Nixon: A Raleigh Raptors Novel

by Whiskey, Samantha

  Taking deep, slow breaths, I concentrated on soothing the nausea rolling my stomach. Once I felt we’d reached the safe zone, I flushed and pushed off the porcelain, instantly heading to the sink to brush my teeth. Nixon watched me, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

  “Okay,” I said before covering my mouth and nose with my palm. I motioned for him to follow me again and hurried into my bedroom while holding my breath. Nixon shut the door so fast behind him you’d think a defensive end snapped at our heels, and I may have melted just a bit for him in that moment. I dropped my hand, inhaling the fish-free scent of my room.

  Nixon’s gaze darted over my bed tucked into the corner and covered with psychology books, and then Heather’s across the room, blankets crumpled in one big ball atop it. He surveyed the laundry, and the cluttered desk between our beds and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

  I bit back a laugh. He’d been just as uncomfortable as the first time he’d seen it.

  “Has it gotten worse since the ultrasound?” Nixon finally asked, gesturing behind him toward the closed door.

  I shrugged, sinking onto my bed. “Only every other hour or so.”

  His eyes widened, and he raked his fingers through his hair.

  “It’s normal,” I said, my tone reassuring. “The doctor told me a ton of women get this sick in the first two trimesters—”

  “It can last that long?”

  I nodded. “Some women get better after the first trimester ends, others take longer.” God, I hoped it wouldn’t last the whole nine months, but even if it did, I would endure it. I smoothed my hand over my still flat belly, warmth filling my chest.

  “Did the doctor give you anything for it?”

  I furrowed my brow. “No, of course not,” I said. “I wouldn’t take anything unless I absolutely had to, anyway.”

  He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I don’t want to risk anything unnecessarily.”

  “You throwing up your guts every hour doesn’t constitute as necessary?” he grumbled. “Pretty sure the baby needs food just as much as you do.”

  I stood off the bed, adrenaline fueling my need to move. “Hey,” I snapped. “I’m doing the best I can! I want to eat. Trust me. And I try. It’s just the baby is disagreeing with literally everything right now. And triggers don’t help—”

  “Triggers?” He gaped down at me, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Yeah,” I said, pointing toward the closed door. “Smells, loud noises.” I shrugged. “Anything like that sets me off. But the damn fish tank…” A shiver ran the length of my spine, and my stomach wobbled. “It’s…” I took a deep breath. God, I couldn’t even think about the smell without feeling ill.

  “Ask her to get rid of it.”

  I had to arch my neck to meet his gaze, he was that tall. “No, I would never do that!”

  Nixon rubbed his hands over his face. “You have to. You can’t be around something that makes you that sick all the time.”

  I choked on a laugh. “Well, then I’m pretty sure I’ll never walk into a grocery store again because I puked in the parking lot after shopping yesterday.”

  His lips parted, true concern flashing in his eyes. “She has to get rid of it. And you can have your groceries delivered.”

  “The fish tank weighs a crap-ton!” I laughed, shaking my head. “I will most certainly not ask her to get rid of it.”

  “Fine,” he said, his solid chest rising and falling as if he’d been throwing practice passes as opposed to arguing with me. “Fine.” Something clicked behind his eyes, and I arched a brow at him. “Come stay with me.”

  It was my turn to gape. “You’re joking.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not. I have plenty of room and absolutely zero fish tanks.” His eyes scanned my crowded room again. “Nothing else can fit in this room. And you’re about to double in size—”

  “I am not!” I cut him off, glaring at him.

  A small, half-smile. “Okay, okay, bad choice of words.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Please,” he said. “I can’t focus when I’m worrying about you and the baby. And I really need to focus this season. You’ll be comfortable. And I won’t make you go to the grocery store.”

  “This place is near campus. I can walk from here.”

  “I’ll take you to classes,” he said. “Or, you can borrow one of my cars.”

  One of his cars? God, who the hell had gotten me pregnant?

  Oh yeah, Nixon freaking Noble, golden arm of the Raleigh Raptors and massive man-crush since he was brought on the team years ago.

  I narrowed my gaze, noting how his face had switched from concerned panic boarding on anger, to a smooth, calm, and charming set of features capable of bringing any woman to her knees.

  “Nuh-uh,” I said, pointing my finger at that gorgeous, Photoshop-worthy smile. “I see right through that charming bullshit, Nixon.”

  The smile melted off his face in a blink, utter shock flaring in his eyes.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “The texts. You showing up unannounced. You seem way too concerned for a guy who didn’t trust me as far as he could throw me a couple of weeks ago.”

  Another effortless smirk shaped his lips as his eyes trailed the length of my body, the gaze like a brand. “I could throw you pretty far.”

  I bit back a smile, shaking my head. “Nope,” I said. “Not falling for it. Give me a straight answer. I haven’t asked you for anything, and I’m not going to, but honesty is a demand.”

  His shoulders dropped a fraction, and he nodded. “I came here to talk,” he said, and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I know I’ve already said I’m sorry about my initial reaction to the news, but there is more to it than you know.”

