by Sarah Thorn
“I’ve been seeing him as long as I’ve been seeing you. It’s not new. It’s not why I want to break up. If anything, now, I really want to be with you. It’s you I want. Really. But I can’t. It’s not fair to you.”
“I thought there was someone else,” James said, shaking his head softly. “I just didn’t know it would sting so badly when I found out.”
Viola felt tears stinging her eyes, and she wiped them away with her fingertips as they spilled over her bottom eyelid and began to run down her cheeks.
“Really, it’s not the other guy.”
James just nodded. “It’s fine,” he said. “I understand.”
And then, with sudden abruptness, he turned and left, and Viola didn’t know what to say to get him to come back.
The next day, she had Martin come over, expecting much of the same, but he surprised her. When she told him she wanted to break up, he flew into a rage. He yelled, he screamed, he called her names, including the n- word. He swore he would get his car back, and Viola broke down into tears. She cried for days.
She had good friends who helped her through the pregnancy, but it just wasn’t the same without the father there. And after Martin’s horrific outburst when she broke things off with him, she hoped and prayed the baby wasn’t his. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She didn’t want to know whose it was, just so it wouldn’t be Martin’s. She didn’t want to do a DNA test, she didn’t plan on trying to get any guy for his money. She would raise the baby herself, and she would move on with her life.
As she grew closer to her due date, her mother flew in from Illinois, where Viola had been born and raised. It helped to have her mother there, but as the date grew nearer, Viola found herself in a state of depression.
Three days before the baby was due, he decided to come out, and Viola and her mother rushed to the hospital. It was a grueling ten-hour ordeal, but when it was done and Viola was holding her little baby boy, with skin the color of chocolate milk and a head of dark hair already, Viola felt nothing but happiness. All her worries seemed to go away. She thought it might have had something to do with the baby's nose. It was crooked, just like James’. There was no doubt in Viola’s mind that James was the father.
Viola named the baby Grady, after her grandfather, and she and her mother and the baby went home three days after he was born. The happiness of being a new mother couldn’t keep the crushing regret from coming back, though, and she found herself looking at the baby often and thinking of James. When it became too much, a month after Grady was born, she bundled him up and went to see James.
She got into his office building by having security call up to him, and she found him waiting for her as soon as the elevator opened. He arched a brow at the baby she held in her arms, but didn’t say anything until he led her past rows of cubicles and into his private office. The walls were glass, but he pressed a button on a small remote control he kept on his desk, and they darkened.
“Neat,” Viola said, smiling softly to James as she sat down across from him.
“You have a baby,” James said.
“I do.”
“Boy?”
“Yes,” Viola said.
“Is it mine?” James asked, not able to keep the question from springing forth from his lips.
“I think so,” Viola said, and she shifted the baby so James could see its face.
“He has my nose,” James said, and he smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Grady?” Viola said. “Like my-”
James cut her off. “Grandfather. I remember.”
Viola didn’t even remember telling James about her grandfather, but she must have, and he had listened, and remembered. It touched her, and with her hormones all out of sorts, it hit her hard, and she felt tears coming. She let them roll down her cheeks, but took a tissue when James slid the box across the desk towards her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I really messed up.”
James sat silently for a moment. “If he’s mine, I want to help. He’s mine. I can tell.”
“The nose,” Viola said with a laugh, and James grinned and nodded. “My father has it, so does my brother.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Viola said. “It was you. Always you.”
“I said I want to help,” James said again.
“I didn’t come here for that,” Viola said. “I don’t want your money.”
James grinned and nodded. “I know,” he said, adding, “and that’s why I love you.”
Viola couldn’t speak for a moment. He had told her he loved her. He had never done that. Martin had, and then when she broke up with him, he had yelled and screamed. James liked rough sex, and he had never said it, but now, that he did, she knew he meant it.
“I love you too,” Viola said.
“I want to help, and I mean that I want to be with you. I want to raise our child together. No one could fill the spot in my heart that you left behind.”
Viola was crying more, the tears rushing down her face. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t all of that. She had just wanted a man to know he was a father. They had talked about it once before, after sex one night in his apartment, wrapped up together in a bedsheet, naked bodies pressed together. He had told her he wanted kids, but he had never even been married, and he didn’t know if a woman would ever be alright with his lifestyle enough to settle down with him since he could never really settle down. There was always a meeting, always a dinner.
James stood, and he pulled something out of a drawer in his desk before he walked around and knelt down beside Viola’s chair. He held up a small box.
“I had bought this a month before you ended things with me,” he said as he opened the box to reveal the largest and most stunning engagement ring Viola had ever seen. “I think I should give it to you now. Will you marry me, Viola?”
Viola nodded and broke into wild laughter. “Yes,” she said. “Yes of course.”
James leaned forward and they were kissing. She had missed his lips, his taste, and she felt every old feeling come back to her. They broke the kiss, and James grinned at her.
“Can I hold my son?” he asked, and Viola laughed and handed him over. She sat there, watching the billionaire holding her son. His son. He looked like a natural, and he stared down at the baby with wonder in his eyes.
