Fair Game: A Football Romance (80 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Holland

After one week in the hospital and one week home, I think I’m getting the hang of this mothering thing . . . sort of. King, of course, surpassed me right away in the parenting department when he had to juggle a newborn and a sick girlfriend. He worked hard, balancing the baby’s needs with mine, giving me time to rest and time to bond with our princess. I fall in love with that man more and more every day.

“Here, let me take her so you can get some practice time in, Mommy.”

I shift Juliette from one arm to the other and smile up at him from the plush rocker in her nursery.

“I can do it later. She’s wide awake right now. I want to spend time with her.”

Truth is, I have never wanted to play the violin less in my life. Before Juliette and King, my life was all music all the time, but now that I have a family to take care of, I have no desire to play.

“You sure? You haven’t played in weeks.”

“I know, and I will. I’m just a little tired. Don’t worry, I’ll get back to it, I promise.” He hesitates, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay here alone for a few hours? I can cancel if you need help.”

“No, I’m fine. Go on, get out of here—but kiss me first.” King is dressed in a suit for the first time in weeks. He has a ‘business meeting’ this afternoon. I don’t ask for details because I don’t want to know. He looks so handsome in his black suit, with his dark waves combed back and clean cut face—irresistible, really. One of our agreements when we decided to keep our baby was that I wouldn’t give up going to Juilliard. The other was that he would get out of the drug business. He’s been working on his end of the bargain for months now, and I haven’t done a thing about getting back to playing. If I stay quiet about his end of the deal, maybe he will forget about mine. Anyway, the less I know, the better. As for Juilliard, King wants to live in his penthouse in New York during the school year and come back to Texas when I’m on breaks until I graduate.

All of that seemed like a good plan until this little bundle of sweetness looked up at me with King’s big brown eyes and stole my heart.

Having eclampsia scared the shit out of me. Hell, the whole experience of having a baby scared me so much that I’m thinking Juliette will be an only child. Being sick taught me that life is fragile and unpredictable. Anything can happen. You never know when your time is up, so I want to spend as much of it with King and Juliette as possible. I can’t imagine going to Juilliard or playing in the New York Philharmonic Orchestra now.               There may have to be some revisions made to our original plan. I know King’s not going to like the idea of me putting school on hold indefinitely. He had to do some fast talking and probably donate a hefty sum of money to keep my spot open this year. He still thinks that my lifelong dream is to play the violin professionally, but Juliette and King turned my dreams upside down. The only dream I have now is to spend my life loving the two most important people in my world.

King bends to press his lips against mine, and without breaking the kiss, he kneels down in front of me and places his hands on either side of my face. Lost in the fog that surrounds us in these moments, I lace my fingers behind his neck and into his hair with my free hand and prepare to be swept away until a certain little someone begins to squirm and fuss. The fog lifts as we turn our attention to Juliette, and I swear she knows what she’s doing. As soon as she has us sucked into her baby euphoria, she stills and starts cooing. Stinker.

“Always stealing the show, aren’t you, little lady?” I snuggle her closer and touch my finger to the tip of her nose. “Look, she’s smiling.”

“She probably has gas.”

We watch her until she scrunches up her face and starts to turn red, followed by a squishy furrp. We burst into laughter. Ah, the joys of parenthood.

“That’s my girl. Told ya . . . gas,” he says.

“Yeah, guess so. When will you be home?”

I stand, and he follows me to the changing table.

“In a couple of hours. Shouldn’t take long. We’re meeting at the club and then—”

I hold up my hand, gesturing him to stop. “No, no, I don’t want to know. Just go and come back safe. I love you.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, King, I’m fine. Ugh, go.”

He rolls his eyes before he disappears down the hall, only to poke his head back in a second later to ask me one last time if I’m sure I’ll be alright. Some things will never change.

I sigh and shake my head, listening for the door to close downstairs. When he’s gone and I’m finished changing Juliette, we head downstairs.

I look out the window and find myself wishing it were warmer outside. The porch swing looks inviting, but the March air is still too cool for sitting outside.

