by Naima Simone
“Ronin,” their offensive coach, Barker, called to him as the rest of the team strolled off the field for lunch and the daily media session in the locker room. Barker clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work this morning. A few things, though. You need to work on stalk blocking and not coming out of your route so soon. Stay on it longer. Denver’s cornerbacks are really good at jamming the receivers off of the line. So you need to work on the swim technique coming off the line to avoid the jam…”
Ronin nodded, taking everything in that his coach had to say, committing it to memory so he could execute in the afternoon practice.
When Barker walked off, Dom and Zephirin joined him, and they headed to the cafeteria together. Forty-five minutes later, they pushed out the doors and made their way toward the locker room. Media sessions. He had a love-hate relationship with them. On one hand, he got why they were necessary. People wanted access to their favorite teams and players, and the reporters granted them a glimpse into their thoughts and opinions. It was all about accessibility and exposure for the league. Media and promotion—especially good promotion—brought more money. But on the other side, it could get awkward and uncomfortable, depending on the particular reporter. And one thoughtless comment or joke could end up as a soundbite, well…forever. Fame was a double-edged sword. Usually, Ronin didn’t mind the media, but there were several players who wished they could shove themselves into lockers until the reporters cleared out.
“How’s Kim doing?” Zeph asked.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d been sitting on her living room couch. And he’d walked out of her apartment. An ache gripped his chest, squeezed the hell out of it. “Fine.” He glanced around, but aside from Zeph and Dom, his other teammates were too far ahead or behind them to overhear their conversation. “She had a follow-up appointment yesterday. It’s all good.”
“That’s great.” Dom squeezed his shoulder. “We’re happy for you. For both of you.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” he said. Then, because it’d been weighing on his mind all day, he added. “I’m not sure how it’s going to work out, though. She’s not ready for everyone to know about…” He paused. “Everything. With her job and her past.” He shrugged. “She’s cautious and wants to keep it under wraps. And there’s the fact that she’s leaving Seattle in the summer. So, I don’t know.” He dragged a hand through his hair, uttering a frustrated sound caught somewhere between a sigh and growl.
“Are you going to try and convince her to stay?” Zeph paused outside the locker room where the reporters would shortly be ushered in.
“It’s not that simple.” Not for him. Not for Kim. She’d been burned badly by her ex. And saying she was skittish would be like calling the Space Needle a paperweight. And he… Well, he was…him. “There’s a lot of baggage there that’s not easy to overcome.”
“Do you love her?” Dom crossed his arms, studying him like a student with an eviscerated frog.
A surge of panic welled up in Ronin. He’d only claimed to romantically love one woman. And for most of his life, he believed he would never say those three words to another. He waited for the sense of betrayal and guilt. And if he dug deep, he might find whispers of them. But that overwhelming wave of it? No, it didn’t come.
But the panic did. The gnawing claws of panic swiped at him, dug deep. And yet, he couldn’t lie. He wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself, and he could no longer deny what had been right under his nose all along. Hell, the nerves twisting in his gut was confirmation enough.
“Yeah,” Ronin admitted, not a little bit awed that he could actually vocalize it. “Yeah, I love her.”
Oh fuck. He was in so deep.
“Then you need to help her pack her baggage up and throw that shit out. Because watching her walk away shouldn’t be an option,” Dom advised.
Ronin shook his head. “Again. Not that simple.”
“What are you guys waiting on? An engraved invitation? Get in there,” Gerald Declan, their head coach, ordered as he charged past.
Laughing, Zeph and Dom followed the older man in, and Ronin trailed behind them, still disquieted by his revelation. But he put it aside as much as possible as he walked into the locker room. Ten minutes later, Ronin stood in front of his locker, surrounded by members of the media with several microphones pushed in his face. If he were prone to claustrophobia, he might be huddled up sobbing right now. But he grinned and bore it, answering the questions lobbed at him with ease and a lot of diplomacy. Especially when one reporter repeated a question another had already asked. The repetition grated on his nerves. But demanding, “Hey, didn’t you just hear that guy ask the same damn question? Be original,” probably wouldn’t be a good look. It would earn him a verbal smack down from Coach Declan. And that man could be scary.
