Babymaker: A Best Friend's Secret Baby Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  That was what had happened with Tom Brady. The guy was drafted in the sixth round, number 199. He was the fourth-string quarterback until he worked his ass off and earned the backup position. When the starter, Drew Bledsoe, got injured, Tom Brady took the field and never left it again.

  Not many people talked about Drew Bledsoe, but he was a damn good player. One injury, though, and he was benched, never to start for the Patriots again. That one play had ruined his entire career.

  That was my biggest fear. Missing a game could destroy everything I’d worked so damn hard to create.

  “Relax, kid,” Kelly said. “Kennings isn’t nearly as good as you are. Even if he plays his ass off, you’re still our man.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Rest yourself, heal, and be ready for week four.”

  “I got it.”

  Kelly nodded and then left. I lay back on the mat, staring up at the ceiling.

  “You okay?” Taylor asked.

  “Yeah,” I grunted.

  It was a fucking rollercoaster ride. One second I got amazing news, and the next I found out that I was being benched.

  Coach had been reassuring me when he told me that I was better than Kenning, but that didn’t matter. Of course he’d say that shit. But in the long run, he’d do whatever he felt was best for the team. And if Kenning played well, that might mean starting him and downgrading me to his backup.

  Taylor sat down next to me. “Well,” she said, “at least you’re healthy.”

  “There’s that, I guess.”

  “Want to say something totally dirty and inappropriate to me? I know you love that.”

  “Maybe later. Let’s just get to work.”

  “Okay.” She got back up and we went into our routine.

  I couldn’t concentrate, so we lapsed back into a different sort of silence.

  21

  Taylor

  I could tell that Owen was devastated, but he did his best to hide it. I knew that I shouldn’t push, or at least I had learned my lesson when it came to that strange man.

  Questions still lingered, but I wasn’t going to let myself get hung up on them. Something was happening with that man, that much was clear, but Owen wasn’t sharing. If he wanted to keep it private, then I had to respect that.

  We had other things to worry about. On Wednesday, I was ordered to work extra sessions with Owen in the hopes that we could get him ready for the next game. He was definitely sitting for the upcoming match, but it was a less important game against a team that was traditionally pretty bad.

  The following game, though, was against our division rivals, the Dallas Cowboys. Coach wanted Owen ready for that game, and my rehab regimen was a big part of that preparation.

  That was how I found myself working late with Owen. I sat on the rim of the hot tub as he soaked himself, my back up against the wall. It was warm, and I was sweating slightly under my work clothes, but I didn’t mind.

  “What’s your favorite movie?” I asked him.

  “Scarface,” he said.

  I laughed. “Really? What a typical boy answer.”

  He grinned at me. “I also love The Green Mile.”

  “That’s a good one.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “I don’t know. The Goonies, maybe.”

  “Great film. I used to want to be Chunk.”

  “Really? They make fun of him the whole time.”

  “Yeah, but he’s the real hero. He bears all that silently and then helps save the day when he befriends Sloth.”

  “Good point.” I kicked my shoes off and stripped off my socks before dipping my feet into the tub.

  “First CD you ever owned?” he asked.

  “Jagged Little Pill by Alanis Morissette.”

  “You were a cool kid.”

  “What can I say? I’ve always been awesome. What about you?”

  “Big Willie Style.”

  I laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Will Smith was an idol of mine back in the day.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Oh can you? It’s because I have such a clean mouth.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “That’s what he was famous for, at least. He didn’t need to curse to make music.”

  “You curse plenty, though.”

  “Good fucking point.”

  I smiled at him. “Look at you now, living in Philadelphia, just like Will Smith did.”

  “Sort of. He grew up rich, I think. Went to prep school.”

  “You’re not exactly poor yourself.”

  “Didn’t always used to be this way.”

  I nodded. “Good point.”

  “What about you? Grew up normal and middle class?”

  “Pretty much. I didn’t have an exciting childhood like you did.”

  “You’re lucky then. There’s nothing fun about growing up the hard way.”

  “Do you ever wish things were different?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I mean if your parents were like mine, maybe you wouldn’t have had the drive to succeed like you did.”

  “Good point. I had to work hard early on to get anything in my life.”

  “If you grew up like I did, maybe things would be different.”

  “Maybe. But you had opportunity. You had comfort. I’d trade all this for a comfortable childhood.” He shook his head. “You have no clue how hard it can be.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

  “You’re not. Don’t worry. The media can be worse.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. They love to ask hard questions about my parents and about the way I grew up. One guy even suggested that my grandmother was unfit to raise me.”

  “What an asshole.”

  “He just wanted to get a rise out of me.” Owen smiled and shrugged. “It’s what they do.”

  “Must be weird, being famous.”

  “You saw a little bit of it. But I’m not that famous, not really.”

