Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (40 page)

I spend the day looking at the penthouses, imagining myself walking through them with Cadence, showing her the place we’ll have her art studio, the place we’ll have our master bedroom, having her pick out the furniture she wants. She’s not one for material things, but she’ll like the windows, the light, the art to hang on the walls. We’ll get a house wherever she wants after that.
 

After wearing myself out looking and talking to everyone I can find in New York, I decide that for once in our short-lived relationship, I’ll let Cadence decide what she wants to do about a place in New York.
 

But I believe my own damn self when I repeat it over and over in my head.
 

I’ll let her have what she needs, but by damn, she
will
say yes eventually.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It’s still cold as hell when the plane lands in New York. I steel myself against the icy air when I step out of the plane and the wind whips around my face. The staff on Rowan’s jet makes the landing and transportation home the easiest I’ve experienced in all of my travels. But there’s nothing to help with the heavy sadness that creeps over me as the car drives me back to my lonely apartment in Brooklyn. I know Joanna is still at the damn house, so I know Rowan’s house would be even lonelier. And Joanna, twirling around and proclaiming that she had finally decided to have Rowan’s child.
 

Rowan’s face, when he looked at me in misery.

He might not know it, given what he said. But I know he’d rather be with me than that witch who showed back up in his life uninvited. But I also know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. Even if he did want me there, he doesn’t need two women running around the place and making his life a living hell.
 

One he loves. One he used to love, one who wants to have his baby.

When the limo drops me off in the incongruously bad neighborhood in Brooklyn, I’m left alone with my jars of paint and my thoughts. And I stay that way for a long time after I deposit the $100,000 in my bank account. I sit on my ass in my apartment for days, avoiding Anna’s phone calls and paying the bills that I’ve ignored for so long. I run the heat up to 72 degrees in the apartment, and I strip down to a t-shirt and shorts, nearly sweating as I lay on the couch, reading romance novels and watching an entire season of
Jane the Virgin
on Netflix.
 

Sometimes, I cry and think about all the things I’ve lost. Sometimes I sleep, but it’s never at the right time. I rumble with the grief and the heartbreak, fight with all the rage and the sadness that washes over me in waves. But finally, I let it come. And I cry. Finally, I make a tiny painting with a picture of a heart on it and set it up on the mantle. I’m not sure if it represents the love I lost when the embryo never grew, or the love I left behind in New Mexico because the time wasn’t right.
 

Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s all of that and the thoughts and hopes and ideas that come whenever there’s the possibility of a baby or a new, beautiful love in your life. The dreams of marriage and togetherness, the soft, sweet desire of holding a baby’s hand for the first time, while someone you care about sits beside you.

It’s all of that.

After a week of looking at that heart, I find myself wishing that Rowan would break his promise not to contact me. I look at my phone, and it’s blank besides one message from Anna and a long, rambling email from Star.
 

how are you
, the message from Anna reads.
 

Like usual, she hasn’t used any punctuation or any capital letters. For a second in time, I feel like I don’t deserve her. I’ve been out of touch for most of January, responding to her messages and calls here and there, and never seeing her. Now it’s February 1st though, and it’s about time I crawled out of my grief and into the light.
 

I’m okay. I gave up a good man for a cold ass apartment in New York, and now I barely even remember why.
 

But I do remember why, and like any smart woman, I have to stand by my decision. I had to make myself a priority instead of making Rowan the focus of my life as soon as I met him. A listless, sick feeling creeps over my stomach, and I wonder if he’s forgotten me altogether, if I’ll be hearing from him this month. In those last few days, we refused to say the word. Love. But it’s there inside of me, even though we didn’t dare speak its name in our remaining time together, with the threat of Joanna looming silently from the guest house.
 

Maybe he’s making love to the fertile model woman
, I type.
 

doubtful
, Anna replies. She punctuates her thought with a little alligator emoji. It’s probably not meant to make any sense, but it’s as accurate a representation of Joanna as any. I smile and put down my phone.
 

“I’ll go to the studio,” I say out loud. “Today, I’ll paint.” I almost look around for Eliza. Like Rowan, I adopted his habit of talking to the dog. And even a month later, I miss her, listening to me and pushing her heavy head against my body. I close my eyes and think of Eliza, the silky spot on the top of her head. I imagine the supple leather of Rowan’s couch, and the worn, textured surface of his antique coffee table, the scent of pine from the Christmas tree filling the room.
 

Rowan’s rough hands on my cold, bare skin in the mudroom. Rowan’s lips, parting mine insistently. Rowan’s hair, shaggy and long in places it shouldn’t be, his blue eyes sparkling in the sun as it rises over the mountains behind his ranch.
 

It’s all too much, the memory washing over me. I never thought I’d miss anything as much as the children my body can’t have. They’ll always be with me, these fully formed pieces of my imagination, faces I won’t ever touch. But when I think for Rowan and his home, it’s richer and fuller and brighter than the sadness I’ve worn like a cloak for all these years. Maybe it’s time to carry these things in my heart, where they belong, never forgetting, always loving--but moving forward towards a new life and a new love.
 

My eyes pop open, and I go to touch the little heart I painted, my fingers traveling over the bumpy surface of the oil pants that dried in rugged, uneven lines.
 

“Maybe there are brighter days ahead,” I say aloud to my empty apartment. I smile, genuine and broad, and something deep inside expands in my chest.
And maybe I need a plane ticket to New Mexico
.

I whip around and throw on my coat, heading off to do the second impulsive thing I’ve done since the last embryo transfer. And maybe the second impulsive thing I’ve
ever
done. I march down to the elevator and press the button to open the doors. It’s 9:00 AM on a Tuesday morning, and I’m going to the airport.

