Holden who I can’t have anything to do with.
No, not right now.
“I- I can’t.” It’s all I manage to croak out as I push past him, grabbing for my keys.
“Hey, hang on.”
There’s a hand on my shoulder - warm, comforting.
No
I can’t.
I shake him off.
“Please,” I whisper hoarsely as I turn, my face stricken as I shake my head. “Not now.”
His dark eyes narrow with concern.
“London, talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Look, will you just-”
“This was a mistake, okay!” I shout out, words slicing through the space between us.
My eyes lock on his.
“You and me, I mean.” I say quieter. “This was a mistake. This never should have happened.”
“I disagree,” he growls, his eyes flaring.
“Well, that’s on you then,” I spit out.
I’m pushing him away, because I have to. Because holding onto him might just break whatever I have left.
“I just can’t do this right now.”
“This?” He glares at me. “And what exactly does that mean?”
“You and me!” I yell in the hallway. “I cannot do this, Holden! It was casual, it was just us having fun, or whatever. And now it’s done, okay?”
His jaw tightens as he glares at me.
He steps close, and I gasp as he presses me against the door.
“Tell me one more time,” he growls. His hands cup my face as he looks deep into my eyes. “I know this ain’t you, sugar,” he husks darkly in the deep velvet voice. “Tell me one more time, and I’m gone. Because other than that, there’s no way I’m walking away from you right-”
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence of the hallway is deafening as my hand flies to my mouth, as if to stop the words from coming out.
But it’s too late, and there’s no stopping them now.
Holden’s jaw tightens as his eyes go wide.
“What?”
“I’m pregnant.” I whisper it this time, feeling like I’m outside my own body watching this conversation happen across a movie screen. “I was late, I took a test - four actually - and I’m pregnant,” I say with a leaden voice. I close my eyes, sucking in a breath of air and feeling the shakiness as I do. “I’m pregnant, and it’s yours-”
“London,” he says hoarsely his eyes wide as the color drains from his face. “You’re-”
I can’t do this.
I shake my head back and forth, my eyes locked on his and willing myself not to let the tears fall.
“I’m pregnant, it’s yours, and I’m sorry but I can’t do this right now.” I barely choke the last words out before I turn and unlock my apartment door.
“Wait,” his hand is on my arm, “hang on, let’s talk-”
“No,” I whisper hoarsely, turning back to him with my hand on the doorknob.
And there’s so much else I want to say - so much else I want to tell him, and explain to him. I want to tell him I’m terrified. I want to tell him to save me. I want to tell him words I’ve never spoken to someone else.
But I can’t, because that’s not what this is.
That’s not what this ever was, and I know if I open my mouth right then, I’ll lose it.
“I can’t,” I manage to spill out. “Please leave.”
His face falls, pain etched across it.
“London-”
“Just leave, Holden,” I manage to whisper out, before I step through my door and slam it shut behind me.
And I barely manage to get inside before I slump against the door and let the tears come.
40
London
“You know, I could sell cheeseburgers in here on the down-low and make a goddamn mint.”
I snort a laugh as I help my dad button his shirt in the hospital room mirror.
Laughing feels good, and I need to feel something good right now. Which is why I’m down at the hospital helping my dad.
Richard’s already filled Dad in on what’s going on with the team, and of course he’s already heard from his lawyers concerning Joanne. And yet, here he is, putting on a bold face, standing tall, and cracking jokes, like none of it’s fazing him.
“Dad, they’re not going to let you eat crap like that, you know that.”
“Exactly. Me and all the other poor souls stuck in this joint.” He looks up and grins at me in the mirror.
“I’m telling you, there’s a fortune to be made.”
I smile as I shake my head.
“You’re making it sound like prison.”
“No booze, no cigars, no excitement, and no food that tastes even halfway decent?” He ticks them off on his fingers. “That’s basically jail, honey.”
I roll my eyes.
“They’re trying to make you healthy, you get that, right?”
“They’ve been making me eat kale, London. Kale!”
Dad’s shoulders slump.
“Leafy greens are good food for you, Dad.”
“Leafy greens is what food eats, honey.”
I laugh and his face breaks into a grin.
“There’s that smile.”
“Stop,” I mutter, staring at the floor. “I’m supposed be cheering you up, not the other way around.”
He makes a huffing sound, frowning for a second before he shakes it from his face.
“Never you mind about all that. It’s gonna work out okay.”
“Dad,” my face falls as I shake my head. “You left me in charge and it all goes to hell.”
He snorts a laugh.
“That’s got nothing to do with you, honey. That’s my piss-poor taste in women, apparently.”
“Yeah but you could lose-”
“Not a chance,” Dad says easily, shaking his head firmly. “Not gonna happen.”
I make a face.
“It could.”
“It ain’t the first time someone’s tried to take the team from me, hotshot,” he says with a grin. “I’ll be okay.” He looks up at me. “You know, I do like you smiling, honey.”