  “Not yet at least. You’re going to be a superstar.”

  “Maybe, if my knee doesn’t fall apart first.”

  “It won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Well, you have a little more than a week to put me back together. Think you’re up to it?”

  “I think so.”

  “And how are you going to pull it off?”

  I shook my head. “I have no clue.”

  He laughed. “That’s really comforting.”

  I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was half past six in the evening, and the place was already emptied out. I wanted to get one more stretch in before we called it a night, but there was just something so comfortable and relaxing about sitting around and chatting.

  It always felt good when things were easy with Owen. There were times when we worked in strained silence, but mostly we chatted and laughed. I had to admit that I looked forward to coming into work just on the off chance that things would be great between us. My days were easy and good when that happened.

  “Hey,” he said, “get in here.”

  “What? No! I can’t.”

  “You have before.”

  “People are still here.”

  “So?” He reached up for me.

  “Owen!”

  It was too late. He grabbed my hips and dragged me down into the water with him, laughing. I was instantly soaking wet, and fortunately I left my cell phone at my desk. My clothes were drenched as he grabbed me and pulled me toward him.

  I laughed along with him and playfully splashed him. He grinned and pulled my body against his, and I felt my heart begin to race in my chest. I knew I should stop this, but I couldn’t.

  He kissed me hard, and I kissed him back. I was kissing the guy who bought a Will Smith CD when he was just a little kid, not Owen Rack the superstar. I kissed the guy who made me smile and laugh, and who made my body feel incredible. I didn’t c
are about anything else.

  Just as I began to press myself harder against him, my hips rolling along his leg, his phone began to ring. I kissed him softly on the mouth. “Get it,” I said.

  “Fuck that.”

  “What if it’s the coach?”

  He frowned. “It’s probably not.”

  “Get it.”

  He moved me off him and sighed. He stood up, and I smiled when I noted that his cock was hard and straining against his shorts. He walked across the room and grabbed his phone from the chair.

  He opened it. “What?” There was a short pause, and he looked at me. “I need to take this,” he said, and then walked into the other room.

  He had that look on his face. It was the same look he’d had when that guy appeared after the game the other day. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it wasn’t good.

  I couldn’t help myself. I moved out of the tub and softly padded across the room. I could just barely hear what he was saying.

  “. . . not going to play,” he said. “What do you mean, you don’t care? I’m not betting on a game I’m not even a part of. No, that’s not better.” He sounded angry, strained. “Fuck off, Tony. I don’t want to be a part of this.”

  There was a long pause.

  Finally, he spoke again. “Five grand again,” he said, “on the Eagles to win.” Another short pause. “Fine.”

  I heard him hang the phone up, and I stepped back. He stepped into the room and saw me standing there, staring at him.

  “How much did you hear?” he asked.

  “You’re betting?”

  He sighed. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Explain, because I’m pretty sure it sounded like you just placed a bet on your own team.”

  “That was the guy from the other day. He works for the mafia, and they have me by the balls. They force me to make bets to keep me entangled with their organization so that they can extort me one day down the road.”

  I stared at him, at a total loss for words.

  “That’s insane,” I finally managed to say. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth,” he said. “I took a loan from them back when I was just getting into college. I needed money, and they were the only people I knew who would give it to me.”

  “Banks do loans,” I said stupidly.

  “Not to fucking kids like me. I took their money, and then I got good at playing ball. They haven’t left me alone since.”

  “The mafia,” I said, trying to wrap my head around it.

  “I don’t want anything to do with them, but I don’t have any other choice. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you.”

  “You’re being extorted by the actual mafia.” I took a step back, away from him, and then turned to grab a towel. He stepped toward me, and I flinched.

  “Taylor,” he said, “nothing is different. I want out.”

  “I can’t handle this,” I said. “You’re being extorted by the mafia, or at least that’s your excuse. All I know is you just made a big bet on this weekend’s game.”

  “You don’t believe me?” He looked hurt.

  “I don’t know what I believe right now. I think we should call it a night.”

  I quickly walked past him.

  “Taylor,” he said.

  But I didn’t turn around. I just kept walking, despite my soaking wet clothes. I had to get out of there and away from him.

  I never thought I’d be afraid of Owen. Just five minutes earlier, I had been about to give myself to him again, and I couldn’t have been happier.

  But now things were different. What I had heard I couldn’t just be overlook. I couldn’t forget about that. And he had told me that he was involved with the mafia, which was just insane. I didn’t know if he was a liar or, worse, if he was telling the truth.

  All I knew was that I needed to get away from him, at least for the night.

  I walked fast, and I didn’t look back.

  22

  Owen

  Why the fuck did I try to tell her the truth?

  That was all I kept thinking for the rest of the night. I had no clue why I had thought I could trust her, and why I had thought she might take it well. There was just something special about her, something I couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the fact that she could so easily read me; she was the first person I’d ever met who could do that.

