Baller's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (10 page)

Chapter

Kiptyn

"Sky?" I
ask as she's slipping on her shoes.

"I know this is
supposed to be a brunch and movie date, but I kind of had a different idea. You
game?"

"Well, that
depends on what you have in mind," she replies with a suspicious look on
her face.

"It’s a bit of a
surprise. Do you trust me?"

"I suppose. Am
I at least dressed appropriately?"

"You're perfect.
I mean, you're dressed perfectly." She nods and stands, smoothing the
skirt of her dress.

"Let’s go
then." I nod and take her hand. She smiles and shakes her head, following
my lead.

She sits in the
passenger seat, facing forward with a half-smile on her face. When I pull into
the parking lot at the local VA nursing home, I feel her staring at me.

 
"What?" I ask.

"This is the
surprise?" she asks.

"Yeah. I
thought this might be good for us, you know, with Camryn and all." She
bites her lip and nods slowly.

"Do you know
anyone here?"

"I know a few
of them, but Mr. Jackson is my favorite. He was always around when Cam and I
were growing up. I think he had a bit of a crush on my grandmother."

She reaches for the
door handle and pauses for a moment. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Not as much as
I'd like."

She draws in a deep
breath and opens the door. Instinctively, I jump out and rush to her side.
"What a gentleman," she says, bringing her hand to mine.

"I try."

"Well, keep it
up. The nice guy stuff looks good on you."

"Ahh, Mr. Price!
So good to see you again. Mr. Jackson will be pleased to see you," says
Phyllis, the front desk clerk.

"And who is
this lovely young thing?"

"Hi, Phyllis. This
is Skila."

"Nice to meet
you," Skila says, reaching her hand out to Phyllis.

"Oh no. We
don't handshake here. We hug," Phyllis replies, coming around the desk and
hugging her tightly.

"You
know, young man, I had a love once. She was a sight. Much like that young lady
over there," he says, pointing to Skila. "Petite and curvy, with eyes
of onyx. Every time I close my eyes, even after all these years, I can still
see her. Such a breathtaking beauty. But . . ." he pauses with a hitch in
his breath, "In my time, it was frowned upon."

"What
was frowned upon?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"My
folks called it mingling with . . . well, I'll be polite—African Americans. The
other term always offended me, and I'd cringe whenever my father would use it,”
he says, shaking his head in disgust. I understand that feeling perfectly well.

"You see, my
parents were very straight-laced and rather preachy. I didn't want to
disappoint them, so I ended what could have been the greatest love I've ever
known." The tears beginning to pool in his eyes make my heart ache for
him. He wipes away the tears with a worn old handkerchief embroidered with the
initials, TWS. I assume those to be hers, the way he takes such care not to
fray the fragile yellow fabric.

"You want to
hear the whole story? I remember it like it was only yesterday."

"Yes," I
reply as I look over at Skila brushing a woman's hair into place. She isn’t
paying any attention to me or Mr. Jackson. All her attention is focused on the
elderly lady in front of her.

"November 5,
1943. It was just after dusk when we were attacked with no warning or anything.
A couple of my buddies and I were in our barracks playing cards when the first
wave hit.

The
chaos hit like a wildfire. Everything happened so fast, it’s hard to remember
all the details up until Gerald was hit and fell. I panicked, and with the
sudden strength of Adonis, I threw him over my shoulder and rushed him to the
infirmary. That’s when it happened. I saw her. Her name was Theresa, and she
had to be a direct descendant of A
phrodite. She was stunning.

Reality hit me, and
I knew Gerald needed immediate attention, so I turned away and ran to what was
once the lobby. At the time, it was being used as an emergency room of sorts. I
got him in the right hands and watched over him while they worked on him. He
was lucky. The shrapnel missed his heart by only a couple of inches. Imagine my
surprise when my Aphrodite was appointed his nurse. I couldn't keep my eyes off
her. She rebuffed me at first, but I think my charm finally worked," he
says with a laugh.

His eyes light up every
time he says her name, and his misty eyes show me the kind of love that only
comes once in a lifetime. He looks at me and smiles. "Don't let people get
in the way of your happiness. I did, and I've regretted it for so many years.
Even after I married, I always thought about her."

I look over at Skila
again, and she turns to smile at me. "Excuse me a moment, Mr.
Jackson." He nods with a knowing glint in his eyes. I walk up to Skila and
wrap my arms around her without so much as a word. She leans her head back and
reaches up to softly touch the side of my face.

