When I went back to the room, I found Wil standing in the middle of the floor. One hand curved around her stomach, the other held up to the light, examining her new engagement ring with a look of pure joy.
“So you like it huh?” I asked, startling her a little.
She pressed her hand to her chest, and nodded. “Yes. I love it. I love you,” she repeated, reaching up to pull her crown off as lust darkened her eyes.
“Nah,” I said, catching her by the wrist. “You can keep that on.”
Sixteen
It felt like my “last hurrah”.
Sure, there wasn’t really a ton to do in friggin’ Minnesota of all places, at least that couldn’t be done in Connecticut or New York. But somehow, even in below freezing weather, this trip felt perfect.
The Kings were playing in the SuperBowl… what more could I ask for?
At 29 weeks pregnant, I was rapidly approaching the point where I wouldn’t be able to travel anymore. Ramsey had been talking about getting on a plane to somewhere sunny, somewhere that would transport us back to the feeling we’d had in Bali, the day after the game, no matter the outcome.
It sounded amazing.
But nearly everywhere sunny had travel warnings for Zika virus for pregnant women. And though there were ways to protect myself, and lower the already low chances of something going wrong, I was so protective of this pregnancy that I just couldn’t settle into the idea. For his part, Ramsey gave me zero friction about it. There were other places to see, and other things to do.
Like winning the SuperBowl.
I’d promised the man a whole damned sheet of banana stickers, so he had plenty of motivation to go out on the field and do his part. While he was practicing and all of that, me, Soriyah, Clayton, and Naima, had been all over Minnesota. Ramsey – and Ashley, as part of the training team – had been there since the Monday before the game. The other four of us came a few days later.
Ashley had been able to join us every day, but Ramsey had only come once, opting to keep his head focused on the game. I didn’t feel slighted by that – for three years on air together, Ramsey and I had talked about these things, the difference in players that spent the week partying, and those that spent the week anchoring themselves on the field. I hadn’t even wondered which type of player Ramsey would be – I knew.
Having fun on his behalf had always been the plan, and we’d done it. Sight seeing, the Saint Paul Winter Carnival, all of that. Clayton didn’t, in the least, mind being the only guy in our group – he actually seemed to thrive, being surrounded by “baddies”, even though one of us was pregnant with his best friend’s child, and two of us were only interested in each other. That left the only person to give him any returned interest was Soriyah, who I expected was the real reason Clayton had been so eager to “escort” us to Minneapolis, and to stick around.
He’d been a little too giddy when, at dinner after Ramsey’s proposal, Soriyah had dropped the news that she was spending the next few months in the United States. She had a niece here, who’d been making waves in high school track, just with Soriyah’s long-distance advice. Now, the opportunity had come to take things further, and Soriyah wanted to be more hands on with her.
And Clayton wanted to be more hands on with Soriyah.
He’d never even met her before the proposal, but the few days we were here, he hadn’t left her side except to help me from a chair or into the car occasionally. Even now, in our box at SuperBowl, he was in her ear, flirting. I glanced over to where they were, and smiled to myself.
Clayton, with his smooth, dark chocolate skin and panty-dissolving grin was halfway out of his seat, leaning toward Soriyah. Even if that wasn’t my friend, I would think she was gorgeous. Cinnamon complexion, an enviable head of thick dark brown natural hair, and big, almond shaped green eyes – a constant source of conversation when I was around her family. At least one person always told the story of her opening her eyes for the first time as a baby, and a collective shout going up around the room, wondering where in the world those had come from.
But Clayton was enthralled, and Soriyah was eating it up. I damn near felt bad for the man. I know he thought probably thought he was charming the hell out of Ri, but I knew better.
It was happening the other way around.
That’s why I didn’t feel bad when I stood up, grabbing her hand to get her attention. “I need to use the ladies room. Come with me,” I said, and she shot a smile at Clayton that was apologetic, but turned mischievous as soon as she was facing me.
