“She was in your office?”
“Yes, with Mr. Hayes. He was interviewing for the part-time coaching position. I’m sorry for my impropriety, but are you his wife?”
“Oh—no,” I say. “A friend.”
I feel Sophie’s eyeballs against my back.
“Well, tell him he only has twenty-four more hours to accept. I’ve been leaving messages, but he hasn’t called back.”
“For the job?” I ask dumbly.
“Well, yes.”
“That’s…” I stop to laugh. “Amazing. I have to let him know.”
“Please do. Whatever he’s doing, he’ll miss out on this opportunity if he doesn’t return my call.”
My happy bubble dissipates. “Locke’s been in an accident, sir. He’s being discharged from the hospital today, but—”
“My goodness. I didn’t know.”
“He’s much better. Almost back to normal. I’ll tell him to give you a call as soon as—when did he interview with you?”
“Last Friday morning.”
I exhale. The morning before he passed out on the very stairs Coach Becks climbed seconds ago.
“Thank you for coming by. Locke can tell you the specifics, but I’m sure he’ll contact you immediately.”
Coach Becks nods and tips his baseball cap to me, Sophie, and Lily individually. “Pleasure to meet you, ladies.”
“You too, Coach Becks.” I smile and shut the door behind him.
“Locke actually went,” I say to Sophie, once Coach Becks’ footsteps fade.
“Went where?”
“To an interview! He’s been so depressed in this apartment, thinking he’d never find anything as good as football, and I found a classified in the cafe where my paintings are—”
Sophie’s eyes are glazing over, and instead of being annoyed, it brings clarity. Only Locke would care about this. He’s the only one who should because it gives him an end to his tunnel of black, a light to shine on a new future, still involving football, but in a whole new reflection of the sport.
“We should go to the hospital soon,” I say, and start gathering Lily’s things, scattered on the floor.
“Can’t. Flight, remember?”
“Soph, I mean it, please stay.”
“No way. After what I just witnessed, you two need to utilize the time you have left to figure your crap out.”
I lift Lily off Sophie’s lap. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Spare me. I’m packing. Go. Be a happy family together for a while when you tell him the news.”
I want to argue, deny, but Sophie’s expression is filled with such sweet sympathy, I can’t. It is good news, and Locke deserves it. He also deserves to hold Lily as he’s wheeled out of a hospital he’s been imprisoned in for a week.
“I love you,” I say to her.
She pulls the three of us into a hug. “I know. And I’m glad to receive it. You love good, Jameson.”
I snort, shake my head.
“And I love you, too,” she says.
Sophie lets go, and I pack Lily’s diaper bag and grab her car seat from the corner of her nursery. I pass by my painting of Paige, lay two fingers on my lips, then press them to hers.
In minutes, Lily and I are out the door.
Ready to bring Locke home.
38
Locke
I’m clean and wearing pants by the time Carter makes it to the hospital to bring me home.
I forgot how tight jeans feel, how squished the twig and berries get. For many days (and many nights) I’d had wondrous airflow in nothing but a hospital gown. I weaned myself by utilizing briefs the past few days, but there’d still been ventilation.
These are the things I’m thinking about as I’m settled into a wheelchair so as not to exert myself until I’m off hospital property. I’m weak but stronger than I was yesterday. After the bullshit week I’ve had, I put that in the “win” column.
Carter comes in, one-arming Lily around the time I’m getting used to my wheels. I don’t glance up, because it’s become painful to meet her dull, rusted eyes. I don’t ponder what the next few days will be like with her—if I can remember right, she said once I was discharged, she’d book a hotel, so there’s my answer.
Asher encouraged me to further explain. Ben seconded it and Easton, being Easton, said I should do what I wanted. I figure the car ride home is going to be the only chance I have to do it in.
Lily’s sweet noises come closer, and Carter sits her on my legs.