“Ronin, Denver has one of the best man-to-man cover corners in the league. Do you think you’ll be able to win the match-up?” a journalist he recognized from a cable football show inquired.
“I respect Denver’s defense and their corners, but when I get on the field, I believe I can win any match-up. Besides,” Ronin grinned. “I plan to eat my Wheaties that morning.”
Several of the reporters laughed, and then the next question flew at him.
“Has there been any talk concerning the lack of plays that stretch the field?” another journalist asked. This one he knew from a syndicated show on one of the major networks. Ronin liked and respected her work.
He shrugged. “I’m the wide receiver, and I run the plays that they call,” he replied.
Another reporter called his name, and Ronin nodded, not immediately identifying this person.
“You’ve had a couple big drops on third down. Is that due to a lack of concentration?” the guy demanded. “Because there’s a rumor circulating that you’re about to be a father. Could that have something to do with it?”
White noise rushed into his head, and his lungs seized. His heard thudded like the whole Washington University drum line. The hell? How did…? Where had he…? How had he known about the baby?
Say something, damn it.
The low, insistent voice inside his head shattered his paralysis. He stared into the gleaming gaze of the reporter, and part of Ronin knew he’d fucked up. His reaction alone told the truth, and this weasel scented it.
Goddamn.
“I’m discussing the game, not my personal life,” Ronin stated, going for matter-of-fact. But from the wide eyes of those surrounding him, he guessed he’d failed. Epically.
After a small, awkward pause, the questions continued, and somehow, Ronin made it through. Just as he pushed through practice. But his head wasn’t there. And the worry that had lodged under his heart like an irritating, stubborn pebble in a shoe hadn’t dissipated. He had one thought.
Kim.
He had to warn Kim.
Dread wormed a sinuous path through his gut, knotting and twisting as he strode out of the complex that afternoon. He could weather this—a football player having a child out of wedlock wasn’t that big of a deal in this day and age, even if that asshole had brought it up in the media session. But Kim… She’d made it abundantly clear she didn’t want her name bandied about in the gossip sites, or the intrusion of the press into her life.
Cursing, Ronin scrubbed a hand down his face. He couldn’t let her be blindsided. But first… He removed his phone from his jeans pocket, pulled up the internet browser on his phone, and entered his name and “baby.” The first page filled with hits on him being a father and with Kim’s name. That dread doubled when he clicked on one site, and they had pictures of Kim and him in the parking lot of the medical building. He had her caged between his body and her car. A “confidential source” had given details about Kim’s name and her pregnancy.
Son of a bitch.
Closing out the screen, he pulled up Kim’s number. Only two rings echoed in his ear before she answered.
“Hey, Ronin,” Kim said. He frowned. Something was off
. But before he could question it, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
Yes. God, yes. But it hit him that he couldn’t do this over the phone. But him arriving at her job when the story had already broken might bring even more unwanted attention to her doorstep.
“Ronin?”
“Kim, can you meet me at my house in about half an hour?” he proposed. His place had security at least. No one could follow her past the gate.
Silence crackled down the line.
“Ronin, what’s wrong?”
“Can you meet me?” he pressed. He couldn’t lie to her and say “nothing.” Because for her, it was everything.
A beat of silence. “Yes,” she finally said. “I’ll leave now.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
He ended the call, staring at the phone for several long minutes. A pit yawned wide in his gut, and foreboding filled it to the brim. Rubbing the back of his neck, he climbed into his car and drove the twenty minutes from the practice facility to his house.
Kim must’ve left her office as soon as they’d hung up, because not five minutes after he arrived home, she rang his doorbell. As soon as he swung open the door and took in her drawn features, he knew.