 
"I just wanted to tell you how beautiful
you are, and that no matter what anyone says, I'm not letting you get
away."

She laughs and turns
to face me.

"You know, I had
my doubts about you, but I think if you keep this up, they may start fading."
She hugs me and I close my eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of honeysuckles
and home.

A few more hours at
the Veterans’ home and we leave, hand in hand, with a new sense of who we are
and what we want from life.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Skila

The last
few weeks have been nothing short of amazing. Tonight is the last playoff game
of the season, and the winner of this game goes on to the NBA finals in June.
I’m covering the game for the
Los Angeles
Daily Home
again. Since turning in my exclusive piece on Kiptyn Price, Ames
has pretty much given me free reign. He no longer breathes down my neck,
babysitting me. It’s a welcome relief.

Before
we head to the stadium, we have a doctor’s appointment. It’s the first
appointment for the baby, and I am beyond nervous. The butterflies in my
stomach won’t settle down to save my life.

Stepping
from the claw foot tub in Kip’s master suite, I study my growing body in the
full-length mirrors lining the walls. My baby bump has been growing steadily.
Even now, it looks bigger than it was just yesterday. Running my hands along
the stretched skin, I imagine meeting my beautiful baby, holding his soft body
in my arms, and kissing his sweet head. Excited doesn't come close to
describing the way I feel.

Kiptyn
walks in the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang low
enough on his hips that I can see his sexy ‘V’. I imagine tracing it with my
lips. Slowly.

“Feel
better?” he asks, coming to stand beside me. He fills his hands with lotion,
and after rubbing them together to warm it, he places his hands on my belly.
Every morning, he does the same thing, coating every inch of my body in cocoa
butter to help with dry skin and stretch marks.

He drops
down on his knees and runs his hands along my legs, up, up, up until he reaches
the apex of my thighs. His fingers run along my swollen lips, teasing me. My
head drops back, and a loud moan escapes. His touch doesn't linger long, and
before I know it, he’s done. He leans forward, pressing his lips against the
baby.

“You be
good to your momma today. Daddy will be watching,” he says before kissing every
inch of my stomach.

God, I
just want to melt on the spot. I love hearing him talk to the baby. Hearing him
say the word
Daddy
turns me into a
puddle of liquid. I want to hear it over and over and over. I can’t believe how
lucky I am. Of course, our relationship isn't perfect by any means, but I'm
happy, happier than I have ever been in my life.

Only one
thing could make it better, but I’m not pushing. If he decides he wants to be
with me long-term, then he will tell me. I know his wanting to be a father to
my baby has more to do with the fact that he’s his brother’s child. I’m not
stupid. I know if it had been a stranger’s baby, then Kiptyn would have been
out the door in a heartbeat. It doesn’t upset me. I’m happy, content knowing
that my child won’t grow up without a father the way I did.

I
confess, most nights I lie in bed wondering if he will still want me once I
have the baby, if he is only staying with me to be certain I'm well taken care
of and that the baby has all he needs. I practically moved in here the week
after I found out. At nine o'clock that morning, I called the doctor’s office
and made an appointment.

They
couldn’t get me in for two weeks since I’m a new patient, and the anxiety over
that fourteen days has quadrupled. I’ve bought a dozen more pregnancy tests and
taken one almost every day since Kip first told me. I keep worrying that I’ll
wake up and it will all have been a dream.

Part of
me is worried they’ve made a mistake. I just know I’ll walk in the door and
they’ll shamefully let me know that there was an error in the bloodwork.
“You're not pregnant, Miss Parker.” I dread hearing those words. All my life, I
had been told I couldn’t conceive, that there was no way my uterus would carry
a child after the accident. I can’t tell you how many different opinions I had
gotten, praying someone would give me a small ray of hope.

Kip
refuses to let me go alone. I think he senses that I need someone there with
me, someone to hold my hand and just be there for me. When the doctor walks in,
the first thing he does is congratulate me. I burst in tears again. Kiptyn
holds me close and explains as best as he can why I'm reacting the way I am. I
let him take over, keeping my head buried in his chest, not peeking out until
the doctor asks if I’d like to try and see the baby.

