Halo Violation: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 18

  “But what if she doesn’t come around? What about the birth? I can’t imagine not being there when my son pushes his way out into the world.”

  Cody winces, and for the first time, I feel like he’s looking at the situation from my point of view, rather than from Molly’s.

  “Well...” he says. “That’s still a few weeks away. I’m willing to bet that you’ll be back in a good place by then.”

  “But what if we’re not?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. And then he says, “Will you promise me that you’ll talk to me before you start contacting attorneys?”

  And after considering his question for a moment, I say, “Yeah. Okay.”

  I’m not saying I’ll let Cody tell me what to do or anything like that, but it couldn’t hurt to process things with a friend before taking action.

  “Cool.” He smiles. “I know it’s not easy, but try not to worry, man. Give her some space. Who knows? Maybe the two of you will work things out, and by the time your kid arrives, you’ll decide you want to be together for real.”

  “What? You mean like a as a couple?”

  He shrugs. “You never know. Sounds like you and Molly have gotten really close in the last few months.”

  This is true. As angry as I am with her, and as frustrated as she makes me feel, I miss her like crazy.

  “Anyway, good luck with everything, man. Let me know if you ever need to talk, okay?”

  “Thanks, Cody. You’re the best.”

  After we finish talking, I head into the bathroom off of the kitchen and get changed into my swim trunks. I go back outside and do a cannonball into the pool, eliciting shrieks from Cody’s two youngest kids. He and I spend the rest of the afternoon splashing around in the pool with those two giggling goofballs. This is the best day I’ve had in weeks.

  25. MOLLY

  With a great deal of effort, I get up from the sofa and waddle over to the intercom system. I press the button marked “door,” unlatch the deadbolt and crack open the door to my apartment before waddling back to the sofa and slowly lowering myself back down.

  Oh my god. I am an elephant. It’s like I’ve got a three-year-old child in here, not an eight-month-old fetus.

  A couple minutes later Tricia flounces in, carrying a canvas bag full of groceries and holding a cardboard cup filled with fruity goodness in front of her like an offering.

  “Ooh, come to Mama,” I murmur.

  She hands over my fruit sundae with a giggle.

  “Thanks, Trish.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll just put these things in the fridge, and I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  I grab the spoon jammed into the scoop of frozen fruit and dig in while my sister restocks the kitchen. I am so thankful that I live only a few blocks from this place that makes funky ice cream inspired treats out of fruit and other healthy stuff. And I’m also grateful that my visitors can usually be convinced to stop by there and pick up a cup for me.

  Tricia comes back into the living room and takes a seat in the chair across from me.

  “So, how are you feeling?”

  After swallowing a big bite of pureed berries with granola, I say, “Okay, I guess. Tired. And huge. But pretty much fine.”

  “That’s great,” she says. “And are you excited?”

  “Are you kidding me? I can’t wait to meet the little whippersnapper.”

  I take another big bite of frozen fruit, which is easier said than done because I’ve got a perma smile. I can’t stop thinking about what the baby’s going to be like, what kind of boy he’ll turn out to be, what kind of man he’ll one day become!

  “Is Eric coming home from training this weekend?” Tricia asks.

  Well, there goes my buzz...

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  I take another bite, but somehow my frozen treat doesn’t taste that great anymore.

  “What? I thought the two of you were hanging out a lot these days.”

  “We were, but that was before I found out he’s a liar.”

  “Oh my god, are you serious?” Her eyes are wide and alert. “What’s he been lying about?”

  I tell her all about the text from the CPA guy—leaving out the fact that I was lying in Eric’s bed when I found it. No one in the family has the first clue that Eric and I had that fling. I explain how I handed over a rent check for the amount of $5000 on July 1st and how I intend to do the same in a couple of days when August rolls around. I have no idea what happened with that direct deposit the CPA guy set up for Eric, and I couldn’t care less. My only concern is with paying my own way.

  Tricia stares at me for a long spell before she finally speaks.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Totally. Can you believe he made up that elaborate story to trick me? How will I ever be able to trust him again?”

  “Molly...” she says, rubbing her face, wearily.

  “What?”

  “Why are you really mad at Eric?”

  “What are you talking about? I just told you. He lied to me. Isn’t that enough?”

  “You are so full of shit.”

  I don’t bother to reply. I just give her a dirty look and take another spoonful of my frozen fruit.

  “It’s true,” Tricia goes on to say. “Eric shouldn’t have lied. But in the grand scheme of things, I’m sure he was only doing what he felt he had to.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “He’s no fool. I’m sure he knows it’s not possible to get a nice, roomy apartment in a safe neighborhood in this city for twenty-five hundred bucks a month, and I’m even more positive that he wouldn’t stand for his son growing up in a substandard apartment in an unsafe neighborhood. Especially not when he’s got a nine million dollar contract with the Vipers. For the life of me, I don’t know why you wouldn’t agree to split the rent with him in the first place.”

  “I can do it on my own,” I inform her.