She’d found out.
And she’d driven over here in this state? Shit.
“C’mon,” he said softly, cupping her elbow and guiding her inside.
Not pausing until they reached the living room, he gently pushed her down on the couch cushion. Shock. Her gray eyes appeared dark and bottomless, and her caramel complexion slightly pale. Tension seemed to vibrate from her ramrod-straight body, and she didn’t speak.
Cursing, he moved to the fireplace and started a blaze going. He already had the heat turned up, but maybe she needed more warmth. Or a drink. No, damn it. No alcohol. She was pregnant. Maybe a blanket…
And he was goddamn babbling to himself.
“Kim,” he murmured, crouching down in front of her. “Kim, tell me what happened. How did you find out?”
She didn’t ask him, “Find out about what?”
“A reporter called me on my way here,” she replied, her tone surprisingly even considering her current state. “He asked me was it true that Ronin Palamo was the father of my baby. Or as he put it, ‘my baby’s daddy,’” she added, bitterness creeping in and tainting those last three words.
Anger at that asshole reporter—and he used the term very loosely—singed him.
“I’m sorry, Kim,” he said, covering her clasped hands with one of his. “I wanted to tell you myself. I found out during the media session today and called you right after. A journalist side-swiped me with the question. I don’t know how they…”
She shook her head, cutting him off with a humorless, harsh chuckle. “The how doesn’t matter. Not now.”
“Hala, it’s going to be okay.” He squeezed her hands, wishing he could transfer some of his warmth into her icy skin. “Yeah, the truth came out in a truly fucked-up way, but it’s going to be okay, I promise. Something new will come along, and we’ll be forgotten. It’ll blow over.”
“For who, Ronin?” she demanded, scooting back and away from him before pushing off the couch. She paced toward the fireplace, standing in front of it with her back toward him. For the first time, she seemed delicate, fragile to him, and he hated it. “For you? True. People will just wink and pat you on the back, tell you congratulations, and behind your back say ‘boys will be boys.’ For me, though? A recently divorced, single woman who is a vice-president at an internationally renowned corporation? People will doubt I can be a single mother and still do my job. They’ll gossip about how I must’ve been a one-night stand who got knocked up. Or maybe I deliberately got pregnant to trap the great Ronin Palamo, since I couldn’t keep my ex-husband, who was also a football player. I’ll get called a groupie, a jock-chaser, a pro-ho. I won’t be congratulated, I’ll just have my reputation and professional ability questioned.”
She turned around to face him, and the pain, anger, and helplessness that poured out of her lined her face, shadowed her eyes.
“I will be your ‘baby’s mama’ first, and one of the best public relations specialists in the field second.”
She’d said that before in the doctor’s office. Then, it had pissed him off, but now, when he was all in—when he wanted all of her—it sucker-punched him in the chest.
“So being a single mother doesn’t bother you, but having people know I’m the father does,” he stated flatly.
“I’m not ashamed of you, Ronin,” she murmured, crossing her arms, as if protecting herself from his accusation. “I just know how this is going to end. And when it does, you’ll move on, business as usual, and I’ll have to deal with the fallout.”
He stared at her for several seconds, a part of him wanting to cross the distance separating them and draw her into his arms. The other part longed to shake her.
Because at some point, those strings he’d been adamant about avoiding had become something he wanted…needed. When that reporter threw out the question about Kim, and he’d faced the thought of losing her, real terror had gripped him. Keeping Kim, being able to watch her grow with their child, being co-parents and lovers had become his one priority. The stark, barren future had stretched out in front of him, and he’d feared it more than experiencing pain or loss. In that moment, all of it had been more than worth the risk.
Now he had to convince this woman to take another chance on another football player. That they were worth it. “You’re so sure this—whatever this is—will end. You never considered that we could be more. That just maybe I could give you what you refuse to admit you want—a man who will stand by your side. Who will protect you. Who will always put you first. Who will be loyal and never betray you. That’s what you dream about, hala. But you won’t let yourself even hope for it.”