“Come on,” she beckoned, and we headed to the semi-private restroom – elegantly maintained, with three stalls. After she checked that they were empty, she locked the door. I took the middle stall, swinging the door closed as she checked her face in the mirror.
“I’m feeling a little bamboozled, Wilhelmina. Why did you not tell me about this Clayton Reed character? I’ve known for months that I was coming, but if I’d known about him, I maybe would have done a few more squats,” she complained in her melodic Caribbean accent, as if she weren’t known for her perfect ass.
She’d come to a meeting at WAWG with me just last week, and after running into Braxton Drake himself, had been asked about a daily morning fitness show. Sure, Soriyah was still a very notable name – she’d beasted the Olympics in 2016, while I was sitting behind a desk reporting on them – so the offer wasn’t solely based on her… assets. But we’d simply been walking down the hall, me with my pregnant waddle and sciatica, her in skinny jeans and high-heeled booties, when we’d heard the familiar “Aye!” of a man who saw something he liked.
Imagine our surprise to turn around and find ourselves facing two of the new network owners – Braxton, and his sister Nashira, who seemed exhausted with her brother’s antics.
“Because Clayton is… Clayton,” I called through the door, as I finished my task. “He’s not exactly the hey, so my man has this friend I think would be great for you” type.”
I opened the door to the stall to find Soriyah’s eyebrows up, and her perfectly turned up nose looking extra haughty. “And why not? If you think I’m not touching a champagne flute to that man’s dick to toast the Kings’ win tonight, you don’t know me at all.”
I laughed at her craziness as I washed my hands. “Oh no, I’ve been expecting to hear about that since the two of you sat next to each other on the plane. I’m actually shocked it hasn’t happened yet – he was all over you Friday night.”
Soriyah grinned. That was the one night Ramsey had come out with us, and we’d managed to figure out where the black people in Minneapolis hung out. The presence of half of the Kings’ starting roster had the crowd at the lounge excited – so excited that I was relieved at the well-secured VIP area where we stayed most of the night. Ramsey didn’t do any drinking – in solidarity with me, and out of respect for the shape he would need to be in on Sunday – but the rest of our little crew had no such hangups.
Song, after song, after song, even after Ramsey and his teammates left to turn in early, Clayton and Soriyah were up under each other. The DJ did a whole little reggaeton section, and I thought Clayton was going to lose his mind behind the way Soriyah whined on him, undoubtedly creating a situation in his pants. But shortly after that, she’d gotten away from him, mischief all over her face as she insisted it was too late for me to be out.
He didn’t see it coming yet, but there was no way she was going to leave him with his pride.
Soriyah picked up one of the thick disposable hand towels from the tray on the sink and handed it to me. “Just because I planned to screw him from the time I laid eyes on him does not mean he shouldn’t still work for it.”
“Very true,” I laughed. “So long as you remember to put a saddle on that horse.”
“Of course,” she readily agreed. “Wouldn’t want to be in your state six months from now, pregnant and engaged, because you know I won’t be able to get rid of him. A man like Clayton! Could you imagine?”
; I knew her words were harmless – she was unquestionably happy for me, excited about the baby, loved Ramsey, all of that. But… her words played on an insecurity I’d been struggling with, ever since the proposal. Absently, I scratched at my hand, fingering the diamond that accented the rose gold band. Such a beautiful, perfect ring, that I loved, and was proud to wear… mostly. It was just that…
“Do you think I did this too fast?” I asked, my first time expressing it out loud to Ri. I hadn’t even said anything to my mother and she’d been all over me, based on the conversation we’d had at her house, warning me not to overthink the “too fast” thing. But, seriously. “In two months, it’ll be April again. What was supposed to be my one year anniversary, with Darius. And don’t get me wrong, I’m way past tripping on that. I’m not sad about it, I love my life right now. I just… of course people have been saying ugly things, it comes with the territory of being in the public eye. But it’s been said a lot that Ramsey only proposed because I was pregnant.”
“That’s bullshit.”
