by Nora Flite
“Maybe, but who cares? You two would be like my own personal cheerleaders. Double hot,” I said jokingly.
Laughing, Lanie tossed a pillow off the couch at me. “Ew, Hunter.”
“I’m serious. I think it’s a good idea. Not only will you look cute, but you’ll seem down to earth, which you actually are,” I said, making my point. “Why pretend to be someone you’re not?”
Jo considered it. “Well, P.R. me thinks that is a good idea, but wife of Hunter me worries what Victoria will say.”
I shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. No matter what though, you two will be the finest ladies in the box. I can guarantee that.”
“All right,” Jo said, pumping her fists. “I’ll get back to my sporty roots."
Sitting on the couch again, I waited for Jo to appear. Her gentle cough told me she was ready. Turning, I ate her up with my stare. "Wow," I breathed. "You look great."
Rocking side to side, she pulled at the jersey. "Really?"
Jumping up, I swept her into my arms, having no trouble lifting her like she was light as a cloud. Lanie made a gagging sound as I kissed my wife, but I didn't care. Not at all.
There were stars in Jo's eyes when I set her down. "Uh," she said. "Maybe we should get going."
Grinning, I gave Lanie a little wink. "Agreed. If we linger, I'll drag you to my room."
"Urrgghh," Lanie groaned, laughing at Jo's furious blush.
Jo must have been my lucky charm, because at that game against the Miami Ospreys I broke my record for longest catch. I couldn't wait to tell her that we would have to celebrate extra hard during our quickie honeymoon to New York City next weekend.
After I completed all my post-game interviews, a freshly opened bottle of Croc-Cooler in my hand the whole time, I wanted to get to Jo as fast as I could. I was in such a hurry that I left my cell phone and wallet in my locker. I thought about going back for them but I wanted to get to the boxes first and celebrate with my wife.
I raced to my parents’ box high up in the club section of the stadium. But when I got there, I couldn't find Jo or Lanie. I saw my mom talking to her friend Cerene. When she realized I was there, she rushed over. I could tell by the tense look on her face that something was wrong.
“Where’s Jo,” I asked. “Where’s her sister?”
“Heavens,” Cerene said. “You haven’t heard?”
“Hunter,” my mom started. “Jo was having some abdominal pains. It’s probably nothing, but Lanie took her to the hospital just in case.”
I was seeing red, adrenaline surging through my body. “When was this?”
“At the start of the fourth quarter.”
“You waited a whole quarter to tell me that Jo had to go to the hospital?” Veins popped along my neck. I needed to go, to run harder and faster than ever so I could get to Jo. If anything had happened to her or the baby I—
Victoria pulled me away from everyone else in the box, keeping her voice low. “I wanted to, but your father insisted that I wait until after the game. I called you right when the game was over. Did you not get my message?”
“My phone’s still in the locker. How could he do that? Why did you listen to him?” I was so angry I could barely get the words out.
My mom looked worried. I could tell she was just trying to calm me down when she said, “I’m sorry, Hunter. I’m sure everything is fine, stay positive."
I fought down a tornado of emotions. “Stay fucking positive?"
My mother took my hand and looked into my eyes. “Hunter, you have every right to worry, but I know that Jo and the baby will be fine.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t know that. Where is she?” I asked.
“Haven Memorial."
I pulled my hand away and ran as fast as I could toward the exit. On my way I passed my father, who tried to stop me, but I didn't give him a chance to speak. I didn’t say a single word or even look in his direction as I stormed out of the box. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.
I put the McLaren to the test that night as I sped to the hospital. It was the one and only time that my performance sports car ever got to do what it was designed to do. I was still so panicked when I arrived that when I pulled into the hospital parking lot and jumped out of the car, I nearly forgot to shift it into park.
As I dashed into the lobby I reached for my phone to call Lanie and see where Jo was, but realized it was still in my locker at the stadium. I found the sign for the ER and made a run for it. Come hell or high water, I’d find Jo.
