Coming Clean (14 page)

“Nah, I can handle it. Just need some peace and quiet every now and then to reflect on all of my blessings and not lose sight of what's important.”

I kicked my feet back and forth, marveling at the stray cool current that passed by and hoping like hell Jaws wouldn't torpedo up and out of the water from beneath me. “And what's important?”

He nodded toward the shore. “My ladies. I'm nothing without them.”

I looked, too, thoroughly amused when Abe accidentally dumped a bucket of sand onto Vale's leg and then started wiping it away. He was every bit as gallant as those superheroes he looked up to, and I was a proud papa. Guilt sat heavy on my shoulders since I couldn't say he'd learned that chivalry from his father. Fictional characters were raising my boy because I hadn't been around enough to do it myself. Yet somehow, Marcel had managed to play a huge role in his daughter's upbringing.

“How do you do it, man? How do you persevere despite the odds against you? Don't take it the wrong way, but being a kid with a kid and a wife while trying to go to school and play ball at the same time can't be easy.”

“It wasn't, but Cam and Vale give me reason.”

“Reason?” I asked.

“Yeah, reason.” Marcel shrugged. “A reason to endure, a reason to play, a reason to keep going, and a reason to never give up. They're my motivation for not getting twisted up in the game, both on the field and off. I don't do this for fame or notoriety. I love the game, man. Not only that, but football is a means to an end. I play to support my family because it's what I'm good at, but they will always come first. The pressures of this job aren't easy to deal with. The only way I come out of it okay is if I have a family to go home to at the end of the day. Besides, they're my biggest fans.”

I laughed with him, making light of the very heavy conversation. Especially since my next question could be taken the wrong way. “But why get married at such a young age? That's an epic commitment. I'm sure Camille still would've supported you without the legal tie.”

“You're right, it is. I didn't have to marry her. Even after we'd found out she was pregnant Cam never pressured me to make an honest woman out of her. But I wanted to. I mean, I don't want to be with anyone else, so why not give my last name and everything I have to the woman who helped make me who I am today? In my opinion, a man who refuses to take that last step is still unsure, isn't one hundred percent committed. He's holding out for an escape route in case he wants to make a speedy exit.”

Was that what I'd been doing? I'd avoided relationships all my life, and then once I'd found myself smack-dab in the middle of one, I'd been adamant that I'd never marry. Looking back on it now, I recalled hating the way my parents had made a mockery of it, and that had been my reasoning. But Cassidy and I were not Clarice and Jerry Matthews. We genuinely loved each other, loved our child, and we were a family. And that was some real-deal shit. Had I shut down the idea of marriage in lieu of keeping the door open for an escape should said real-deal shit get too deep for me to handle?

“Here comes one, man,” Marcel said, nodding behind us at a building swell. “I'm going for it.”

Stretching out on his board, he began to paddle, staying ahead of a quickly gaining mound of water. At just the right time, he put his palms beneath his shoulders and then popped up onto both feet in a sideways stance. He even had the whole Elvis Presley arm thing going on as he bent at the knee and floated his board along the whitecap of the wave until he eventually wiped out.

Whistles and cheers abounded from the shore, Cassidy, Camille, and both kids congratulating Marcel for a bitchin' ride. I laughed to myself, at myself. I so was not cut out to be a surfer dude.

It took no time at all for Marcel to make his way back to me with a blindingly white smile that stretched from ear to ear. “Dude, that was awesome!”

“Dude? One wave and you're already talking like the locals?” I laughed.

“Man, whatever. Don't harsh on my buzz,” he said, purposely getting his slang on while flashing the shaka sign.

“By the way, you're full of shit! You have, too, done this before.”

Marcel shook his head and made a cross over his heart. “Swear, man. That was my first time. Guess I'm a natural-born athlete or whatever. It never takes me long to pick up on a sport.”

“Yeah, well, I choose not to let you make me look like a fool in front of my boy, so how about we head back in for a bit?”

Marcel chuckled at my admission of defeat. If he'd known I'd nearly taken a permanent nap with the fishies, I bet he'd have cut me some slack. I wasn't offended, though. I'd have laughed, too.

