Personal Foul (Moving the Chains Book 6)

by Kata Čuić

  I already taste my own lies. An entire country and several years separated Alex from me. I heard from him all the time.

  A suckling sound diverts his attention. He frowns. “Do you have to do that here? Now?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see Evie nursing Robbie.

  I’m jealous again.

  She’s sitting up, holding her baby like a normal mother who has the physical freedom to use any number of nursing positions. She shrugs. “Where do you want me to feed him?”

  Alex closes his eyes on a deep sigh. “Never mind.”

  “You should go.” My anger and hurt haven’t been nearly spent yet. “I wouldn’t want you to become aroused in front of your daughter at the sight of a woman’s breasts.”

  “Yeah, well…” His expression flattens. He leans forward and licks my skin above where Layla suckles. “Too late.”

  With a strangled cry of pain, he lifts himself off his knees and hobbles to the door.

  “Never touch me again,” I call out.

  He pauses with his hand on the knob. “Okay. I’m still going to love you both though.”

  He closes the door behind him, and I cry some more.

  A firm hand lands on my arm.

  “He meant you and her. Not you and me,” Evie clarifies.

  I don’t care anymore.

  I shouldn’t be down here, but I can’t resist. She’s too warm, too soft, too easy to drown in. She numbs the pain when it’s all I feel lately.

  “Ssh, ssh. Be quiet. Good girl.”

  She lets out another squeal of delight.

  I cringe and glance up, but we haven’t been caught yet.

  I can’t help but chuckle at the expressions she makes. She has the funniest ways of showing happiness. She’s going to be permanently cross-eyed if she keeps doing that though.

  Still, I can’t make myself stop.

  If my princess likes tummy rubs so much, then I’ll rub until my hand is raw.

  She’s got me wrapped around her little finger, and I think she knows it.

  Her mouth stretches in a yawn. That’s her way of telling me she’s had enough.

  Fine by me. I can’t stay too long, but I want to enjoy a little more time together. That’ll be easier to do if she’s not shrieking her pleasure.

  “I love you,” I whisper against the shell of her ear. “I’ll always love you.”

  She’s a little restless, so I sing her the lullaby that’s always reminded me of her mom. Soft. So soft. Barely any sound at all.

  Or so I think until I get busted.

  “You are not supposed to be down there.”

  I glance up to see Amira’s face peeking over the edge of the mattress.

  “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  “You have a very nice voice.”

  That’s the nicest thing she’s said to me in nearly a month.

  I don’t want to jinx it.

  “Ssh. Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

  Her brows scrunch together as she genuinely considers it. “I think most women enjoy being crooned to. It will not hurt your reputation as a ladies’ man.”

  “I’m very attached to this particular lady.” I nuzzle our daughter’s downy hair with my nose. It tickles, but it’s also the silkiest thing I’ve ever felt. “I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. I’ll never be on the market again.”

  Amira huffs out a little laugh that makes my heart do double-time. “How did you even get down there? You’re still on crutches.”

  I shrug with the shoulder that isn’t pressed against the floor. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  I already have more backup than originally planned to help with Amira and Layla since Rob and Evie are still here. There wouldn’t be a better time. I pushed to get the surgery done ahead of schedule with the orthopedist who already knows my case inside and out. I didn’t want to waste more time finding a new surgeon in a new city. PT sucks ass, but it was going to no matter where I push through the pain.

  “You’re going to drop her one of these times.” Amira raises her eyebrows in challenge.

  “I would never.” If I thought there was any chance, I wouldn’t take that chance. I’d rather fuck up my knee than drop this precious baby.

  Amira sighs then disappears from view as she rolls onto her back on the bed. “Where did Evie go?”

  “Robbie was wailing downstairs, so she went to nurse him. You didn’t even notice when I came in to tell her.” I think that might be the first time Amira’s been in a deep, restful sleep since she and Layla came home.