Thankfully, there was a woman at the desk deeper in. "Sir!" she shouted. "Slow down! Who are you looking for?"
"My wife," I panted, leaning on the counter. "Joanne Daniels."
Her smile was kind. "She's speaking with her doctor right now."
“Is she all right?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said, “But I’m not authorized to give out—”
“Please,” I pleaded, “Just tell if my baby is okay. If my wife is okay.” I wanted to find her and make sure everything was all right. The not knowing was torture. I would have done anything, suffered anything, to make sure Jo and my child were still whole. “Please,” I continued. “I just need to know."
The receptionist held up a hand to soothe me. After checking her computer, she said, “She’s in room 742. You can go see her now.”
I tried to keep it together as I stood in the elevator. It seemed to take an eternity to get to the seventh floor. I stood there in the cramped space, trying to calm myself down with some deep breathing.
The worst case scenarios flashed before my eyes.
What if something was wrong with the baby?
What if something had happened to Jo?
Had I not been doing enough for her?
I should have gone with her to more of her doctors’ appointments. Why didn't I go with her? I could have skipped practice. I could have done more for my wife and for my baby.
Finally, the elevator doors parted and I walked as fast as I could down the fluorescent-lit hallways. The door to Jo’s room was cracked open and I heard Lanie’s voice as she said, “What does this mean, doctor?”
I opened the door and burst in. “Jo? Jo, are you okay? I came as fast as I could!”
There she was. My wife was reclining in a hospital bed, looking pale. I rushed over and took her hand, then turned to face the doctor, a tall woman with dark skin and a reassuring air about her.
The doctor looked me over and then smiled, “Number Eighty-Three. Good game today.”
“What the hell? Who cares about the game?” I spit.
The doctor looked confused for a second and then changed her tone. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you’d been informed, since everybody was calling and leaving you messages. Your wife and baby are just fine, Mr. Daniels. We just had a bit of a false alarm. No need to worry.”
Lanie asked, “Why haven’t you been picking up your phone, Hunter?”
“I left it in the locker room and then came straight here after I heard. What happened?”
Jo looked embarrassed. “I had some upper stomach pain, and I’d read that could be a sign of severe preeclampsia, so I freaked out. I was just being stupid.”
“No,” I said, hugging her tightly against me. “You did the right thing. I’m sorry I wasn't there.” I looked over at Lanie and added, “Thank you, Lanie. Thank you for taking care of my wife.”
“What are sisters for?” Lanie said.
The doctor said, “The pain could have been anything. Most likely a reaction to some kind of food the baby didn’t take to. In any case all the results came back just fine. Better safe than sorry.”
“I might have had some nachos,” Jo said, looking embarrassed again.
“They have nachos in the box seats?” I asked, confused.
“Not exactly. None of the fancy food did it for me, so . . .”
Lanie cut her off. “So I went out and got her some extra loaded nachos.
It’s really all my fault. I’m the nacho-wielding fiend. Who even knows what kind of meat was on them?”
The doctor laughed and tucked her clipboard under her arm. “It’s no one’s fault. By the way, I delivered a baby just before I came in here. The father is a huge Hawks fan and because of your performance today he decided to name his baby girl ‘Hunter.’ Isn’t that sweet?”
Stunned, I just said, "Wow."
“That’s so great,” Jo said, beaming.
“Go Hawks!” Lanie exclaimed, holding up her hand so the doctor could high-five it. She obliged and then headed out the door.
Jo blushed, hiding her face with a pillow. "Lanie . . ."
They were joking around, but I was still busy rolling in my own self hate. I wished that I’d been there for Jo and our baby. What if it had been a real problem? I couldn't imagine living with myself if I'd been scoring on the field while Jo was at risk.
“One more thing, Hunter,” Jo said. “I found out the sex of the baby.”
My brain went fuzzy. Her simple sentence removed my fears. “Don’t tell me, Jo.”