“Just one more,” he said. “The adrenaline rush is off the charts. I can totally understand how people get addicted to this.”

“Do your thing, Marcel,” I said, waving to the vast expanse of ocean. “But don't break anything. We don't need any injuries going into the Combine.”

I'd decided if given the option, I might actually consider committing murder to look like Camille Ingram. I wondered what it must be like to have hair that straight and shiny, skin that golden brown, and a stomach that flat after giving birth to a child. A two-piece…she was wearing a two-piece. And well, too, I might add. With her long legs stretched out elegantly before her and that lustrous hair blowing in the breeze, she was soaking up the sun while I sat under the shade of the beach umbrella to avoid scorching my pale, blotchy skin. Her eyes were an interesting hazel mix of both blue and green with long lashes and thick brows that were expertly groomed into a high arch. She wore no makeup, though she didn't need to because her natural Latina features made her unfairly beautiful.

I adjusted my sarong, trying my best to hide the kangaroo-style pooch still left over from when my little joey had called my belly home.

“I hope this doesn't sound rude of me,” I began, “but I just have to know where Vale got her blond hair and green eyes from.” Her hair was more golden than blond with dark roots at the core of a puffy mane that looked soft to the touch, and her eyes were a light green that looked even brighter against her butterscotch complexion.

A sweet laugh carried over to me on the breeze, setting me at ease regarding my level of rudeness. “Marcel. His mother was African American, but his father was white.”

“Ah,” I said, my agent persona fitting pieces of the puzzle together. “You said
was.
Past tense. Are they still living?”

She shrugged. “No clue.”

I perceived her short answer as an indication that she had no desire to discuss the matter further. Sore subject, check. But having dealt with my own baby-daddy with parental issues, I knew that was the sort of thing that could and usually did shape a man. I'd have to dig deeper if I was going to be able to report back to Shaw with a solid opinion on his quest to sign this athlete.

Camille nodded toward the water where her husband was attempting to shred a wave he'd caught, shaking her head when he wiped out. “I bet he gets back on and tries it again.”

Sure enough, Marcel grabbed the board, mounted it, and paddled hard back to where Shaw still bobbed up and down on the swells. Marcel was no quitter, and though I knew Shaw wasn't either, the memory of the time I'd nearly lost him to the sea made me mentally plead with him not to be as daring.

“Tell me about him,” I said, trying to take my mind off the close call with Mother Nature that had almost ripped the man I love from my grasp. Shaw apparently wanted to hang out with Marcel and get to know him better in order to further his agenda of signing him, but what he failed to realize was that the best way to get to know a man was through his woman.

Camille shrugged. “Most everything there is to know about Marcel has already been plastered all over the media. I'm not sure there's much else I can add to it.”

Au contraire. “I find the media to be superficial and subjective when it comes to athletes. Typically, they're more concerned with statistical facts rather than really getting to know the person behind them. I'm more curious about the secret behind his winning career. What drives him?”

Camille regarded me with an expression of respect. “Do you know you're the first person who's ever asked that?”

“Really? I'm surprised,” I said, though I really wasn't. “An agent should know what an athlete's motivation is just in case he needs a reminder. And trust me, they definitely need a good shove from time to time.”

“You're not an agent anymore.” It was a statement, not a question. Maybe Camille had done a little homework of her own on me.

“No, not anymore. But I guess old habits die hard.” I laughed.

“We'd wanted to sign with you,” she said, taking me unaware. “When we'd found out you'd left the business, we thought Shaw would be the next best thing.”

Though I knew it shouldn't have, her reveal appealed to the competitive side of me that I thought had become dormant over the last couple of years. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed it.

“Oh, God, please don't tell him that,” I told her, knowing it would be another hit to Shaw's ego that he wouldn't be able to take. “And I didn't leave for good,” I added, needing her to know that I wasn't a quitter. “I'm just on hiatus until Abe gets a little older and starts school.”

