listen to me. I’m not saying it’s ideal, but you’re strong enough to do anything you set your mind to. Did you believe you could go to the Culinary Institute of America and work for not one, but two award-winning restaurants?”
She shook her head. Plenty of people in their small town had thought she was a big dreamer who needed a strong dose of reality. The same had been true of Jordan.
“Being a mom involves juggling a lot of balls—more so when you don’t have a partner—but you can do it,” her mom continued. “Besides, Jordan’s idea to have you two be neighbors gives you a ‘type’ of a partner. I might not like how things turned out between you two, but I’ve known him since he was born. He’ll pull his weight.”