  She seemed interested in me. Not just the football star Owen Rack, but the real me, the person I was before football. She wanted to know what I liked off the field, and that was an attractive quality in a person. Ever since college, the only things people cared about were how fast I could run and how many touchdowns I scored in a season. Taylor didn’t seem to care about any of that football stuff, so long as my body was healthy.

  That was her job. I understood that. We both needed to work together for the sake of both our careers. But she seemed to care about me outside that whole thing.

  Which was why I had decided to tell her the truth. But that clearly had been a mistake. I shouldn’t have told her anything. I should have kept it to myself. I should have sucked it up and dealt with the fallout of blowing her off again. I should have held that pain and stress inside and protected her, even if that meant letting her be angry with me.

  Instead, I told her. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was just dumb. Either way, it had happened.

  I sent her a text, asking if she wanted to talk, but she didn’t respond. I wasn’t going to push her, so I went to bed early, trying not to stress too much about it.

  The next morning, I was up early. I headed over to the facility, thoughts running through my mind.

  What if she told someone? She could easily destroy my career if this got out. It was incredibly wrong for an athlete to engage in sports betting; that was what took down Pete Rose. It was even worse that I was betting on my own team.

  I didn’t think she’d do that, though. She knew me. She knew I wasn’t a bad person. I had tried to explain it to her, but she clearly hadn’t hear me, or maybe she couldn’t hear me. As soon as she heard the word “mafia,” she probably shut down completely. That was a lot to handle for any normal person, and it had probably come out of nowhere for her.

  I got to the facility and headed inside. I killed time in the hot tub before it was finally time to meet Taylor.

  She didn’t show. Instead, some boring-looking asshole was waiting for me. He smiled as I walked into the exercise room.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dan. Taylor took a sick day.”

  I stared at him. “Taylor is out?”

  “I’m her replacement. Ready to get started?”

  I stared at him for a second and then slowly shook my head. “Maybe later, Dan.”

  He looked confused. “I was told we need to do some therapeutic stretching for your knee.”

  “Bye, Dan.”

  “But, wait.”

  I turned and left, shaking my head. Fucking Dan. There was no way I was letting some random dude do my therapy stretching.

  I didn’t believe for a second that Taylor was actually sick. She had skipped work just to avoid me, which meant she was more upset than I had realized.

  I couldn’t let this go on. I wasn’t going to let this shit get in the way of our professional relationship at the very least. She was good at what she did, and I wanted her back.

  Really, I just wanted her. I could pretend that it was about work all I wanted, but it was about her. It was all about Taylor, and it had been ever since I first saw her.

  I left the facility and called a car. It picked me up ten minutes later, and I gave him Taylor’s address.

  Briefly, I thought that maybe what I was doing was a little insane. If she didn’t want to talk to me, I shouldn’t try to force her to. Maybe I was being a fucking stalker or some shit.

  But no, I couldn’t risk this. I had to see her and to explain. I understood that she was avoiding me, but this wasn’t the kind of situation I could j
ust ignore. I had to talk to her. I had to make her understand.

  The car pulled up outside her apartment and I got out. I buzzed her apartment and waited.

  She answered after a minute. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  Another pause. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “If I wanted to talk, I would have come into work.”

  “Taylor, buzz me up.”

  Another pause. For a second, I thought she had disappeared. I was about to buzz one of her neighbors to let me in when she finally answered.

  “Fine,” she said. “Come up.”

  The door buzzed open. I went into her building, went up the stairs, and finally knocked on her apartment door.

  I felt nervous, but I couldn’t explain why. Maybe it had something to do with finally explaining to someone that I was in deep with the mafia.

  She opened the door. She was wearing short black running shorts and a tight white T-shirt. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen her so casual. She was usually wearing her work uniform, or she was dressed for the club.

  “Come in,” she said, stepping aside.

  I walked in. “I figured if you were going to refuse to come to me, then I’d come to you.”

  “Me staying home from work wasn’t an invitation to you.”

  “I’m here anyway.”

  She shut the door and looked at me, her arms crossed. “Go ahead and talk. You have five minutes.”

  “Not going to at least offer me a drink?”

  “It’s ten in the morning.”

  “Coffee then.”

  She sighed. “There’s some in the pot.”

  “Thanks.” I went into her kitchen, got down a mug, and poured some coffee.

  She walked in and sat at the table. I leaned up against her counter.

  “Four minutes,” she said.

  “You know where I come from,” I said. “You know my situation. My grandmother didn’t have any money to give me back then, and the only people I knew who had money were gangsters.”

  “So you asked the mob for a loan?”

  “It was eighteen and fucking stupid. I thought they’d help me, I’d pay them back, and then we’d be done.”