Perfect Spiral (A Playing Dirty Sports Romance Book 2)

by Lane Hart

  Knowing yelling and freaking out won’t do any good, I pull out my phone and try to call her. She wouldn’t talk to me before, though, so I seriously doubt she’ll answer now. It goes to her voicemail, so I lay it all out for her in the recording, from the moment I first checked in and saw the girl, to her coming to my room last night, and the fact that I turned her down, and then her waiting for me in my room this afternoon. I beg Callie to believe me.

  The next night when I get home, Kelsey’s car is in the driveway but not Callie’s.

  “Hey,” I say to Kelsey when I come dragging through the door. My first stop is to check on Brady, who is sleeping in her arms. She hands him over to me, and I sit down on the sofa cradling him to me.

  “Have you seen Callie?” I ask.

  “She came by to get Felix and her things in the middle of the night,” she informs me. “What the heck happened, Quinton? Did you react badly to the news?”

  I shake my head, wishing I could forget the look on Callie’s face when she saw the naked slut in my room.

  Wait a second…

  “What news?” I ask Kelsey in confusion.

  Her mouth forms a big O before she looks away. “Nothing.”

  “What news, Kelsey?” I ask again, but I already know.

  Goddamn it.

  “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” I ask, getting to my feet. “Kelsey?” I beg when I lower Brady back into her arms. “Is she? Please tell me. Is that why…is that why she came to California?” I ask, my voice cracking with emotion.

  “Yes,” she answers softly, nearly bringing me to my knees.

  God, Callie must have been so fucking excited; and even though she was sick, she flew out to tell me the news in person that I’m gonna be a father again. Then she walked into that shit in my room…

  “I’ve got to go try and see her,” I tell Kelsey, wiping the moisture from my face.

  “Sure, I’ll be here,” she says. “Good luck. I don’t know what you did, but it must have been epic if she didn’t tell you. She was so happy.”

  “It was,” I agree before jogging out to my car and speeding over to Callie’s house.

  The lights are all off, but her car is in the driveway.

  Banging on the front door with my fist, I call her name and beg her to answer. In fact, the knock and beg routine goes on until the blue lights show up at the curb and two officers shining flashlights approach me.

  “Sir, the lady who lives here has reported a disturbance. You need to leave,” one of them says.

  “She’s having my baby, and I just want to see her and tell her I’m sorry,” I explain as I rest my forehead on the wooden fixture.

  “Come on, big man. Time to go,” an officer says, grabbing my elbow to pull me away. “You’re Quinton Dunn!” he exclaims when he sees my face.

  “Yep,” I agree, not resisting as he guides me back to my car. “Could I use your phone to call her? She won’t answer my calls.”

  “Sorry, sir. Sometimes you have to give them some room to breathe.”

  “But I can’t breathe without her,” I tell him.

  “Now that’s about the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” the cop says. “Go home and try again tomorrow. You’re Quinton Dunn; she has to forgive you!”

  With a nod, I reluctantly get into my car. The police officers stand in the front yard and watch until I leave.

  On the drive home, I send up a prayer, promising that I would give anything to talk to Callie, to beg her to believe me.

  And then, I want to take it back when Kelsey wakes me up at four a.m.

  Callie’s on the way to the hospital because she thinks she’s having a miscarriage.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Callie

  I didn’t think it was possible to be more heartbroken than the night I caught my husband screwing my sister in our house, or Sunday afternoon when I found Quinton with another woman. But I was absolutely wrong.

  Early Tuesday morning when I woke up and saw the spotting, I fell into a darkness so bleak I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way out.

  Kelsey called late last night and told me that she was sorry for letting the news slip with Quinton. She assumed he already knew. I couldn’t be upset with her for telling him. And on the way to the hospital, I called Kelsey and told her to let Quinton know what’s happening.

  And while he has a right to know what’s going on as the father, the angry, devastated woman I am, I also want him to blame himself for being the reason I’m losing our son or daughter. I want him to hate himself for what he did, for upsetting me, so that maybe a little of the guilt I’m drowning in can be lifted. It’s probably all my fault for traveling while I was sick and then getting so worked up over being hurt again.

  Curled up in the fetal position in the emergency room bed, I sob into the pillow until it’s soaking wet with my tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Callie,” Quinton says when he comes into the curtained off room.

  Feeling his hand on my hair, I don’t pull away or yell at him. I’m too weak, emotionally and physically. So, I let him hold me and comfort me, even though I hate him.

  “Miss Clarke? Sorry to bother you, but I need to draw some blood,” a nurse says sometime later. Quinton lets me go, and I roll to my back and pull my arms out from the sheets to give her access. When Quinton offers me a handful of tissues, I accept them and dry my face with my left hand while the nurse draws a few vials of blood from my right.

  “Have they told you anything?” Quinton asks softly once the nurse leaves.

  “Only that they won’t know for sure until they do some tests and an ultrasound.”

  “So there’s still a chance?” he asks, and I nod, trying to remain optimistic; but between the cramps and bleeding, I know there’s not much hope.

