Rough Play: A Football Romance

by Kira Ward

  Are you pregnant?

  Yes, Magnus. I’m having your baby.

  But he never asked.

  And now…why am I surprised? I knew who he was when I agreed to go out with him. Just because he made a huge donation to the art programs in my school district, just because he made my dad’s dream of seeing a Cowboys game live come true, just because he was smart and intelligent and kind and sexy…

  I knew who he was and he’s just stayed true to that. I shouldn’t be surprised.

  My heart jumps into my throat when he comes bounding through the door.

  “Hey! Fully dressed today, huh?” He drops his bag by the door and comes into the sitting room, ready to scoop me up like he did the day before. But I stand and step out of his way. A weariness instantly comes over his handsome face. “What?”

  “A teacher from my school sent me a link to a TMZ page. I wasn’t going to look at it because I try not to look at things about you anymore because I know most of it is exaggeration and bullshit. But this…” I shake my head, tears coming into my eyes despite my resolution that I’d hear him out, that I wouldn’t get emotional about all this. But hormones make that impossible. “I just…I wish you had warned me.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and stands there with his legs slightly spread, looking for all the world like a man getting ready to defend himself. I was so hoping there was a good explanation, but an innocent man doesn’t need to defend himself, does he?

  “I told you about the party.”

  “You did. But you didn’t tell me you hooked up with some girl while you were there.”

  His eyes fall to the floor. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

  “It’s not what you think, Cricket,” he says softly.

  “Then what is it? These pictures…she was touching you and you didn’t seem all that opposed to it.”

  “I danced with her. Then I left her on the dance floor to go call you.”

  “That’s not what it looks like.”

  “She followed me. We talked for a minute. That’s all.”

  I want to believe him. I really do.

  I run my fingers through my hair, turning to look out the windows again.

  “This is what my life is,” he says. “People are going to take pictures of me and they’re going to say things about me. I can’t control that.”

  “You can control your own behavior.”

  “Yes. But I’m not going to become a monk just because we’re doing whatever it is we’re doing here.”

  “What exactly are we doing?” I turn to face him again. “What is this to you?”

  He studies my face for a second, then shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t know.”

  That hurts like scalding hot water poured over my head. I feel my face burn and then go completely cold. I snort, a sound that’s almost like a sob. “That’s funny,” I say over the lump in my throat, “because I thought we were in a relationship.”

  He doesn’t say anything and that settles the pain even deeper in my belly. I brush past him and grab my overnight bag from the closet where I stowed it, shoving the few things I’d taken out back inside.

  “What are you doing?”

  I shake my head, tears I didn’t even realize I was crying flying from my cheeks.

  “Cricket.” He comes up behind me and touches my shoulders. I pull away, shoving the last of my things in the bag and striding for the door.

  “Cricket,” he repeats, a little more insistence in his voice.

  I look back at him. “Some of us have to be responsible adults. I don’t have time to play games with someone who doesn’t know what he wants.”

  “Why can’t we just have fun? Why does this have to be defined?”

  “Because that’s what I need. I need to know that I can trust you and that our futures are heading in the same direction. But it’s pretty clear that that’s not true. And I…” I stop because I’m so close to telling him the truth and I don’t want to do it this way. I study his face for a second, my heart ripping into a million pieces because I put a lot of faith in the idea that he’d want me enough to do the right thing when he learned the truth. But now I know that’s not true and it hurts like hell. “I don’t want to fall in love with someone who can’t love me back.”

  There’s silence behind me as I open the door and step out. He doesn’t even try to come after me.

  That tells me more than I want to know.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Magnus

  The Browns kick our asses on Sunday. I can’t seem to concentrate. Every pass I throw misses the mark. Every play seems to go wrong. I even fumble three times—a career low. Afterward, my teammates refuse to speak to me, refuse to even look me in the eye. I can’t really blame them. And coach…I know I’m in for an ass kicking Monday at the weekly meeting. But for right now, they leave me alone with my own thoughts. I almost wish they would yell at me.

  I sit alone on the plane back to Jersey, my phone in my hand. I want to call Cricket, want to make things right. But I keep hearing all these things in my head. Her dad telling me to end things before she gets hurt. My dad telling me I’m not good enough. And my own worries that she’s too much of a distraction. There are so many reasons to end things with Cricket. But there are just as many reasons to be with her, too.

  I lean forward in my seat and squeeze my phone in my hands, wanting to break something. My thoughts keep going back to our argument, to the things I should have said. And to that stupid party I never should have gone to. The pictures are right there on my phone, saved on the browser so that I can torture myself with them.

  I wasn’t lying when I told Cricket that it was fairly innocent. I did dance with her. That was my first mistake. But that was all. I could have taken her back to my place, could have spent the night with her. But I didn’t.

  “You’re Magnus Fuller, aren’t you?” she says, coming up to me where I’m standing at the bar with a couple of teammates.

  “I am.”

  “Do you want to dance?”

