Foolish Games (4 page)

The procedure took less than six hours.
Without hesitation, Will neatly rolled up his shirt sleeve and stretched out on a gurney in a sterile room beside the NICU. Casually crossing his ankles, he didn’t even flinch when the nurse inserted a needle into his arm. Restless, Julianne had paced the room while Will stoically watched the blood flow from his body into the collection bag. Twice Julianne attempted to speak to him, but both times he’d held up a large paw to silence her. He’d been doing that all day, much to Julianne’s aggravation.

Not that he didn’t have every right to be angry with her, he did. But Julianne was a talker. The anxiety she felt for Owen made her more chatty than usual. If she could just clear the air with Will rather than be subjected to the silent treatment, she’d feel better. Less guilty. She’d explain everything. Well, maybe not everything. Because if she explained everything, she’d have to say she was sorry. And even though she was very sorry, she wasn’t about to give him more power over her and Owen. Instead, she bit her lip. It was better than staring at the palm of his hand in her face.

When they’d extracted and processed what looked to Julianne like a ridiculously large amount of blood, the nurse brought Owen and his incubator into the room. Unlike his father, the baby was not as easygoing during the transfusion process. Owen howled as Dr. Ling and the nurses poked his tiny arms and feet with needles. Julianne stood to the side, tears streaming down her face, wishing she could somehow absorb her son’s pain. It was only after the procedure was over that she realized Will stood beside her the entire time, his annoyingly patronizing hand rubbing her back as she cried.

All that was left now was the waiting. Dr. Ling had explained that it would take a couple of hours before she knew if Owen’s body would accept the antibodies in Will’s blood, but the doctor was optimistic the procedure would be successful. In nearly all cases, one of the parents’ blood proteins was a match. Julianne felt that familiar stab of pain that her blood hadn’t been good enough to save her child. Once again, she’d had to rely on someone else.

She’d lost all track of actual time. The last shift change was several hours ago, so she assumed it was late evening, although it was hard to tell inside the hospital. Sebastian was at dinner with friends. Carly had left, too. She’d gone home to her new family. The knife twisted in Julianne’s gut again. Owen was supposed to be
her
family. And if the blood disorder didn’t take him from her, the behemoth pretending to sleep on the sofa would certainly try.

She glanced over at Will stretched out on the love seat, his long legs protruding into the center of the room. Either he was a very heavy sleeper or the champ at playing possum because he hadn’t so much as moved since he’d closed his eyes an hour ago. Both hands lay across his midsection, and his muscled abdomen rose slightly as he breathed. He looked less forbidding with his eyes closed, his long lashes resting against his cheeks. In this state, he seemed almost approachable. More human. When he was awake, Will resembled a Norse god, his intense eyes, square jaw, and massive shoulders intimidating. All that was missing was the horned helmet.

His jacket and tie lay folded neatly on the back of one of the chairs. Childishly, she wanted to walk over and rumple them up to see how he’d react. He’d been annoyingly cool and unflappable all day, in complete control as if he’d come from his Viking ship to rescue her. Except he hadn’t come to save her; he’d come for their son. Given the opportunity, she figured he’d toss her overboard without a backward glance.

Dr. Ling pushed through the curtain, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the tile floor. Will’s eyes shot open.

“Good news!” Dr. Ling smiled widely at them both. “Owen’s body is thriving with the new blood cells. In fact, he’s even generating blood proteins of his own already, which tells us he’s going to make a complete recovery.”

Julianne’s hands were shaking as she pressed a finger to the cross beneath her shirt and whispered a prayer. Tears were streaming down her face as she reached out and hugged Dr. Ling. “Thank you! Thank you so much for saving Owen.”

“Don’t thank me.” The doctor laughed. “It was his dad’s blood that did the trick.” She pulled a sheet of paper out of the metal chart case she carried. “And this makes it official. The DNA test is positive. You’re Owen’s father.”

Will’s face was impassive as Dr. Ling handed him the results. Without looking at it, he folded the paper up and placed it in his shirt pocket. “How long until he can be released?”

The question sent a shiver of unease up her spine.

“He’ll need to stay in the NICU for several more days, just to be sure his body functions return to normal. Once he has the all-clear from the various specialists, then he can go home.” The doctor looked at each of them, clearly wondering who would be taking Owen home. “I’ll leave you two to sort everything out. I’ll stay a few more hours to keep an eye on things, and I’ll update you after his morning blood work.”

