“God willing,” I laugh, taking another sip of beer.
Even if Tom won’t take the credit he deserves, I’m forever grateful for everything he’s done for my family this year. He offered us all the financial support we could possibly need to get started. We were able to pay for all of Jessa and Rowan’s medical care, the insane amount of baby supplies, you name it. Our son’s full name isn’t Rowan Thomas Carter for nothing.
“Now remember,” my dad says, returning from the kitchen with a fresh beer, “Play it cool when the coach gives you a call, all right? Don’t go losing your head and acting like—”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to keep it together,” I cut him off, “But thanks for the advice, Dad.”
“You gonna be taping this whole thing?” Dad snaps at the small news camera crew setting up across the living room.
“It’s a big day for your son!” the pretty blonde producer tells my dad, “We want to capture every minute of the excitement.”
“You wanna give him a virus is what you want,” Dad grumbles, sinking back against the old couch.
“It’s called ‘going viral’, Dad,” I correct him.
“Well, whatever it is, it gives me the creeps,” he says, slugging back some beer.
I don’t dare look over at Tom for fear of bursting into laughter. Dad’s never taken well to teasing. What he has taken to like a champ is being a grandfather—or Pop, as he prefers. I never would have guessed that my gruff Jersey boy of a father would be so good with kids. I definitely don’t remember him being so warm when I was little. But I guess that comes with the grandparent territory, right? It doesn’t hurt that Rowan is the cutest little dude you’ve ever seen in your life. Seriously, my kid would blow that Gerber baby right out of the water.
“The draft’s gonna start in like fifteen minutes,” Buck says, bouncing up and down on the couch beside me, “Where is everyone?”
“They’ll be here, dude. Cool it,” I laugh, clapping him on the back, “I can’t have you bursting into tears when the call comes in.”
“I’m not making any promises,” Buck says, knocking back the rest of his beer.
Jessa
I sit in my old bedroom at my parents’ home, listening raptly as my writing advisor, Julia, doles out her latest round of feedback.
“I really think creative nonfiction is where your voice thrives,” Julia says encouragingly in my ear, “I can’t wait to read the next draft of your manuscript.”
“I can’t wait to write it,” I smile, leaning back in my desk chair.
My former room has been transformed into a pristine work space all my own. Having somewhere quiet to come and work has been a godsend over the past year. I realized during my time in Boston that Rayburn wasn’t really the right school for me. I only enrolled because of my dad’s connection, but their creative writing department was pretty underdeveloped. After Rowan was born, I decided to make a change and end my time at Rayburn. I transferred to Jackson, a low-residency program based in Maine. Through Jackson, I can pursue my degree in creative writing from anywhere, working remotely with an advisor as I hone my craft. I couldn’t imagine a better situation, especially for someone with a newborn at home.
“I’ll let you go then,” Julia says over the line, “Any big plans for the weekend?”
“Oh, you could say that,” I laugh.
Today, our friends and family will be gathering to celebrate not one, but two momentous occasions. Of course Dean’s draft day and Rowan’s first birthday would fall on the same weekend in late April. We’re hosting a little party over at our apartment in honor of both events—though to be honest, I think Dean is most excited about our little guy turning one than he is about officially finding out what team he’ll be playing for in the fall. Rowan is the apple of Dean’s eye—has been since the minute they laid eyes on each other. I can barely think about their father-son bond without getting misty-eyed. But hey, I’m a mom now. Getting misty-eyed is my right.
As I say goodbye to Julia, I hear my bedroom door creak open. Looking up, I see my mom Marianne’s beaming face.
“We’re making progress,” she says.
I look down and see Rowan standing at my mother’s feet. She holds his hands in hers as he wobbles there, amazed at being able to support his own weight. The proud, somewhat baffled expression on his face sends a huge smile sprawling across my face.
“Come on Ro,” I croon, kneeling on the carpet beside my desk, “You can do it.”
My mother lets go of Rowan’s hands, and he’s off like a shot. His chubby little legs carry him across the room, bumbling in that adorable way new walkers have. He makes it almost all the way across before stumbling a step. But luckily, I’m there to catch him up in my arms. He peers up at me with his big blue-green eyes before rising to his feet once more, ready for another shot at walking.
“You are unstoppable,” I laugh, ruffling his dark blonde ringlets.
“He gets it from you,” my mom says, leaning against the doorway.
For about the billionth time, I’m overcome with appreciation for my mother. I have no idea how I would have made it through the first year of being a new mom without her help. I’ll never forget the moment she arrived in the NICU after Rowan was born. All my life, I’d watched my mom trail along submissively in my father’s shadow. But the second she laid eyes on her grandson, it’s like she was reborn herself. The timid woman I’d come to know transformed into my greatest advocate and my own personal hero.
I wasn’t present when Mom laid into Dad about his reception of me at the football game that harrowing night last year. As much as I would have loved to see her drag him for his behavior, it’s probably best that they got into it alone. Something tells me that hearing all the stormy details about their marital past would have made it even harder to forgive my father for his treatment of me that night. To be honest, I’m still working on figuring out a way to fully forgive him.