  My stomach dropped, and it had nothing to do with the baby—it was the look of betrayal on his face, the pain flickering in those dark brown eyes. Real, raw. Not the practiced look of the golden quarterback, but just a man who’d been hurt…badly.

  “My ex,” he said, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Nothing good ever came from a sentence that started with those two words. “She told me she was pregnant,” he said, his tone sharp as a razor. “We’d been dating for three years, and I was just about to hit it big. We’d always been safe with sex because I hadn’t even considered marriage. But she demanded a wedding. Said it was the only way to raise the baby the right way.” I cringed. “And…” he sighed and stepped over a pile of clothes to sink onto the edge of my bed. I couldn’t help but gape slightly at the way his weight bowed the thin mattress as he left me standing there looking down at him. “She had paperwork drawn up, a date set, everything. She’d been meticulous with the prenup, and I hadn’t even bought her a ring yet.” He shook his head, his elbows on his knees. “I found out a few days before we were supposed to get married that it was all fake. The doctor she’d supposedly seen, the pregnancy tests, all of it.”

  I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

  “I pressed her on it, and after a long, brutal fight, she admitted she was going to say she’d lost the baby after we’d been married. Claimed it was because she didn’t want to lose me, but all she really wanted was a meal ticket for the rest of her life.”

  Acid crawled up my throat, rage bubbling for a woman I’d never met.

  Who could be so callous? Thousands of women all over the world suffered miscarriages or couldn’t conceive, and this woman wanted to use that tragic situation for what, money? Not to mention the emotional scarring alone from Nixon thinking they’d lost a child—

  “So, that’s why I was such an asshole—”

  “Hey,” I said, dropping to my knees before him. I reached for his forearms, my fingers gliding over the smooth skin wrapped over hard, corded muscle. I squeezed him gently. “She was a fucking cunt.”

  Nixon barked out a laugh, jolting slightly on my bed at my words. “Is that a technical diagnosis?”

  I smiled up at him, happy that
those brown eyes didn’t look so damn heavy. “No,” I said. “It’s a purely emotional response, but it doesn’t make it less true.” I let out a sigh. “Look, I get it,” I said. “I hate that you endured such an awful situation, but I get it, now. The reaction to me showing up at training camp.” I sighed. “I know I looked crazy.” I laughed. “But I swear I only wanted to be fair to you. To be honest. I would hate having a baby out there I didn’t know about,” I teased, and he laughed again, the warm, full sound tingling my bones.

  He laid his hand over the one I still had on his forearm, the muscle rippling beneath my touch. “Move in with me,” he said, a plea to his tone. “No expectations,” he said. “I just want to take care of you and the baby. I want to know you two are safe while I’m not here.”

  Right. Because away games and practices and press conferences…

  What did I get us into, baby?

  I rose from my kneeling position, pacing the small length of clear floor in my room. “I don’t know, Nixon,” I said. “We really barely know each other—”

  “I’ve been trying to fix that,” he said.

  “I know. And I really appreciate it. I do. I swear. I actually look forward to your texts now,” I admitted, and he smiled as he pushed off my bed. A real smile, not a practiced one. “But moving in together? That’s a huge step.”

  “Again,” he said, stepping into my path to stop my pacing. “No expectations.”

  I tilted my head as I gazed up at him. “I never read anything about your ex and that situation in the press.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. “You’re saying you followed my career?”

  “Maybe.”

  He nodded. “I paid a ridiculous amount of money to ensure no one heard about it.”

  I hissed. “You had to pay her to keep quiet.”

  Another nod.

  “How many other people know about it?”

  “My brother and my parents” he said. “And my boys, Roman and Hendrix.”

  “And now me.”

  “And now you.”

  Trust. Honesty. Exactly what I demanded of him.

  “I need to think about this, Nixon.”

  “Understandable,” he said, a sigh of relief rushing past his lips. I guess he assumed I’d say no right off the bat. And maybe I should’ve because merely having him this close, all caring and sexy, did things to my already confused soul. “That’s all I want,” he said. “A chance to take care of you until…”

  Right. Until…when? The baby came, and we went our separate ways?

  My nerves tangled into knots as he headed for my bedroom door. “Call me when you’ve decided. Or if you need anything in the meantime. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Liberty?” he asked, his hand on the knob.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hold your breath.” A crooked smile shaped his lips.

  I laughed but covered my nose and mouth.

  He cracked the door open just enough for him to slid his massive frame through before quickly shutting it. I dropped my hand, shaking my head as I smiled like a schoolgirl at my shut door.

  That man.

  He had my head spinning, that was for sure.

  It took less than five minutes for Heather to rush through the door, flinging herself on her bed across the room with an expectant look on her face.

  “What?” I laughed.

  “Spill.”

  I sighed and fell backward onto my bed before telling her about Nixon’s request.

  “Omigod, you have to!”

  “What? No, I have to think this through.”

  “Please, what is there to think about?” Heather scoffed. “You have to go live in the quarterback’s mansion and let him cook for you and give you back massages and shit while you grow a human inside of you.”

  I snorted I laughed so hard. “It is way more complicated than that, Heather.”

  “What isn’t complicated about relationships?”

  “This isn’t a relationship.”

