Home Run Baby: A Sports Romance (58 page)

Epilogue

Five Years Later

Eliza

I pull the blanket off the back of the sofa and drape it over the giant beach ball taking hold of my stomach. After a few seconds of fidgeting to get comfortable, I end up giving up completely.

“Eliza, are you even listening to me?”
Grant says, his voice just barely audible through the speaker on my phone lying next to my head.

I grab it and hold it to my ear. “Yeah, I’m here,” I grunt. “I’ve officially reached the stage of this pregnancy where nothing is ever good enough and I want to launch myself off the nearest skyscraper.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” he laughs. “You get to lay around all day in Suburbia and eat bonbons with my adorable goddaughter. I’m the one that has to deal with actual children.”

I chuckle. “Louise isn’t…
that
bad.”

“Pfft. She’s no
you
.”

“Well, I’ll try and schedule my next procreation so it doesn’t interfere with your plans, Grant.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask,” he sighs. “When does Lover Boy get back anyway?”

I glance out the window at the quiet street corner. Snow tumbles down from the sky, covering the black street with a fresh layer of white.

“I’m picking him up from the airport in the morning,” I answer. “Did you watch the game on Thanksgiving?”

“You ask that as if I had a choice,” he laughs. “Ty has been emailing me highlights from it for two days straight.”

“He’s just proud of his favorite client.” I shift again the couch, feeling a harsh cramp taking hold of my lower back. “Is Ty home yet?”

“No, I think he’s got some conference this weekend in Dallas or somewhere. No one told me marrying a sports agent would mean spending so many holidays alone.”

I throw on a pout and look out the window again. “I feel your pain.”

“At least I have my ingenue… when she’s not
gestating
.”

“I’m sorry!” I laugh.

“It’s okay. I’m only kidding. If that kid is anything like the one you already have, it’ll be worth it.”

I slide a hand over my belly and smile. “I agree.”

A taxi pulls to a stop on the corner outside and I squint to get a better look through the thick, falling snow.

A man steps out from the backseat; tall, wide shoulders, handsome—

I gasp.
“Oh, my god!”

“What?” Grant asks. “Is there baby? Is baby happening?”

I rock back and forth, gaining momentum to push myself off the couch. “It’s Junior!”

“What?
Where?”

“Outside.” I hobble to the front door and throw it open, not caring about the cold, invading snow. “A taxi just dropped him off.”

Junior looks up at the house and grins, no doubt fetching the exact reaction from me as he planned.

“Ohh,”
Grant says. “It’s the old
I caught an earlier flight to surprise you
trick. I love that man.”

“Back off. He’s already taken,” I say into the phone, watching as Junior pays his driver and grabs his suitcase off the ground.

“Well… bed him well. He’s earned it. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here in the city, drinking Chardonnay alone, and crying over Louise’s headshot.”

“Bye, Grant,” I grin.

“Bye, Eliza.”

I lower the phone as my husband climbs the porch in front of me. He pauses a few feet away and drops his suitcase, never once glancing away from my face.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I caught an earlier flight to surprise you,”

I throw myself at him and he opens his arms, instantly embracing me and laughing in my ear.

“I guess that’s okay?”

“It’s more than
okay
,” I say, my voice muffled against his chest. I feel the tears threatening to take over already but I manage to defeat the hormones before they spill over. “Come on. It’s
freezing
out here.”

Junior grabs his suitcase and I brush the snow off his coat as we step inside.

“Okay…” He kicks the door closed and motions for me to twirl. “Let me look at you.”

I sigh and spin in a slow, meager circle.

“My god…”

“What?”

“You’re
huge
.”

“Excuse me…”
My jaw drops. “This is all
your
fault.”

“I’ve been gone
two weeks.
Not two months.”

“Welcome to the ninth month, Junior,” I say. “I don’t know if you remember it from last time, but
it sucks
.”

“Oh, it’s all coming back to me now,” he chuckles. “Soon it’ll be Lamaze practice drills and midnight runs for strawberry ice cream and curly fries.”

I raise a brow. “Are you complaining?”