If we sat in the turret, it would feel like we were outside, but when I see the piano and my violin sitting silently in the sunlight, my stomach drops. I feel guilty not practicing or playing at all lately, but I’m busy, damn it. I’m supposed to be focusing on my baby, aren’t I?

Not according to Mama. She’s been over here every day reminding me of how many hours and minutes it’s been since I’ve practiced. She’s totally obsessed. One day, I wanted to throw my violin at her and tell her to go become a professional musician herself.

She actually brought it up to my bedroom while I was feeding Juliette and tried to swap me. I had to remind her that I was
breastfeeding
and she couldn’t exactly do that for me. That was a week ago. I told her I’d call if I needed her, and I don’t, so I haven’t.

Back upstairs, Juliette and I curl up in the center of our king-sized bed on top of the soft teal comforter. King decorated the house to suit me . . . no royal gold bathrooms here. Nope, just lots of open, airy spaces. He had the decorators use a soft color palette of yellows and greys throughout the first floor, and upstairs in Juliette’s room, a darker grey that we have added pink accents to now that we know she’s a girl. Our room is my favorite, though, with round top windows surrounding a window seat, crown molding and hardwood flooring, with a large, white rug in the center under our bed. The teal bedding was chosen with me in mind, and it ties in beautifully with the teal and silver wallpaper on the accent wall behind our bed. The room also boasts a fireplace with a mantel covered in my belongings and at first, empty picture frames. I’ve already filled over half of them with photos of Juliette and King.

An hour later, when Juliette is asleep, I slide my arm out from under her and scoot off the bed. I sit behind the desk that King has set up in our room so that he can work from home.

I pick through the organized folders until I find what I’m looking for, my Juilliard letter of acceptance. I’ve looked at it every day this week trying to decide what to do. It’s only March, but I need to make a decision. I know for sure I can’t go to school this fall. There is no way I can be the mother I want to be while going to Juilliard and traveling for performances. The schedule is grueling. But I still have some soul searching to do about whether or not I want to go at all. I could wait a few years until Juliette is in kindergarten, but would they take me then? Probably not. And cue the tears. Everything makes me cry lately, which is probably why King is so freaked out about leaving me alone. As with all things pregnancy related, he has read up on postpartum depression, and he follows me around with a Kleenex box trying to make everything all better. The problem is that there usually isn’t anything to make better. I cry when I see a baby bird on the edge of the deck outside or when the mailman is late. Last night, I cried when a detective solved a mystery on television.

I love him for it. I love him for a million reasons, and that makes me cry too.

I abandon the letter when my little peanut starts to squirm and cry. I gather her up and we have a good old cry together, swaying back and forth in front of the bay window.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

King

My meeting with the new distributors didn’t go well. I’ve made it clear I want to step down, but these men are new and untrusting. They are the men replacing the key distributors who were murdered in my club almost a year ago, and they have no interest in dealing with a stranger. As powerful as I am, I have a major weakness, two of them, in fact, and they know it. It’s ironic that when I was alone, there was nothing anyone could do to me to make me stay. I could have walked away at any time, but I didn’t have a reason to. Now that I do, I’m stuck.

There is no hope of leaving unless they all accept it and trust my successor, and after today, I don’t ever see that happening. They won’t hesitate to kidnap and murder my family if I step down. It happened to a close friend and business associate of my father’s, Hector Morales. He wanted to retire and spend his twilight years with his family. He got his wish, but instead of resting comfortably on the beach sipping tropical drinks, he and his entire family are resting in the cold ground.

If I stay, they are in the constant danger of being close to the dark world of drug trafficking. If I go, they seek revenge by murdering my family. It’s a lose-lose situation. I can’t keep them safe unless we disappear, and we can’t disappear because Holland can’t live her life looking over her shoulder, especially if she is going to pursue her career. Making everyone happy in this situation is laughably impossible.

“Home to the club or the house?” Sebastián asks.

Sebastián is driving today so I can work while we are on the road. We took Holland’s car, and the back seat smells like my two favorite ladies. It’s making me miss them.

“The house.”

