Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set

by Bishop, S. J.

  “Her father seems to believe it…”

  “Do you believe it?”

  I stared at Burke, wanting to deny it, but he saw through me.

  “Daammnnn,” Caz drawled. “No wonder you can’t complete a pass, man. Pre-Divorce Dash knew he was the hottest shit on the field.”

  “Post-Divorce, pre-Father Dash doesn’t feel too worthy, does he?” asked Burke quietly.

  I couldn’t make myself answer. But I didn’t need to. They knew they’d hit the nail on the head.

  Caz looked at Burke, his dark brows raising. “So, what does he do about it?”

  “Depends on what he wants,” said Burke, turning his blue eyes on Dash. “Why do you feel shitty about Becca?”

  “Because she divorced me solely because she thought I’d be a shitty father.”

  “I doubt that’s the only reason she divorced you.”

  I had to agree. There were other reasons there, too.

  “Do you want a relationship with Becca’s sister? What if she wasn’t pregnant?”

  I sighed. The truth was that even before I’d known Annie was pregnant, I’d had trouble getting her out of my head. “I like Annie,” I said. “A lot.”

  “Why?” asked Caz.

  I pursed my lips. “She makes me feel good. When she’s not making me feel like shit,” I amended.

  “I’d argue that you’re making yourself feel like shit,” said Burke, waving a hand. “But we’ll let that go. Continue.”

  “She’s dynamite in bed.”

  “Always helps,” said Caz.

  “She’s thoughtful, she’s independent, she’s confident…”

  “Those are all of the things you liked about Becca,” said Burke. “What is it about Annie that makes her different than Becca?”

  I snorted. “She’s not a bitch. It’s easy to make her laugh. She’s generally happier, when I’m not fucking things up…”

  Burke was nodding. “So you would have continued to see her, even if she wasn’t pregnant with your kid.”

  “I did try, at first,” I said. “But she wasn’t having any of it.”

  “Did you really try?” asked Burke.

  I blinked at him and opened my mouth. Of course I had really tried. But I heard Annie’s father’s voice. You’ve probably never had to work at a relationship a day in your life.

  “Maybe that’s the solution,” said Burke, eyeing me thoughtfully. “You feel like shit because you see yourself as failing. But maybe you’re failing because you’re not actually trying.”

  “Okay, Yoda,” I muttered.

  “I’m being serious. If you put as much effort into football as you’re putting into this relationship with Annie, then you’d be the world’s worst quarterback, sounds like to me. It’d be the equivalent of you standing there and lobbing a pass into the air, expecting Caz to grab it because the great Dash Barnes threw it and it’s worth catching. Football doesn’t work like that. You have to line up your throw, anticipate Caz’s skills, make sure there’s enough space and distance, judge the field…”

  I closed my eyes.

  “I think he gets it,” said Caz, dryly.

  “I get it,” I said.

  “Tell you what, man. If you want to stop feeling like a loser, you gotta start playing like a winner. Sound familiar?”

  “Didn’t Dash shout that at Vic Ferguson last season during the halftime of the AFC championships?” Caz asked.

  Burke burst out laughing.

  33

  Anne

  “I know what you’re going to say,” I said to Abe. He’d dragged me down to his family’s house on the Chesapeake Bay, and we were sitting on the porch overlooking the water. Abe’s mother had made me a virgin mojito, with mint and sprite. Abe had laughed so hard at my expression of disgust that his Brown Derby had gone up his nose and caused a coughing fit.

  After he’d settled, he’d demanded I tell him all about my phone fight with Dash. He’d listened without amusement as I related the instance. I’d read the disapproval in his face the entire time.

  “What do you think I’m going to say?” Abe grinned at me.

  “That I let my pregnancy hormones get the better of me.”

  Abe’s dark, expressive brows rose up to his hairline. “Would I ever say something like that to you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He shrugged and settled back into his Adirondack chair. “It’s not that you’re wrong necessarily,” he said after a moment. “But I don’t think Dash was being malicious – just stupid. So telling him to draw up custody papers might have been a little intense.”