“No.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

He laughs and tosses his coat onto the rack by the door. “Who were you talking to on the phone so late?”

“Grant,” I answer, walking back into the living room.

“What’s he up to?”

I ease onto the sofa and try to reach for the blanket on the floor. Junior bends down and grabs it for me. “His off-Broadway directorial debut goes live next week…” I sneer,
“with my understudy.”

Junior lays the blanket over me before sitting down beside me. “You’ll be back up there before you know it, Ellie,” he says. “Just focus on this right now.”

I take a deep, slow breath. “I know. I’m fine. I worry about Grant, though. I’m out for the whole season and Ty is never home.”

“Well…” Junior smirks. “I don’t want to spoil anything,
but…
Ty and I shared a flight back.”

“Really?”

“Grant should be getting a nice surprise of his own in about ten minutes.”

I smile.
“Good.”

Junior gets that look in his eyes; the one that begs for me to kiss him. He leans in, slowly inching closer to me on the couch.

“Daddy!”

He stops and turns towards the hallway, his mouth expanding into an even wider grin.

“Come here!” he laughs, opening his arms as Courtney runs in.

She leaps up and he catches her, easily flipping her little body around to cradle her in his thick arms.

“Why aren’t you asleep? It’s late,” he teases, tickling her belly.

“I heard Mommy scream,” she says.

“Mommy
screamed
?” he parrots back. “I’m sorry, baby. Daddy has that effect on Mommy sometimes.”

I slap his arm.

“Courtney…” He lays a kiss on her brow. “You need sleep if you’re going to grow up to be beautiful and smart like your mother.” He winks at me, firing off sneaky compliments like a champ.

She nods. “Lack of sleep can severely impair cognitive ability, such as thinking and memory.”

Junior blinks at me and I hold in my laugh. “I see Aunt Maggie and Uncle Nate made it to Thanksgiving this year…” He balances Courtney on his knee. “Have you been driving Mommy crazy like I told you to?”

“Yes!” she beams.

“What?” I ask, laughing. “Are you two ganging up on me again?”

Junior holds up a finger. “I told her to do
three things
every day that Mommy
hates
while I was gone. What were they?” he asks her.

Courtney thinks hard. “Clear my plate…”

“That’s one,” he nods.

“Brush my teeth.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pick up my toys.”

Junior looks at me and smiles. “That’s right. Drives Mommy
crazy
.”

My heart swells as he slides her to the floor.

“Go pick out a book, get in bed, and I’ll come read you back to sleep, all right?”

“Okay, Daddy!”

“Dr.
Seuss
!” he shouts after her. “Not
Freud
, please.”

I chuckle. “I don’t know, Junior, I think Seuss might be a touch outside of your reading comprehension.”

“Eliza Morgan, are you calling me a big, dumb jock?”

“I might be.”

“Well, in that case—” He tugs me closer to him. “I better scoop up my victory hoe.”

He kisses me softly and my chest flutters the same way it always does.

“Is that what you call the mother of your children?” I ask.

“If the booties fit,” he smiles, leaning in to kiss me again.

I glance down the hallway towards Courtney’s room. “She was
perfect
while you were gone.”

“Good,” he says. “You had enough to worry about. Threats of bed rest, Thanksgiving dinners…” A serious expression crosses his eyes. “I wanted to be here.”

“You’re here now.”

“And here I will stay until he’s born.”

“Junior, you have a game
next week
.”

He grabs my hand. “They will play without me.”

I inhale to argue. “Junior—”

“I will not miss the birth of my son because of a football game,” he says, his voice hard and defiant. “His due date is in two weeks. I’ve already cleared it with the coach. I’m staying.”

I press my lips together, thankful and proud. “Okay.”

Junior kisses my cheek and stands up. “I’m going to get her to sleep and then I will meet you in the bedroom.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “What’s gonna happen in there?”

“First…” he bends over me, “you’re going to lie down on the bed and
then
…” His lips graze mine. “I’m going to rub your
enormous
feet.”

I burst out laughing. “Sounds
orgasmic
.”