My hair is a mess, my shirt is half untucked under my coat, and the last I heard, New York was predicting snow for the next two days. I look down and sift through my purse. When I look up, the elevator doors open, and standing in front of me is Rowan Corbett, or his scary doppelgänger twin. I put my hand to my chest and fall backwards against the hallway wall.
 

“Rowan, are you--what are you--are you real?” I squeak the last words out, unable to fully form a thought. It looks like he’s gotten his hair cut, but the pieces of it still look out of place. The waves form into cowlicks, a nightmare for any barber. I smile slightly, but my heart is still beating fast. I was about to get on a plane to New Mexico, and here’s Rowan, standing right in front of me.

“You said not to bother you until February.”
 

My cheeks grow hot, and I think about the last day I saw Rowan. “Did I say the word ‘bother?’”
 

“It was something like that, wasn’t it? Or maybe that’s what I heard.” He stands outside the doors of the elevator, holding three different envelopes in his hand. He doesn’t have any bags, but I’d guess he’s probably already checked into the Four Seasons or some shit like that. Why wouldn’t he? He’s got more money than the Queen of England. Or, probably he does. I hadn’t checked. His voice is sad and far away, like he’s come to tell me goodbye. My heart starts beating hard, and it seems like the thing I’ve been fearing will come to be. He’s forgotten me--he wants to forget me, to make sure I don’t come after him again.
 

“What are those?” I nearly melt in embarrassment, because I have no idea what to say or how to react. And I have no idea what in the hell he’s doing here--unless it’s to sweep me off my feet and take me back to New Mexico like he’d promised. Fear hits me when I think about the possibility--there’s work I need to finish in New York, but it’s New Mexico that feels like home now. “Seriously, Rowan, what are you doing here?”

“Don’t act so thrilled to see me.” One corner of his mouth lifts into a sardonic smile, an uncharacteristic expression for his open, honest face.
 

“I was going to—” I start, but my throat freezes up. “I was going to—”
To the airport, just say it.
 

“You might not want me like I want you, but I came here for one last ditch effort to make you come home with me. And I thought since this is your home, I’d get us one here too. But with that look on your face, I think I might need to turn around and go back to the hotel.” He turns to step back into the elevator, his whole body defeated under a great weight. I stand completely still, frozen, my voice not quite cooperating with me.
 

“Rowan—wait—” He turns and faces me, his eyes sad but curious. I get it now--he came here expecting me to say no, expecting me to want to stay here for the rest of my life. But I’m not the woman I was when I met him. “I was going to the airport, that’s what I was going to say. I was going to get a cheap plane ticket to New Mexico, ride in the luggage hold if I had to.” I barely croak out the words, as scared as I am.
 

His face relaxes, the tension starting to leave his body. “And I came here—to ask you—”

“So, yes. Yes to whatever it is you were going to ask me. But New Mexico is home. Or at least I think it is. We don’t need a place here—”

Rowan steps to me and pulls me into his arms. “You just agreed to marry me, woman. And we do need an apartment here. You like it here too, don’t you?” Rowan’s already rambling on to the next thing, like he’s forgotten he just told me I was going to marry him. My heart is thudding hard, the sound of my blood rushing in my ears, heat searing through me like the waves of passion he’s brought up inside of me so many times.
 

He covers my lips with his, his lips hot and strong and the slightest bit rougher than mine. The kiss we share is different than the embraces that have come before, because instead of questions and doubts, this kiss is filled with certainty.
 

I guess this will be the third impulsive thing I’ve done in as many months, and the second today.
 

“Let’s go now and get married, then,” I whisper when he pulls away from my lips.
 

“Maybe we’ll wait a little on that one. I haven’t even given you your proposal gifts yet. And I haven’t taken you into that apartment and made you scream my name so loud all your neighbors can hear us.”
 

A flood of heat rushes through my body, and just like the first time I saw Rowan, I feel swept away. It isn’t until later—much later—that I remember to ask about the engagement presents.

“First let me slip this ring on your finger. It’s a sapphire. I thought you’d like it better than a diamond.” He slips the platinum ring, with its princess cut sapphire flanked by two diamonds onto my ring finger, and it’s the only thing I’m wearing.
 

And for just then, it’s the only thing I want to wear. I’m not much of a jewelry girl, but this is the one piece I’ll enjoy for the rest of my life.
 

“Now let me show you the pictures of the art studio. Well, pictures don’t quite do it justice... but you’ll get the idea just the same.”
 

CADENCE

Epilogue

“I’m scared Rowan,” I say. I wipe my clammy hands on the paint-stained jeans I used to paint the mural over a year ago. These jeans, along with every piece of my clothing, slowly made it back to the ranch over the past fifteen months. Rowan, like a man from ages past, is watching me over the newspaper that he gets delivered each morning. He’d switched from the local news paper to The New York Times when I moved out here, even though I don’t give a damn about current events. I wipe my hands again and start pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “I’m scared,” I say again. But he just keeps watching me and rattles his paper as he turns the page again.

Eliza gets up from her bed under the table and paces behind me, like she knows what we’re waiting for.

Rowan clears his throat, and I can tell he’s thinking about what to say next. “The last transfer didn’t work, but now we’re good for another round. And we’ve got our application in at the adoption agency. We’re all clear, sweetheart. What we got is a family on the way, no matter what.”
 

Tears come to my eyes and I keep pacing. It seems that a sudden well of emotion has been released from deep inside of me, hitting me all at once. But I keep walking in circles, touching my fingertips against the smooth granite surface. I was right that Rowan wanted children. In all of this time, there’s been no pressure from him. But the spark of joy I saw on his face a few months back when I said I was ready to try IVF again--that expression said it all.