by Layne Harper
I nod. I know he is. Jamie takes his job very seriously. “What’s the plan for the party today?”
He diverts his gaze from the screen and leans forward on the desk, looking me in the eye. “Your guests will pass through two security checkpoints. The caterer is leaving the food at the guard stand. There’s not enough time to complete background checks on all of the caterer’s employees. Everyone that enters your home will have either passed a previous screening like Alice and Chef, or be on your invitation list.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it under control,” I reply. As I stand up, I reach out and shake Jamie’s hand. “I appreciate what a great job you did training the gate guards. Make sure they get a bonus on their next paycheck from Doctor Collins and myself.”
A smile breaks out across his face, and he says, “Thank you Mr. McKinney. They were just doing their job, but I know they’ll appreciate it.”
As I turn to leave, Jamie yells, “One more thing.”
I stop, and spin around. Poor guy looks like he’s scared to say whatever it is. “You’re going to have to inform Doctor Collins that she can’t jog around the gated neighborhood anymore without taking one of the security guys. Also, I’m assigning two of my men to her and Ainsley at all times when they leave the house.”
No wonder the guy looked petrified. Charlie will not be pleased, but she’s just going to have to suck it up. After the asshole has been arrested, I’ll tell her what a close call we had.
I sigh as I walk back to my home. This is my life… all because I can throw a football.
Our family and friends don’t mind passing through the added security measures when they arrive for the party. Everyone is too excited about meeting Ainsley Elizabeth Jane McKinney. We reasoned if the future king of England can have multiple names, so can Miss Ainsley.
****
My first full day away from Charlie and Ainsley is much harder than I’d thought that it would be. I text her fifty times at least. Finally, her sister Amy texts me back, and says I have to stop because everyone is trying to nap.
Amy has been a gift from God. She’s an elementary education teacher who worked at a pre-school. After nine straight nights of not sleeping more than a couple of hours, Charlie called her and begged her to help. Amy quit her job, and moved in upstairs.
She’s great. She keeps to herself and doesn’t need for us to entertain her. She’s working on her masters, so she’s busy with her online courses, but can pause her work if we need her.
We discussed having my mom or Charlie’s mom come spend some time with us, but we both decided that it wasn’t a good idea. Susan and Charlie are not on the best of terms because my mom can be a clueless ditz. I love Charlie’s mom, but my mom would get her feelings hurt if we didn’t include her.
By hiring Amy, we soothed our mothers, are actually sleeping, and have given Amy an opportunity to focus on school. Win/win situation for all parties involved.
Today, is Charlie’s first day off of the antidepressants. She seems to be doing okay. I’ve watched her like crazy to make sure that she didn’t slip into old habits. She’s been eating, and kept her exercise to reasonable levels. I’ve been so proud of my girl. The only bad habit she’s picked back up is her coffee. Frankly, I’m surprised that she made it through her pregnancy without having a cup.
I toss my phone on Coach’s desk, making it clear to everyone in the room that I plan on answering it if it rings. The team president, GM, Aiden, and Mark are already there. We’re just waiting for Coach to finish up a phone call.
I have a feeling I know why they called this meeting. This is the last season that I’m under contract. They’re going to offer a contract extension because they don’t want my status with the team to be a distraction next season. And it shouldn’t be. Super Bowl, MVP-winning quarterbacks should be taken care of.
This is a damn good position to be in. The last time I had to worry about my contract, we’d had another almost, this-close season. My divorce had been recently finalized. I’d been on a path of destruction, doing whatever and whomever I pleased. What a difference the years make.
Coach comes walking into his office with his jaw set in a tight grimace, and running a fist over his heart. The team president asks before the rest of us can, “Are you okay?”
He laughs, and flops back in his quilted leather executive chair. “I’m too fucking old to eat chicken wings anymore.”
Everyone nods their heads in agreement. Coach starts talking, “So Colin, we obviously want you to be our franchise quarterback for as long as you can play. Let’s cut to the chase. We want to offer you a contract guaranteeing that you’ll retire from football in a Cowboy’s jersey.”
