Just like everything else between us, it was obviously meant to be.
Tilly’s had to adjust her University schedule because of it, but I’ve never seen her happier.
It’s a boy too, which makes me more excited that I can even explain. I would have been equally happy with a girl, of course, but I wanted a boy first so he could look after the rest. Tilly doesn’t even know I’ve got a huge family planned for her.
Dad took the news better than I ever imagined, and coach didn’t even bat an eyelid. The papers went to town for a while and Tilly and I got some weird and worrying correspondence but soon after it started and Shoreville began winning again, and they saw just how cute a couple we made, it soon died down. I’m a star again, and Tilly’s right there beside me, our baby on the way, and our families right by our side to support us.
And Rachel? She knew all along. Tilly thinks she’s making it all up, but I wouldn’t be surprised. She even thinks I had something to do with Dad’s mystery illness, but I swear that was nothing but coincidence that brought us together.
Today is the biggest day of my life. Shoreville are in the super bowl final, I’ve broken record after record this year on throws, touchdown passes, yardage and everything else that was left to go and I’m a shoe-in for MVP.
I’m nervous, but I know I’ll have Tilly, Dad, Rachel, my unborn son, coach, the rest of the team and millions of people at home watching me play, so I know it’s going to be alright.
Whatever happens, I know I’ll always have Tilly.
“I love you.”
“You only want me for my body.”
“I want you for what’s inside it too.”
“We have to share it, evens stevens.”
“Evens stevens.”
“I love you.”
“Wish me luck.”
“We already did.”
The roar of the crowd is deafening when we enter the arena, thousands of Shoreville fans hooting and clapping and whistling down from above. They love me here, bad boy turned family man, I’m every fan’s hero and I carry the hopes and dreams of every single one of them on my shoulders. Shoreville have never been to a super bowl final before, and today I’m going to make sure they win it.
As I see Tilly wave from the tunnel before disappearing into the darkness inside it, our baby still growing inside her, I know that I’ve won too, the best prize anyone could ever hope for.
Tilly
I have to pinch myself every now and again to make sure I’m not dreaming. I was worried that I’d never get to see him again, and here I am, carrying his baby, one day on the front of Time magazine, the next being commissioned to create artwork for a string of international celebrities. I never imagined any of this would be possible, but here I am, Marvin and Mom alongside me up in the VIP box looking down on my superstar, underwear model boyfriend below.
When it all happened, it happened faster than I imagined. Suddenly Landon and I were together, Mom and Marvin knew about us, and he didn’t see the point in hiding it from the rest of the world. I was worried at first about the baby, but after what happened with the morning after pill, Landon knew it could only go one way. When I saw how excited he was about the prospect, I knew I could allow myself to get excited too. I can’t tell you how happy having his baby inside me makes me feel either. Landon always says his best achievement was making me fall in love with him, I might just have to disagree and tell him it’s what he’s given me for us to share.
There was a backlash from the papers, but we both knew it would come. We are, after all, still stepsister and stepbrother and no matter how many times we explain we’ve known each other less time than many other perfectly happy couples and are not related by blood, it’s hard for some people to get.
Landon lost a couple of modeling gigs and a sponsorship deal on his boots, but they were soon replaced by other, more lucrative companies, and after about a month, when everyone realized we were happy and here to stay, things started to really turn around.
People love us now. Landon is up for MVP this year and if he doesn’t win it the whole world will be shocked. He’s almost single handedly taken Shoreville to the super bowl final this year, he’s broken records people didn’t even know existed and he’s proven to everyone that there’s much more than they might have thought originally to the man the world knows as The Donkey. He’s more than just a pretty face and a big dick, a huge arm that can throw a ball a thousand yards, he’s the best boyfriend anyone could ever hope for, and he’s mine and going nowhere.
I’m out of Uni, but it doesn’t matter. I can go back when the baby is born if I want to. I’ve got enough commissions on the back of the publicity I’ve been unable to avoid, that I’m going to be perfectly busy and content for a number of months. After that, I’ll have a little baby to look after. It’s amazing how things can change so much in such a short time, even more so when you're living a life that’s about a close as anyone can get to their dreams coming true.
The final is a one sided showcase master class of six touchdown passes for Shoreville against three for the opposing team. There isn’t a single moment where they are behind, nor any other in which there is a possibility they might lose. Landon is extravagant, flamboyant and absolutely world class. He is a superstar of magnificent proportions and the round of applause he gets when the game is over, by both sets of fans, threatens to shake the stadium to the ground during the entire ten minutes it goes on.
There’s so much activity outside I can’t get down to the stands quick enough to give him my congratulations, but it doesn’t matter.
When the microphone goes to Landon for a post match interview, his face up on the big screen, he doesn’t talk about where the game was won or lost, nor the touchdown pass at the end of the third quarter, nor the performance of his live, he takes off his helmet, takes something out of it and holds it up in the air for everyone to see.
