Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers)

by Imani King

  Rowan’s rough hands on my cold, bare skin in the mudroom. Rowan’s lips, parting mine insistently. Rowan’s hair, shaggy and long in places it shouldn’t be, his blue eyes sparkling in the sun as it rises over the mountains behind his ranch.

  It’s all too much, the memory washing over me. I never thought I’d miss anything as much as the children my body can’t have. They’ll always be with me, these fully formed pieces of my imagination, faces I won’t ever touch. But when I think for Rowan and his home, it’s richer and fuller and brighter than the sadness I’ve worn like a cloak for all these years. Maybe it’s time to carry these things in my heart, where they belong, never forgetting, always loving--but moving forward towards a new life and a new love.

  My eyes pop open, and I go to touch the little heart I painted, my fingers traveling over the bumpy surface of the oil pants that dried in rugged, uneven lines.

  “Maybe there are brighter days ahead,” I say aloud to my empty apartment. I smile, genuine and broad, and something deep inside expands in my chest. And maybe I need a plane ticket to New Mexico.

  I whip around and throw on my coat, heading off to do the second impulsive thing I’ve done since the last embryo transfer. And maybe the second impulsive thing I’ve ever done. I march down to the elevator and press the button to open the doors. It’s 9:00 AM on a Tuesday morning, and I’m going to the airport.

  My hair is a mess, my shirt is half untucked under my coat, and the last I heard, New York was predicting snow for the next two days. I look down and sift through my purse. When I look up, the elevator doors open, and standing in front of me is Rowan Corbett, or his scary doppelgänger twin. I put my hand to my chest and fall backwards against the hallway wall.

  “Rowan, are you--what are you--are you real?” I squeak the last words out, unable to fully form a thought. It looks like he’s gotten his hair cut, but the pieces of it still look out of place. The waves form into cowlicks, a nightmare for any barber. I smile slightly, but my heart is still beating fast. I was about to get on a plane to New Mexico, and here’s Rowan, standing right in front of me.

  “You said not to bother you until February.”

  My cheeks grow hot, and I think about the last day I saw Rowan. “Did I say the word ‘bother?’”

  “It was something like that, wasn’t it? Or maybe that’s what I heard.” He stands outside the doors of the elevator, holding three different envelopes in his hand. He doesn’t have any bags, but I’d guess he’s probably already checked into the Four Seasons or some shit like that. Why wouldn’t he? He’s got more money than the Queen of England. Or, probably he does. I hadn’t checked. His voice is sad and far away, like he’s come to tell me goodbye. My heart starts beating hard, and it seems like the thing I’ve been fearing will come to be. He’s forgotten me--he wants to forget me, to make sure I don’t come after him again.

  “What are those?” I nearly melt in embarrassment, because I have no idea what to say or how to react. And I have no idea what in the hell he’s doing here--unless it’s to sweep me off my feet and take me back to New Mexico like he’d promised. Fear hits me when I think about the possibility--there’s work I need to finish in New York, but it’s New Mexico that feels like home now. “Seriously, Rowan, what are you doing here?”

  “Don’t act so thrilled to see me.” One corner of his mouth lifts into a sardonic smile, an uncharacteristic expression for his open, honest face.

  “I was going to—” I start, but my throat freezes up. “I was going to—” To the airport, just say it.

  “You might not want me like I want you, but I came here for one last ditch effort to make you come home with me. And I thought since this is your home, I’d get us one here too. But with that look on your face, I think I might need to turn around and go back to the hotel.” He turns to step back into the elevator, his whole body defeated under a great weight. I stand completely still, frozen, my voice not quite cooperating with me.

  “Rowan—wait—” He turns and faces me, his eyes sad but curious. I get it now--he came here expecting me to say no, expecting me to want to stay here for the rest of my life. But I’m not the woman I was when I met him. “I was going to the airport, that’s what I was going to say. I was going to get a cheap plane ticket to New Mexico, ride in the luggage hold if I had to.” I barely croak out the words, as scared as I am.

  His face relaxes, the tension starting to leave his body. “And I came here—to ask you—”

  “So, yes. Yes to whatever it is you were going to ask me. But New Mexico is home. Or at least I think it is. We don’t need a place here—”

  Rowan steps to me and pulls me into his arms. “You just agreed to marry me, woman. And we do need an apartment here. You like it here too, don’t you?” Rowan’s already rambling on to the next thing, like he’s forgotten he just told me I was going to marry him. My heart is thudding hard, the sound of my blood rushing in my ears, heat searing through me like the waves of passion he’s brought up inside of me so many times.

  He covers my lips with his, his lips hot and strong and the slightest bit rougher than mine. The kiss we share is different than the embraces that have come before, because instead of questions and doubts, this kiss is filled with certainty.