Aiden and Mark let out an audible sigh behind me. This is obviously the best-case scenario.
I smile, and reach across the desk and shake Coach’s hand. “That’s what I’ve always wanted. Cowboy for life.”
The conversation then moves into contract specifics, and things that I let Mark and Aiden handle. I grab my phone and check for any messages. Like the dream that she is, Charlie texted me a picture of Ainsley, Pancho, and Amy lying together on the couch. Life is good.
****
Another drab, generic hotel room with popcorn ceiling. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to leave my girls overnight, but I’ve limited my trips to as few as possible. The fucking nights are the worst. During the day, I’m too busy to remember that Charlie and Ainsley are at home and not with me. I’d gotten so used to Charlie traveling to all my games that it never occurred to me that once the baby arrived, her days of traveling would be over.
Kissing my girls goodbye and climbing into my truck was one of the hardest things that I’ve had to do to date. It’s the first away-game of the season, and this hotel room couldn’t feel lonelier if it tried. I hate that I will not get to read to Ainsley, give her a bath, or tuck her in.
Is Ainsley sleeping right now? Was she good for Charlie in the bathtub? What did she think of the new baby food that Charlie was going to try introducing? Is Charlie asleep? Can she sleep without me next to her? Is she missing me?
I look at the clock. The red numbers scream at me, “Go to sleep, fucker, you’ve got to play football tomorrow.” But I can’t. I’ve lost the ability to sleep when she’s not next to me.
I grab my iPad, and decide to distract myself with some world news. Unfortunately, I scroll to the entertainment section, and see a news story about Charlie and me. I click on it out of morbid curiosity, and read the headline. “Is Charlie Already Stepping Out on Colin?” It’s a picture of Charlie with Brad. He’s pushing Ainsley in her stroller, but thankfully, Charlie has a light blanket thrown over the compartment so you can’t see my baby’s face. Her arm is looped through Brad’s arm at the elbow. She’s dressed in exercise clothes and he has on pair of jeans, navy T-shirt, and sunglasses. I’ll give the photographer credit. It does look like her and Brad are lovers. If I didn’t know for a fact that he was one-hundred percent devoted to Carter and has only platonic love for my wife, I might just kill the fucker right now. But that twinge of anger, maybe jealousy, which still gnaws at me about Brad being the one to take my wife to the hospital to have our daughter is still there. It was Brad who’d held her hand, and helped her through her early contractions. The thought of Brad being with my wife while she was in labor with our daughter makes me crazy.
Because I’m a sadist, I scan the story further, adding a match to my combustible feelings. It mentions Charlie and Brad shopping for antiques while “taking Colin’s baby for a stroll.” They dined outdoors and sipped champagne - although in the picture it’s just Brad with a glass in hand. Then it notes that Charlie breastfed our baby at the table while Brad seemed to not care. I roll my eyes. I’m sure parent groups are going to be up in arms that my wife dared to sip champagne while breastfeeding even though there’s no evidence that she actually did.
I decide to forward the link to the article to Brad and Charlie with a note. “Ah… young l
ove.”
I leave it at that. They can interpret my message any way they choose.
No more news for me. I open my word-find game app and lose myself for more than an hour, searching for words that I don’t know the meanings of.
****
God, finally the first away game of the season is over, and it was brutal. The lonely hotel room and missing my family was the cherry on top of a shit game. We lost. I sucked. I couldn’t seem to scramble away from the defenders and find a receiver, even if the other team had removed two players from the field. The plane ride home was so fucking quiet it was scary. No one sat near me. I think my team might be scared of me.
All I want is for my wife to be naked in the hot tub, waiting for me. It’s the thought that kept me from losing my fucking mind after the game. I’ve come to just expect that when I pull into the driveway after a game, my girl will have the hot tub turned on, a champagne bucket of iced-water bottles, old country music playing over the outdoor speakers, and she’ll be in some sort of string bikini contraption that’s for my viewing pleasure only.
