Halo Violation: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Daphne Swan

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She squeezes my hand and releases me. I turn to Dad.

  “Congratulations, Molly,” he says, giving me a hug.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  To be completely honest, I was a little nervous about this hug. There’s no ignoring my baby bump when it comes to hugging. And honestly, Junior seems to have doubled in size since I saw my father last month. But I don’t sense any awkwardness or hesitation on Dad’s part, now that we’re standing bump to stomach. This is such a huge relief. I close my eyes and melt into his embrace.

  Maybe things are going to go smoothly today after all...

  When we draw apart, Dad hands me a clear plastic box with a wrist corsage in it.

  “Your mother and I got this for you to wear today when you accept your degree.”

  Oh, shit.

  Fashioned out of two baby pink roses and a lovely assortment of white, silver and pink ribbons, the corsage is absolutely beautiful. But there’s just one problem.

  “Oh,” Dad says, glancing down at my wrist.

  Yeah, I’m already wearing a corsage. Eric gave me this equally beautiful one with a plump ivory orchid as the focal point and lots of greenery and purple ribbons to showcase it.

  “Nice corsage, Molly. Who gave it to you?” he asks.

  Shit! I’m getting ready to tell him that Jules gave it to me as a graduation present, but before I even get a chance to construct my lie, he cuts me off.

  “Don’t even bother to answer. I know who it was.”

  “Dad...”

  “I thought you and Wenzel weren’t romantically involved,” he says in that gruff voice I’ve become so accustomed to.

  “We’re not.”

  “Then what’s he doing giving you a corsage? Guys buy flowers for their wives, girlfriends, mothers and daughters, Molly. That’s it. With the exception of their mothers and daughters, guys do not buy flowers for women they’re not romantically involved with. That’s just the way it is. I want the truth now; do you hear me? Are you and Wenzel dating?”

  “No,” I tell him as firmly as I can without raising my voice.

  And let me just say it takes a great deal of self-control to keep my voice down.

  Oh my god. This is so fucking frustrating! Can’t he just stick to being disappointed in the things I actually did? Isn’t that enough? Why does he have to start imagining things that aren’t even happening?

  “Dad, please. Please don’t...” To my horror, I feel my eyes starting to fill with tears. “I’m not lying to you, I swear.”

  “All right. Okay,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, looking mortified. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I don’t want to upset you on your special day.”

  Blinking back tears, I start fiddling with the wire closure on the corsage Eric gave me.

  “I’ll take this off and wear the one from you and Mom instead.”

  “Stop that right now,” he says, placing a hand over mine. “Leave it be. Your mother can wear the one we brought.”

  “But Eric isn’t my boyfriend. You are my parents. I should wear the one you brought.”

  “Stop,” he says. “I was making a big deal out of nothing, acting like a petulant child.”

  Um...yeah, that’s true. Things are definitely awkward now. I feel like bursting into nervous giggles, but thank goodness I manage to hold it in. Of course Eric chooses this exact moment to cross the room with his hand outstretched towards my father.

  “Hi, Coach. It’s nice to see you.”

  “Hello, Wenzel.”

  Dad gives his hand a shake and manages a tight smile for him, but the tension in the air is so thick, I’m actually finding it hard to breathe. Is this some weird side effect of pregnancy or am I just buckling under the stress of having Eric in the same room with my parents?

  “Mrs. O’Neil,” Eric says, turning to Mom. “I’m glad to see you again.”

  “Hello, Eric.”

  She gives him a haughty nod; her lips pursed together like a cat’s asshole. Oh, great. I thought Mom was in my corner. Well...she is. I don’t think that’s changed, but I had assumed that getting on board with the pregnancy meant welcoming Eric along for the ride as well. I guess I was wrong about that.

  It suddenly occurs to me that the whole room has gone silent. Aside from my nieces, who seem to be one-upping each other when it comes to bragging about their gymnastic abilities, nobody else is saying a word. A quick glance around the room confirms my suspicions: they’re all focused on the exchange between Eric and my parents.