“Hi, baby,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her forehead. Fucking hell, I missed her. I hadn’t noticed how my new cologne became baby powder until it was taken away from me. I want that scent back. I want to smell exactly like this baby sweetness all the time.
When she doesn’t poop.
“See what’s on her lap?” Carter asks above me.
Lily’s tearing at the ears of her usual rabbit, the one Paige gave her and Carter kept washed and pristine as much as she could. It endured a lot of spit up and other foreign substances, but Lily doesn’t mind.
“Yeah, Mr. Buns.”
“She’d lost it. Has been inconsolable for days because I didn’t have it to give to her.”
“Huh,” I say. “Where’d you find it?”
“Coach Becks dropped it off.”
At last, I meet her gaze. It catches me off guard because they have a bit of their sparkle back.
“You got the job, Locke.”
My mouth opens, but it takes time to form words. Memories. How I’d interviewed with Coach the morning before the accident, and totally forgotten about it since. “I did?”
Carter smiles, and if that’s all I get from this news, it’s worth it. “You did. But you have to call him as soon as you can, or he’ll give it to someone else.”
“Hell, I don’t lose.” I anchor Lily to me and point to the door. “Onward. Get me home so I can start making calls.”
She smiles again, and while it lacks teeth, it’s genuine. If she’s happy I have something to keep me busy, I’m okay with it, because I haven’t been occupied for a very long time. I’m ready to become a telemarketer at this point. Hospital days are dull. The nights are filled with screams of neighboring patients. And without the contentment of morphine, every sound grates against endured pain.
I’m out.
Carter grabs the handles behind me and pushes me out the door. I stay as manly as I can with a straight back and sharp jaw, but I can’t hide the eagerness to leave this place, get back to my life and my daughter.
“Gerrrrrrrrr,” Lily says on cue, shoving the rabbit’s nose into my mouth. It smells suspicious.
“Car’s idling at the entrance,” Carter says as we navigate the hallways.
When we’re in the elevator, alone, and Lily’s moved mildewy fur from my face, I start off strong. “Carter…”
“Don’t,” she says behind me. She won’t come around the chair. “I’m glad you’re starting over. Over the moon, actually. I think this is the beginning of a very good thing. So, let’s not ruin it.”
“You need to give me the time to respond.”
“I’ve heard enough.”
“From my sister. You should at least hear my side.”
Her breath is so heavy it blows pieces of my hair. “Do you have something different to say other than you bet your friends you could bang Paige and win?”
I tilt my head to try and get a better look at her. “Okay, that’s true, but—”
“What? You fucked Paige for money. Got it.”
I’m strangely insulted. “I’m not a prostitute.”
“No, you’re worse,” she says as the doors open, and she pushes me out. “You’re a player.”
I’ve never felt my dick cut off more than when a woman who’s pissed at me is pushing my wheelchair and aiming for every pothole and uneven surface she can find.
“Carter,” I try again, gritting my teeth. Lily’s loving the ride. “I was dumb
, okay? A definite idiot, but Paige was a big girl. My reputation wasn’t exactly secret.”
“That’s about the only thing you’ve made public.” Bang. She found a gap in the sidewalk. “Next thing you’re going to say is you showed her a good time.” Bang.
Well, yeah, I did. But I didn’t dare say it out loud. “Paige was up for it. I don’t sleep with unwilling women.”
“Did she know about the bet?”
I sigh. Wrong move. “No, but she knew we weren’t a sure thing.”
Carter parks me beside a black Camry and opens the passenger door. “Can you get in by yourself?”
“Yes,” I say, louder than I need to, but needing to grab something of myself back.
She takes Lily, and I lift up with my arms, fighting back noises of exertion. I refuse to be any less in front of Carter.
At last, I get in and buckle my seat belt. When Lily’s strapped in beside me and Carter’s in the front seat, the driver pulling out onto the road, I’m fairly certain Carter prefers a silent trip.