As I turn into our neighborhood, my dick gets hard in anticipation of seeing her. I can almost feel her surgeon’s hands working the knots out of my sore muscles. Staring down at my over eager cock, I chuckle. Who says that the sex goes downhill after kids? Geez, we took six weeks off for her to heal and then picked up right where we left off. That’s because we were made for each other.
Bertha gives me a moment of protest and then decides to behave herself. I finger my wedding ring in anticipation of seeing Charlie in just a few seconds. I’m giddy, a little boy on Christmas morning who’s hoping against hope for a new bicycle.
But, as I walk through the backyard gate, I don’t hear Merle Haggard or Willie Nelson. The water isn’t bubbling in the hot tub, and it’s empty. Like there’s water in it, but no hot blonde in a bikini. Then, I panic. What if something’s wrong? With her? The baby?
I unlock the backdoor like a lunatic and it flies open, hitting the stopper and catching me on my shoulder. The pain barely registers. I jog through the house as much as my sore ankle will let me, and throw open the bedroom door, hearing my pulse pounding in my ears. Trying to calm my racing heart, I grip the door handle, and have to catch my breath.
She’s in bed sound asleep. The lights are completely off. The curtains are pulled so the only light in the room is from the bedside clock, and the baby monitor power light, indicating that it’s on.
Once I’ve recovered from my initial panic and confirmed that both my girls are okay, the disappointment sets in. Hell! Pancho didn’t even get up to greet me. So much for him being man’s best friend. We lost. I played for shit. And no naked girl in the hot tub. Fuck my life.
I walk back to the kitchen and grab a couple of bottles of water out of the refrigerator, and take a seat at the kitchen table.
What did I do after football games before Charlie? It’s been so long that I hardly remember what life was like before she stepped on the elevator in Los Angeles. I think that I might have soaked in my bathtub, filled with Epsom Salt. Did it work to keep me from getting sore? Shit. I really don’t remember. I quickly down the first bottle, and toss it toward the garbage can with my right hand, but I miss. I’m a lefty through and through. I take the lid off the second one, and drink it more slowly. My house is so quiet. Was it this quiet before Charlie? Once again, I don’t remember.
What about when I was married to my first wife? What did we do after games? I keep drawing a blank. What did we do? Then it hits me. We fucked like bunnies in heat. God, how could I have forgotten that? Oh, yeah. The girl asleep in the other room has hijacked any part of my life that she wasn’t in, and filled the gaps with everything that makes her the one for me. I guess my time without her was so meaningless that my brain cells don’t care to store the knowledge.
Maybe the reason that I always had so many people at my house was because I didn’t like this level of quiet. It’s a halfway decent theory. What did Charlie call my house when she first moved in? A country club? A home for wayward boys?
That makes me smile as I slump back in the kitchen chair. My ribs hurt like a motherfucker. Taking a breath is becoming difficult. I know that if I don’t do something, I’m going to be worthless at practice tomorrow. I decide to soak in the Jacuzzi bathtub for old time’s sake.
When I stand, and take the first step on my right leg, pain shoots up to my hip. It’s been almost two years, and it still aches every damn day. The doctors, including Doctor Collins, say that this is about as good as it’s going to get unless I want to quit playing football. Not an option. All my Super Bowl win did was give me a taste for more gold rings.
Grabbing two more water bottles, I limp towards our room.
Charlie doesn’t stir as I drag my pathetic self through the bedroom and into the bathroom, shutting the doors behind me. Hobbling to the bathtub, I turn on the water as hot as I can stand it and add the lavender-scented salts. Next, I line up my water bottles on the edge of the tub and pull another one out of the mini refrigerator that we keep in the bathroom. My water bottles have been shoved to the side, and replaced with bags of breast milk and a half-drunk baby bottle. I smirk and shut the door.
Just as I’m sinking into the tub of water that’s so hot that I can feel my skin pinking, Charlie opens the master bathroom doors and shuffles in, immediately shielding her eyes from the bathroom light. She’s obviously been in a deep sleep. Her hair’s a rat’s nest, and her face is pillow creased. But she’s still the most beautiful girl in the world.