My mom really managed to bring him around to seeing my little family as a blessing, and of course actually meeting his grandson helped. But I don’t know if our relationship will ever fully heal. He and Dean have found a way to work together on the team for this final season, but it hasn’t been easy. Maybe with time, we’ll all come to some sort of understanding with each other. My dad may never be the father I needed growing up, but maybe he can be the grandfather Rowan needs one day.
At least there’s one incredible father my life these days, even if he’s not mine.
“You ready to go see Daddy?” I ask my son, lifting him onto my hip.
Rowan’s little sneaker-clad feet kick excitedly at the mere mention of his father.
“Me too,” I tell him, planting a kiss on the top of his head, “Me too.”
Dean
“There they are!” my dad crows, leaping to his feet as Jessa walks through the door with Rowan and Marianne. “Now the party can really get going.”
“Hey birthday boy,” Tom smiles as Rowan goes tottering across the living room into his uncle’s arms, “How’s that spiral coming along?”
“Let’s give him some time to master the art of walking before we decide what position he’s going to play,” Jessa laughs, settling on my lap and giving me a kiss.
“How was the call with your advisor?” I ask her.
“It was awesome,” she beams, “Jackson is such a good fit for me.”
“I knew you’d blow them away,” I tell her, “But hell if I’m not glad you put in a year at Rayburn before finding your dream school.”
“I guess I’m pretty glad too, you big jock,” she laughs, playfully punching my arm.
Our little apartment has never held so many people at once. Blaire has arrived with her new tattoo artist boyfriend, and a few of my other Rayburn teammates have come over to join in the celebration. Even Esther and Noel are here—you couldn’t keep those two honorary aunties away from Rowan if you tried. Of course, Rowan’s official godparents are the two people who were there for me and
Jessa the night of his birth—namely, Buck and Blaire. I don’t know what we would have done without their help that day, and their friendship all the days after.
As the coverage of the draft begins, I watch Rowan make his way around the room, one loving set of arms at a time. There’s a pile of birthday presents stacked on our kitchen table and his first ice cream cake waiting in the freezer, but those things aren’t what make me happiest for my son. What really makes me happy is that Rowan is surrounded by so many people who care about him. When he was first born, Jessa and I had no way of knowing who was going to support us, young unwed parents that we were. But our friends and families have rallied around us in a way I never could have imagined. And I’ll always be grateful for that, and just a little bit pleasantly surprised to tell you the truth.
“Here we go,” Buck says, turning up the volume on the TV as the first round of the draft gets started.
Jessa lowers herself onto the couch beside me, braiding her fingers through mine. Rowan scoots himself off my dad’s lap and holds his pudgy little arms out to me. I scoop him up into my lap as the second round draft pick begins.
“Are you gonna be my good luck charm?” I ask him.
Rowan flashes me a big, toothless smile, his sea green eyes gleaming. I hug him a little closer as the third round gets underway. The sudden sound of my cell phone ringing sends a hush over the entire room. Jesse’s hand flies to my arm as I sit up stock straight, almost too stunned to move. Tom leans forward in the arm chair, nodding his encouragement.
“Gotta take the call if you want the news,” he reminds me with a smile.
With one arm wrapped around Rowan, I reach for my cell phone and accept the call. The room listens with rapt attention as the man on the other end of the line identifies himself.
“Afternoon, Coach,” I reply, my heart hammering away in my chest.
“What’s he saying? What’s he saying?!” Buck hisses from his place down the couch. I hold up my hand to quiet him down as the coach says the words I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear.
“Yes sir, that sounds good to me,” I answer, “I’d be thrilled to come play for your team.”
The second I hang up the call, our apartment erupts into chaos. Every single person is on their feet, clapping and cheering as I accept my offer. The TV camera crew captures the entire event, broadcasting our joy for all the world to see. Jessa throws her arms around me and Rowan, kissing every part of my face she can reach. A dozen of my closest friends and family raise their glasses to my success, and to our little family’s future. It’s looking brighter than ever, today.
“Now that that’s settled,” I say above the ruckus, “What say we break into that ice cream cake, huh?”
Rowan claps his hands excitedly, and the room bursts into joyous laughter. God knows, we have plenty to celebrate today. Not only am I living out my long-held dream of getting drafted to the NFL, I’m seeing another dream come true in my healthy, happy son. We couldn’t know for sure when he was born at 29 weeks what the outcome would be. I wish that Jessa and I could have seen this day during Rowan’s first couple of weeks in the NICU.
If we made it through this year, I know we can make it through anything. I’m in this for the long haul, and it’s past time I let Jessa know that in no uncertain terms.
Jessa
Many hours later, after cake, presents, and a few well-deserved beers, the last of our party guests says goodnight. Finally, after a wonderfully exhausting day, Dean and I are alone again with our birthday boy. Our birthday boy who is totally passed out on the couch amid a sea of wrapping paper. Dean and I share a smile as he carefully picks Rowan up and carries him into his room to get ready for bed.
I start tidying up the living room as Dean puts Rowan down, collecting plates and cups and all manner of party detritus. By all accounts, our first party as a family was a success. After all, an announcement as big as Dean’s certainly made this a more epic occasion than most first birthday parties.