  “I think it’s better this way,” I sighed.

  Abe frowned and set his drink down. “Annie, I’m disappointed in you,” he said.

  “You sound like my parents.”

  “Yes? Well, I’m not your parents, and I’m not your sister, so you might actually try and listen to me.”

  It was the tone of his voice that made me look over. His frown was genuine. “Did you ever think that there might be a reason you’re thirty and haven’t found a great guy yet?”

  I opened my mouth, and he cut me off. “Before you answer that, I want to remind you that you’ve maintained, for years, that you’re comparing every guy you meet to Dash, and that’s why you’ve not met anyone yet. But you had Dash in your grasp, and you bitched him away, so I’m going to call bullshit on that excuse.”

  I knew my mouth was hanging open because he stared at it wryly. “Close it, Annie Leibowitz, you’ll catch flies.”

  I wanted to hit him, but I couldn’t help but feel like he might be getting somewhere. When Abe was sure I wasn’t going to interrupt, he continued. “Guys aren’t book characters, Anne. They’re not going to magically say the right thing in the right situation, or do the right thing. Most of us have only our life experiences to guide us through life. And we judge others based on how we’d react, or what we might do in a given situation. Remember that you and Dash come from completely different worlds. You might think he should say something or do something, but it might just never occur to him. Rather than tell him what you need and want, you get mad at him for not intuitively knowing. That’s not fair.”

  I held up a hand. “I don’t think I’m needing and wanting anything unreasonable!”

  “Honey, please,” said Abe, dismissing me. “Compared to the women Dash is used to dating, you probably seem like a pillar of independence and sanity. Don’t let your own insecurities eat away at a relationship you might be having with him. You’re afraid of what people might think of you, and you’re afraid that you’re not good enough for Dash. So you’re pushing him away. Knock it off.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Abe gaped at me. “Okay?!” he repeated back. “That’s it? Just: Okay?”

  “Okay, you’re right,” I said. “About all of it. You’re right.”

  Abe settled back down in his chair. “Well, then,” he blinked and lifted his glass. “Here’s to being right!”

  “I’m not toasting you,” I said, taking a gulp of his mother’s terrible cocktail. “But here’s the real dilemma. What do I do about it now?”

  Abe snorted. “Nothing. You’re here with me now. Let’s enjoy ourselves. You can worry about fixing things on Monday.”

  34

  Dash

  George Brown was right about me, I thought as I parked my rented Porsche in front of the Barnes Compound, my parent’s East Hampton monstrosity. I’m just a spoiled Golden Boy.

  I hadn’t been to the Compound in months. I hadn’t actually spoken to my parents in months. But after speaking with Burke and Caz, I still wasn’t ready to own up to my own failings with Annie. I just wanted to shut down for a few days, and the best place to do that was in East Hampton.

  “Ah!” bellowed my father, stepping out onto the deck. “The prodigal son!”

  I grinned at him. Unlike Becca and Annie, whose relationship with their parents could be rather strained, I quite liked mine. There were four of us
kids, and we had all gone to boarding school, so we’d never seen much of our parents. Which, in my mind, was why our relationship was so good.

  “Hey, Pops,” I said, letting him grab me up in a big bear hug.

  “Tell you what. Dashiell, my boy, you look…fatigued.”

  “I feel fatigued,” I admitted.

  “To what do we owe this impromptu visit?” my mother asked, coming out of the library and into the entry. “If I read your schedule correctly, we shouldn’t see you for another three weeks!”

  “It’s the weekend,” I said. “I’m not staying long.”

  “Ah,” said my father. “So our son has come to talk.”

  “Well, I like to think we’re good listeners,” said my mother, wryly. “Parenting your sister Dorothy will teach anyone patience.”

  “Are any of them here?”