He
explains that the ultrasound might not be able to pick up a clear image yet
since we aren’t sure how far along I am, but I barely hear him. I'm going to
get to see my baby and get the proof that I need, that this is real and not
some sick joke.

I lie on
the hard, bench-like table and lower my pants so the doctor can squirt some gel
on my belly without getting it on my pants. The gel is cold, and I flinch.

“What’s
wrong? Is it hurting?” Kiptyn asked, and I feel more than see his willingness
to protect me from whatever unseen anomaly is hurting me.

“No,
it’s just cold,” I say, reaching for his hand.

“It's ok,
Dad. I promise that nothing about this procedure will hurt her.” Kiptyn tenses,
and I worry that the doctor said something wrong, but when I angle my head back
and look at him, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

The
moment he touches the probe against my stomach, my breath locks in my throat. I
hold it there, captive, until the loud thrum of a heartbeat fills the room.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say you're a bit further along that you thought,”
the doctor says, and tears leak from the corner of my eyes. I can’t believe it.
I’m going to be a mommy.

“How far
along?” Kip asks, taking the words from my mouth.

“Hmm, it
looks to be roughly fifteen weeks, give or take a day.” Fifteen weeks. Three
months, and I had no clue. In less than six months, I will be a mom.

Kiptyn
pulls me to him, kissing me on the side of my mouth, pulling me out of my
silent reverie. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold onto him. I kiss his
shoulder. I want to tell him what he means to me and that I can’t go on without
him. I want to hear him tell me I'll never have to, but I don’t, and neither
does he.

“Congratulations,
Mommy,” he says with a wink, and this moment is sealed in my heart for the rest
of time.

“Congratulations,
Daddy.”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Kiptyn

We are
tied at 63. This is the toughest game we’ve played all season, and not because
the opposing team is good.

No, ours
is just off. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something's different
tonight. I don’t like it. These guys need to pull their heads out of their
asses and play some fucking ball before we end up getting crushed. I won’t be
enough to win this. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but the truth nonetheless.

Cole
tosses the ball back in. Jordan snatches it up and passes it to Tiny, who
stops, dribbling in place while he looks for an opening. I dash to the right,
passing my defensive block, and set myself up for the basket. Tiny passes. The
ball flies toward me. My fingers wrap around it moments before I'm hit.

He hits
me hard on purpose, and I'm knocked to the floor. The ball rolls off to be
picked up by someone else. A whistle blows, but I'm oblivious. Pain radiates
from my shoulder. Sharp twists of lightning-fast spasms travel down my arm to
my fingertips and back up. I try to wiggle my fingers, and the pain
intensifies. Jordan rushes to my side, kneeling down.

“Can you
get up, man? Need a hand?”

I lift
my left hand and he grips it, pulling me, and I cry out. The pain in my right
shoulder is traveling around my back. I feel sick to my stomach. Jordan tries
again, and this time he gets me to my feet, but the sports doctors are there
now, urging me to the locker room. I don’t want to go. I need to stay on the
court. I need to carry the team. Without me, they will lose.

Skila is
pushing through the crowd to get to me. I can hear her. “You let me through
right this second, or so help me God, I'll castrate you with a rusty spoon.” I
laugh when the room parts, making way for her. She rushes to my side, careful not
to jostle me. “Are you okay?” she asks, frantic.

I can't
let her see how much it hurts. I don’t want her to worry. I'm doing enough of
that for the both of us right now.

“I'm
fine. The doctor needs to check me out, but it’s routine. No worries, babe.”

She
doesn’t believe me—I can tell—but she accepts what I'm telling her without
complaint, and I love her in that moment. It shocks me to think that on the
tail end of a horrifying injury. My career could be over. I don’t want to think
about it, but it's true, and yet my only thought is about how much I love her,
my Sky.

One
x-ray and an MRI later, the doctors tell me what I've feared since I hit the
floor. I'm out for the rest of the season. No NBA finals for me. I've torn the
ligaments in my shoulder and pulled a dozen other muscles. The road to recovery
will be a long and painful one. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to
think about anything. I text Chris and ask him to pick me up.

Tonight,
I'm getting drunk.

****

“Loosen
up, bro. I swear, you're wound tighter than that stripper’s G-string.” Chris
laughs at his own joke. I try, but I'm pretty sure it comes out as a grimace.
The alcohol and painkillers have me buzzing, and I haven’t even had that much
to drink. A group of leggy, half-naked girls who barely look old enough to
drive wander over to our table in the corner.