As I stand at the kitchen sink, getting ready to wash out some beer bottles, I feel Dean’s strong arms circle my waist.
“Why don’t you leave that for the morning?” he murmurs in my ear, pulling me gently back against his firm body. “I’ve barely gotten to talk to you all day.”
“Well, that’s because you were mobbed with adoring admirers,” I tease, turning around to face him, “Guess that’s something we should get used to, huh?”
“There are only two fans in the world that will ever take top priority with me,” he says, running his hands down my back, “Unless we add a couple more kids to our roster, that is…”
“One thing at a time,” I laugh quietly, toying with the buttons of his shirt, “Life is about to get pretty crazy for the three of us.”
“True,” he allows, “But as long as I prove myself in my rookie year, I can sign an even better contract next, and then—”
“Why don’t you just bask in this moment, instead of trying to plan out your entire career tonight?” I smile, pressing my hips to Dean’s. “What have we learned about the best laid plans, you and me?”
“I just want to give you and Rowan the best life I can,” Dean says, his voice low and rich in the quiet of our apartment.
“You already have,” I tell him, tracing his bottom lip with my thumb, “Rowan and I are so lucky to have you.”
“We’re all lucky to have each other,” Dean says, catching my hand and laying a kiss on my palm. I feel like purring as he kisses along my wrist, my arm, the ridge of my collarbone. My tired body is lifted up by a second wind as he trails his lips all over me. I take his scruffy jaw in my hands and kiss him hard, letting my mouth open to his as our tongues entwine.
“Rowan’s asleep, right?” I whisper, nipping lightly at Dean’s lip.
“He’s out like a light,” Dean smiles, running his hands over the rise of my ass.
It took a while for me to feel like myself again in my body, after Rowan was born. There’s not a lot of time for intimacy with your partner while you’re tending to the needs of a newborn preemie. But in the past few months, my libido has shot back up through the roof. Guess all that pent-up desire had to come out eventually, and Dean is more than happy to help me meet it.
“You know how proud I am of you, baby?” I ask him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders.
“Oh, I know,” he murmurs, scooping me up into his arms. I hook my ankles behind his back, sighing excitedly as I feel him hardening against my sex. “But do you know how proud I am of you?”
“For what?” I ask absentmindedly, kissing along his throat as he carries me swiftly into our bedroom.
“For what?” he laughs, tossing me with playful roughness onto the bed, “For being a total badass, that’s what. For having the courage to go in a whole new direction when life threw you a curve ball. Or a surprise pass? I can’t handle metaphors when I’m this turned on.”
I giggle like the teenager I officially am no more as Dean pins my hands up over my head. My knees fall open to him as he presses his body to mine, letting me feel the staggering intensity of his desire for me. I grind against his hard cock, moaning softly as my nerve endings light up like fireworks. He tugs up the hem of my Red Birds tee shirt with his teeth, whips open the clasp of my bra, and takes my breasts in his strong hands.
I gasp as he brushes his thumbs against my nipples. They’ve gotten so sensitive since I’ve been breastfeeding—though I suppose that’s about to come to an end, for now. This year has flown by so quickly, Dean and I have barely had time to catch our breath. And something tells me life isn’t going to slow down now. These moments of connection will only become more important the crazier life gets. But I know we’ll always find time for each other. How could we go without something as wonderful as this?
“You know, I was thinking…” Dean says, as I lift off his tee shirt and rake my fingers over his perfect abs.
“Mhm?” I murmur, flipping open his belt buckle and tugging down hi
s favorite jeans.
“We haven’t really checked in about our plans for a while,” he says, pushing my shoulders back down onto the bed and holding me firmly against his side.
“Our plans?” I breathe, submitting to his powerful embrace as he trails his hand between my breasts, over my stomach, across the tender skin of my inner thighs. “What plans?”
“You know. For you and me,” he murmurs, kissing my neck as he slips his hand under my skirt. A low groan escapes his lips as he feels how wet I am for him.
“I can’t think of any plans when your fingers are that close to my clit,” I gasp, my back arching as he pushes aside the cotton panel of my panties and strokes along my slick sex.
“Just listen then,” he growls, running his finger all down the length of me as he holds my writhing body still. “I love you like crazy, Jessa. This past year has been insane, but it’s proved to me that we can do anything together.”
“That’s right baby,” I moan, my back arching as Dean traces sweet, firm circles around my clit.
“And no matter how crazy things get, I’m always gonna put you and Rowan first,” he goes on.
I can barely hear him as the blood rushes from my head straight to my pulsating sex. Warm pressure builds up just behind my belly button as my toes curl madly against the sheets. I grab hold of Dean’s shoulders for dear life as he sends me hurtling toward orgasm with nothing but his two masterful fingers.
“I want to ask you something Jessa,” Dean murmurs in my ear.
“Right now?!” I gasp, looking up at him with wild eyes.
“Good point,” he smiles rakishly. And with that, he swings his body around and brings his mouth to my slick, throbbing slit. “First things first…”
Beauty and the Running Back Page 15