“What? But why?”
“I guess I want to be surprised,” I said, smiling. I didn't add that I couldn't take any more major news at the moment, and I didn't want to admit how sappy I felt about looking forward to finding out the baby’s gender.
To finally meeting them.
22
Jo
Letting Victoria plan our wedding had allowed Hunter and me to focus on planning our honeymoon. I was looking forward to it far more than the actual wedding day.
It was the fifth week of the football season which meant that we could go to New York and see the leaves change in Central Park. On top of that, it was my favorite time of year, and New York was my favorite city in the world. So, you'd think it was me who was pushing for the trip, right?
Wrong.
Hunter was acting like he couldn't wait to honeymoon together—even if it was a quickie trip nearby. The more he talked about getting us alone, about a chance to really spend time together, the more suspicious I got.
And . . . more excited.
There was no way this wasn't abnormal. Hunter should have cared about the football season. It was where he shined, where he came alive. Once, his father caught us holding hands when he surprised us on the training field. Acid boiled in his glare, aimed right at me. I'd physically winced from that stare.
The man hated me. But why? I'd done everything he'd asked. I let myself be paraded around as Mrs. Daniels with my growing belly on display. How could Hunter Senior loath me so much?
Then I got the call from Victoria just hours before we were scheduled to leave for New York. “Jo, dear, it’s Victoria Daniels,” Hunter’s mom said after I answered the phone, as though I didn't have caller ID.
“Hi Victoria, are you looking for Hunter?” I asked.
“No, dear. I need to speak with you. It’s about this weekend."
My heart sank. “We’re going to be out of town on our honeymoon,” I began, but she was talking over me.
“It’s my second annual Cocktails and Wickets, dear, and you know what they say about sophomore slumps. This is an emergency, you understand. I’m in quite a bind. Vance Lansing, you know, the actor, just dropped out. He had to fly to Vancouver to re-shoot a scene. It’s six teams of three, you see. If I don't replace Vance, then the Bolton twins won’t have a third. It’s a crisis.”
My brain glazed over as she prattled on. I wanted to shout, “This is not a crisis, Victoria!” Instead I said, “And you can’t find anyone else? I’m happy to use my contacts and I’m sure someone would love to take Vance’s place. It’s great press.”
She puffed out air, creating static in the line—my ears rang from it. “By tomorrow? I’m not sure we can count on that!”
“Hunter and I need to be seen on our honeymoon," I said, hoping to get through to her. "I’ve already told a few reporters where to find us. We can’t cancel.”
“If you're so good at your job, then surely you can skip your honeymoon in New York and still look the part.”
Was she baiting me? She had to be—she'd been much kinder to me before. Perhaps she really was stressed about the situation. Leaning on the wall, I shut my eyes. “Fine, Victoria. Hunter and I will be there.”
Her voice was sweet as pie. "I knew you'd understand. See you there."
The instant I heard the dial tone, I slammed my cell phone down on the coffee table, grabbed my head, and just yelled. I paced around Hunter’s living room, my steps heavier than usual even considering my eggplant-sized baby. There has to be a way to make this work! Maybe I can call her back, or talk to Hunter, or— "Fuck!" I gasped, my foot slamming into something hard.
Pinwheeling my arms, I grabbed the door frame to balance myself. There, at my feet, looking oh so innocently like it wasn't about to break my neck, was a suitcase. Hunter already packed, I realized with growing despair. He was going to hate this news more than me.
I was gutted. I could pretend the call with Victoria had never happened, but I wasn’t comfortable lying to Hunter and I knew we’d never hear the end of it from his parents. I could arrange for someone else to show up in Hunter’s place, but that would make Victoria my enemy. I didn't need more of those.
If society politics weren’t an issue, I’d just say fuck it. But this world had its own rules, and if I wanted to keep us safe, I had to play by those rules. Marrying a Daniels wasn’t all perks.