“Determination,” Camille said simply. At my questioning glance, she continued, “You asked what drives Marcel. It's his determination.”

She took her bottled water and drank from it before replacing the cap. “The reason we don't know whether his parents are still living is because when Marcel was a kid, he'd been abused by them—mentally, emotionally, and physically. They did horrible things to him. Left him alone for days at a time, tried to sell him for drug money, and beat him nearly within an inch of his life.” She cringed, the thought of someone torturing the man she loved like that no doubt affecting her, but she shook it off. “Luckily for Marcel, someone tipped off Child Protective Services and he was finally rescued. They removed him from the home and put him in the system.”

My chest tightened with the visual that had embedded itself in my mind. As a mother, I couldn't fathom bringing any sort of harm to Abe. Intentional or not.

“Though the foster homes he was in weren't much better. He suffered more beatings and emotional detachment from some who were only taking in kids to collect the state funds,” she said with a disgust I completely understood. “I think he was somewhere around eight before he was eventually placed with Allen and Lynn.

“They were my neighbors, and some of the sweetest, most God-fearing people I've ever met. Lynn couldn't have any children of her own, and Marcel can be quite the charmer, so they eventually adopted him. They knew about everything Marcel had been through, but they were devoted to making sure he'd never feel like a victim again. They gave Marcel something he hadn't ever had before…a home where he could feel safe with a family who genuinely loved him. But they didn't try to erase his past. Instead, they encouraged him to use it as a tool, to take all the bad and turn it into something good.” She paused, watching her husband with a pride that was palpable. “And he did. So to answer your question, Marcel wins because he's been beaten so much that he refuses to be beaten again.”

Suddenly, the issues I thought I'd had with Shaw didn't seem all that important. “Wow. If anything is going to make someone put their own life and problems into perspective, that'll do it.”

“Maybe one day they'll make a Lifetime movie about him,” she said, making light of what had to be a hard thing to talk about. “There aren't too many people who know his story.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried.”

“No, no, no,” she said, attempting to make me feel better. “Marcel isn't ashamed of where he came from. Not many people know the story because not many have cared enough to ask.”

“Oh. And what about you?” I asked, shifting gears. “It's got to be hard being the wife of a superstar athlete. Do you worry about what his fame will do to your marriage?”

Camille's laugh was confident. “Not in the least. I've watched girls throw themselves at him time after time. Girls who I know are much prettier than me. Marcel has never even given them a second glance. That doesn't mean I wouldn't love anything more than to rip their fake lashes, fake hair, fake nails, and fake tits off their bodies, though.”

I nearly choked on the gulp of water I'd just taken. “Oh, wow!” I laughed, knowing exactly how she felt.

“Hey, I might be a God-fearing woman, but that doesn't mean I don't get tested from time to time. And believe me, these women
test me
…,” she trailed off in a singsong voice.

“Oh, I feel ya,” I said, remembering all the times I'd witnessed complete strangers bat their lashes a little too hard at Shaw when we'd been out and about. “So you're not worried he'll cheat on you. How about the time it'll take from you and Vale? Have you thought about that?”

Camille sat up, straightening her arms behind her. The breeze off the ocean blew her straight locks, one strand stubbornly sticking to her glossy lip before she pulled it away. She looked out over the water, eyes squinting against the sun. “I've thought about that, and I've come to the conclusion that I have to let Marcel do his thing, find his own way. He's done a pretty good job of it on his own so far, so I have no reason to believe it won't all work out in the end. He has to become the man he's supposed to be, and there's nothing I can say or do that will alter the course he's meant to follow. Given his start in life, it might take him a little more time to get there, but I'm prepared to wait. Because I know he's worth it—I know our family is worth it. That's what you're supposed to do when you love someone, right?”

“I'm sorry, how old are you again?” I asked, drawing a laugh from her. I couldn't believe how incredibly strong and mature this young wife and mother was. I could definitely take a cue or two from her.