  “You mean you snuck in, whispered so I wouldn’t hear, then waited until the coast was clear to sneak Layla to the floor,” she accuses.

  Okay, yeah. I might have done exactly that.

  I stand by the deep sleep thing though. Amira was actually snoring. I’ve never heard her snore before. I never thought the sound I always associated with old people would make my dick hard. I’m losing my mind.

  I went years without sex. It was fine. It’s not like my hand is busted up from our exclusive relationship. Six weeks without Amira after having her whenever I wanted though? Yep. Definitely losing my mind.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow. I just wanted some extra time with her before I go.”

  Silence stretches out for several heartbeats before Amira clears her throat. “What time is your flight?”

  “Six in the morning. I’ll get there by nine, West Coast time.”

  “The time difference will be challenging,” Amira admits.

  “I’ll make it work,” I promise. “Don’t bend her schedule around me. I’ll fit mine around hers.”

  Amira sighs then grunts as she slowly pushes herself to sitting at the edge of the bed. She’s made a lot of progress in the past month. Her incision is still red and raw the couple of times I’ve caught a glimpse of it. If it hurts me to see, I can’t imagine how bad it feels.

  I know how much my knee hurts, and that’s a much smaller part of my body.

  “Okay.” Amira massages her head with her fingertips.

  My hands itch to do that for her.

  I had all these fantasies that were nothing like the ones my brain imagined as a teenager. I was going to wash her hair for her. Shave her legs if she wanted. Cater to her every need and whim and buy a damn pickle factory if that craving didn’t go away after Layla arrived.

  I haven’t done any of it. I wasn’t there for my daughter’s birth, and Amira doesn’t want me to touch her ever again. I’ve been forced to sneak around to get my fix of new baby smell that’s way better than any drug. That shit makes me high as a kite.

  Amira focuses her gaze on me after a few minutes. “Let’s get you two off the floor.”

  “No, no.” I don’t want to pull away from the cocoon Layla’s made for herself against my chest for anything, but I want Amira to hurt herself even less. “Just get her. I can get up on my own. You’re not supposed to lift anything heavier than the baby anyway.”

  Amira rolls her eyes, but she also struggles to get to her knees to scoop up Layla from the blanket I spread out on the floor. She pants through pulling them both up then setting the baby on the bed.

  It’s agony to watch and not be able to do shit to help.

  Amira turns around again, every movement slow and ginger. She eyes me like I’m a problem she hasn’t quite worked out how to solve yet.

  “I can do it,” I promise. “Just watch.”

  I made fun of Rob mercilessly in middle and high school for the dance classes his mom conned him into taking. Ironically enough, he’s given me a few pointers for maintaining a little grace while my knee heals. If the brace is on, then I only have one good leg to use for leverage and movement. The only times the brace comes off, I’m doing specific exercises to increase range of motion.

  I keep my right leg extended and use my left to push up off the floor. I’m basically squatting my own body weight with a single leg. My left thigh is going to be gros
sly more developed than my right, but it is what it is.

  Sort of like my new contract. On the other side of the country. With the Sacramento Gold Rushers.

  I grin at Amira as I stand in front of her, balanced on one leg.

  Instead of seeming impressed, she raises her eyebrows. “Now, how are you going to get your crutches, Brawn?”

  I glance toward the door, where my crutches are propped against the wall. More than a little out of reach.

  Shit. I underestimated the distance.

  It would only take me four, maybe five steps…

  “Don’t even think about it,” Amira warns as she pushes herself off the mattress toward my crutches.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I yelp. “You can’t leave Layla on the bed like that!”

  Amira flattens her brow. “If she miraculously learns to roll over at only a month old, then I’m sure you’ll catch her.”

  Yeah, I will.

  It’s a small miracle that Amira believes it, too. So, yeah. She’s been making some progress over the past month. We still haven’t talked about the bet that Mayview blew wide open and spun to his advantage, but we’re getting there.