There was a creaking sound in the hallway—something slammed. "Jo?" Hunter called out. "I'm back! Let's get our asses moving so I can see yours in something cute in New York." He came through the door, finding me sitting there next to his suitcase.
His beautiful amber eyes focused on me, reading me so quick. "Something happened. What?"
“We can’t go to New York,” I wailed, tears filling my eyes. “We have to stay and play stupid celebrity croquet for charity instead!” Then I started crying. I felt incredibly silly. Logically, I knew my hormones were crazy, and that the city of New York wasn't going anywhere. This was selfish to cry about being forced to change my plans from private time with Hunter to . . . anything else. I felt cheated.
Hunter pulled me close and as I cried into his broad chest I felt his shoulders shaking. Was he crying, too? Had I made my burly football player husband cry?
I pulled back and realized he wasn’t crying—he was laughing. “I’m sorry, Jo,” he said. “I don’t want to play stupid celebrity croquet either. I’m sure it’ll be really awful. The only whacking I wanted to do this weekend was with you.” Then he laughed some more, and I found myself laughing with him.
Wiping my eyes, I said, “This will be the worst honeymoon ever.”
Hunter tipped my chin towards him. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed, Jo, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to planning a second honeymoon. Something bigger and better, something just for us.”
Just for us. I loved the sound of that.
He led me to the couch, sat down next to me and pulled me close. “Look on the bright side. It might not be Central Park but it will be a park. New Haven’s finest, even. It’s super great. Just ask all the Yalies. Those fancy co-eds know what’s up.”
Hunter was laying it on extra-thick. I appreciated the effort.
“I guess you’re right,” I said, rubbing at my red nose. As I held Hunter tightly, I breathed him in. Like always, he smelled like mint, cool and soothing. His hair was still wet from his post-practice shower.
I felt the back of his neck with my hand. I played with his hair. His pulse escalated, buzzing through my fingertips—sliding down to my core. "That's nice," he whispered, watching me through half-closed eyes.
Thrilled, I said, "I'm glad."
"Glad?" he chuckled warmly. He pulled me on top of him, I was worried that my huge belly would crush him. But as it pressed into him, I felt him breathing easier . . . not harder. There was no struggle here, and by the heat in his eyes,
I was sure he loved the weight of me. "This should make you feel more than glad, Jo. If anything is going to make you cry . . .
ever. . . it should be this sensation."
My tears had stopped, but they threatened to start again. "Idiot," I sniffled, wiping at my eyes with a smile. "I don't want to cry. I'm tired of tears. I want something else."
Hunter had plenty to give. My tears stopped as soon as he kissed me, his hand on the back of my neck the way mine had grazed his earlier. But this wasn't sweet—no. Hunter's energy was morphing into a wild, wicked thing.
“This is better than a fake honeymoon,” I whispered against his lips.
His teeth nipped me. “There's nothing fake about this." Cupping my face in his hands, he dared me to break away. “Let’s have our honeymoon here, right now. We don't need New York or anything. I don't want to fucking wait—I'm so sick of planning things."
I swallowed loudly, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Everything was dry but my panties, and I briefly wondered how many clean pairs I had access to since I'd packed everything up for our trip. "Your room. Now," I demanded.
"Yes, Ma'am," he chuckled. When he sat on his bed, I crawled beside him, reaching for his shirt. His eyes glinted, curious to see what I'd do next.
It had always been a secret desire of mine to strip Hunter bare. There was something taboo about taking control, peeling his shirt away on my own accord, revealing his array of shiny tattoos.
He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "Keep going," he urged.
The bed springs rustled under me as I inched over his body. My stomach got in the way a few times; I realized what position would work best for my goals.
Lifting my shirt away, then my bottoms, I striped down to nothing. Hunter ate me up, making me feel like I was a lingerie model and not incredibly pregnant. Crouching on his ankles, I traced the hard edge of his jean's top button. It gave way, the zipper joining in.