Dr. Ling seemed unfazed by the unorthodox relationship between her patient’s parents. Of course, she worked in a hospital, so it was likely she’d seen all sorts of awkward family situations. Nonetheless, Julianne was still embarrassed. She looked over at Will, who had buttoned his cuffs and was pulling on his suit jacket. When his hands were occupied draping his tie over his shoulders, she jumped on the chance to speak.

“Thank you.” The words fell soft and hollow, almost as if she’d dropped them down a well. Clearly, they were inadequate, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Thanks for saving my son.”

He paused with the tie in midair behind his neck. “What did you say?”

Julianne swallowed. The look in his eyes made her want to run, but she stood her ground. She deserved his derision and his anger. Owen had been through so much and now he was going to live, thanks to the man towering in front of her. She owed him his pound of flesh. She just hoped she’d still be standing when he was done with her.

Will dropped the tie and stalked toward her. Julianne pushed her shoulders up, determined to force her body, and her soul, to withstand whatever he planned to dish out.

“Owen is not
your
son.” He tapped his chest where the paternity test results were tucked away. “This little piece of paper says I have just as much right to him as you do. He’s
my
son, too.”

This was the part where he whipped out his Viking sword and ripped out her heart. Blinking back tears, she forced her question through dry lips. “How exactly are you going to exert those rights?”

“Princess, we’ve just teed up the ball for the kickoff. This game has barely started. But the first thing
we
will be doing is getting Owen’s birth certificate amended so my name is on there.”

“Your name
is
on it!”
Sort of.

Will arched an eyebrow at her as he pulled his iPhone from his pocket. He scrolled through it before reading aloud. “Owen Connelly Marchione. Nice touch with the middle name.” The insincerity of his tone belied his words. “Mother, Julianne Valerie Marchione. Father, unknown.”

Obviously his agent had been busy while Will was giving blood. Julianne stared at him. There were no words she could offer. No explanation that he’d accept for not listing him as Owen’s father. At least none that she could justify.

“No child of mine is growing up a bastard!” His shout reverberated off the walls in the small room. Julianne cringed as she imagined that the entire hospital heard him.

“Okay,” she whispered. There was no other answer she could give. She’d never meant to deny either Will or Owen. She just hadn’t thought the whole thing through. But explaining that to him right now seemed like a moot point.

He raked his hand through his hair, mussing up his perfect appearance. “Get your things. I’ll take you home.”

“My home is in Italy.” Technically, she had a place in New York, but it belonged to the company she no longer owned, so she didn’t feel she had to mention it.

“Fine, I’ll take you to your brother’s place. I assume he lives here in D.C.?”

He did, but she wasn’t going there, either. “I’m not leaving Owen.” She crossed her arms in front of her. If he wanted her to leave her son, he’d have to drag her out. Julianne shivered as she mentally pictured him doing just that.

Will blew out a breath as if he were counting to ten. “You need to get some rest and you won’t get that here. We’ve got a lot of things to work out, and I’d appreciate it if you came to the discussion with a clear head.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me.” She was being churlish, she knew, but it irked her that he thought he could control her life now that he knew he was Owen’s father.

“What you need, Princess, is a keeper!”

Before Julianne could open her mouth to protest, Carly and Shane Devlin stepped in front of the partition.

“Connelly.” Shane’s hand wrapped around Will’s bicep, pulling him back from Julianne. “Keep it down unless you want to read about this on TMZ tomorrow.”

Will jerked out of Shane’s grasp, shooting him a malicious glare.

“Don’t get all pissy with me.” Shane went nose to nose with Will. “I didn’t know anything about this until a couple of hours ago.”

Will looked over at Carly, who just gave him an empathetic shrug, which irritated not only Julianne, but Shane as well. “My wife didn’t know you were the father, either. Not until this morning. So watch yourself with her or you’ll answer to me.”

When Will’s eyes met Julianne’s, she held his stare for a moment. Something flashed in them that she couldn’t make out—anguish, she thought—before they were hard emeralds again.

“Make sure she gets some rest, will you, Carly?” Then he disappeared through the curtain, his long stride echoing down the corridor.

Julianne wanted to chase him down. She wanted to rail at him, to scratch his eyes out. Anything to wipe that smug look off his face.

But most of all, she yearned for him to hold her, just as he’d held her that night at the wedding. The past several months of pregnancy and duplicity, coupled with Owen’s brush with death, had exhausted her. Guilt was weighing her down and she wanted someone to help carry her burden. Not since her mother died in that awful accident on the sea had anyone been able to provide Julianne with comfort the way Will Connelly had the night they’d spent together.