  “Next weekend.” My mother raised her gaze toward the ceiling. “I’ve been praying for patience.”

  “I think that’s the thing that makes us saddest about the whole divorce business,” said my father, resting his hand on my shoulder. My father is a tall man, but I overshoot him by two inches.

  “What’s the thing?” I asked. My parents and I hadn’t spoken about it. Not even when it happened, although my mother had tried.

  “When your wife…”

  “His ex-wife,” my mother reminded him.

  “When your ex-wife and her sister were here, we could task them with wrangling the grandchildren. Now, we’ll have to entertain the devil’s get ourselves.”

  “To be fair,” said my mother, “it wasn’t Becca who was good with Adrian and Margot. Her sister handled them most of the time.”

  “Ah, well, there’s the solution,” said my father, beaming. “You divorced Becca. Not Anne. Invite Anne to stay this summer.”

  I closed my eyes. As usual, my parents were about to hit the nail on the head.

  “You’re proposing I bring Becca’s sister up here to babysit?” I said. “If you’re so concerned, you can talk to Dorothy and Tim about hiring a nanny.”

  “Ugh,” my mother made a disgusted sound. “Dorothy won’t hear of it.”

  “I wanted to swim a bit before we had our talk,” I said. “But since we’re on the subject of Anne, perhaps we should sit down.”

  “On the subject of Anne?” my father muttered, allowing me to usher him into the library, where my mother had been re-reading one of her mysteries.

  The library had been decorated in soft shades of beige and gold. The bookshelves weren’t decorative; they were full of spy novels, mysteries, and thrillers that my mother had collected over the years. It was an odd juxtaposition: the silk and pearl beaded curtains with the bent paperbacks.

  “What is it?” my father asked, sitting next to my mother on the small loveseat. I was too nervous to sit, so I remained standing.

  “I know that four grandchildren may seem like quite enough for any set of grandparents…”

  “Oh dear god,” my mother said, crossing herself. “I knew it.” She sent my father a vicious look.

  “Knew what?” I snapped.

  “Never mind,” said my father, loudly. “Continue, please. Margaret, I’ll thank you to shut up while Dashiell is speaking.”

  My mother pressed her lips together, but I’d already lost my momentum. I sat on the overstuffed, silk chaise and shrugged. “I’m going to be a father.”

  “Congratulations,” said my father, firmly. “And we mean it. Children are a gift. Unless they are your sister Dorothy’s children. Then, they’re a nightmare.”

  My mother whacked my father on the leg and cleared her throat. “Who, may I ask, is the Madonna carrying this miraculous conception?”

  I steeled myself. “Annie.”

  “Annie who?” asked my father, looking at me blankly.

  “Annie Brown. Anne Brown. Becca’s sister.”

  My father blinked profusely, and my mother squinted at me as if trying to make me out. Then her face relaxed. “That beautiful red-headed goddess,” she said. “You’ll have blond and ginger offspring. How delightful.”

  “Ah, mom?”

  “What your mother means is that we’re happy for you,” said my father, but he sounded uncertain. “We’d never say a bad word about Becca. She was lovely. But her sister was another story. Polite, mature, helpful…”

  “Literate,” said my mother, dryly.

  “Mother, Becca was extremely intelligent…”

  “But she read non-fiction” said my mother, as if that explained all of her issues with my ex-wife.

  “Well,” I said, wondering what Twilight Zone I’d walked into. “Annie reads fiction, and Annie’s due in January.”

  “January,” said my mother. She held up her fingers and counted down. Then she looked at me again. “So, this tryst with Becca’s sister happened after the divorce.”

  I felt incredibly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  “More importantly,” said my father, “Little Red will make it down here this summer so that I don’t have to murder your sister’s offspring in their sleep.”

  I blinked. “I’ll invite her…”

  “Oh, thank god!”

  “But she’s not going to be the nanny,” I warned.

  “Of course not,” said my mother. “She’s your…what do you kids call it? Your baby-mama?”