Chris
invites them to join us, offering his legs as chairs to two of them. I gaze
beyond them out into the room. I don’t know what the hell I'm doing here. This
is the last place on earth I want to be, and yet here I sit. The waitress comes
around and refills my drink. She shakes her head at the group as a whole, and I
can't help but return the sentiment.

I don’t
belong here.
I belong at
home with my Midnight Sky. Getting to my feet, I grab the keys from the
tabletop and mumble my goodbyes to Chris, who is too involved with the girls
around the table to pay me any attention.

Outside,
I fumble with the keys, trying and failing to unlock the car door. I don’t
understand why the stupid thing won’t work. I'm pushing the key alarm into the
keyhole on the driver's side door. It just won't fit. I close one eye and
stumble, but I can see better like this. I try again. Someone is walking up
behind me. I hear the click of heels on the asphalt.

“Need
help there, babe?”

I turn,
looking over my shoulder at one of the strippers from inside. “Can't get it
unlocked,” I tell her.

She
laughs, deep and throaty. “Maybe because you're not using the key,” she says,
and I almost feel like she’s making fun of me, but I'm too wasted to care.

 
“Come on, babe. Let me give you a ride home.
You're in no shape to be driving.” I contemplate her words. It makes sense,
taking a ride from someone. I'm slightly drunk, and I don’t need to be driving.
Chris picked me up from the hospital earlier, and even then, I was buzzing from
pain killers, but something about the situation feels wrong.

I frown,
trying hard to pull the thought closer to the surface, but it evaporates. I
shrug my left shoulder and nod for her to get in the car. She takes the keys
and hits the unlock button on the chain. I start around the back of the car,
but the bumper snakes out and trips me. Bastard. I climb in the passenger's
seat, sinking into the cool, lush leather seats. She starts the engine, and the
car roars to life.

“Where
to, babe?” she asks, running her hand along my bare arm. My skin crawls with
her touch, and for a moment, I worry that I may be sick. I snatch my arm away,
and she laughs again.

“Okay.
Point made. Just tell me your address, and I'll grab a cab home from there.”

I rattle
out the address and then lean my head against the cold glass window as we wind
down the busy streets of LA. I can't wait to be home and wrap my arms around
Sky while I make sweet love to her.

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Skila

I hear a
car pull into the drive and I know it's Kiptyn. I've been so worried about him.
First, he doesn’t come home from the hospital, doesn’t call or text at all, and
then, when I've had enough waiting and decide to call his phone, Chris answers
and tells me he must have left it. I hear music playing in the background and
women whispering close to his ear.

My blood
boils.

He's at
a club.

I can
tell just from the racket I hear over the line, and the bastard didn’t even
bother to call me and let me know. What did the doctor say? Is his injury
serious? Why the hell did he decide to go out partying instead of coming home
to me? I remind myself that he isn’t exactly mine and I have no right to
question where he is, but it’s hard to calm the storm raging inside of me. I
will not sit at the house, cook his meals, wash his clothes, warm his bed, and
be treated like a house mat.

I’m
standing at the top of the stairs when the door opens and Kiptyn walks in. He
leaves the door ajar, and hot on his heels is a busty blonde. She laughs when
he stumbles over the rug in the entryway and shuts the door behind her. I can't
believe this. He actually thought to bring a woman home with him while I’m
here?

My jaw
drops, and I stand there motionless. I can’t believe what my eyes are telling
me. It can’t be. I rub the sockets, and when I open them, I see both of them
again, clear as day. I turn on my heel and stomp off to the
master
bedroom.

That stupid,
no good for nothing, rotten piece of . . . ugh. I grab an overnight bag from
the closet and start shoving anything and everything of mine I can find into
it. I'm leaving. I refuse to stay here and be treated like this. I hear the
bedroom door open and then his soft shuffle across the carpeted floor. His arms
wrap around me from behind, and I flinch.

“Get
your filthy fucking hands off me,” I grit through my teeth. The tone must
surprise him, because he releases me and spins me around to face him. I stare
into the face of the man I wanted to share my life with, and all I feel is
pain. My heart shatters at the forlorn look on his face.

“What’s
wrong, baby?” he asks me, seeming confused, and I scoff.