And now he hated her.

Julianne shook herself. Thinking about Will would only make her crazy. She’d deal with him and whatever plans he had tomorrow. Right now she needed to concentrate on Owen. Her baby was going to live! Joy and relief surged through her body as she collapsed onto the sofa. Carly gathered Julianne in her arms as she sat down beside her.

“Owen is going to live,” Julianne said through her tears. “My baby is going to be okay.”

“I know.” Carly rubbed Julianne’s back. “Will’s blood was all Owen needed.”

Julianne felt the now-familiar hitch of anguish and anger at the mention of Will saving Owen. But she pushed it deep down. The fact remained that despite the way she’d duped the man, he’d stepped in and saved Owen with only her word that he was the father. She owed him much more than just her gratitude.

Julianne wiped her face with her hands. “I know. And I’m going to make it right with him, Carly. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.” She got up to get a drink of water, completely missing the troubled look that passed between Shane and Carly.

Sleep eluded Will that night.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Julianne, dressed like a temptress in that skintight red dress, her hair flowing behind her as she laughed at him while she pushed Owen in a stroller across the turf in the Blaze stadium. No matter how hard he tried to catch them, they kept getting farther and farther away. The senator’s voice blared across the PA system repeating over and over again: “She never wanted you to know about the baby. She’s going to raise him by herself in Italy. You’ll never have to see him.” Will’s cleats sank like cement into the grass at the fifty-yard line as he helplessly watched her flounce out of the stadium, Owen in tow.

He woke up drenched in sweat and in need of a cold shower, for multiple reasons. It was hard to separate the erotic fantasy Julianne presented from the duplicitous woman she was. The fact that his body still reacted to her made him madder than hell. He would never be able to trust her. She had every intention of denying him the right to raise his son. The sooner he got Owen’s paternity sorted out legally, the better. Especially if it meant less contact with his son’s mother.

Thirty minutes later, Will made his way downstairs to his kitchen for some much-needed coffee. As he peered over the metal railing leading down from his bedroom to the high-ceilinged living area of his loft apartment, he spied a pair of yellow running shoes hanging off the side of the sectional sofa. Unfortunately, they were still attached to the muscular legs of Blaze tight end Brody Janik. Will swore as he stomped down the stairs.

The Today Show
blared from the sixty-inch plasma TV hanging above a gas fireplace. Will maneuvered through a storm of dust motes floating across the oak plank floor in front of the large industrial windows. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the ineffectiveness of his cleaning service, much less the six-foot-three, two-hundred-ten-pound pretty boy sprawled out on his sofa.

“That Natalie Morales is hot. Think she’s married?” Brody thought every woman was hot. And hot
for
him, which, given his cover-boy good looks and athletic superstardom, was probably true.

Will shoved Brody’s sneakered feet off the sofa and picked up a bottle of orange juice that was leaning precariously against the ottoman. “Show a little respect, Janik. This isn’t a frat house.”

“Jeez, Grandma.” Brody pulled himself up to a seated position before standing and following Will into the state-of-the-art galley kitchen. “You treat this place like a museum just because it’s been featured in
Architectural Digest
.”

He doubted Brody, who’d grown up in a wealthy Boston suburb, could appreciate the sense of accomplishment Will took in living in a place he actually owned. It had nothing to do with his loft’s appearance in national magazines. That was his buddy Gavin’s doing. Gavin, a successful architect, had helped to design and restore the bank of warehouse lofts in the trendy Federal Hill area of Baltimore, where Will now lived. For Will, the eighteen-hundred-square-foot loft represented a form of security he’d never felt growing up inside a drafty trailer parked in hurricane alley.

Standing in the galley kitchen decorated in varying shades of gray, Will surveyed his home. The kitchen featured concrete counters, stainless steel appliances, a glass-tile backsplash, and glass-front mahogany cabinets. The two-story living area and the large upstairs master bedroom gave the illusion of an abundance of space, but he was just one person living there. Where would he put Owen? And the kid’s crazy mother, if it came to that? There weren’t any parks or playgrounds nearby. Boys needed a place to run and throw balls. Owen couldn’t do that in Fed Hill.

He loaded a canister into the Keurig machine and contemplated his housing dilemma as Brody straddled one of the two bar stools, hooking his heels on the bottom rung. “I brought you some doughnuts.”