  I smile a charming smile, my fallback position. “I’m just having a drink with friends.”

  “Just one dance. I promise I won’t bother you again.”

  So I go, letting her lead the way with her fingers laced in mine. The music switches as we face each other on the narrow dance floor, becoming a slow song that requires a lot of touching.

  “I’m Anna, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  She snuggles up close to me, her hands on the small of my back, her head against my chest. I think it will be a good story for her to tell her friends in the months and years to come. Nothing more. My mind wanders during the dance, my thoughts moving from the game we just played to the games coming up, but always drifting back to Cricket.

  When the song is over, I pull away. “Thank you,” I say politely.

  I walk away, not even aware she’s following me until she grabs my arm out on the back porch of the bar. I have my phone in my hand, preparing to call Cricket. She reaches up and kisses me, her hands pressed to my chest. For a second, I kiss her back. It’s instinctive. My hand even comes up to touch the side of her face. But then I pull away.

  “I have a girlfriend.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Do you?”

  “I do. And I was about to call her.”

  She tries to move into me again, but I pull back, raising my arms to keep from accidentally touching her.

  “Please.”

  She looks at me for a long moment, then shakes her head. “Just my luck, the man whore of the NFL straightens himself out just when I meet him.” And she walks away.

  I’m not sure if I should laugh or be angry.

  I turn away and call Cricket instead.

  I should have told her about the party, about the pictures I should have known would hit the internet at some point. Everyone has a phone these days, everyone has the capacity to take pictures. I should have known that nothin
g would stay private.

  I want to call her. I want to make this right. I want to be with Cricket, want to spend the rest of my life with her tucked in my bed beside me. But I’ve worked so hard to get here, worked so hard to be the man I am now. Can I really let my feelings for one woman ruin it all?

  I want to call her. But I don’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cricket

  I feel like I’m living in a fog. I go to school, go home. I lay in bed trying to keep down the food I’ve eaten so ravenously all day, struggling to get a little sleep despite the nausea. Then I’m so exhausted during the day that I can hardly keep my eyes open. It’s a vicious cycle made worse when I have to get up at dawn on a Saturday to escort the drama club to their regional competition for one-act play. I fall asleep on the bus, much to my own embarrassment when I wake and find that I’ve drooled over the shoulder of my blouse.

  “You okay?” Amelia asks.

  “Yeah. I just have trouble sleeping.”

  She studies my face. “You and Magnus—“

  I stiffen. “He hasn’t called. No texts. I think that’s pretty clear.”

  “I’m sorry.” She lays her hand over mine. “Maybe he’ll come around after football season.”

  I shake my head, trying to ignore the tears that are welling in my eyes. Amelia just touches my knee.

  It’s been almost two weeks since I walked out on Magnus in Cleveland. They lost in Cleveland, but trampled Pittsburg. They play Dallas again tomorrow in Jersey. I wonder if he thinks about me. I wonder if he’s seen the memes people have been passing around the internet of the ball hitting the side of my head in that opener game. It seems like so much time has passed since then. A lifetime. But really it’s only been months.

  We arrive at the high school where the competition is to take place. The kids are nervous and excited, so it takes some work to corral them and get them into their costumes. It distracts me. But then we go to sit in the auditorium to watch the other plays and I fall asleep in the middle of it. I’m so embarrassed when I wake up. And then someone orders pizza and my stomach just can’t deal with that.

  I spend our team’s entire performance in the bathroom. It’s so bad that one of the other drama teachers goes and gets Amelia, afraid that I’m in need of a hospital.

  “Cricket?” she calls as she comes into the bathroom.

  “Go back out. I’m okay.”

  “Cricket, are you sick?”

  “I’m fine. Please, Amelia…”

  She leaves, but only after a long hesitation. I manage to pull myself together and get back out into the auditorium in time for the award announcements.

  We win first place.

  The kids celebrate all the way home with laughter and singing and general rowdy behavior, making it impossible for Amelia and I to speak. And when we get back to the school, I sneak out the moment the coast is clear and go home, falling into bed without bothering to undress. I’m so exhausted I can hardly stand myself. It’s so bad that I call my mom in the morning and make an excuse to avoid going to Sunday night dinner. It’s the first Sunday dinner I’ve missed since I graduated college.

  It’s not until Wednesday afternoon that Amelia finally manages to drag me out of the school and insist I tell her what’s going on. We go to lunch at a little deli downtown and sit outside on the porch. The weather is finally turning cold, but it’s a lovely afternoon with a soft breeze. And I’m starving.

  “Philip told me you had a sub yesterday afternoon so you could go to the doctor?”

  I look up from my sandwich. “I thought I told you. I had an appointment across town.”

  She studies my face a long minute. “What’s going on with you, Cricket?”

  I shrug. “The Giants pulverized the Cowboys the other night. Doesn’t bode well for the playoffs.”

  “I don’t mean football or Magnus or any of that. I mean, what’s going on with you? You’re coming to work exhausted and getting sick at the competition. And someone said you were sick at the PTA meeting the other night.”