“Tilly.”
The camera swoops across the crowds and eventually picks me up at the edge of the VIP box. When I look back down to the field, I see Landon has taken to one knee and I know exactly what he’s holding and what’s coming next.
“The last six months have been the best in my life. From that vacation in the middle of nowhere, the lake and the forest and every other intimate moment we shared, from the creation of our baby, to now, you have made me happier than I ever believed was possible. I love you. I will always love you. Will you marry me?”
I shout the words down, but they get lost in the hum of the crowd. Before I know it I’m surfing on top of people, passed from one fan to the next, one row to the one below it until I’m finally at field side and can run, as fast as our baby will allow me into my stepbrother’s arms, into my soon to be husband’s embrace.
“Yes”, I emphatically shout, and Landon holds me up in the air like a trophy.
THE END
SWOLLEN
A Secret Baby Sports Romance
Stephanie Brother
© 2016 Stephanie Brother
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
“Sure the fight was fixed. I fixed it with a right hand.”
- George Foreman
SWOLLEN
A Secret Baby Sports Romance
Stephanie Brother
© 2016 Stephanie Brother
About This Book:
Something Worth Fighting For.
Jasmine
I’m not the kind of girl that usually goes home with strange men, but Liam Dougherty isn’t the kind of man
you can easily refuse, either.
Not only that, he saves me from something even more dangerous, and then gives me a night of passion that easily makes up for it.
A night that has consequences neither of us can ever imagine.
When I see him again, almost an entire year later, just the thought of that night enough to catch my breath in my throat, our daughter Maggie is already two months old.
I’m not the only one with a secret, however, when Liam reveals his past and proves just how dangerous he can really be.
An illegal, bare-fist boxer with a debt to pay, Liam’s life makes mine look like a walk in the park.
I know I should do everything I can to stay away from him, but something about him makes me keep coming back.
Secret or not, when Liam sets his eyes on me again, he makes it clear that nothing is going to get in his way of making sure I’m his.
Above everything else, he knows how to win, and right now he has something worth fighting for.
Liam
There’s not much good I’ve done in this world, but when I see Jasmine getting hassled by three men in a neighborhood she shouldn’t be walking home alone in, I figure it’s my opportunity to set things right.
If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s fight for my own survival, so when Jasmine gets mixed up in my world by chance, I have to make sure I protect her too.
It’s been almost a year since I tried to keep her away from me the first time, and now she’s back, I want her more than ever.
I’ll do anything to win her over, because I’ve never met anyone that gives me a better reason to fight.
Jasmine and I have a connection, and I can’t ignore it anymore.
I’m dangerous, but she knows it.
I’m bad for her, but I can’t stay away.
She says she has a secret, but whatever it is, it won't be enough to stop me.
Finally, after everything else I’ve gone through, after running and hiding, and just plain surviving, finally I feel like I’ve got something worth fighting for.
**This is a standalone, bad boy sports romance with a secret baby, absolutely no cheating, and a happy ever after. It’s heavy on the steam, and has just enough sports action to be enjoyed by fans of both genres.**
One.
Liam
It smells like piss and chalk down here. There are stains on the floor where old blood has seeped into the concrete the shadows can’t even hide, a thousand memories of previous brutal encounters now as much a part of the fabric of the place as the building materials themselves.
Bare fist fighting doesn’t get any more real than this. A crowd of half-crazed men to push you back towards each other when the ring breaks, salivating like dogs under a hot summer sun, me, him and a thousand dollars to the winner.
There is nothing like it. Getting hit by an ungloved hand hurts like hell, as does hitting the floor at a hundred miles an hour, but the rush of adrenaline makes the risk of that happening worth it.
It’s primeval and neanderthal, it’s animalistic and depraved, it’s dangerous and fucking stupid, but I love it. I feel free when I’m doing this, and the only other thing that makes me feel freedom, in the same way, is fucking.
I’m good at this too. I’m a big guy, I’m quick, I’m smart, I’m young and athletic, I have good hand-eye coordination and I know how to fight both clean and dirty. Down here, in the pit, in the belly of an abandoned building in Crown Heights, I’m known as Cobra, up there, in the real world, my life is completely different.
My opponent is a monster of a man, but he looks slow and clumsy. I watch him casually warm up - a jerk of the head from side to side, a few air punches, a shake of one leg followed by the other, the confidence of a man expecting to win easily.
I’ve never seen him before, but that’s not unusual. There are about a dozen of these places in Brooklyn alone, several more out across the other boroughs, a network as big as a franchised restaurant chain across the country as a whole.
I like to change things up and swap venue every fight, get to know the nuances of each pit like the back of my hand, not get too familiar in any one of them. I’ve had a decent record, and if you carry that around like a badge, people get to know you. I don’t want people to get to know me. I want to stay anonymous, do what I need to do to win, and then get out of there as quick as possible and on to the next.