Instead, she asks quietly, “And your mom? Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
I stare out the side window. “I don’t talk about my mom. To anyone. I didn’t intentionally exclude you.” I add, “You, of all people, know how hard it is to cope with.”
She doesn’t have anything to say to that, but I don’t feel like I’ve won.
“Paige had her own mind, made her own decisions,” Carter says. The driver pretends he’s not paying attention, but I sense he knows a juicy conversation when he hears one. “I’m not calling her a victim. But it kills me, Locke, murders me, that she didn’t know she was a bet. That Lily was created from some joke between you and your friends.”
“Hey. Paige was not a joke.”
“Oh, no?”
I tighten my jaw. How do I explain this? How do I properly transcribe submitting to college dares, thinking you’re being cool, barely understanding the concept of hurting others?
“I can’t excuse what we did, or the number of girls I probably hurt throughout college,” I say. “And I don’t know how I would’ve reacted to Paige’s pregnancy had I been made aware of it two years ago.”
Carter scoffs, and I grind my molars harder. “I’m pretty sure what would’ve happened.”
“To say I’m not that guy anymore is putting it lightly.” I’m frustrated I’m talking to a headrest instead of face-to-face with Carter, and I’m certain she’s orchestrated it that way. But I won’t let it dilute my chances of getting through to her. “I wasn’t going down a good path back then, and I continued the descent after graduating. I’d achieved everything I wanted. Got my football career off the ground, signed a badass rookie contract, and was set up for life. And yet, all I wanted to do was drink. Screw around. Be a dick. Astor called it denial. My buddies called it mommy issues behind my back, but I knew they said it because they were right. I wasn’t coping with my mom’s death properly.”
Carter remains silent, her expression indiscernible. All I have to go on is her hair, and it’s still as a placid river.
“When I was tackled on the field for the last time, I still didn’t get it,” I continue. “I used it as an excuse to be an even sorrier asshole. It gave me more time to drink; it introduced me to delicious pills, and it wasn’t because of the taste. I had my escape. The whole time, I thought football was my escape. Nah. Drugs were where it was at. I could really check out then.”
Carter’s profile moved toward me in the barest fraction.
“If it weren’t for Ben…for Ash and Easton, I’d still be that way. They helped me kick the drug habit, but they couldn’t help with the drinks. I liked myself drunk a helluva lot more than I tolerated myself sober. And like I said to them, it was gonna take something world-ending, a moment of such upheaval that it has to be short of death—to make me give up that bottle.” I give an empty laugh and glance over at my daughter. “Turns out, that kind of Armageddon is entirely possible.”
Carter’s hand, the one that I can see, fists on her thigh.
“So, no,” I say. “I don’t regret sleeping with Paige. I don’t regret Ben daring me to and Ash offering up the bills and Paige saying yes. You know why? Because it gave me my life back. It gave me Lily.”
The driver slams on his breaks and honks. Carter jerks against her seat belt and Lily begins to cry.
I unclip my own seat belt to fly between the seats and put the guy in a chokehold, wheelchair or no wheelchair, but Carter chooses that moment to turn around. Her cheeks are shining. Her gold eyes are so bright they sting when they hit mine. They pierce the road rage right out of me.
“I’m sorry,” she says to me. “I’m so sorry I’ve treated you this way, made you think I consider Lily to be a mistake.”
The pressure in my chest eases, and I’m sure it’s more than the blood clot getting smaller. “It’s my issue, one I should’ve been clear with you on. I’m sorry, too, Carter, for not giving you the trust you deserve.”
She reaches her arm between the console, and I hold onto her hand and squeeze. I use the other to shush Lily.
“You brought Lily to me,” I say to Carter. “That’s no mistake.”
39
Carter
My last week in New York passes by too soon, and Lily’s first birthday is tomorrow.
Locke and I settled into pleasant days when we brought him home. He isn’t 100%, but he’s getting there, especially considering he’s got a new drill sergeant for a roommate.