  I hop on one leg to the bed while Amira heads toward the crutches.

  She glares at me when she sees me curled up on the mattress, right back in the same position with Layla that we were in on the floor. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t sleep with Layla on the bed like that. Co-sleeping is one of the leading causes of sudden infant death syndrome.”

  “So, you’re saying I’m allowed to sleep in our bed again?” I grin.

  She doesn’t smile, but she does rest my crutches against the nightstand where I can reach them easier. Baby steps. “I’m saying if you want your bed back, say so. Layla and I can move into one of the guest rooms.”

  Baby steps backward.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, remember? This will be your room. When I come home to visit, I’ll stay in one of the guest rooms.”

  I will also leave most of my clothes in this closet, so I have an excuse to come in here frequently.

  Amira sighs as she lowers herself to the bed on the other side of Layla. “We can’t stay here forever, Alex. You’ll need to buy a new home in Sacramento eventually. It’s ridiculous to maintain two mansions on opposite coasts.”

  I want to push. I want to wrap my hand around her throat and tell her she’s moving to California with me and our daughter. I can’t do that. Not this time.

  I broke her trust. She’s only submissive to someone she trusts.

  I’ll work as hard as I have to for as long as it takes to gain that back. “Millionaires maintain multiple mansions.”

  She huffs out a little laugh. “Are you practicing to read Dr. Seuss soon?”

  “We should start reading to her now, actually.” This is no laughing matter. “Studies show children who are read to from a young age perform better in school. They’re more intelligent, better adjusted, and have more secure attachment to their parents. Reading also increases empathetic behavior. You let me know a good time, and I’ll call every night to read to her.”

  She lays down on the bed with Layla between us. Even resting on the pillow, she shakes her head. “You’re going to be busy. You have PT, new teammates and coaches to meet, plays to learn. Rob really stuck his neck out for you. Don’t dishonor his gift by not giving this your all.”

  She makes a fair point. I’ve been torn between kissing him for his help and punching him for taking me so far away from my family. He has leverage in the league that very few players have, and he used that for me. He could’ve told me to kiss his ass and take my chances after the shit I’ve pulled the past couple years. If I ever had any doubt he’s as much my brother as Jimmy or Davey, he erased it with a few phone calls.

  “You’re not mad? That I’m going across the country? That I’m going to be living with them for a few months?” Just because I think her old jealousy of Evie has been put to rest doesn’t mean she feels that way.

  She shakes her head again, but her eyes are soft. “How can I be angry? They’ve been so good to us. Our own blood hasn’t come through for us in the way they have.”

  She said us.

  There’s still an us. We’re still a we.

  I inch my hand across the mattress toward her. I won’t touch her again until she okays it, but I want her to know I’m here when she’s ready. “Yeah, well… Family isn’t always blood. Respect is earned, not given. Sometimes, I think the people we choose matter way more than the people we’re given.”

  She nods. “Because we choose them, they matter more.”

  She might not be ready to hear it, but I can’t leave without saying it.

  “I choose you. I choose her. I choose us. Being hundreds of miles away won’t change that. I’ll never be on the market again, Amira. I’m yours. I’m hers.”

  Her expression falls, so I clarify, “You don’t have to agree. You don’t even have to feel the same way. I just want you to know how I feel. That it’s not temporary. Out of sight isn’t out of mind. Tried that before, remember? I failed miserably. The last time I thought we were saying goodbye for good. This isn’t like that. I’m not running. Not ever again.”

  She huffs out a watery laugh. “Don’t make me cry. Please. I’m so sick of crying.”

  I don’t doubt it. Her mind has always fascinated me because she’s so logical, so good at pretending to be free of emotion even though she’s not. I wanted to learn from her as much as she wanted to learn from me in college.

  I wasn’t ready to admit I didn’t know it all yet.

  I’m sure as fuck not a PhD now.

  “Okay, okay. Do you want me to make you laugh or make you angry instead?”