“You can turn the light off, babe.”
She mumbles a thanks and hits the light switch, but not before I get a good look at her. She’s got on one of my white T-shirts that barely covers her bare behind. I briefly wonder what happened to her panties, but frankly, I don’t care enough to ask. They just get in the way.
The street lamp outside filters in through the glass bricks over the bathtub, casting just enough light so I can watch her shuffle towards me, taking a seat on the ledge. She leans back against the shower stall and pulls her knees up to her chest.
Now, it’s very evident that she has no underwear on, and my dick stands up to get a better look.
Speaking first, I say, “Sorry, if I woke you. I tried to be quiet.”
She folds her arms over her knees, and rests her head on her elbow, looking sideways at me. I can tell that she’s exhausted. “I was trying to stay up until you got home, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Sorry about the loss.”
I’m not in the mood to discuss football, so I ignore her condolences. I move my hands in the water, feeling the waves of heat tumble over me. “I missed you in the hot tub.”
“Yeah, about that,” she sighs, “Ainsley spit up all over me after dinner, and I had to bathe both of us. I just didn’t feel like getting wet again. I’m sorry. I’ll be waiting for you after the next game.”
“No need to apologize, beautiful girl.” I lean forward, and run my wet hand over her shin. “You’ve spoiled me.”
Her mouth turns up in a beautiful pleased smile that meets her eyes. “I’m glad that you think I spoil you. I know having a baby has changed so much of our lives. Our focus. But, I don’t want to lose our time for just the two of us.” She picks her head up, and says in a quiet voice, “I missed you.”
I lie back in the hot water, noting that it’s already less painful for me to take a breath. Hot water, or Charlie’s presence? I’m not entirely sure. “I missed you too. Shit, I didn’t sleep last night. For some reason, even though we never shared a room when you came to road games, just knowing that you were in the hotel, and I could get to you, if I needed, made me able to sleep. Last night I was fucking miserable.”
She giggles her precious Charlie laugh and says, “It’s because we had to sneak around to be together. Kind of like we were horny teenagers still living with Mom and Dad. I liked all of our hotel sex.”
I smile at the memory of some of our stolen away-game mom
ents. It never occurred to me that they would be coming to an end once we became parents. “Do you think that you’ll be able to come to any away games this season?” I almost hate to ask the question because I dread the answer.
She lets out a sigh, and her lavender eyes look up at the ceiling before she speaks. “I don’t know. As long as I’m breastfeeding, I don’t see how I can come without bringing Ainsley. Then, do I really want to haul our baby on a commercial flight, bring all of her gear? And who watches her during a game? I’m not leaving her with just anyone. So we’d have to bring Amy with us, and Amy really likes having her weekends off…”
I throw my hand up, stopping her. “I get it. Doesn’t seem possible this year.” I contort my long limbs in the bathtub so I’m able to slip under the water. My blood is boiling. She told me no, that she’s not coming to my away games. I know it isn’t rational. I know her reasoning is perfectly logical and makes sense, but damn, it doesn’t make it any less easy to hear. She’s my breath, my soul. I need her with me.
When my head pops out of the water, she’s gone. I look around the bathroom and don’t see her anywhere. “Charlie,” I call.
No answer. I assume that she went to check on Ainsley. I look down at my dick, and we’re on the same page. She might anger us, but it’s been two days since we had any attention. I bet that I can talk her into some we’ve-been-apart lovin’. Maybe? God, I hope so.
I lean forward and start draining the water when she comes into the bathroom holding Ainsley, who’s covered in baby vomit. “Oh no. Is she sick?” I ask, like an idiot. It’s obvious that she is.
“I think that it’s just teething, but her bed is a mess.” My dick deflates at her words. It’s time to be a dad.
I climb out of the tub, and grab my seven-month-old squirming angel that is the perfect mix of her mother and me. I refill the bathtub with much cooler water, and remove Ainsley’s messy pink footed pajamas and her diaper, tossing the latter in the special garbage can.