Holland is sick of me checking in with her today, but that’s too bad. The doctor informed us that she should be fine from here on out, but after witnessing her seizure, I’m wary of leaving her alone. Today was important, though and no one was available to drop by. Until today, I’ve been able to arrange for family and friends to nonchalantly stop by when I need to leave so she’s never alone. I’m pretty sure Holland caught on, but she hasn’t called me out on it yet.

“King.”

“Yes?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“All right . . . shoot.” It isn’t like Sebastián to offer propositions, so I set my work aside and listen.

“How would you feel about letting me take over the business? I’ve been around since the beginning, and I know how your father ran things. The distributors might trust me, and it would be a hell of a lot easier than finding someone new or making a new identity for your family.”

“I have thought about that, but Sebastián, you have a family too. I didn’t think you would want them in harm's way.”

“No one has to know. I can handle everything, and you could show your face occasionally to keep everyone at ease. And don’t worry about my family. I can take care of my own.”

“Who’s going to be in charge of security? I could never trust anyone as much as I trust you. You’re as good as family.”

“I can do both if I have a little help. I’d still be in charge of you and Holland and Juliette, of course, but some of the work I can delegate.”

“I don’t see another way around it. Holland and I need to leave for New York in four months. I have to get this all settled, and frankly, I was beginning to think it was hopeless.”

“You sure she’s still going to want to go?”

I snap my laptop shut and set it on the seat next to me.

“Yes, of course she’s still going. I’m not going to let having a baby disrupt her dreams.”

“What if that’s not her dream anymore?”

“Sebastián, do you know something I don’t? Because I’m starting to feel like you do.” He’d better tell me what’s on his mind, and Holland had better not be telling him she isn’t going to Juilliard. She knows it’s not negotiable.

“No, she hasn’t said anything. I just know from experience that women change their minds a lot, and having a baby changes everything.”

“Not this, I won’t allow it. Her entire life has been dedicated to playing professionally, and she’s too talented to let it go to waste. I refuse to be the reason she quits.”

Sebastián is skeptical. He looks at me in the rearview mirror with raised brows. I don’t want anything to stand in the way of Holland playing in the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. If I have to take the baby and sit outside her classrooms so she can see her every hour, I will. I’ll hire a nanny—no, not just a nanny, the best fucking nanny ever. I’ll do anything to make going to Juilliard easier for her.

She’s started doubting her dreams. She has this idea in her head that her mother’s interest in her future is her way of fulfilling her own dreams of becoming a professional musician. I disagree. The moment I heard her play—no, the moment I saw her play—it was obvious. She’s special, gifted, a jewel the world shouldn’t be denied.

“Just let me out here and take the car around to the garage. I want to check on Holland.”

“You’ve been doing nothing but since we left the house, King. She’s fine.”

I shoot Sebastián a ‘mind your own fucking business, or you won’t have any business to mind’ look as I exit the car. He may want to take over the business, but I’ll always be the boss.

“Holland, where are you?” I call out as soon as I get the door open.

“Shush.” She’s standing at the top of the staircase, holding one finger over her lips. “I just got her to sleep.”

“Just now? She was awake a long time.”

“Well, I may have had a little to do with that.”

I lean my shoulder against the doorframe and admire her. She’s beautiful today. She’s beautiful every day, but being with the baby seems to bring a special light to her eyes and a bounce in her step. The blue in her dress causes her eyes to be a clear blue grey, like the ocean on a calm day, but my favorite part of this dress is the way it shows off her shapely legs.

She slowly descends the stairs, dragging her fingers along the bannister until she is standing right in front of me. She lifts up onto her tiptoes and kisses me hello.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

“Does a poopy diaper count as exciting?”

“No, it does not.” I slide one hand into her hair and another around her waist. She’s back into her pre-pregnancy clothes already, and she insisted on beginning a workout regimen before her six-week appointment to see the obstetrician, but after her illness I said absolutely not. We ended up compromising on yoga and walking . . . slowly, and never alone.

“So the baby is sleeping.”

“Mmmhmm” She trails her finger along the side of my face, looking at me with her big, innocent eyes.

“And nobody’s home.”