“What’s
wrong? Did you think I would be ok with it?” I ask, my voice rising, my chest
heaving. I want to scream and curse him, but I remind myself of the baby and
force myself to calm down.

“Okay
with what, baby? I just had a few shots, love. Really,” he explains, and I
laugh.

It’s
dry, humorless. I couldn’t care less how much he drank. Of course, I would have
liked for him to call me and let me know he was going out, but it wasn’t that
big of a deal. No, I’m crushed because of the blonde bimbo downstairs. The one
he brought home to our house.

I stop myself
there. It's not our house, it’s his. I was just a welcomed visitor for a time.
It’s time to wake up and smell the roses. Kiptyn clearly isn’t the man I
thought he was, and I was a fool to think we had a future. I’ll still allow him
to be a part of the baby’s life. I’m not going to be one of those petty bitches
that shut people out of their child's life just because I don’t like them.

“And
what about the blonde bitch who brought you home, Kip? Who the fuck is that?”

“Sky?
Baby . . . seriously? I was drunk as fuck trying to leave the club, and she
walked up on me trying to open the car door like a fucking idiot. She offered
to drive me here so I didn’t kill myself. That’s all. I swear, baby. Nothing at
all has happened or will ever happen with me and another woman. You’re it for
me. Period.”

“Kip, I
just can’t deal with this right now. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to process all
of this. You say I’m it, and yet you shut me out. You make me leave the
hospital and come home, and then you don’t call or show up here for hours, and
when you do, it’s with another woman, and I’m supposed to be okay with this?
No. I’m not. You need to think about what you really want, Kiptyn, and how you
plan on achieving that. Because this,” I say, waving my hand through the air,
“isn’t the way to do it.”

Dropping
my bag on the floor at my feet, I flee the room. I can't stand to be around him
anymore. Just the sight of him sickens me and makes me feel like I'm about to
lose my dinner.

Halfway
down the stairs, I realize the blonde is still here. She's standing on the
front porch, staring at the stars. When I open the door, she jumps and swivels
around. Her eyes round and bulge at the sight coming for her, but I sidestep
and brush past her.

 
“Are you okay?” she calls after me, but I
don’t bother stopping or answering her. How the hell would I be okay? Is she
serious? If I wasn’t pregnant and barefoot at the moment, I'd be tempted to
snatch handfuls of her silky platinum strands and drag her down the drive,
kicking and screaming all the while. Am I okay? Ha.

Thankfully,
my car is still parked in the circular drive. I climb in just as Kiptyn makes
his drunken way out the front door, stumbling and looking as dumbfounded as the
blonde at his side. Slamming the car into drive, I peel out, fishtailing just a
tad before the car rights itself and I clear his driveway.

I should
have known better. No one as amazing as Kiptyn could ever be happy with just
one woman, and if the tabloids are any indication to the man he is, then he isn’t
even close to settling down. I thought it was different with us. Stupid, I
know, but the way he was with me was totally different from his usual one-night
stands with random women at bars and clubs. It was more.

The hope
that had been building in my chest is crushed, stamped out by the four-inch
heels and tanned legs of a blonde bimbo. Never again. I refuse to let myself go
through this chaos ever again. Not one, but now two Price brothers had used me,
and when done, tossed me to the trash like last night's takeout.

Tears
stream down my face, collecting at the base of my throat and settling there, an
itchy reminder of the painful truth. Taking a deep breath, I slow my car until
I'm driving closer to the speed limit, and then I crank up the radio, praying
there’s something good on. Adele’s beautiful voice greets me, and I sob louder.
I can't even bear to change the station. It's like she’s singing for the both
of us right now. I clench my hands on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning
white under the pressure, and sing my heart out to
Hello
.

When I
pull into the parking garage at Lisa’s, I pull down the mirror and attempt to
make myself look more normal. It's no use. My eyes are swollen and puffy from
all the tears I've shed in the twenty-minute ride over, and my nose is so
stuffed up that I probably sound more like Daffy Duck than a human being. I rub
my hands against my face once more and then climb from my Civic.

I don’t
even know if Lisa is home. I can’t call or text her and find out since I
stormed out of Kiptyn’s house with just the clothes on my back. People eye me
warily when I enter, noting my lack of shoes and the disheveled look of the
rest of me. I don’t care. Stare all you want, people. You don’t mean shit to
me. No one does, least of all Kiptyn Price.