He turns back to the mirror, fixing his cuffs and pulling his suspenders up over his shoulders. Even in the hospital, Dad insists on his usual old-school southern style.
“You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”
Not at all.
Right. Like I can even imagine how that conversation plays out.
Well, Dad, I know you just recovered from a heart attack, and that your wife is leaving you and trying to steal your team from you. But just to ADD to that - surprise! - I’m pregnant with an arrogant, drunk, man-whoring football player’s baby.
Right.
“Just work, Dad. Stressing about the whole thing with the board.”
He waves me off.
“Don’t. Trust me, honey, it’s gonna work out okay.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Anyone ever mention that you work too hard?”
I sigh, a small smile coming to my lips.
“It’s come up.”
“Well,” he shrugs. “A girl your age ought to-”
“Dad, stop.” I shake my head.
I cannot have this conversation right now - not with what’s going on.
“Can we go ahead and not have that conversation where you tell me I need to go out and settle down and have kids and all that?”
Because I don’t think I can deal with that conversation right now without breaking down.
He shakes his head.
“Not what I was after, honey. I was going to say a young woman your age should be off doing what she wants to do, not just propping up her old man’s dream.”
I roll my eyes at him as he turns.
“Not just your dream, you know.”
He smiles.
“Look, I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you about the whole succession thing, what with me being in here an
d you out there taking care of the business. I just think of you as my extension, and when it looked grim there for a tick, I just wanted to-”
“I know.”
He looks at me.
“Honey, this team is my life. My life, not yours. And what I’m trying to say is I never want to just shove it at you and say ‘hey, you gotta deal with this crap now!’ unless it’s something you actually want.” He shrugs. “Awe hell, we don’t have to talk about it at all, but at some point, you may want to start settling down and having a family of your own instead of being married to this team. So, what I’m trying to say is, if you want to drop the whole thing and go do your own thing-”
“Dad,” I cut him off again. “Not another word about that or I’ll make sure you go on an all-kale diet in here starting today.”
He grins. “There’s that famous LJ negotiating.”
“Learned from the best.”
He winks at me as he turns back to the mirror.
“Good thing I’m busting out of this joint today. Now how do I look?”
“Sharp as ever.”
“That’s my girl.”
* * *
We drop it there in the hospital room, and we don’t speak about it at all while I drive him back to his house and get him settled in.
But my mind’s already made up, and my decision’s made even before I call Landon Reece back.
41
Holden
Whiskey is quick.
Whiskey is the shroud that buries the demons and smooths over the cracks in my soul.
I knock back God-knows what number of drinks of the night before I slam the empty glass down on the bar. I’m staggering; wasted and half out of my mind.
Except it’s not helping like I want it to.
I’m going to be a father.
Holy fuck.
Me - a dad. Me, the hard-drinking, panty-dropping party animal. Me, the professional man-child who never even knew his own dad.
It’s a fucking terrifying thought, and I know damn well London’s thinking the same thing.
And hell, I might be furious right now at her just shoving me away like the, but I can’t even really blame her. I mean, look at me. I’m a train-wreck of an adult with more money than sense, an alcohol problem I refuse to acknowledge, and so many notches on my bedpost that I’ve lost fucking count.
What fucking sane woman would want me to have anything to do with a baby?
The thought is bitter as I swallow it back, chasing it with more whiskey.
I mean, shit, how the fuck else was this going to end? There was no happy ever after for whatever it was between London and I, and I think we both damn well knew that.
A kid doesn’t change that. Hell, you’ve gotta be an idiot to think it will.
This whole thing started as a fling - forbidden and illicit, which is what I think we both liked about it. It was all surface, and it was something we could bolt from when we had to.
Except this ain’t the time for bolting. Holy fuck, I mean we’re going to have a kid. I know the classic professional athlete thing to do here would be to bolt - to cut her a fucking check, take the hit, and move right on with my life.
Shit, I’d hardly be the first guy in pro-football to knock a girl up and leave.
But the thought sears inside of me like a hot match, burning me and making me furious. Because even though I know that should be me, it isn’t. And it’s not just some sort of bullshit abandonment issues from my own dad bailing before I was even born.
It’s her.
It’s that the thought of leaving her like that and walking away from whatever we had slices through me like a knife.
But I had no business with a girl like that. Shit, why would I want to be with a girl like that? Someone who gets up in my game and questions me? Someone who gives my shit right back to me?
Someone more than just the “yes” girls I’ve been with for as long as I can remember?
Why on Earth would I ever have found that appealing?
The “yes” girls are easy; simple. The groupies and the club sluts and the star-fuckers are predictable; there’s no “game” involved. Smile, charm them, watch the panties drop and have my damn way with them before I’m out the door and onto the next.
That’s it.