Much to Locke’s chagrin, I let Asher in on Locke’s physical therapy sessions, and he’s been by every day since basically booting Locke in the ass to get the exercises out.
Three times, Locke’s attempted to lift Lily’s stroller down the stairs when he thinks I’m not looking, or so distracted by filling my Instagram up with my paintings that I won’t see him limping over to her stroller, strapping her in, and creaking through the door.
Each time, I’ve yelled at him. That seems to be the way to get through to Locke—act like a coach, and he’ll act like a player. A real one, not the whore one.
I like this tactic and have employed it often, giving him a shit-eating grin every time he glowers at me, too frail to run away.
We’ve settled, Locke and me. Even discussed my potential return to see Lily next, and when he’ll come to Orlando with her to visit Disney for the first time.
“You have to be there,” he’d said one night while we were on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn. “Her first Minnie encounter? Or—hold the phone—Thumper? You gotta come.”
Luckily, my watery eyes were hidden from the dimness of the room and the horror movie we’d put on that barely contained any light.
“I’d love that,” I said, feeling his study of me despite the dark, and I thought my voice might’ve given me away.
We were happy together, but tentative, ever since the car ride home when he admitted his faults, the worst of himself when all he wanted was to start living with his daughter.
I can’t deny him that. As much as I want to protect Paige’s dignity, I can hear her whispering in my ear, I’m dead, girl. Who cares? Lily was the result. That’s all that matters. Please, forgive him.
And maybe, just maybe, I did.
When he wandered into Lily’s nursery for the first time after coming home, he limped back out, using a cane instead of his hated wheelchair, went to the main closet without a word to me, and fished around until he found what he was looking for.
Locke deigned a glance in my direction as he passed by again. I was using his laptop on the couch. In his free hand, he held a toolbox.
“I’m hanging it,” he said. “And I don’t want to hear anything about how I should take it easy.”
I smiled at his back.
Paige now overlooks her daughter, right above the crib.
“So,” I say to Locke now, cleaning Lily’s breakfast plate while she naps. He’s wiping down her high chair. “Are you going to tell me your plans for Lily’s bi
rthday tomorrow?”
“Nope. I said it was a surprise.”
“Shouldn’t the surprise be for the birthday girl and not her guests?”
Locke smiles. “No other guest is going to be surprised.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?”
I turn away in mock-disgust. “If you’re combining this into some kind of birthday-slash-good-bye party for me, you’re lame.”
“I’m not,” he says, and he’s come closer. I can feel him at my back, my body tingling at his presence despite my brain’s attempts to argue otherwise. “Promise.”
His whisper comes daringly close to my neck.
I duck away, needing the distance. If I’m to leave tomorrow night as planned, I must maintain our comfortable distance.
It’s working out well so far if I ignore his recovering body, often sweat-drenched in the living room. If I avoid his long stares as if he’s doing everything possible to stop himself from saying something heart-rendering. If I pretend we don’t have memories together, precious ones, sexy ones, orgasm-inducing ones.
I’m noticing his strength returning, his cocky sentiments coming with greater ease out of his mouth. And I’m ready to dodge, to parry, to banter—anything to stop falling in love with him.
It turns out, it’s not as difficult as I made it out to be in my head, because Locke is respecting all the rules. He’s not chasing or fighting. There are times he tests the boundaries, such as now when his breath tickles my ears, but like a single shark bite, he backs off, never to return. As if my blood isn’t as delicious as he thought.
That’s the worst. Feeling like I don’t meet his standards anymore, now that we’ve come clean with each other.
Believe me, it annoys me, too, that I can’t get it straight—either I want him, or I don’t.
I stare at Locke as he comes out of the nursery, a bleary Lily in his arms. She’s rubbing her eyes, waking up slowly, and Locke peels one arm away from her face and starts waltzing with her in the living room. It’s with a limp, but he’s careful in his sway, favoring both his leg and the baby in his arms.
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