  “Callie, I don’t want to upset you even more, but that woman you saw in my room Sunday worked at the hotel. That’s how she had a key to my room and was inside before I got there. Here’s the business card for the operations manager who I met with, and he fired her that same day. You can call him and talk to him. And if you want to see them, I have the videos from Saturday night in the hallway when I turned her down, and she left without ever coming in my room, and Sunday when she went into the room fifteen minutes before me,” he says, sliding a card under my hand. “I know it looked bad, but I promise you, I never touched her and wouldn’t have touched her even if you hadn’t been there.”

  “How can I possibly believe that, Quinton?” I ask him, my voice wavering.

  “Because it’s the truth, the only truth there is,” he says. “And because I love you, so much that there is nothing and no one who could ever make me do something to hurt you. It’s killing me to see you upset now. You don’t trust me, I get that, but believe this --- I will do whatever it takes to change your mind.”

  “Maybe you should just leave,” I tell him as more tears fill my eyes. “I don’t want to think about this right now.”

  “Please, Callie. Just give me the benefit of the doubt. Watch the video. And then if you want me to leave, I will, even though I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  Glancing around the sterile, curtained room, waiting and worrying that the life inside me is slowly slipping away, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. But if what Quinton is telling me is really true, maybe we could move past this, because I truly do need him, whether I want to admit it or not.

  “Fine,” I agree, swiping away the tears from underneath my eyes.

  Quickly pulling out his phone, Quinton gets the video started and then offers the device to me.

  “This is Saturday,” he says, and I watch as the scantily clad blonde woman in a red dress walks off the elevator and strolls up to a room where she knocks. From the angle, it’s hard to see much of Quinton except for the occasional glimpse of his profile. He remains inside the room, with the woman in the hallway, her body language making it clear what she wants, especially when she reaches for Quinton’s pants, but he re
moves her hand before she turns and walks back to the elevators.

  The video skips, and then the same blonde appears in the hallway, this time in a bright pink dress. She doesn’t knock on the door, but instead, slips a key card into the reader and walks right in. The video fast-forwards until Quinton appears at the room and goes inside, right before I step off the elevator. Since there’s no fast forward, I’m assuming it was only a few minutes.

  Obviously, he didn’t have time to sleep with her, not that I figured that he had when I was there. I assumed he was getting ready to when I knocked.

  And did he actually send her away Saturday, or could there be other video that shows she came back later and he let her inside?

  “You still don’t believe me,” Quinton mutters when he takes his phone from my hand.

  “I…I don’t know,” I admit.

  Taking my hand in his, he says, “Please don’t do this to me, Callie. I love you, and I need you to trust me, because I don’t want to lose you.”

  Before I can respond, the nurse returns to the room with another woman in green scrubs pushing a wheelchair. “They’re ready to take you over to radiology for your transvaginal ultrasound,” she says.

  “Okay,” I agree, my stomach turning flips with nervousness. And I realize that I don’t want to let go of Quinton’s hand just yet. “Can he come too?” I ask them.

  “Yeah, of course,” the nurse agrees before helping me to the wheelchair even though I’m fine to walk. The bleeding and cramps aren’t that severe; it’s the emotional pain that’s crippling me.

  “Thank you,” Quinton says to me once we’re out of the ER and starting down the hallway. The aide pushes me in the wheelchair, and he walks beside us.

  Several people we pass recognize Quinton, and he says hello back to be nice, but I can hear the tenseness in his voice. He’s probably just as worried as I am; and no matter what happens between us, this is his baby too.

  I’m taken to an exam table in the radiology department, and from there, another woman in scrubs comes in and sits down at the equipment next to me.

  “Hi, I’m Denise, and I’ll be conducting the transvaginal ultrasound. Have you ever had one of these performed before?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “I have endometriosis.”

  “Okay, well, that’s good in a way, because some people freak out the first time even though I assure them it’s completely painless.”

  Once she prepares the wand with a latex cover and lubricates it, she inserts it with Quinton observing silently.

  “So you’ve been having some cramps and bleeding?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, and then hold my breath while watching the screen as she begins moving it around.

  “Let’s see what we can find. Here’s the gestational sac,” she tells us, pointing to the black circle on the screen. “But it’s just too early to see anything else. You’re only about four weeks out from the date of conception, right?”

  “Yes, so that’s normal?” I ask, thinking there should be more to see.

  “It is,” she says.

  “Okay, thanks,” I reply, disappointed that there’s not an actual baby on the screen.

  Back in the ER, Quinton and I sit in silence, waiting for the doctor to provide us with more news. He paces around the small space, and the constant movement only makes me even more nervous.

  “Could you please sit down?” I eventually ask him.

  “Sorry,” he says, flopping back down in the plastic chair beside the bed. “I just want them to tell us what’s going on.”

  “I know,” I reply.

  “How’s your cold?” he asks, probably just to have something to talk about.

  “Better, finally,” I answer, which is followed by more silence.

  There are no televisions back here, and I’m not sure where my phone is. Quinton doesn’t have his out and in his hands either. So we have nothing to do but remain silent, making the time go by even slower, or talk to each other. Giving in because I want to have something else to think about as a distraction, I finally tell him, “I, um, I finished Brady’s outfit for Wednesday if you want to take him out.”