While I was caught up in my awe of this fledgling couple who had defeated the odds stacked so high against them, Shaw and Marcel waded through the surf washing onto the beach. I watched as they each stabbed their boards into the sand, Shaw reaching down to unclasp the ankle strap and then sweep up his baby boy as he'd barreled toward him. Marcel did the same with his sweet baby girl. Dual giggles abounded as the fathers tossed their little ones into the air, and then Marcel swung Vale around in a circle to bring her back to his chest and carry her bridal-style. Shaw lifted Abe and ducked his head to perch our son on his shoulders. Abe's chunky little hands fisted his father's wet hair as Shaw clamped a hold on his legs to secure him in place.

My cheeks hurt from the smile pushing at them, and I allowed myself a moment to absorb the view before me. From Shaw's golden tanned legs with muscular calves bulging, up to those delectable obliques that disappeared beneath the band of his trunks and the rippling abdominals with that glorious trail of dark hair, and higher still to those flat, dusky nipples haloed by a smattering of curly fuzz. He was God's gift to women. No, not to women. To me. But his sexiest asset of all was the pristine white of his teeth that showed through the smile he wore from ear to ear while looking up at his son.
Our
son.

“Down you go, little man,” he said despite the groaning protest from Abe as he lifted him once again and put his shoe–clad feet back onto the sand.

“Hey, you want a snack?” I asked my baby boy, wiping the sand from his chunky legs as best I could. He nodded, excited for his apples and caramel dip, I was sure. “How about you, Vale? Abe packed the snack all by himself. Didn't you, Abe?”

Abe's little chest swelled with pride. “Uh-huh. A'cause we're boyfwiend girlfwiend like my mommy and daddy.”

He was so his father's son. As cute as it was, I felt a pang of embarrassment that he couldn't say
husband and wife.
Because his daddy and mommy weren't and probably never would be.

“Yeah? She's your girlfriend?” Marcel hiked a fatherly brow. “You don't think she's a little too old for you?”

Abe shook his head, his beige bucket hat flapping in the breeze as he handed the Baggie of green apple slices to a giggling Vale.

Shaw clapped Marcel on the back. “What can I say, man? My boy's into older women.”

“He's not allowed to be into any women,” I said pointedly, handing the opened container of caramel dipping sauce to Abe. Abe smiled slyly and then he and Vale ran, hand in hand, back toward their sand castle in progress, which looked more like a village of ant mounds.

“Hey!” Marcel called toward them. “I'm keeping my eye on you, boy! That's my little girl!”

Shaw, Camille, and I had a laugh at his expense. He ignored us, taking the spot before Camille with his back to the rest of us and bending his knees toward his chest so he could watch the kids play.

“Marcel, they're not playing doctor. They're playing princess.” Camille tilted her head back and closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her face.

“Got my little man whipped already.” Shaw shook his head in disbelief and then took a bottle of water from the cooler before claiming the corner of blanket in front of me. Easing back on his right forearm, he stretched one long leg out and raised the knee of the other. “So Marcel, how'd you like to meet Denver Rockford while you're in town?”

Marcel's eyes lit up as he turned away from the kids. I guessed that was one way of getting his attention. “Ah, man! Are you kidding me? I'd love to!” And then suddenly, that light was extinguished. “Damn, I can't.”

Swallowing his gulp and then recapping the bottle, Shaw said, “What are you talking about? Of course you can.”

“Actually, we can't,” Camille added.

Marcel's shoulders sagged. “We're heading back home tomorrow.”

“So stay longer,” Shaw said as if it were a simple answer.

Camille snorted. “Right. Because hanging out in California is so inexpensive.”

I knew what Shaw was going to say and do before he ever got it out. “If it's a question of money, I've got it covered.” And cue winning smile…

Marcel shook his head. “Nah, man. I can't let you do that. I pay my own way.”

“Marcel, buddy…Really, it's no big deal. My company sets money aside for just such an occasion. It's not going to cost me a thing.”

Shaw wasn't feeding him a line of crap. One of the very first things he'd done when he'd stepped in as a partner at Striker was increase the expense account for wining and dining the major players. I supposed he figured no one else should have to sacrifice the way he had in the name of the company.