  And then Jules, my angel of mercy, speaks up and says, “Who needs a drink?”

  Oh my god. I definitely need a drink. Unfortunately for me, that particular need will not be met.

  “I’ve got three different kinds of juice, a bottle of rosé and I was just about to mix up a pitcher of mimosas,” Jules says. “Who wants what?”

  The mood in the apartment brightens significantly as our guests all pick their poison, and conversations start up. I’m so grateful I can breathe again. For now.

  Twenty minutes later, we pack ourselves into the cars out on the street and head over to campus en masse. The South Lawn is already bursting with graduates and their families, milling about under the warm sun. There’s a raised platform set up, several hundreds of folding chairs lined up and facing it, and a massive white tent erected to shade the temporary venue.

  Once we’ve joined the other graduates and families on the lawn, I take a moment to revel in my accomplishment. It’s been a challenging four years, and I have to say I’m proud of myself. I’ve put in a lot of work to get here today.

  I spot my academic advisor, Shirley. She’s standing a few feet away, looking like a cult member in her doctoral robes with that crazy ornate, cape-like hood hanging down her back. When I catch her eye, she responds with a wave and a smile, and after she finishes her conversation, she makes her way through the crowd to join me.

  “Congratulations, Molly,” she says, reaching for me.

  Oh, shit. Is she going to hug me? I immediately start to tense up. One quick embrace and she’ll know. Like I said, there’s no way to hide a pregnancy when it comes to hugging.

  But to my immense relief, she doesn’t hug me at all. Instead, she reaches for my hands with both of hers and gives them a good squeeze.

  “Thanks, Shirley. And thanks for all the sage advice you’ve given me over my years here.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  She graces me with a warm smile and after a moment, she glances at Mom and Dad with questioning eyes.

  Oops! Where are my manners?

  “Shirley, these are my parents, Grace and Martin O’Neil. Mom, Dad, this is Shirley Kovach, my academic advisor.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kovach,” Dad says.

  “It certainly is,” Mom adds. “We’ve heard so many good things about you.”

  “Likewise, Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil,” Shirley says with a smile. “Molly is an exemplary student. You must be very proud of her.”

  “We are,” Mom says. “Very much so.”

  I can’t bring myself to look at Dad. Maybe he’s smiling and nodding in agreement. If so, that would be great, but maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s checking his phone or looking at his watch—anything to hide the fact that he’s most definitely not proud of me.

  In any case, I don’t want to know. The ceremony is going to start soon, and I need to keep it together.

  “I’m afraid I have to run,” Shirley says. I follow her gaze to a group of professors in a cluster on the edge of the crowd. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil, it was lovely to meet you.”

  She and my parents exchange parting words, and then Shirley surprises me by taking my arm and leaning in close.

  “Molly, if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a little unsolicited advice.”

  “Um...okay.”

  “I know you’re taking a year off before jumping right into graduate school, and it is absolutely understandable that you’d
want to do so, but I do hope you won’t stray too far from the path. You have such tremendous potential, and I would hate to see it go to waste.”

  I’m not really sure how to respond to that.

  She goes on to say, “I’ve struggled with the dilemma of whether or not I should bring this up with you. It’s your life, obviously, and as circumstances change, you may end up choosing a different path entirely. That being said, I truly believe that you will be able to reach the goals you’ve set out for yourself if that’s what you really want, even if you do hit a few bumps in the road.”

  She glances down at my belly as she utters the words “bumps in the road” and then she looks back up at me, lifting an eyebrow in a graceful arch.

  It doesn’t take a seasoned scholar to figure out that she knows I’m pregnant.

  “Got it. Thanks, Shirley.”

  “Of course,” she says. “And don’t be a stranger, okay? Keep me posted with what’s going on in your life. I promise not to be a nag when it comes to getting back to the academics.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.” I laugh.