“Nope, not a soul.” A wicked smile spreads across her face.

“Wanna play around?”

I know sex is off the table for now—sex . . . table . . . hmm . . . this is going to be a long four weeks—but nothing says we can’t do some heavy petting.

“Play around how?” More pretend innocence rings in her voice. She has my tie, and she’s wrapping it around her hand as she turns so her backside is against my front, my very hard front. I moan when she dips her knees slightly, and using my tie as leverage, she rubs that fine ass of hers against my throbbing cock.

Just as I’m thinking this afternoon is looking up, a cry comes from a baby monitor on the table next to the couch and I am released.

“Sorry.” She turns to apologize with an adorable pout on her lips.

“It’s okay. Well
it’s
not okay,” I say, looking at my cock straining against my suit pants and then into her eyes. “You can make it up to us later.” I wink and she blushes. I love that I can still make her do that.

“I’ll go get her. You go get some practice time in.”

Her face falls, and she looks at the violin on the piano bench across the room. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to play, and that concerns me. We had a deal.

“Baby, you need to practice. It’s been weeks. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without playing?”

She worries her bottom lip, and I see even more signs of her discontent with her music. Her shoulders sag and she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’ve never gone a day without practicing.” Her soft admission doesn’t surprise me. I had a hunch she’d never missed a day. This is bad.

“So why haven’t you been playing?”

“King, I told you. I’m not sure playing the violin has ever been my dream. I think it’s my mama’s.”

“Bullshit.”

Her head snaps in my direction.

“What?”

“You heard me, that’s bullshit. Yeah, your mom’s nuts and she went too far suggesting the abortion, but your talent cannot be wasted. You told me once yourself that music is a part of you and without it you’d die. I believe that.”

“Well I don’t. Not anymore. And while we’re on the subject, I don’t want to go to New York or Juilliard anymore. I want to stay here with you and Juliette.”

She can’t even look at me when she says it. She’s been talking to the wall just over my shoulder.

I move to the left so she has to look at me.

“Holland, we had a deal. You have the baby and go to school, and I get out of the drug business.”

“You haven’t kept up your end of the deal either. You had a meeting with your drug people just today.”

“That’s different, I’m working on it. Things like this don’t happen overnight. It’s tricky, but at least I haven’t given up.

She blinks, and one lone tear slides down her cheek, reminding me of the hormones, the crying and the tissues . . . Lord, the woman has gone through a lot of tissue in the past two weeks. I’d be smart to invest in the Kleenex company.

“I can’t do it. I want to be there for every little thing she does, all the milestones and the things she’s going to learn. If I go to school, I’ll miss it all. She won’t know who her mama is.”

Now the dam breaks hard and fast. She sobs as I gather her in my arms and carry her upstairs, where the little career hijacker is crying almost as hard as her mother.

But I know Juliette isn’t the real hijacker. I am. I knew there was a slim chance she would feel this way, but I kept telling myself that her love of music was too strong for her to quit.

I was wrong, and now I have to help make it right. Maybe she just needs a couple of more weeks to work through this postpartum depression and she’ll change her mind.

I lay Holland on our bed while she looks anxiously at the bassinet, but I ignore Juliette for just a second to tend to Holland. Babies don’t die from crying for a few minutes, and I should know. ‘
What to Expect
’ says so. I cover Holland’s legs and hand her one of the many boxes of tissue I have strategically placed all over the house. I pluck a few and wipe her tears away before I pick up the baby. Her tiny, sweet face is screwed up tight and she’s bright red. She’s pissed, but when I put her into Holland’s arms, she is instantly quiet, nuzzling against her breast. Lucky kid.

“I’m going to see about some dinner. I’ll be right back. Can I get you anything?” She sniffles loudly and wipes her nose with her free hand.

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ll bring you a bottle of water and a snack anyway. Stay put.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, looking me straight in the eye to make sure I understand the double meaning of her response. Two weeks. I’m giving her two weeks to change her mind. I’m also giving myself two weeks to figure out what to do about my business. There has to be a way that we can all live safely and Holland can still pursue her dream. There has to be.