And for a guy like me, that’s all I’ve ever needed, and certainly all I’ve ever wanted. Which makes my involvement with a girl like London make no sense at all.
Stuck up; all numbers, all brain and all stats.
No heart.
I grit my teeth as I slug back the next whiskey the bartender slides my way.
That’s bullshit, and you know it.
And of course I know it, but it’s what I’ve been telling myself all night as I keep drinking, trying to drown her out of my head.
I’m getting drunk faster than I was before, and I realize it’s at least partially because I just wasn’t drinking much around her - like there just wasn’t that voice in my head pushing me to dull out the world a little more.
Guess she was what I needed.
Guess she was everything I needed.
Her and our unborn child.
I drown that thought with another shot of whiskey, followed by another.
Being with her and thinking those thoughts were a fantasy.
Fucking pretend.
This is who I am, I think to myself as I turn to lean against the bar, letting the roar of the bar crowd and the blasting music wash over me. I glance towards the group of my new teammates I’ve opted to go out with tonight, all of us wearing team jerseys because it’s some sort of pre-season thing the Bulls do on the last night out before training really gets going.
Some of the cuties surrounding my new team turn my way, smiling eagerly and hungrily at me as they break away to head my way.
“So, Jason says you’ve got a great new condo we should take this party to,” one says, her hands sliding over my arm.
Yeah, this is who I am, letting the alcohol and the noise and the hungry, needy eyes of the girls wash over me.
Wild, reckless; a man on the edge.
Hard drinker.
Hard lover.
Fucking, football, and avoiding responsibility. That’s me, and it’s what I shoulda just stuck with.
I’m no father material, that’s fucking obvious.
This is me, I tell myself again, the words sounding even more empty the more times I say it as I allow myself to be dragged into the madness of the crowd.
* * *
Later, I’m spinning. I’m out of control; wild and free and in my total element.
And I hate it.
I’m seeing double as someone I don’t even know passes me another drink, telling me how awesome I am.
Fuck that, I’m not awesome.
Awesome would’ve been holding onto the girl - the only one that mattered. Awesome would’ve been being the man she’d need to be a father to his own child.
No, I’m not awesome.
But I am me, and it looks like that’s gonna have to do.
There’s a girl whispering shit into my ear, her hands on my thigh, her lips against my neck.
I don’t want this.
I just want to get the fuck out of here. But here isn’t even just this club.
I want to get out of my own world - out of my mind and out of the slicing feeling in my heart.
At some point, I’m saying yes when one of the guys mentions again that we should take the party back to my place.
Fuck it, why not.
It’s a blur as I realize I’m leaving the bar with two girls on my arms.
Who the fuck are you, I want to say to myself.
The car keys are heavy in my hand.
So fucking heavy.
The whole world is spinning as I stand there next to my SUV, the girls laughing and telling me to hurry so we can go back to my place.
But I’m just staring at those keys.
I look up into the reflection in the truck
window and instead of myself, I see him.
I see Brandon.
He’s shaking his head slowly, telling me no.
Don’t do this.
Don’t go this way.
Don’t you dare fucking follow me.
I have to, I want to say.
I’ve tried the other way. I’ve tried going good, and finding the girl who eased the pain and made me feel whole again.
It didn’t take, because that’s not me. That was never going to be me.
This is me.
The bad boy.
The party animal.
The give-no-fucks, devil-may-care me.
I’m Holden fucking Cade.
I make my own rules.
I’m putting the keys into the door in a daze when there’s a clap on my shoulder.
“Hey man, our ride’s over here.”
It’s one of my teammates, looking about as drunk as I am. He jerks his head towards a couple of cabs sitting by the door to the bar.
“We’re cabbing it, bro!” He gives me a strange look. “Were you seriously about to drive, you crazy fuck?”
I blink.
Yes.
I say something stupid; a nonchalant shrug and a “of course not” before I force a grin to my face.
But that cold shroud, that moment of giving up is still there as we all head out. And it’s still there back at my place - the empty, cold, dead feeling inside. There’s music pounding from my stereo, drinks being poured, and half naked girls dancing around the living room.
But I’m not even here. I’m barely seeing any of it.
I feel numb.
There’s more hooting and hollering from the crowd as the whole thing starts to just spin out of control. Girls are stripping down to panties and nothing else, and even some of the guys are yanking off jerseys as the entire dance party starts to move quickly in the direction of “orgy.”
And I should be king of this court. I should love this - the wildness of it, the debauchery of it.
I don’t. Not at all.
Because I’d trade this whole “kingdom” for her and the life us plus one more could be, and I know that now.
Two topless girls - a blonde and a gorgeous Asian girl - shriek as they jump onto the couch where I’m sitting, yanking me from my thoughts.
“You wanna show us your room, Holden?” the blonde says, biting her lip coyly, her pert young tits pressing into my jersey.
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 23