  Not long after Shirley joins the other professors, I join my fellow graduates in the procession leading to the stage, and the Dean kicks things off. Because I went way over the limit in terms of guests, not everyone in my party gets a seat. In fact, nearly half of them have been relegated to the “standing room only” section, but they don’t look too unhappy about it. Eric and my brother-in-law, David, are each holding one of my nieces, and every time I glance over at them, my heart does a little happy dance.

  Eric looks so comfortable, holding Bridget in his arms, high enough for her to get a bird’s eye view of the stage. I could gaze at him all through the ceremony, but unfortunately, I hardly get a chance.

  Every time I look over in their direction, Bridget and Ashley start waving like hyperactive fan girls and squealing, “Aunt Molly! Aunt Molly!” which is too cute for words, in my opinion, but for the people around them who are listening to the Dean’s speech...maybe not so much.

  The ceremony is packed with speakers, starting with a summa cum laude student, a trustee, and a leader in the world of particle physics, followed by another trustee and then closing words from the Dean. We’re presented with our degrees after the scientist’s speech.

  I didn’t think I’d be this nervous! As I stand here, sandwiched between John Oldham and Leslie Oppenheimer, my heart is pounding and the baby’s kicking up a storm. He hasn’t really been all that active before, apart from a kick here and there, but it’s like he’s busting out his techno dance moves in there.

  “Vanessa Louise Oakley,” announces the president of the college.

  We’re on the O’s now.

  It’s show time.

  “Harold Andrew O’Brien.”

  Just a couple more minutes and I’ll have my degree. I gaze into the crowd. Unfortunately, my family is too far away to read the expressions on their faces, but Dad notices me looking at them and he gives me a thumbs-up. I very nearly crumble with gratitude.

  The president awards degrees to Amber Ogtrop, Julia Ojeda and Marcus Olander.

  And then John Oldham gets his award.

  This is it.

  “Margaret Rose O’Neil.”

  The baby is kicking me so hard now, it’s almost like he’s attempting to propel me forward. This is so crazy. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined walking across the stage to get my degree with a baby inside of me.

  Isn’t life strange?

  As my family cheers me along, I walk across the makeshift stage to shake the president’s hand and take my degree from her. She congratulates me, and I turn to face the crowd with a smile.

  “Aunt Molly! Aunt Molly!” my nieces call out.

  I wave to the girls before following John Oldham around to the back of the stage and all the way to the row of seats we started off sitting in.

  Clutching the thin, leather holder to my chest (which houses my magna cum laude degree, thank you very much) I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. Even with all the turbulence brought on by the unplanned pregnancy, my whole family is here to support me through this rite of passage.

  Even Eric came out in support. I know how lucky I am. How many other baby daddies would go to such great lengths to be there for some girl who wasn’t meant to be anything more than a one-night stand?

  Things could be a whole lot worse.

  22. ERIC

  Fuck, man. What a day. Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t all bad. Molly’s sisters and their husbands are nice enough, and the kids are a riot. I had a nice time getting to know them—or getting to know them better—but when it comes to Mama O’Neil and Papa O’Neil, that’s a whole different story.

  Not that they were overtly rude or anything, but let me put it this way: if we were all on a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic and I fell overboard, I’m pretty sure neither Coach nor his wife would bother to throw me a life preserver.

  But I’m trying not to dwell on the negative shit here. For the most part, her family was welcoming to me, and it was pretty awesome to be there to watch Molly be presented with her degree. God knows she worked her ass off for it. And chances are things between her folks and me will be less awkward as time goes by.

  At least I hope that’s the case.

  After the ceremony, Coach took everyone out for lunch at an upscale Italian restaurant. It was such a beautiful day, and we were lucky enough to get a table outside on the back patio. Everyone seemed to be in excellent spirits—including Coach and Mrs. O’Neil—and Molly positively glowed under all the compliments, and the toasts celebrating her achievements, and...well, she glowed under the love, really.