  I guess this will be the third impulsive thing I’ve done in as many months, and the second today.

  “Let’s go now and get married, then,” I whisper when he pulls away from my lips.

  “Maybe we’ll wait a little on that one. I haven’t even given you your proposal gifts yet. And I haven’t taken you into that apartment and made you scream my name so loud all your neighbors can hear us.”

  A flood of heat rushes through my body, and just like the first time I saw Rowan, I feel swept away. It isn’t until later—much later—that I remember to ask about the engagement presents.

  “First let me slip this ring on your finger. It’s a sapphire. I thought you’d like it better than a diamond.” He slips the platinum ring, with its princess cut sapphire flanked by two diamonds onto my ring finger, and it’s the only thing I’m wearing.

  And for just then, it’s the only thing I want to wear. I’m not much of a jewelry girl, but this is the one piece I’ll enjoy for the rest of my life.

  “Now let me show you the pictures of the art studio. Well, pictures don’t quite do it justice... but you’ll get the idea just the same.”

  CADENCE

  Epilogue

  “I’m scared Rowan,” I say. I wipe my clammy hands on the paint-stained jeans I used to paint the mural over a year ago. These jeans, along with every piece of my clothing, slowly made it back to the ranch over the past fifteen months. Rowan, like a man from ages past, is watching me over the newspaper that he gets delivered each morning. He’d switched from the local news paper to The New York Times when I moved out here, even though I don’t give a damn about current events. I wipe my hands again and start pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “I’m scared,” I say again. But he just keeps watching me and rattles his paper as he turns the page again.

  Eliza gets up from her bed under the table and paces behind me, like she knows what we’re waiting for.

  Rowan clears his throat, and I can tell he’s thinking about what to say next. “The last transfer didn’t work, but now we’re good for another round. And we’ve got our application in at the adoption agency. We’re all clear, sweetheart. What we got is a family on the way, no matter what.”

  Tears come to my eyes and I keep pacing. It seems that a sudden well of emotion has been released from deep inside of me, hitting me all at once. But I keep walking in circles, touching my fingertips against the smooth granite surface. I was right that Rowan wanted children. In all of this time, there’s been no pressure from him. But the spark of joy I saw on his face a few months back when I said I was ready to try IVF again--that expression said it all.

  *Woman, I’ll love you every day of my life no matter what. But I’ll be over the damn moon if we can be parents tog
ether.

  And I would be too. I can’t think of anyone kinder and more generous, a more perfect person to start a real life with. But I’m no good with these real life things, and my body has failed me again. I haven’t told him how painful it is to be so betrayed. Not for the first time, I wonder why I subjected myself to all of this again. But when I imagine that strong, honest face with its perpetual stubble and the plaid shirts that a man in New York wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, I smile and realize why. It’s the reason I came back here with this man. It’s the reason for doing every bit of this over again. He’s my reason.

  “Baby, stop. Darling, I hate to see you like this.” He shakes out the paper and sets it down on the table, and I stop in front of him, staring deep into those blue eyes. “We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to set ourselves up for another round of this shit if we don’t want to. I told you, we can build up our family however we want. It doesn’t have to come from us, like this.”

  I wipe away the tears that are starting to form. “Maybe just this one cycle. The doctor hear sounded much more positive about the embryos than my doctor in New York ever did. Just this once.” My voice starts to crack again, but I stop it before I break down in the middle of the kitchen into an emotional puddle.

  “All we’re doing today is a doctor’s appointment. Figuring out the right combo of shots, the right process. We’ve got the best doctor in El Paso--and he’s assured me the whole damn state of Texas and all of New Mexico while we’re at it. If you want to keep trying, we’ll find a doctor in Albuquerque, or we’ll fly out to Austin. Or Dallas. Or Houston.” Rowan walks up to me and takes me by the arms. “That’s the thing, baby. We’ve got money. We’ve got time. And I’ve got you. That’s all I need.” He traces his fingers lightly over my arms, and the rush of electricity zaps between us, hitting me straight in my center. Bending toward me, he presses his lips to mine, light and tender at first and then hungry, hot, and searching. Even through all of the doctor’s appointments, through all of the shots and anesthesia and lost wishes, he’s stayed desperately hungry for me, taking me when he wants and never letting me forget that I’m strong, sensual, and totally, completely *his.

  “Let’s go in early and get this over with if we can. Then we’ll go to that Argentinian place with the empanadas. I want--“ I close my eyes and imagine it. “The one with the grilled beef inside, and the cilantro sauce.”

  “Nothing gets me more excited than you talking about food,” he growls, squeezing my ass hard. “And my god woman, I love a good empanada.” I think about the date, about the apartment that Rowan bought when we started the treatments again, about it all. And I calm myself.

  It’ll be a retreat, a beautiful stay.