“Need help standing up?”

“I think I can manage it.”

He turns away, leaving me to sink into the couch cushions a little more.

Yet another muscle twitches in my back and I shift to a slightly different position to kill the spasm before it begins.

“Okay, buddy,” I say to my stomach.
“Any day now…”

I hope for a pain; one quick pulse of contraction that will tell me it’s time but all I get is bubbles.

“Damn.” I heave a sigh and rock myself up.

Junior’s voice drifts down the hall at me, carrying softly with rhythmic, punchy words of childish prose. Courtney giggles with him, her tired voice dimming more and more with each turned page.

I lean against the wall just outside the doorway, listening and smiling as I try to imagine what our son will look like. If he grows into anything resembling his father, it’s safe to assume he’ll be quite the handful…

And then there are the eyes. Courtney is the spitting image of me with the exception of the eyes. They’re all Junior’s, right down to the light specks of gray around the brown edges. Being away from him the last two weeks has been a serious challenge for me but sometimes, at just the right moment, I’d look at my daughter and I’d see Junior looking back at me. I’d fall in love with him all over again.

Junior enters the hall, moving as silent as possible, and closes her door behind him. He looks up at me and smiles, but quickly shifts to concerned eyes.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Why?”

“You’re crying.”

I touch my cheeks and feel the warm moisture trailing my down my face. “Oh…” I laugh it off. “Yeah, that happens…”

Junior wipes them away with his thumbs and tilts my face up to kiss me. There’s desire on his lips, a lingering urge on his tongue that sends quivers throughout my body. I pull him closer, relaxing away from mommy-mode to serve my own womanly needs.

“I missed my wife…” Junior whispers between kisses.

I smile. “She missed
you
…”

He kisses me harder, pressing my back against the wall and my desire takes over. His touch does to me as it always has, igniting fire where there wasn’t one before and I feel him grow hard in his jeans.

I wince as firm pressure shoves from within. “Oh—!”

Junior eases back, forced away by the life occupying space between us.

“Did…” he blinks. “Did he just
kick me
?”

I feel my belly. “He most definitely did.”

“That almost
hurt
.”

“How do you think it felt from the inside?” I laugh.

He holds up his hands and talks to my stomach. “Okay, buddy. I get it. Hands off Mommy…”

“He has to sleep eventually… Maybe a few pages of Dr. Freud will knock him out.”

“Works on
me
every time,” he jokes.

Another series of flutters dances against my ribs. “He’s kicking again.”

Junior touches me, his eyes wide with admiration as he traces the movement inside.
“Whoa…”
he says. “He’s going to make so many field goals with that kick.”

I shrug. “Or maybe he’ll play soccer.”

He fires a hard stare at me. “Don’t you even
joke
about that.” I laugh at him. “Take that back.”

I head for the bedroom. “I will not.”

Junior follows me in and closes the door behind us. “Ellie, I’m just saying, this kid has quite the legacy to live up to.”

“Let’s not put so much pressure on him,” I say. “He’s not even born yet.”

“Son of Junior Morgan, grandson of Cary Pierce. People will expect it. It’s in his blood.”

I lie back against the pillows and pull my feet onto the bed. “I say we let him do what he wants.”

“I agree, but…” He hesitates, smiling softly at the thought. “Admit it. It’d be kinda cool. Third generation pro football badass…”

I nod. “Maybe. But you know what would be even
cooler
?”

“What?”

“If he took after his
mother
.” I point my thumbs at me and grin. “Eh? Yeah? Broadway kid!”

“I’m not walking into
that
trap.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls the socks off my feet.

“It’s not a trap. It’s a fact. Artistic children rank higher in academics and social skills.”

“Hey,
my
social skills were fine.”

“Getting laid a lot doesn’t count as a social skill.”

“It should.” He slides his fingernail along the arch of my foot, sending a tickle shock up my ankle. I kick him and he laughs. “We had this same argument when Courtney was born…”

“Yeah, and I won that one, too.”

“You did not
win
,” he says, gently massaging between my toes.