  If that makes any sense.

  I was just sitting there, observing the dynamics between Molly and the other members of her family, and I remember feeling pretty happy about the fact that in three short months, my son is going to be a part of this family. They may have their issues, but they are a loving and supportive bunch, and it makes me feel secure to know that they’ll extend their love and support to my little guy once he’s born.

  At least I think they will. Part of me is still worried that Coach will never be able to fully accept him.

  “Thanks for staying,” Molly says, closing the door behind her.

  “Oh, sure. No problem.”

  I’d made noise about leaving sometime around four o’clock—after Tricia and her family left, but before Coach and Mrs. O’Neil took off—but Molly had asked me to stay. Now that we’ve waved off Beth, David and the two little girls, we’re the only ones left standing.

  Not for long. Molly walks into the living room and collapses onto the sofa with a dramatic groan.

  “I’m glad that’s over with,” she says.

  Wait, am I missing something here? I follow her into the living room and sit down next to her.

  “Didn’t you have a good time?”

  “Oh, I did. I absolutely did,” she says, “but it’s like there was this underlying layer of tension the whole time. I kept worrying for someone to explode. Well...I kept waiting for Dad to explode.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “Anyway, we got through it unscathed,” she says with a grin.

  “Yes, we did.”

  “High five.”

  She holds up a hand, and I slap my palm against hers, trying to ignore the spark of excitement that zings up my arm at the physical contact.

  What the fuck? Maybe I’ve spent too much time out in the sun today.

  I need to get my shit together.

  Turning to Molly I say, “So, are you planning to meet up with Jules at your friend’s party tonight? What’s her name? Katarina?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighs. “It’d be nice to celebrate with my classmates and all, but everyone’s going to be getting hammered, and it’s not much fun to hang around, watching other people get drunk.”

  “I hear that.”

  Neither of us says anyt
hing for a moment, and then Molly straightens her posture and scoots a little closer to me.

  “Honestly?” she says. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.”

  Huh?

  That sure as shit came out of left field. I have no idea how to respond. Was that a come-on or something? Doubtful. Molly was very clear about wanting to be nothing more than friends and co-parents. I’m reading way too much into what she said.

  But then she rises up on her knees, and before I know what’s happening, she’s straddling my lap with her arms looped around my neck, and she’s kissing me.

  And I’m kissing her back.

  This is so weird. It’s like the baby is lodged between us, and his presence makes me feel kind of...I don’t know. Devious?

  Oh, who the fuck knows? Molly starts swaying her hips gently from side to side. She leans her head back with a moan and I cover her neck with kisses. Fuck, this is hot.

  “Let’s go into the bedroom,” she whispers.

  That gives me pause. I draw my lips from her sweet, soft skin, and say, “Are you sure?”

  She looks at me like I just fell off the turnip truck. “Um...yeah.”

  “It’s just that we’ve discussed this before and you said you didn’t want to get involved.”

  “I don’t want to ‘get involved.’ I just want your body.” She laughs. “Seriously, though. You wouldn’t believe how sexed up I am right now. These pregnancy hormones are hardcore. Have pity on a whale of a woman, would you?”

  “Oh, shut up.” I laugh and give her a wet kiss on the lips.

  She is far from being a whale. It’s true that she’s put on a little weight overall, but she wears it well. In some strange way, it’s softened her edges. And her tits have swelled up into two ripe, juicy melons that I just...that I...

  Oh, god.

  “Look what you do to me, Eric,” she whispers. She takes my hand shoves it between her legs, and guides my fingers under the elastic of her panties.

  Oh my fucking god. Her pussy is soaked. It’s absolutely fucking drenched. I feel dizzy with desire, and even though I know this might not be a great idea, I’m unable to stop myself from running my fingers up and down those slippery wet folds.