Infinity. (Infinity Series) (12 page)

The club is blasting music so loudly that we can hear it through the bus’s windows as we creep closer through the millions of cars crammed on Ocean Drive. We’re treated like rock stars as we walk from the bus, down the red carpet, and through the very large gold doors. Ty yells in my ear, “Someday, people will be yelling like this for my mad guitar skills.” I smirk at him. My friend, who’s a rock star when he’s not my running back is really something else. I try to smash down his Cowboy-blue Mohawk, but he swats my hand away.

“Don’t touch the do, bro. This took me a good ten minutes with Hard Up Gel.”

I just shake my head, and flip him off.

Some of the players are already here. The place is packed. I’d gotten a text from Jamie that my family was in a VIP room on the second floor. I head for the stairs, noting that I look like I should be going more for a run on the treadmill than in one of the most exclusive clubs in Miami.

When I round the corner at the top of the stairs, I see Carter standing next to another shiny gold-painted door. We fist bump a quick congratulations as he opens it for me.

Before I can thank him, my family and friends surround me, yelling their congratulations, and hugging and kissing me like we’re at a reunion. My mom nearly climbs me to reach my neck. She’s crying, and I smile and hug and kiss her back. My dad gives me a tight hug, and whispers how proud he is of me. Charlie’s dad shakes my hand. Carmen kisses my cheek. Charlie’s mom wipes tears from her eyes, and pulls me tightly to her. They’re all so excited for me, and I love them for it.

But, I want my girl. I can see over the crowd that she’s sitting in the corner on a red-velvet bench, with her feet propped up on a metal folding chair. She looks like a dream. Her black V-neck sweater just shows the tops of her more than ample cleavage, and is straining to cover her rounded abdomen. Her caramel-colored hair is loosely braided, and resting on her left breast.
Lucky hair.
She looks serene. Our eyes lock—green to lavender—and her lips turn up into an innocent smile.

Dear God, I need her this moment. She knows what I crave. She’s waiting for me to come to her on my terms. She knows that I don’t like all the hoopla after games. I just need to be. I watch her right cheek pull up in a slight half-smile as she pats the bench next to her. Her wink is saying, “Come when you’re ready. I’ll be right here.”

I’m ready now. I make a loud announcement, thanking everyone for their love and support. Then I ask all of my guests if they’ll wait for us downstairs in the club. I turn, and watch impatiently as they file out of the VIP room, spinning my ring again. Once they’re gone, I step outside, and ask Jamie and Carter to make sure that no one enters the room.

As I walk back inside where she’s waiting for me, the door slams shut on the rest of the world. I hear silence for the first time in two weeks. The
thump, thump, thump
of the base becomes white noise. No one is yelling my name, or demanding a piece of me. Paparazzi aren’t attempting to catch a picture of me doing something embarrassing. No one is asking me if I’m the father of Charlie’s baby. Fans aren’t demanding autographs or pictures. It’s quiet, and peaceful. I’m with my wife, who asks nothing more of me than to support and love her, just as she is.

I walk to the bench slowly drinking in the sight of her. Her eyes travel all over my body, tenderly inspecting me for injuries. She grimaces when she spots the painful bruise near my surgery-incision scar on my right leg. I smile, trying to reassure her that I’m okay.

When I reach her, I lean down and let my lips feel her swollen, soft, cherry colored mouth. She tastes of vanilla sweetness and Charlie. It’s so intoxicating that I’m afraid my knees are going to buckle, so I collapse next to her on the bench—the spot that she indicated earlier is mine.

She doesn’t say a word. She just lets me use her like she knows that I need at this moment. I explore her mouth gently with my tongue, savoring being this close to her. My mind floods with all that is Charlie: her smell, her taste, and the moan that she makes when I nibble on her bottom lip. The known is so comforting. I cling to it, as the rest of my life is chaos.

Breaking our kiss, I lean down to her swollen stomach, raising her thin sweater and tucking it under her bra. Her abdomen is fuller than when I last saw it. It’s beautiful, breathtaking actually. Her body is able to expand itself like this to hold our child.