I scoffed. “Oh, I know that, because I know Ramsey. He wants me to be his wife, that’s without question, in my mind. And I want him to be my husband. With every part of me, I feel like he is my one, my destiny, but I can’t help wondering… if I weren’t pregnant, would I have said yes? Not even a year after this other thing ended, if I weren’t carrying a Bishop in my belly, would I have said yes… or would I have pepper sprayed his ass, because this is crazy.”
“Why does it matter?” Soriyah said, waving me off. “Wait. Back up. I don’t mean to sound as if I think your concern isn’t valid, or that you shouldn’t spend time in self-examination, thinking through the course of your action, but… it doesn’t matter. I know you’re just talking to me, getting it out of your head. But that’s exactly where this should stay – out. These hypothetical scenarios aren’t good for much of anything outside of causing unnecessary stress. Are you about to give the ring back, call the engagement off?”
“What?” I took a step back, protectively covering my ring. “Hell no!”
“Then who gives a shit what you would’ve said if you weren’t pregnant? You were very pregnant. And you said yes. Because that man out there running people over in the name of this silly violent sport is the love of your life. So what is your purpose, girl?”
“My purpose is making sure that I’m doing this for the right reasons. I was so upset about how it seemed like life just wouldn’t stop kicking me in the ass. Publicly cheated on and humiliated, conned out of my job, privacy violated, unexpected pregnancy. But then my mother helped me shift my perspective. I accepted everything, focused on the positive that came from it all… I’m well on my way to the career I wanted, I’m finally going to have a baby, and I am all the way in love. And I just wonder if so eagerly accepting such a fast proposal – just seven months after we became more than friends – is my way of trying… hurry up and get to where I thought I’d be. Career. Husband. Baby.”
Soriyah’s eyes narrowed, and then she chuckled. “O-kay. Let me see if I have this right. This man proposed to you – asked you to be his wife – and you are wondering if you are taking advantage by saying yes.”
I planted my hands against my lower back, trying to give a little support, since I’d put it through paces this week, with all the running around we’d done. “Yes.”
“And this sounds reasonable, to your ears? This has to be another of these American things, having so few real problems that you have to invent some, so you are not bored. My God, Wil. The Jamaicans, they have this saying that American tourists love to spout in the Bahamas, for some reason. It’s irie, mon. It’s all good. Relax.”
“You know you didn’t have to go in on me like that just now, right?”
“I think maybe I did. Are you good now?”
I sucked my teeth. “Aside from feeling stupid now, yeah I guess.”
“Don’t be mad at me Willy,” she sang, looping her arm through mine as we left the bathroom for our private box. “It’s just, you’re mostly back to Little Miss Sunshine, and I can’t have you slipping back. Embrace these good things happening for you.”
We must have lost track of time in the bathroom, because we came back to the box just in time to see the Kings down by four, with only enough time left in the game for a single play. When we stepped out, they were ahead, which a good amount of time left in the game. Dread rocked my stomach as I watched them line up, trying to figure out the impossible – what they were about to do.
This time last year, the Kings were under similar conditions, and they had walked away from the field defeated. My eyes went over to Cole, who was up on her feet with the other execs, hands clutched in front of her chest. Last season, Jordan hadn’t walked off the field at all.
My attention returned to the game as the players broke away, into an “I” formation. As Jordan moved into position at Trent’s direction, my heart dropped.
No. No!
They were at the goddamn one-yard line, and Ramsey had been a beast on the field all day! Why the hell would they risk a pass? I watched, helpless, as the red-clad Kansas City players descended on Jordan, already having read the scene, and ready to disrupt the play attempt that would cost them the “champion” name.
A sudden, collective gasp went up around the room, and I realized my mistake as my eyes scanned the field. I’d been so busy watching Jordan – by design – that I hadn’t noticed the ball getting handed off to Ramsey.
But I absolutely noticed as first one foot, then the other stepped into the endzone, with the ball tucked securely under his arm. Me, the rest of the box, and what seemed like the whole stadium went up at the same time. It was so loud that I could barely hear myself screaming about the fact that Ramsey – my Ramsey – had been the one to make the game-winning play.