  She arched a brow at me. “You’re carrying his child, and you both are trying to get to know each other and where you fit in each other’s lives. What else would you call it?”

  “An attempt at friendship?”

  “Friendships are still relationships. Not everything is about sex, you know,” she teased. “Or is it? Cause I’d really love to hear more about that.”

  “Ha! If I could remember anything, I’d let you know.”

  “That is such a bummer.”

  I nodded, unable to argue that one.

  “You need to do this,” she urged. “If for the sole reason of getting away from the god-awful fish tank of Julie’s.” We laughed, and she tucked a pillow under her side. “I’m serious! I wish someone would offer me a place to stay. Hell, I’d move in with a drug dealer to get away from that smell,” she joked.

  I sighed, the laughter lightening the tension in my chest. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she said, then eyed my phone as it buzzed on the desk near our beds. “Tell him you say yes yes yes,” she said as she hurried out of the room.

  I grabbed it, my shoulders only slightly sinking at the realization it was not, in fact, Nixon calling to persuade me on all the reasons I should go live in his palace with him. Okay, not a palace but damn me if he wasn’t acting like prince charming.

  “Hi, Mom,” I answered. “How is Brazil?”

  “It’s a lot of work,” she said, the line slightly staticky. “But beautiful, baby. I sure wish you were here!”

  For the first time in forever, I couldn’t echo that sentiment. Not with a huge workload for my final semester in college and a baby on the way and Nixon Noble to contend with.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, and I filled her in on the past few days since we’d spoken.

  “It will pass,” she said. “I thought I was going to die when I was pregnant with you. I was nearly hospitalized you made me so weak.”

  “Jeez, Mom. I suck, I get it.”

  She laughed. “No, you’re perfect, darling! One day I woke up and wanted nothing more than a cheeseburger. And I ate three of them in one sitting because you actually let me.”

  My stomach rolled at the thought of food. “Gah, Mom! No food talk!”

  “Right, sorry, sweetie.” She sighed. “Have you heard from Breaking Boundaries yet?”

  “Nothing yet,” I said, and honestly couldn’t be that disappointed. While I was in love with the program, the last thing I needed right now was another major decision. “But the process takes a while, and I only applied a few weeks ago.” Before I knew about the baby. Not that having a child would change my goals or aspirations, I’d just have to plan better. Take different precautions, that’s all.

  “I’m sure you will,” she said. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I have to dash,” she said. “The clinic is drowning in locals right now. So many people need to be seen.” There was a sadness to her voice. “Too many,” she continued. “I can’t wait until you’re with me. You’ll do so much good here.”

  “I love you, Mom,” I said, my chest tightening again.

  “You too. Talk soon!”

  The line went dead, and I swallowed hard. Traveling the world, working with Mom to help those in need was all I’d ever wanted in the world.

  My entire life, I’d wanted nothing else.

  Until two pink lines changed everything.

  5

  Nixon

  “That’s the last of it.” Roman set a cardboard box marked textbooks on my dining room table.

  “You’re sure?” I scanned the contents of the dining room. There were maybe a dozen boxes and three suitcases. It was hardly what I expected when Liberty agreed to move in with me. Was this really all she owned?

  “Looks right,” she said as she walked right past me and planted a kiss on Roman’s cheek. “Thank you so much for helping. Really.”

  “No problem.” He gave
her the smile that had melted a thousand panties, but I knew it wasn’t intentional flirting. Roman was just that damned charming by nature. Had it been Hendrix, I would have kicked his ass.

  “It would have gone faster if you’d let me help.” Liberty fisted her hands on her hips and tilted her head at me.

  “What?” I balked. “You’re not supposed to lift anything heavier than twenty pounds. I read it,” I wagged a finger at her.

  Her mouth twisted to the side, but she finally sighed.

  Nixon one, Liberty zero.

  “Fine, then we could have asked Cory and Tyler to help. I hate that you two had to give up a perfectly good Thursday afternoon, especially since you’re leaving tomorrow for Buffalo.”

  “That was never going to happen,” I muttered.

  Roman rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced.

  “What am I missing here?” Her gaze darted between us.

  “Most of us like to keep our houses…you know…private, that’s all,” he answered.

  Her eyes danced with mischief as she turned toward me. “Are you saying that you big, macho men are scared of the fanboys?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Absolutely,” Roman agreed. “Besides, is there actually a point to owning a pickup truck if we don’t use it to help someone move at least once?” He lifted his palms.

  “Excellent point. You were really just doing us a favor.” I nodded emphatically.

  “You two are ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes, then looked over the contents of the table. “Man, I really need to purge.”

  Roman and I exchanged a look of pure confusion.

  “I wouldn’t consider being able to fit your entire life on my table as needing to purge.”

  She snort-laughed, which might have been the cutest damned thing I’d ever heard. “Owning more than I can fit in two suitcases is a reason to purge.”

  Suitcases. Right. Because she was planning to leave as soon as she got her doctorate. But May felt like a whole lifetime away, and maybe by the time the whoosh got here, she’d change her mind. If not…well, we were going to have to eventually broach that topic, but not today.

  Today she was moving in, and I was counting that as a win in my column.