  “Mother!”

  “She’ll be treated as one of the family. We like Annie, Dash. We’re happy for you. Are you happy?”

  I ran a hand over my face. “It’s complicated.”

  “I recommend un-complicating it,” said my father, standing. “You’ve a week off coming up. Invite her down here.”

  * * *

  I hadn’t spoken to Annie since our fight on the phone, and I wasn’t sure I could take another rejection. I took a run on the beach for an hour, went for a swim in the Atlantic, and then lay on the sand for a while, sunning. When I felt more like myself, I took a shower and sat down to call Annie.

  “Hello?” She answered on the second ring and, not for the first time, I breathed easier upon hearing her voice.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “What’s going on, Dash?” asked Annie, sounding hesitantly conversational. I took a breath. That was a good sign. At least she wasn’t angry any more.

  “I’m calling to apologize,” I said. “But I don’t want to do it over the phone. I want to do it in person.”

  Silence and then, “Are you coming to DC?”

  I bit my lip. “No,” I said, carefully. “I’m trying to be careful about exposure. I went to visit my parents and to tell them about…about us. They want to invite you to the Hamptons this summer. I’m hoping you might join me when I come back here in two weeks’ time.”

  “Two weeks’ time…”

  “We’ve got camp until then. But then I get a full three weeks off. I want to spend them with you. Some place where we can just be ourselves for a bit. Will you come to the Compound?”

  The quiet only lasted a second, but it felt like an eternity. “Yes. Okay.”

  “Great. I’ll take care of everything and text you the information. I…” I didn’t know how to end the call.

  “It’s okay,” said Annie. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

  35

  Anne

  Dash offered to drive the airport and get me, but I wanted to drive my own car. I was still nervous that this would be terrible and that I’d want to make a quick getaway. Dash seemed to understand and didn’t push the issue.

  By the time I’d gotten to the Barnes’ Compound, I’d worked myself into an anxious mess. I’d been so taken with the Compound when I’d first arrived. I remembered telling Becca how nice I thought everything was and how wonderful Dash’s parents and siblings were. Becca had said to me, “That’s because you’re not part of the family.”

  Would they treat me differently now? Dash had told me several times over the last two weeks that they wouldn’t, that they were genuinely happy for both of us. It w
as hard to believe. My mother and sister still weren’t talking to me, and I wasn’t yet ready to talk to my father.

  I pulled into the gravel driveway and stared up at the large, imposing home. It was called the Compound because there was a main house and three guest houses. Becca and Dash had had one of the guest homes to themselves, whereas I’d been put in a room in the main house.

  I’d only stayed for a weekend those last two summers I’d visited. A weekend was all I’d committed to this time, as well, though I’d packed for a week and had warned my team not to count on me for practice during the month of July.

  “Annie!” Dash called out from the front door, jogging down the stairs. He’d shaved the beard he’d been growing and looked like the old Dash. He wore board shorts and – of all things – a tank top.

  My stomach seized. Over three months into this pregnancy, and I was just beginning to feel as if my body weren’t quite my own. But that reaction was entirely normal upon seeing Dash. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to just how beautiful he was.

  “Wow,” he said, getting an eyeful. I was wearing a pair of white shorts and an un-tucked blue oxford shirt to hide my growing belly. “You look amazing.” He strolled down the stairs and took my bag from me.

  “That’s called ‘glow,’” came a voice from behind him. Mrs. Barnes walked out onto the deck and gave me a sweet and welcoming smile. “Hey there, Red!” she called. It was what she and her husband had dubbed me two summers ago.

  “Hi, Sheila,” I said, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt.

  “Look at you,” said Sheila Barnes, following her son down the stairs and opening her arms. Sheila was also taller than I was, which meant I had to stand on my toes to get my arms around her. She gave me a hard hug. “You,” she said, “are a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Mother,” said Dash, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me away from his mom. “She’s not here to be Adrian’s playmate. Got it?”