  She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know you can, Moll, but why would you want to? This guy wants to help provide for his baby, and he’s got the means to do so. I’m not seeing the problem here.”

  I’m already tired of trying to explain it to her. I have no energy for this.

  “What’s this really about?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  She cocks her head to the side and studies my face like she’s taking a mental picture.

  “Have you guys been like...dating?”

  I gasp. “Of course not!”

  “You have!” she says, totally rejecting my words. “That’s wonderful, Molly. I was hoping you would. Actually, we were all hoping you would. Eric’s a great guy, and the two of you have such a fantastic rapport.”

  It takes me a second to let this set in, and then I shake my head and say, “Wait a minute. Who have you been discussing this with?”

  “Just Michael and Beth. Oh, and David, too.”

  “Not Mom and Dad?”

  “No, but you know they’d be jumping for joy if you and Eric got married and gave the baby a chance to grow up in a traditional family unit.”

  “What?”

  “Beth and I have been having so much fun planning your wedding.”

  “What?”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  Staring at her in shock and disbelief, I say, “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  She throws her head back and laughs.

  “Of course I’m kidding, you dipshit! Oh my god, the look on your face is priceless!”

  I don’t bother to respond. I’ve always known my sister had a sadistic streak, but for her to mess with me when I’m a million months pregnant is not cool at all.

  After her laughter fades she says, “Okay, let me get this straight. You guys were dating, but you dumped him when you found out he was covering half your rent?”

  “No. That’s not what happened. We never dated. We just...” I pause for a moment before continuing. “When you were pregnan
t with Lucas, were there any changes in your sex drive?”

  “Aah,” she says. It’s clear that she’s grasped my meaning.

  “Exactly. The thing with Eric and me—it was just sex. It wasn’t like we were in a relationship or anything.”

  “Right.” She nods. “So in between buying toys and onesies and furniture for the nurseries, planning for the future, discussing baby names, having lunch with his mother, going to doctors appointments and going to Lamaze classes, you guys were also banging. But it was just sex.”

  I frown. Why can’t she just take my word for it? It was just sex.

  “It sounds like a romantic relationship to me,” she says.

  “Well, it wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  I shoot her a dirty look before taking the last spoonful of my fruit sundae. Setting the empty cup down on the coffee table, I silently will my sister to go away and leave me in peace.

  No such luck.

  “You want to know what I think?” she asks.

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  Clearly it is because she goes on to say, “I think you realized on some level of your subconscious that you were developing romantic feelings for Eric—maybe even falling in love with him. The thought of forming an attachment to him scared the crap out of you and even if you didn’t know it at the time, you were scrambling for a way out. When you found out he went behind your back to arrange a lower rent for you, you saw an opportunity. Instead of bothering to acknowledge the fact that he meant well, you’re laser-focused on the fact that he lied because that gave you an excuse to end things. Voilà!”

  “Oh, please. Spare me the dime store psychology.”

  “Mock me if you will, but at some point you’ll see that I’m right about this,” she says.

  Oh my god. Sometimes it feels like people live to annoy me. With all the grace of a buffalo in stilettos, I hoist myself up from the sofa.

  “I have to go lie down. Thanks for bringing the groceries and the fruit sundae, Tricia.”

  And then I start waddling out of the room.

  “Molly, don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want you to consider the possibility that you’re turning your back on something that might actually be amazing.”

  “I’m not angry,” I tell her. “I’m just tired. Honestly.”

  She takes my word for it, and after making me promise to think about what she said, she leaves the apartment.

  I crank up the air conditioner before sliding between my crisp, clean sheets and closing my eyes. I really am tired. There’s nothing I want more than to drop off into a deep sleep for an hour or two, but unfortunately, it doesn’t look like that’ll be happening anytime soon.

  Son of a bitch.

  Could there be any truth to Tricia’s theory? Maybe it would help to list all the things I miss about Eric. Okay. First and foremost, I miss that gorgeous cock of his. I miss the way it fills me up and makes me feel whole. And I miss his giant hands and the way they caress me all over, not just my intimate bits. I miss his tight ass and his sculpted six-pack. I also miss his strong lips and his sexy jaw line and his beautiful eyes. God, he’s hot.

  It occurs to me that these are all superficial, physical details, which definitely support the idea that what went on between us was just sex. This is reassuring. I start to relax, and expect to start drifting off to sleep any minute now.

  But then I find myself thinking about other things about Eric that I also miss. I miss his smile, and his laugh, and the way his eyes widen when he’s being goofy. I miss his wit as well as his logic. I miss his thoughtfulness, his consideration, his intelligence and the strength of convictions. I miss the way he opens doors for me and places his hand on my lower back ever so gently to guide me in. I miss the way he always makes sure I have a warm mug of peppermint tea at hand. I miss the way he sighs in his sleep. I miss the way he cradles me in his arms when we’re both about to drift off.

  Oh, shit.