  I shrug again, lifting my sandwich to my mouth. “I’m just taking on too much.”

  “Then you go to the doctor…”

  “Amelia, I’m fine. Really.”

  “There’s a rumor going around the school that you’re drinking. And some other people are saying that you have cancer.”

  I groan. “You know me better than that.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m scared.” She leans across the table and touches my hand. “I even went to your dad. He says that you missed Sunday dinner this weekend.” She shook her head. “He’s worried, too. But he thinks you’re just hurting over Magnus.”

  I glance across the patio, watching a young family walk through the parking lot. Tears fill my eyes. Hormones. That’s the real hard part of all this. My emotions are all over the place and I can’t seem to keep them in check. I’ve always been in control of my emotions. This is new and unsettling.

  “Cricket—“

  “I miss him,” I say, glancing at her. “But he’s clearly made his choice. And I made mine.”

  “But if that’s what’s going on here—“

  “It’s not. I’m not drinking. I’m not losing sleep over him. It’s just…”

  I stop. I haven’t actually said the words out loud except in my doctor’s office. And that was hard enough. It’s like if I say the words out loud, it’ll make it real somehow. Not that the morning sickness and the exhaustion and the sore nipples and the bloating and the food cravings wasn’t enough to prove that it was real.

  I run my fingers through my hair, focusing on this person who has been my best friend since I took the job at my old high school. She’s quirky and funny and she’s always been there for me. It seems that if I’m going to tell anyone, she should be one of the first. But there’s still this part of me that feels like I should make an attempt to tell Magnus first.

  I’ve written a dozen emails, a couple of texts, ran the words over in my head a million times, trying to find a way to tell him. But every time I change my mind, convinced that it’s just not the right time, the right words, or the right method. But I know I have to tell him soon. I’m ten weeks. My lower belly is already beginning to bulge out just slightly as my body changes with the growth of the baby. In a month or so, the whole world will be able to see my baby bump. Wouldn’t it be a shock if I’ve still not told anyone by then?

  Amelia is watching me closely, concern making her eyes big and wide.

  “Look, if I tell you this, you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone else. I haven’t told my parents or Magnus…I really need to tell them first.”

  She begins to frown, but then her expression softens and then brightens, an evolution of emotions dancing over her face. And then she suddenly cries out. “You’re pregnant?”

  I nod. Amelia launches herself at me, hugging me so close that I almost can’t breathe. I laugh as she swings me back and forth a little. Then she sits down again and regards me.

  “Are you…I mean, how far along?”

  “Ten weeks.”

  “Wow! How long have you known?”

  “Since right before Thanksgiving.”

  “Wow!” She shakes her head as she stares at me. Then she suddenly sobers. “But Magnus doesn’t know?”

  “I tried to tell him, but then we had that fight and things just sort of fell apart.”

  She leans forward and takes my hand. “You’ve got to tell him, Cricket.”

  “I know.”

  “He might surprise you. He might want to be a part of it.”

  “And he might run for the hills.”

  Amelia studies my face for a long moment. Then she shakes her head again. “I don’t think so. Frank’s told me some things about Magnus. He’s not really the guy people think he is.”

  “I know.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “He’s a good man. He’s just not the kind of guy whose ready for a commitment and a kid.”

  “Y
ou don’t know that.”

  “I do. He had a bad childhood and he’s still struggling with issues from that. I don’t think he’ll be able to commit to me or anyone else until he deals with his past.”

  Amelia inclines her head. “Frank thinks he’s in love with you.”

  I blush. “Frank’s off base.”

  “He says that he’s never seen Magnus act the way he does when he’s with you. He says its affected everything from his attitude to his actions on the field.”

  I shake my head again. “Frank is a nice guy, and I believe he cares about Magnus. But he’s never seen us together.”

  “But he spends a lot of time with Magnus. He probably knows him better than anyone else.”

  “Which is why you aren’t telling him anything about this conversation.”

  “Will you tell Magnus?”

  I pick at my sandwich a minute. “Of course. Soon.”

  I go home that night and fall into bed. I’ve discovered that if I skip dinner, it seems to help with the morning sickness. Of course I’m starving by morning, but at least I don’t have to deal with the nausea and the vomiting in the middle of the night.

  The phone begins ringing before my alarm goes off. I roll over and pick it up, thinking that maybe it’s something important, but I don’t recognize the number. I ignore the call and roll over, but then the phone begins ringing again. And then my landline rings. It’s like a symphony going on in my little house. I grab my cell and answer, thinking it must be important.

  “Cricket Monahan? Is it true that Magnus Fuller is the father of your baby? Is it true that you haven’t told him yet? When were you planning on telling him?”

  “What?” I mumble, sitting up.

  “TMZ released a report last night stating that you’re ten weeks pregnant with Magnus Fuller’s baby. There’s even a sonogram pic.”

  My heart sinks. How the hell did they get that?