  “I’ll pack my bag,” I say. My stomach gives a nervous leap like it always does when we’re about to leave for El Paso. But maybe this time, we’ll get lucky. Stranger things have happened.

  ***

  When the jet touches down in El Paso, Rowan already has a limo waiting for us outside. I roll my eyes and laugh. After my one encounter with Rowan’s limo driver and porter, I learned to drive his Range Rover and haven’t looked back. But for this occasion, I’ll be happy to sit back for a little while.

  “Ms. Albright, your ride awaits.” His voice is full of positivity and light, and he grips my hand as he takes my bag over his shoulder.

  “I’m still nervous,” I say. “But maybe a little less.” I slip into the limo, and we hold hands in silence during the ride over.

  “Congratulations,” the nurse says when she walks in. “Are you guys having an ultrasound today?” My heart immediately sinks all the way to the pit of my stomach.

  Rowan looks at me, searing pain clearly in his eyes. “No, God no. We’re here to talk about the next egg retrieval. We were waiting the two months between the first try and coming back here again.” He grabs my hand and holds it hard.

  I’m old hat at this kind of loss, the horrible comments from nurses and even doctors, the ones who carelessly assume that everything is fine. I’ve even found my fair share of that type of person at fertility clinics. I squeeze his hand back. The nurse looks back and forth between the two of us, clearly confused.

  “Let me go get the doctor,” she says, and she puts her hand to her chest like she’s seen a ghost. She exits quietly, and Rowan and I look at each other in confusion. Tears are threatening to prick at my eyes, but I swallow them, like I have so many times before. The quiet in the room feels deafening until we hear the click of dress shoes in the hallway outside of the exam room we’re waiting in. The doctor steps in the room and sits down across from us, an unreadable look on his face.

  “Rowan, Cadence.” He looks at us and smiles warmly. Again, I’m grateful for Rowan’s connections in El Paso. “We have some news that changes things for the egg retrieval.”

  “What?” I blurt out. “Were there problems with my blood panels from yesterday? Problems with the hormones--or whatever the heck you were testing for--“

  “Well,” the doctor starts, looking between the both of us again. “I’m glad you’re sitting down. We were checking your blood for the remaining HCG from the last round of injections. And to our surprise, we found HCG consistent with a pregnancy between six and eight weeks gestation.”

  My mouth drops open. “That’s not possible. That’s not at all possible. I was told that I couldn’t get pregnant naturally, ever.” I’m shaking my head, my heart racing fast as the doctor keeps looking at us with a pleased look on his face.

  “It’s possible. I’ve been in this business twenty years or so, and I’ve seen a lot of things happen that were, shall we say, unexpected.”

  “This is what we’ve been waiting before. This is wonderful news, Doc,” Rowan says. Rowan’s tone is casual, friendly, and nothing about it touches the mix of excitement and terror that I’m feeling right now.

  But right now, I know this is everything. This is all that we’ve been waiting for … and more.

  And I’m never letting him—or this beautiful baby—go. This journey is finally done, and we can relax, together at last.

  Love Bad Boy Ballers?

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  Gryphon

  Creaking open the door, I'm hit with the smell of perfume, alcohol and the sight of women. So many women. There's gotta be a fine girl in here that I can forget my troubles with. Just a few hours of semi-sentient pussy, that's enough for me. All I want is to feel her lips wrap around me—both sets.

  And then oblivion will be mine.

  At least until tomorrow morning, anyway. And that's all I need.

  Maneuvering through this bar is reminding me of being on the field, getting through the sea of guys wanting to take me down.

  Just like she wants to take me down.

  There I go, thinking about it again.

  Don't think. Drink.

  “Yeah, I'll have a whiskey, neat. And a beer,” I say, sitting my ass down at the bar. From my perfect vantage point here, I can see the chicks as they walk in. I’m looking good and can tell I’m already drawing a few stares. If all goes as planned I should have a full buffet of women to choose from before the evening is through.

  The whiskey comes, in a heavy glass, just the way I like it. I down it, which settles my lawsuit nerves a bit and I relax and can concentrate on the thing that will top the night off perfectly: finding the sexiest woman I can, to suck my dick.

  Thank heaven there's a baseball game on the screen. It doesn't stress me out like football might. I glance at it and, during the commercials, evaluate the talent in tonight's bar.

  There are the soccer moms in the center of the room with their short haircuts and overly brittle laughs—too high maintenance and not all that feminine, but you know they’d work hard in bed with a man like me. The barely-legals are in the corner trying to case the joint themselves, just in case someone figures out that maybe they should be showing some ID. Too young. And then there are the marr
ied couples having a date night—longing in their eyes, but not for the one they’re with. They've got nothing to say to each other—just looking around aimlessly, careful not to let their eyes settle on any one person for too long lest the accusations start.