  Is Tricia right? Have I been falling in love with Eric all this time without realizing it? And if so, what the hell am I supposed to do about it? The baby will be here in less than three weeks. I’ll have more than enough on my plate without dealing with a new relationship and all the uncertainties that go with hit.

  The timing blows. I don’t see how we could possibly try to make it work now. And would Eric even want to? I really have no idea. And do I even want to? What if it didn’t work out? How hard would it be to nurse a broken heart while at the same time taking care of a newborn? The very thought of such a thing makes me want to run away and join the circus.

  I could kill my sister for forcing me to think about all this crap.

  Thanks a lot, Tricia.

  26. MOLLY

  The doctor gazes down at my belly with a frown on her face. She wraps a measuring tape around it and then scribbles something down in her notes. After that, she starts pressing down on my bump, and I notice her frown deepening.

  “Hmm,” she says.

  I glance over at Mom, whose eyes are wide with worry.

  “What’s wrong with the baby?” I ask the doctor. “Did he flip over?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” she assures me. “I’m concerned about the size of him, though.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  Mom takes my hand and squeezes it.

  “He’s growing at an extremely rapid rate. By the time your due date arrives, he’s going to be too big to deliver vaginally, so you have one of two options here. Either we can schedule a caesarean around your due date, give or take a couple of days, or we can induce and have you deliver immediately.”

  “Immediately? As in today?”

  “Yes, it would be best to induce today if you choose to deliver naturally.”

  Holy crap.

  I turn to Mom. She offers a sympathetic smile.

  Turning back to the doctor, I ask, “Which option is better for him?”

  “There are risks associated with both options. With induction, the medication could provoke an excessive number of contractions, which can diminish the baby’s oxygen supply and lower his heart rate. On the other hand, a caesarean is major surgery, which carries a number of risks, including infection, blood clots and blood loss.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “In the event that you choose to induce and there are complications, we will then perform a caesarean to get the baby out.”

  I can’t believe this is happening. I thought I was coming in for an ordinary check-up, but now I might actually be giving birth? Today?

  Turning to Mom with tears in my eyes, I ask her, “What should I do?”

  She kisses me on the cheek, gives my hand another squeeze and says, “It has to be your decision, honey.”

  “I’ll give you some literature to read.” The doctor reaches into the drawer of a file cabinet, pulls out a couple of pamphlets and hands them to me. “There’s a great deal of information in here, which should help you decide. I’ll give you a few minutes to consider the options and then I’ll check in again. Sound good?”

  “Okay.”

  Mom and I peruse the pamphlets together as I come to terms with what’s happening. While there is definitely a part of me that’s excited by the prospect of meeting Junior two weeks ahead of schedule, I hate the idea of having to deliver in an unconventional way that carries with it increased risks.

  “Childbirth in itself is risky,” Mom points out. “I know how frightened you must be, honey, but you must keep in mind that you’re ahead of the odds.”

  “Wait, what?” I peel my gaze away from the list of complications associated with caesarean births to look up at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Your baby is big, but you are in excellent health. You’re young, you’re strong, and you’re determined. You’ll be fine, Margaret—you and the baby. I just know you will.”

  Giving her a grateful smile, my eyes start tearing up again. I’m not sure if this is because of fear or if
it’s more to do with relief. My mom is not the most stoic person in the world. Faced with something like the thought of her youngest child and grandchild going under the knife and/or pumped full of drugs, she’s the sort of woman who would normally crumple in quiet sobs. The fact that she’s holding herself together so beautifully gives me strength to face my decision.

  “I think I’m going to induce. I want him to have the all the benefits that come with a vaginal birth,” I announce.

  When the doctor comes back into the examination room, I tell her what I’ve decided. She goes back out into the hall again to get the necessary forms drawn up, and Mom heads out after her.

  “I’m just going to use the ladies room, and when I get back, I’ll start making all the calls,” she says.

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Alone in the room, I lay back on the examination table and stroke my bump. Junior gives my hand a few kicks, and I smile.

  “See you soon, sweetie.”

  27. ERIC

  I’m working with my teammates, practicing the Oklahoma drill when assistant coach Anderson comes running out onto the field.

  “Coach!” he calls out. “Wenzel! Come here! Both of you!”

  Coach and I exchange a split second glance before we both set off across the field, and in that moment I saw reflected in his eyes the utter panic I’ve got in my guts.

  The baby isn’t due for a couple of weeks. Maybe he’s decided to come early. Maybe that’s all it is, and there’s nothing to worry about, but deep down, I feel like something is wrong.

  God, I hope Molly and the baby are okay.

  I reach Anderson only seconds before Coach does. For an old man, he sure can run fast.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks at the same time I ask, “What’s happening?”

  “Mrs. O’Neil just called. The doctor says the baby is too big to come naturally on the day it’s due, so they’ve decided to induce labor. It’s happening now.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” Coach says. He turns to me and says, “We can take my car.”

  The two of us race through the corridors of the training complex and out to the parking lot. I hop into Coach’s Mercedes-Benz and I’ve barely pulled the door closed behind me when he starts peeling out of the parking lot.