Her chin hiked up a notch, and the executive returned. But she couldn’t fool him; he knew her now. Knew that the icy reserve was more self-defense than who she truly was. The facade kept people at arm’s length, so she didn’t have to risk letting them in. Too bad he was already in. Too bad for her, anyway.
“I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore,” she snapped.
“No,” Ronin countered, disregarding his resolution to remain where he was. He moved forward, infiltrating her personal space. “That’s not true. You’re too afraid to believe. You live with fear, Kim. You don’t want to become involved with a football player. You want to save your reputation. You want your privacy. All those are excuses. It all boils down to you living in fear of being hurt again. Of being rejected. Of depending on someone and then being disappointed. Of failing.”
“You don’t get it, Ronin,” she damn near shouted. Pinching her nose, she squeezed her eyes close. “You don’t get it,” she repeated, softer, sadder.
“I don’t get it?” He scoffed. “Look at me.” He grasped her chin and waited until she complied. And the turmoil in those pretty gray eyes had him almost backing off. Conceding just so the pain in her gaze would evaporate. But he couldn’t. Not for him, and not for her. “You think because I catch a ball in front of thousands of people that I don’t understand fear? I’m afraid of going into another relationship when the last one fucking devastated me. I’m afraid that I can’t protect my mother, my family. I’m afraid that I’ll be a shitty father because mine was.”
He tilted her head farther back, so she had no choice but to look into his eyes and hear his next words.
“I’m afraid that all you’ll ever want is my cock, but not the man.” With his free hand, he pressed a fist to his chest. “I’m more than what I do for a living. I’m a son, a brother, a friend, a soon-to-be father. And I’m also the man who loves you.”
He dropped his hand and stepped away. Touching her, inhaling her scent, staring into her troubled, stricken gaze as his declaration sunk in was all suddenly too much.
A deep, weighty silence filled the room.
“You can’t love me,” she
finally rasped. “You don’t. Last night. You love Grace…” she stuttered.
“You’re grasping at straws, Kim.” He smiled, even though nothing remotely related to humor resided in him. “Yes, I love Grace, and I always will. She was a part of my childhood, helped shape me into the man I am today. But I can’t live in the past; you helped me realize that. So yeah, I love Grace. But I’m in love with you. And you can’t handle that. But the fact that you’re so desperate to push me away, to deny what’s right in front of you, lets me know you love me, too. You’re just too afraid to admit it and take what you want.”
“Ronin,” she whispered.
“I know your ex-husband hurt you to your soul, and in the aftermath, you had to re-identify yourself, build yourself up from the ground again. And you are one of the strongest women I know for it. But it’s that same strength that has erected this shield around your heart. I’m black and blue and bloody from throwing myself against it, trying to get in. Hala,” he murmured. “You’re going to have to open that door.”
“I can’t give you what you want from me,” she breathed, tears glinting in her eyes. She shook her head, and one rolled down her cheek. “I can’t…”
Shuddering, she lowered her arms and shifted forward. For a moment, he thought she was going to touch him. But in the end, she didn’t—just paused next to him, her arm brushing his.
“I’m sorry.”
Then she left, the soft click of the front door closing reverberating in the house like a bullet’s report.
He’d vowed after Grace that he would never hurt that bad again.
He’d been wrong.
Chapter Seventeen
The best method for keeping the mind busy was a good cleaning.
Kim lifted the iron grills from the stove and dumped them in the soapy water in the sink before returning and scrubbing down the appliance. Not that she’d done a lot of cooking in her apartment—she was the takeout queen—but dust could’ve accumulated.
Most women might not consider cleaning an ideal activity for a Friday night. But when your mind wouldn’t stop whirling and replaying the most painful moment of your life, only this task with its repetition and physicality would do.