The referee calls us both towards him. It’s a bare fist fight without any rules, but we still have a referee, largely to decide the outright winner if no-one wants to give up, or stop the fight if there is a danger of someone dying - which happens every other fight. Apart from that detail, there is nothing about this that is official.
Toe to toe, the Butcher, which is what my opponent calls himself and has tattooed across his chest in latin script, stands almost a foot taller than me, which means he must be almost seven foot tall. He grimaces down at me with teeth gritted and muscles tense.
The referee is a wiry man with a face that looks like it’s been chewed up and spat back out.
“Touch”, he says.
We knock fists together and then head back to our respective corners to wait for the bell.
I’m only twenty-six, but I’ve been doing this for long enough to know exactly how to win. I didn’t start fighting in the ring either, I started way before that, when I had to learn how to defend myself at all costs.
When I was nine my dad took me to a boxing club, and after two years there, I started training other martial arts too. I’d still be competing if I could, although the energy here beats an organized fight hands down. This is raw fighting with nowhere to hide. Boxing in a ring is fun, but it’s way too clean for my liking. Boxing here, in the poorly lit chamber of a forgotten building, is as close to purity as you can get.
The crowd is so close they can touch me. The walls and the floor form part of the game. The smell of stale sweat is so potent, you couldn’t be anywhere is. All of my emotions are heightened in here, which is something I don’t experience even in an MMA cage.
That kind of fighting compared to this is like a tickle contest compared to a full on brawl.
I can feel it rising inside me. I can feel the crowd baying for blood. The Butcher bangs his fist into his open hand and gets ready to tear me apart.
It won’t take long for me to put him out of his misery. The bigger they are, the harder they fall and the harder they fall the longer they stay down.
I breathe through my nose, steady myself and see everything go into slow motion as the bell rings.
I’m in front of him before the Butcher has had time to blink and after a volley of well-placed punches across his gut and chest, the crowd bends to gather his falling body.
I don’t stop there. When he comes back to me, I drive a heel into the pit of his stomach, a left hook across his cranium and a hammer blow to the back of his head while he’s still falling.
Those that have seen me fight before cheer ecstatically. Those that haven’t look at each other in silent awe.
Less than a minute has passed and The Butcher is unconscious. I thought he’d be able to resist a little bit more, to be honest. There is nothing a crowd at these things like less than a short fight.
Someone tips a bucket of water over him and he jerks awake violently. After a shake of his head he’s back on his feet, and now I’ve made the measure of him I decide to give the crowd a bit of what they want.
I dance around him, never in danger of getting hit, and The Butcher swipes at me like a drunk trying to knock planes out of the sky. It’s embarrassing for him, but that’s not my problem. I’m here to stay out of the line of his haymakers and pick up my well-deserved paycheck.
The crowd whoop, the crowd cheer, the crowd hiss at the mess I’ve made of him and they bay for me to finish him.
He manages to last for three and a bit rounds before he’s unable to get up halfway through the fourth. He’s landed about three punches on me, all of which I took to the body to ma
ke it look like there might have been some kind of comeback.
He’s a mess of blood and swollen tissue, and hardly able to stand up at the end of the fight to walk away in shame.
I knew it was going to be easy, but I didn’t think it would be that easy, considering the size of the guy. I guess they call him the Butcher because he makes a meal of his fights.
While The Butcher is carted off, I drink water and cool down. I’d only usually fight once or twice in one night, but because that was so easy, I might be tempted to carry on. A thousand bucks a win when I’m struggling to find work is pretty important.
In any one given night, there are usually half a dozen pre-organized fights and then half a dozen more impromptu ones either with members of the crowd who suddenly think they can beat you, or random people like me that swing by on the off chance to try and make some cash.
I usually don’t fight anyone I haven’t seen fight before, even members of the crowd, because you just don’t know who they are. My fight with the Butcher was pre-organized and I knew what to expect from him. Any random guy that walks in off the street could be even better than I am, however unlikely, and I’m just not solvent enough at the moment to risk it.
I take a break while the schedule for the night continues, find the promoter and put my name down again as a possible contender. If someone steps up and I think I can take them, or I’ve even fought them before and they want another go, I might be tempted.
Other than that, I’ll just let the shadows of the crowd swallow me up, so I can watch the rest of these amateurs fight. Even if I don’t go again tonight, a thousand dollars for ten minutes work isn’t a bad day at the office.
Jasmine
So, I’m not sure which is worse. The table of three guys perving on me every time I walk past, the family that has spent all evening complaining about everything from the level of music to the lack of light to the small portions we offer here, or the man who smells of death and has a thousand dollars in his wallet.
Obsession: A Twin Menage Romance Page 48