Will watched as Brody crammed half a chocolate doughnut in his mouth, sprinkles raining down on the counter like confetti. “Seriously, how do you eat such crap and still run the forty in four point six seconds?”

“Great genes.” At least that was what it sounded like around the doughnut.

Shaking his head, Will grabbed a piece of wheat bread and the peanut butter out of the pantry. When he was growing up, peanut butter made up two meals a day most weeks. He swore when he had money he’d never touch the stuff again. But when he was stressed, his body seemed to crave the familiar taste. After slapping the peanut butter on the bread, he pulled his cup of coffee out of the machine and took a tentative sip. He was reminded of Sebastian and his tea the day before, and he felt the squeezing begin at his temples again. “How’d you get in here, Brody?”

“You gave me a key, remember?” He tossed a key chain with a miniature bobblehead Blaze football player onto the counter.

“For
emergencies
.” Will picked it up; the player was wearing number forty-eight, Will’s number. He shook his head as he pocketed the key. “Like when that crazy porn star was stalking you.”

“She wasn’t a porn star. She made independent films.”

Will took a bite of his sandwich and arched an eyebrow at Brody. “Don’t give me the story you tell your mother.”

Brody crashed at Will’s apartment only when one of his four older sisters visited, which was often. They were constantly trying to fix him up with their friends, often forcing the tight end to seek refuge in space containing less estrogen. Why he crossed the line of scrimmage and picked Will, a defensive player, to be his mentor was still a mystery. Despite Will’s attempts to shake him, Brody had latched onto him during his rookie season and hadn’t let go.

Brody guzzled the rest of his orange juice. Will sensed the tight end was stalling. Unlike most of the world, Will never underestimated the man seated in front of him. Brody took great pains to portray himself as the immature jock who thought nothing of using his good looks and perfect smile to get ahead in the world. But behind those lazy blue eyes was a shrewd twenty-five-year-old who wasn’t always successful at hiding his brain beneath his brawn. Even his clothes, cargo shorts and neatly ironed T-shirt, looked haphazardly thrown together, but Will knew that a consultant, probably one of his sisters, had likely pulled the pieces into an outfit. Brody also was aware of his place in the hierarchy of the team. Despite being a marquee player, he would never show up unannounced at a more senior player’s home without a very good reason.

“There’s been talk in the clubhouse.” Brody flipped the bottle cap between his long fingers, but his eyes never left Will’s face. Despite the fact it was the off-season, many of the Blaze players remained in town for Organized Team Activities, which consisted of optional twice-weekly conditioning sessions. The OTAs not only helped the players stay in shape, but they kept the esprit de corps among the team.

“There’s always talk. I imagine there’s more gossiping done in an NFL clubhouse than in a ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, well, everyone’s getting a little antsy about this investigation into your old coach and whether some of the dirt will rub off onto our team.”

Will took another swallow of coffee. One good thing about the previous day’s baby ambush—he’d completely forgotten about the witch hunt surrounding his former coach. Several players had filed lawsuits against coaches in the league alleging injuries they received were the result of players receiving cash payments for inflicting punishing hits. Coaches had instituted a bounty scheme to remove certain players from the game, these players claimed. And the coach named at the top of the list: Paul Zevalos, Will’s former head coach. As could be expected, Congress couldn’t pass up a chance to get involved in something other than the tedium of running the country, and Senate committees were already investigating the matter. Will nearly snorted in disgust.

“You were down in D.C. on Capitol Hill yesterday, Connelly. All day. That’s pretty serious.”

It had been serious, but not for the reasons his teammates thought. The story was going to get out soon, today probably, and Will needed to get things finalized. “Tell the boys not to worry. The stink from the Zevalos investigation will never reach Baltimore because there’s nothing there.”

“A senator asking questions usually means there’s something to the story.”

Will drained the coffee from his mug before rinsing it out and loading it into the dishwasher. He pulled a sanitized wipe out of a carton and cleaned up the crumbs from his sandwich and Brody’s sprinkles. “The meeting wasn’t about Zevalos.”

Walking toward the door, Will picked up his wallet and keys from a basket on a table in the entryway. Brody trailed after him. “Then what was the meeting about?”

“A baby.” Will pulled the bobblehead key chain out of his pocket. “
My
baby.” He watched as Brody’s jaw dropped before Will tossed him the key. “Here. Keep these. You can use the loft whenever you want. It seems I’m gonna need a bigger place.”