The skin is smooth, and stretched to the maximum limit across her abdomen. Her belly button is now flat, just slightly protruding, and there’s a faint brown line that runs from it to her pubic bone. Sexiest damn thing that I’ve ever seen.

I plant tiny kisses, starting at the top of the roundness exploring the stretched, taut skin with my lips and tongue. Our baby moves toward me as if he’s following my trail of kisses in his warm, safe spot. Then, the baby moves, and pushes with force against my nose. I look up at Charlie who’s staring at me with soft eyes and a glowing complexion. Love and happiness dance across her beautiful face.

“I think that was the baby’s bottom that got you.” She smiles. “I’ve been feeling a lot of arms and legs in my ribs lately. I also know that our little guy’s been sitting on my bladder.”

I look back at her stomach, watching our baby move just underneath her skin.

“The baby would get particularly excited with lots of movement when you’d score. I’m sure that I’m going to be sore tomorrow from the battering that the bean put me through.” She shares this with me as her fingers work through my matted curls.

All I want to do is be alone with her right now, in our bedroom. I want to be inside of her and fall asleep that way. Instead, I’m in a nightclub, after the biggest game of my career, listening to the bass line change.

As if she can read my mind, she says, “Just a couple more days of this, and it can be just the two of us before we welcome our child.” It’s uncanny how well she knows me.

I need her more than oxygen, food, and water. I need some alone
being
time with just her. I need her naked and pressed up against me. I need to taste her and hold her. God, I just need to sleep next to her again, and wake up with her warm heat cocooning me, her leg thrown over my hip. I need to be the one who cares for her, instead of Brad.

My eyes drift closed as her long fingernails massage my skull. I lay my head on her swollen stomach, inhaling her scent, which is honey and almond-butter from the lotion she rubs on her body, trying to prevent stretch marks.

“How are you feeling?” I ask in a raspy voice.

Her soft chuckle makes her belly dance under me. “Well, strangely enough, half the men here were wearing your cologne. Great for your sponsors, terrible for my nausea. As long as I stayed out of the crowds, I was fine.”

Poor Charlie. All of our Christmas shopping this year was done online because she couldn’t step foot in a mall. The cologne company has been pimping both the old and new scents because of our winning season—trying to capitalize on my success. It’s been great for our bank account/Lake Somerville house fund, but terrible for her body.

“Hopefully, it’s almost over, baby. And the contractions?”

“Still practicing.” She removes her hand from my hair, and tilts my chin up so I can see her face. In a more stern voice, she chastises, “Quit worrying. I’m fine. The baby is fine. I’ve taken good care of us while you’ve been gone.”

“I know that you have. I’ve just missed you so fucking much.”

“It was worth it. You’re a Super Bowl-winning quarterback and MVP. You know that there’s no one who’s happier than me. There was no place that I wanted to be more than on the field with you.” She pauses as her eyes dance. “I saw you were wearing your ring.”

I raise my left hand to her mouth, and she kisses the ring that she had made for me. The gold from her original engagement ring when I used to propose to her every single day. She ultimately asked me to marry her, and now, I see how perfect it really was to have worked out that way. “I wanted you to know that I was thinking about you.”

“Always, baby,” she confirms as I kiss her very simple infinity wedding band that I had made just for her.

“Go make your appearances. Do what you need to do. I’ll be waiting at home for you tomorrow. ’Kay?”

Sitting up, I lean against the back of the bench, allowing my head to bang against the wall behind me. “Fuck, I just want to go home.” For a man that just won the Super Bowl and MVP trophies, I sound like a pathetic whiney bitch.

“Go own this time. Honey, you’ve been working for this day since you were a little boy tossing footballs in the front yard with your dad. Tonight might not ever happen again. We have the rest of our lives to spend holding each other while we fall asleep. Go live it up. Soak in every second, because you’ve earned it.” She says just what I need to hear. Her quiet, even voice knows how to speak to my heart.

I sit up straight and take her lips against mine while I rest my throwing hand lightly across her stomach. Our kiss is gentle, sweet, and filled with love. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life.

Charlie

Present day
…

I check my Rolex watch as I walk through the labor-and-delivery double doors heading straight for the nurses’ station. Brad’s hot on my heels, barking at me to slow down. The irony that I can waddle faster than he can run is not lost on me.