I couldn’t even see him anymore – he was buried in the middle of a crush of his teammates, and the field was filling up with people, fast. Half our box was gone, barely thirty seconds after the game was over, wanting to make it to the field for congratulations. When I glanced around and didn’t see Cole, I assumed she was already on her way down there. Even the baby excited apparently, making me flinch as it pushed down into my pelvis, creating a lingering pressure that made me feel a little sick.
But that was okay.
We’d won.
He’d won.
“Let’s meet him in the locker room,” Naima urged, hooking an arm around my waist. I didn’t even know I was crying until she wiped my face.
Happy tears.
We were all giddy though, shaking hands and fist bumping and hugging like we had been the ones on the field. Ashley was down with the team, helping treat the in-game injuries, so it was just me, Soriyah, Clayton, and Naima. Soriyah and Clayton led the way, with me and Naima behind them. We’d just gotten past the doorway to the box when a sudden wave of dizziness hit me, followed shortly by a feeling like my stomach was turning inside out.
I cringed, reflexively cupping my belly, and Naima’s arm tightened around me.
“Hey,” she said, concerned. “You good?”
I nodded, even though I was honestly feeling fuzzy. “Yeah. I think… maybe I just got a little too excited. And it was so loud, all the noise. I’m okay.”
“No, I think we should sit down for a minute,” Clayton said, having stopped and turned around when he noticed what was happening. “Let you get your bearings.”
“I’m good,” I insisted, shaking my head. “My man just won the damn Super Bowl – I need too see—ahhhh,” I hissed, involuntarily bending at the waist as something like a cramp ripped through my pelvis. I reached in front me, trying to find support, and Clayton and Soriyah rushed to give it, one on each side, helping a struggling Naima to keep me upright.
“What is it?” Naima’s voice was pleading in my ear as I closed my eyes. “Tell us what’s going on.”
My eyelids felt heavy, tongue seemed glued to the roof of my mouth as I struggled through the ste
ady, excruciating discomfort to explain.
“P-pain,” I wheezed, digging my fingers into Clayton’s arm. “Like cramps.”
“Shit,” Soriyah cursed. “Wil. Wil. Look at me. Open your eyes, and look at me. Listen,” she said, when I finally did.
“You cannot have this baby right now.”
“Ramsey Bishop,” the reporter started, yelling over the sounds of screaming fans. There was blue and gold confetti covering everything, stuck to my face, stuck to her face, but I wasn’t bothered. Nothing could bother me right now. “The whole country wants to know – exactly how amazing do you feel right now?”
I laughed at the question. “I… honestly can’t even put it into words. Can’t begin to describe it.”
“Totally understandable. This was a tough game for both teams tonight, with no major leads for either side of the field. It seemed as every single point out there was a battle this time, but your stats prove that you more than carried your weight. Twenty-three carries for 117 yards before that last, game-winning play. How did you pull this off?”
I shook my head. “I can’t possibly take that credit, Kendra. Trent took that hit in the third quarter, and still came back to the field ready to put this thing to bed. Jordan lived up to that “The Flash” nickname with ever play. This whole team, honestly – we came out here to make our fans, family, and friends proud today, and we delivered on that. These guys embraced me as a last-minute addition to their team, making me feel welcome, and I’m just glad I was able to play in a way that contributes to the Connecticut Kings name in a positive way.”
“Is that a reference to some of the negative talk around your preseason performance?”
“It is.”
Kendra Fulton, who’d been my colleague for years as a journalist, smiled. “This was quite a way to put a muzzle on your naysayers, some of whom thought you should have stuck to talking about football rather than playing it. In an exclusive interview with Wil Cunningham, you spoke about feeling that you’d lost your hunger for the game after the unfortunate passing of your lovely mother. Many felt that you should have remained retired if you couldn’t find the passion to play at your pre-retirement levels, but you’ve obviously regained your mojo. Where does it come from?”
Determining Possession (Connecticut Kings Book 3) Page 32