 • • • 

Owen looked much better than he had the day before. His skin was pinker and his breathing less labored. The baby had even treated Will to his one-eyed stare when he’d held him earlier. Dr. Ling pronounced Owen totally cured, and Will felt an overwhelming sense of pride at having been able to save his baby’s life. The feeling was so surreal, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Winning the Super Bowl a few months ago hadn’t felt this good.

He was still riding that crest of emotion when he sat down with Julianne later that morning. They’d ventured out to one of the courtyards outside the hospital to talk undisturbed. Will stared at her as she reclined in a deck chair, eyes closed, the spring sun shining down on her face. Perhaps she’d gotten some sleep last night or maybe it was the relief that Owen was going to be okay, but she looked less weary today.
Less fragile.
She was dressed more like the fashion icon that she was with tight gray pants, clunky black boots, and a pink V-neck sweater that tied in a bow at one side. Her hair was done up in a messy knot and she’d forsaken the glasses for contacts. Inky black lashes fanned out against her cheeks and her lips were glossed to a high sheen. Will shifted in his chair as he reminded himself that the sultry woman in front of him was the same one who’d tried to steal his child.

“So I guess this is when we get down to the nitty-gritty,” she said without preamble, eyes still closed.

“It’s a conversation long overdue, don’t you think?”

She opened one eye and squinted at him much as Owen had done earlier. Somehow, the look was a lot sexier on her. Releasing a breathy sigh, she sat up and leaned her elbows on the table, giving him an excellent view of the silver cross and the breasts it was dangling between. “Look, this situation is awkward enough. Can we start fresh today and figure out how to make this work with Owen’s best interest in mind?”

Will arched an eyebrow at her. “You want me to just forget you tried to hide my son from me?”

Julianne sat back in the chair, wrapping her arms around her. “No, but I want you to move on from there because, at the time, I thought I was making the best choices for myself and the baby.”

His jaw was clenched so tight, he was surprised he could get any words out. “But the hell with me, right? I’m just some dumb jock who could give a rat’s ass about how many kids I father, is that it?”

“No!” She grabbed the cross around her neck and began to fiddle with it. “I didn’t even know you! When I found out I was pregnant, I was shocked, but I wasn’t going to give him up. I had the money to support a child.”

“I wouldn’t have made you give him up! And you should have stuck around the morning after to at least exchange names, given that the condom broke.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I thought it was just my migraine medicine that made my birth control ineffective. I don’t remember the condom breaking.”

“It was at a pretty pivotal part of the evening, Princess.”

“My medicine makes me a little woozy, so I don’t really remember the evening that much.”

“You don’t remember?”
Jesus! The best sex of his life and she’d been stoned?

She didn’t meet his eyes, giving him a little shrug instead. Will felt like his head was going to explode. He closed his eyes and tried in vain to sort out his feelings. Her story was plausible, but he still didn’t trust her. He didn’t
want
to trust her. Well, at least most of his body didn’t want to.

“Now do you see why we should just start from today and move forward?” She posed the question softly. “Our lives are going to be forever entwined with Owen’s. It would be a lot easier if we could at least get along. For his sake.”

Will rubbed his hands down his face. “You’re not taking him to Italy.” He’d compromise if he had to, but not on that. “You’ll have to tell your clients you’re working from the U.S. until we can arrange something.”

“Not a problem. I’ve . . . I’ve put my work on hold for now. I need to concentrate on Owen.” Her statement surprised him. When he’d Googled her the night before, Will had discovered that Julianne was a rising star in the very competitive design industry. She’d been right when she said she could easily support a child, but what effect would a prolonged absence have on her career? Begrudgingly, he had to admire her devotion to Owen; he only wished that dedication to do what was best for her son had included allowing his father in his life long before the baby’s illness forced her to.

“Owen is just a tiny baby,” she said. “He needs his mother right now. I can get a place here in D.C. or closer to you in Baltimore. You can see him every day. But I can’t be separated from him. Not after I almost lost him.”

Will leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had no intention of keeping her from Owen. She was right, the baby needed her. Hell, he didn’t even know how to feed him, much less change a diaper. But in three months he’d be back playing football, and that meant he’d have little time to care for Owen. He needed to bond with him now, to let his son know he wasn’t a fatherless kid who’d be looked on disdainfully by everyone else. Like Julianne, he didn’t want to be apart from his baby right now.