Before I can identify myself, the nurse grabs my chart, flashes me a reassuring smile, and says, “Doctor Collins, we’ve been expecting you. Please, follow me to your room.”

A contraction grips my body and doubles me over. Gripping the wall for support, I attempt to take long breaths through my nose.
You’ve got this, Caroline.

The nurse’s reassuring smile is gone. “Let me grab you a wheelchair,” she says with alarm in her voice.

I shake my head no, and continue to follow behind her. The room she leads me to is large, and some hospital designer has attempted to add homey touches. The walls are painted a light shade of mint green. There’s faux-wood paneling behind the hospital bed. The window curtain is open, and the blinds are raised. I have a lovely view of the roof of the next hospital building. I don’t care. I want an epidural, and this baby out of me stat, of course, after Colin arrives.

Once she’s closed the door behind Brad and me, she introduces herself. “My name is Mary, and Doctor Starr asked me to assist you today with your delivery. Our first order of business is to get you out of those clothes, and into one of our designer hospital gowns,” she explains as she hands me a green scrub-colored sheet with arms. “You can change in the bathroom,” she says, as she gestures to a door on the other side of the room.

As I’m shutting the door, I hear Mary asking Brad questions about the parade. I’m thankful that Doctor Starr gave Mary the heads up as to who Brad is, and that he’s not my husband.

I exit the bathroom a few minutes later with my street clothes in a plastic bag, draped in the ill-fitting sheet with arms. Dropping my belongings in the mauve and faux-wood chair next to the bed, I do my best to scooch to the place that Nurse Mary is indicating that she wants me on the white sheets. I would not refer to myself as very mobile these days.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I sent Brad into the hallway. He has your phone. I need to check you,” she says preparing me for the inevitable.

I lean back and bend my knees, bracing for any dignity that I have left to pack its bag and run for the border. I throw my head back against the fluffy pillows and look up at the white ceiling tiles, wondering why they don’t at least put an interesting sticker up there for anxious almost-mothers to stare at.

After a lot of pokes and prods inside of me, Mary states the obvious. “You are definitely in labor. About four centimeters dilated. You aren’t far enough along that you can have an epidural.” She removes her gloves tossing them in the large garbage can. Then, crosses her arms over her chest. “Here’s my speech on epidurals. They generally slow down labor, but it’s your call. You can have one at five centimeters. I’ll warn you, it usually takes the anesthesiologist about thirty minutes to arrive, so if you decide that you want one, there will be some lead time.”

“Thanks Mary,” I say, putting my legs back down. “I’m waiting for my husband to call. I’ll keep your warning in mind.”

She opens the door, motioning for Brad to come back in. The poor guy looks a little green. He did tell me when I hired him that he didn’t do vaginas.

Mary, Brad and I begin chatting about the game, and she asks questions about what it was like to be there, live, watching it, while she wraps a piece of elastic around my gigantic stomach that has a round sensor attached to it.

She sits down on a rolling stool and begins to monitor my contractions and the baby’s heart rate. Brad regales her with stories as only Brad can about our time in Miami. It’s a nice distraction from my worries and the pain. My husband still has no clue that I’m no longer sitting on the balcony watching the festivities.

As my mind begins to question my decision to not tell Colin I’m in labor, Mary warns me, “You’re about to have another contraction.”

And boy, do I. Brad grabs my hand, letting me tightly squeeze it, helping me work through it. As I relax, he says, “You’re doing fabulous, Caroline. I mean you’ve got a bowling ball trying to exit your vagina, and look how brave you are.”

So they’re not the most relaxing words, but for Brad, this is him really trying. Instead of pointing out the crassness of his statement, I mumble a polite, “Thank you. I think.”

As my abdomen is relaxing, my phone starts playing “I Just Want to Dance with You.” My heart takes flight, battering against my rib cage, and a second later my heart-monitor alarm sounds its warning. I catch Mary shooting Brad a warning look, and he grabs my phone and sprints like he’s in the Olympics out of my hospital-room door.
But, I’m supposed to be the one to tell him I’m in labor.