  “Thanks,” Quinton looks over at me and replies with a small smile. “Guess he’s too young for trick or treating…but since it’s his first Halloween, he should at least dress up for photos.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Bianca always loved Halloween. Even when she was a teenager she liked to dress up for school.”

  “Oh, really?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I would try to talk her into staying home with me, but she would find some party to go to and get drunk. Later that night, I would usually end up having to go pick her up and drag her home.”

  “I’m sorry, Callie,” Quinton says, reaching for my hand again, and I don’t try to pull away. “It sounds like you spent a lot of time taking care of her.”

  “She was stubborn and wouldn’t listen to me, always repeating the same mistakes, hurting herself over and over again.”

  “That was her fault, not yours. You couldn’t make her change if she didn’t want to.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” I admit. “So maybe it’s hard for me to believe that anyone can change.”

  “I’m not her. Or your ex-husband,” Quinton says. “And I haven’t claimed that I’ve changed, because I haven’t. The difference is that before, I didn’t love the women I was with. That’s why I couldn’t commit to any of them. Even if I had, it never would have lasted. But this, us, we have something special, and I would never do anything to ruin it.”

  “All it takes is one moment of weakness,” I tell him, the words and tears burning my throat.

  “Nothing I say or do will prove to you that you’re it for me. Not saying I love you, or getting married, or having a baby together. It’s up to you to decide if I’m worth taking the chance on,” Quinton says softly. “You have to trust me; and if you don’t, well, then this will never work. But if there’s anything for certain that you know about me it’s that I’m not weak. There won’t be any moments of weakness either.”

  “Why would you want me when you could have anyone else?” I ask since that’s the part I’ve never understood.

  “Because you are the only woman that I’ve ever needed in my life, so I would give anything to keep you. You don’t make it easy on me, and never will. That’s what I love about you. I’ll always have to work at it to feel like I deserve you. But if I’m able to win you over, I’ll know I’ve actually earned it.”

  “That sounds like a lot of work,” I admit.

  “It is worth it. You are worth it,” he replies, lifting my knuckles to his lips so he can kiss them. “I like a challenge, so why would I ever take the easy way?”

  “You didn’t want her, in San Francisco?” I ask him.

  “No. I wanted you there with me, because win or lose, you’re the only person I want to be with. That’s why I begged you to come,” he assures me. “In fact, I want a do-over. You should’ve been the one to tell me the news, not Kelsey by accident. You still haven’t actually.”

  “Quinton,” I start, wetting my dry lips to say the words that I hope won’t be contradicted anytime soon. “I’m pregnant. We’re gonna have a baby. But I’ve had some cramps and spotting…”

  “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so fucking happy to hear that. And everything is gonna be fine, you’ll see,” he says, dropping my hand to wrap me in his arms.

  “I hope so,” I say against his chest, breathing in his comforting woodsy scent in. “God, I really hope so.”

  “It will be,” Quinton replies, kissing the top of my head and then my cheek. “This is my kid we’re talking about, and I bet she’s also strong and determined like her mother.”

  “She?” I pull back from his chest to ask him. “It could be a boy.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” he says with a crooked grin before his lips brush mine.

  Even though it’s only been a few days, it feels like a lifetime si
nce the last time we kissed. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed Quinton.

  Trusting him is scary, but the alternative is even more frightening. I don’t want to lose him or what we have that’s so good, better than anything I’ve ever imagined.

  Our kiss deepens, our tongues becoming reacquainted, right before someone clears their throat and interrupts.

  “Miss Clarke? Hi, I’m Dr. Trevor. I’ve got some good news,” the man in a white lab coat says. “Your HCG levels are up significantly from the lab work you had on Saturday, which is a great sign. The ultrasound confirms that the pregnancy is not ectopic. So we’re gonna send you home to rest, but I’m sure your OB/GYN will want to schedule you for more labs on Thursday and a follow-up ultrasound in a few weeks.”

  “That’s great, thank you,” I tell him with a smile.

  “The cramping and spotting this early in the pregnancy is pretty normal. Just notify your doctor if it becomes heavy or unbearable. Let me get your paperwork, and you’ll be ready to go,” he says before leaving.

  “See, everything is gonna be fine,” Quinton says, pulling me to him for another kiss. “Come home with me so I can take care of you?”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Let’s go home.”

  Epilogue

  Quinton

  Eight months later…

  “Come on, baby. You can do this,” I tell Callie, pushing the sweaty hair back from her face.

  “I hate you,” she growls. “You’re never touching me again!”

  If she weren't in so much pain, I would probably laugh since me touching her is not only how she got knocked up, but it’s also what the doctors say was the catalyst that helped put her in labor last night. As it is, Callie’s now ten centimeters dilated and has been pushing for almost an hour. She refused all pain medicine until about fifteen minutes ago, when she offered her life savings and mine to the doctor if she would hook her up.

  It would have been money well spent too, but the doctor told her it’s too late for pain medicine and that she needs to keep pushing or they’ll have to do a fucking C-section.