  She sniffles as she stares at me. “This feels like truth or dare, but I don’t know which one is the dare.”

  “Pick one,” I say, rubbing Layla’s tummy when she starts to fuss between us. “I’ll give you anything you want, Brain. You just have to tell me what that is.”

  She sniffles again, then scoots our daughter closer to her on the mattress. With a quick lift of her shirt and a cup of the baby’s head like a pro, Amira latches Layla onto her breast. “Why Layla? That was the fake name you gave me in college before I had sex with Zack while you watched. It’s such a horrible choice. It’s like you want me to know that even in your subconscious, this isn’t real.”

  “No. Just the opposite,” I murmur. I can’t touch Amira, but I can caress Layla’s soft hair while she nurses. She’s the connection between us now. “I picked Layla because nothing has changed. I don’t want to share her with anyone else. She’s mine, and I’m hers. No matter what happens or where our lives take us, I’ll always keep a piece of her tucked close to my heart where no one else can ever replace her.”

  “Damn it.”

  The curse is so soft, I barely hear it.

  Her words take me back miles and years to the beginning of the end for me. From fascination and fantasies to something I was too terrified at the time to reach for.

  This is not then. This is not there.

  This is now. This is here.

  “We can go the other way,” I offer. “You could pick a dare, and I can still make you mad.”

  “Yes,” she breathes. “Yes. Please, that.”

  “Do you have enough energy left to argue with me?” I lead. “I know you love that.”

  “I do,” she swears.

  Might as well be words uttered in Church for Full Mass. They’re the same in my ears.

  “I used to fantasize about you belly dancing for me wearing nothing but brightly colored veils and gold-coin jewelry,” I confess.

  She reaches across our daughter to slap my arm. “Pig!”

  “I’ve been called worse,” I laugh.

  She touched me.

  I didn’t break her rules.

  She broke her own.

  “Fucking Murphy,” I mutter.

  Everything that can go wrong, will
go wrong. It is absolutely a law. When put to the test, the hypothesis holds. Every time.

  Layla wails in her play seat while I try desperately to rinse out the only abdominal binder I have in the sink. She had a diaper blow out without a onesie to catch the excess because I haven’t had the energy to keep up with the mountains of laundry we both make. My shirts are covered in milk stains from breast leakage, and her clothes are covered in everything from urine to spit-up to…diaper blow outs.

  Alex used to laugh and refer to them as hot mustard explosions.

  It made me angry then. I would give anything to hear his musical laughter now.

  Alex and his family are in California, and I am here. Alone.

  “Ssh, ssh,” I soothe. “It’s okay. You’re such a good girl.”

  She does not agree. She continues to cry.

  I try to sing the song Alex always sang to her, but I do not know all the words. I do not sing very well.

  Layla’s wails reach a deafening screech.

  “I’m doing the best I can, Mahbub. Please, try to understand.”

  She does not understand. She is two months old. I detest the familiar term that holds no meaning for me other than deceit cloaked in love. It slipped from my tongue like a bad habit.

  “Perhaps we need a change of scenery, yes?”

  She knows nothing but the womb or this sanctuary that her father has provided us. Surely, she is growing bored with her advancing age. She is eager to explore the outside world. Who am I to deny that to her?

  After two hours of preparation, I stare at the closed doors of the detached six-car garage.

  Layla’s belly is full, and she coos at me from the carrier that attaches to her car seat. Her gaze darts around at all the bright flowers and leaves that sway gently in the breeze off the lake. She’s already happier and more entertained. Fresh air and sunshine are good for all humans, regardless of age.

  Alex promised he installed the base of her car seat safely in my car. I do not want to drive my car. My car is emblazoned with the word whore.

  A sudden surge of paranoia overcomes me. I glance around the paved courtyard, listening for something sinister beneath the birdsong. Every rustle in the bushes could be a hidden camera. I spy the gate at the end of the winding driveway.