They were married less than a month later, and Viola and Grady moved into the massive apartment on the top floor of the sleek and shining skyscraper. She quit her job at the restaurant, and her days were filled with love. It was everything she had ever wanted, everything she was sure she would never get with Jerome. She thought back to him sometimes, and the gift he had given her. It had hurt that he was the one breaking up with her, but if he hadn’t, she would never have given herself over to her primal desires. She wouldn’t have gone to the club with James, she wouldn't have let him fuck her that night. She wouldn’t have met the love of her life, even though she took a roundabout way of getting to him. In a strange way, she owed her happiness to the unemployed loser who broke her heart. She thanked him on the days she thought of him, but as time went on, those were few and far between.
*****
THE END
SPORTS Romance - My Stepbrother’s Game – A College Hockey Romance
1.
I was having difficulty concentrating on my book; it could be said that it was a little bit my fault, though; reading at a sporting event is always difficult. The crowd is always jumping to their feet or hollering about a goal.
Kathy sat next to me, cheering her lungs out.
“Isn’t this just the most fun you’ve had in your life,” she quipped.
“Right, fun,” I replied, trying my best to concentrate on my reading.
There are so many places you can visit and adventures you can have; all of these things while sitting in a comfy chair while drinking tea. I don’t think Kathy really understood how much fun I had while reading.
“Serious
ly, Casey. You’re a real downer right now with that book,” she said.
I rolled my eyes behind the pages of my book. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. The school room assignments saw fit to randomly place an introvert with an extrovert. I was reaping the rewards of having a roommate more outgoing than me.
Kathy snatched the book from my hands and gestured to the ice rink in front of me.
“This is all the action you need right now, come on Casey. Give it a try for just ten minutes and I won’t bother you again for the rest of the night,” she pleaded.
I took my book back.
“Do you promise,” I asked snidely.
“If you can manage after enjoying all this action,” she said.
I stuffed my book into my purse and turned my attention to the athletes providing the entertainment.
The two teams flurried about, doing their best to attack the puck. Our star player was on the field, heading down the ice towards where Kathy and I sat, with the puck shuffling back and forth on his stick.
For a brief moment, I could make out the baby blue in his eyes, and I felt his stare shooting at me. Everything fell away in the moment; the crowd cheered, but I was deaf to their tune, as though nothing else mattered.
Then a rival player smashed him hard into the glass that I was sitting near. I held my hand to my mouth, feeling his pain shoot through my head.
It didn’t seem to faze him much; he just turned my direction, smiled, blew a kiss and shuffled the puck from the corner.
“I think he saw me,” Kathy said.
I could see her already begin to swoon. More times than I could count I’d returned to the dorm room with a sock waiting for me on the door. It was the standard signal for me to get comfy at the local coffee shop until she told me it was all clear.
I wouldn’t say that she slept with a lot of different people; she just liked to sleep with the same people very often. I would always do my best not to judge her choices, but honestly, none of the boys held much interest for me. Most of the men around here reminded me of home, and that bothered me to consider.
In the small amount of time I watched, I witnessed two different fights on the ice. The referee would always back off for the briefest of seconds as the idiots would have a go at trading blows. I did my best to avoid giggling at their stupidity, but even so it was hard to suppress.
“I hear they’re having a party after the game, we should go, it’s Friday, could be fun!”
As she continued to talk I-having fulfilled my requisite time watching-returned to my book. She scoffed, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to finish the chapter before the game was over so I wouldn’t have to remember my place on the way home.
“Okay, that’s it. You’re staying for the party. You need to get out and meet people,” she said.
“Not interested,” I replied.
“If you come, this time, I promise I won’t bother you for at least a month,” she suggested.
The idea of being able to be left to myself was tempting, but definitely not enough.
“How about, if I go, you won’t have sex in the dorm for a month,” I suggested in jest.
“Deal,” she responded all too quickly.
“I was just kidding, really. I don’t want to go,” I said.
“Too bad, we have a deal.”
I slumped into my chair, wishing I hadn’t said anything at all. Before long, the game time had elapsed, and our team ended up the victor. This party had all the sudden become a victory party, and I had an inkling of what that might entail.
2.
‘Come to the party,’ she said, ‘we’ll have some fun,’ she said. Why do I always get stuck being the person she drags to these stupid things. I’d rather just be curled up at home, reading a book, and getting to sleep early.
That’s what I get for having a roommate that can’t do anything by herself. She just has to pull me along, until she finds someone more interesting to talk to, and then she forgets about me.
This would be the fourth party in recent memory that this has happened. I watched her from afar, chatting with a couple of boys, whom I’m sure she had every interest in sleeping with tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time.
They held the party at the now empty ice rink where our local hockey team had just won. I wasn’t much of a hockey fan. When I was a little kid, my dad would have the games on in the den, sitting beer in hand, while shouting excitedly at the T.V. I never minded curling up nearby while he watched, I’d just read a book and forget what silly things the boys said at school.
I still remember when he got me into skating; he wanted a son more than a daughter, but he did the best with what he had. He tried getting me into hockey; its popularity never waned through all of elementary school. Instead of getting into that sport, I found myself oddly taken by figure skating.
He rolled his eyes at the idea, but never once said a bad thing about it whenever he’d take me to practice. I miss him, even though we never really saw eye to eye.
I had a feeling I might be roped into an after party, Kathy always knew how to pry me out of my shell. Having brought along my old pair of ice skates, I thought now was as good a time as any to get back on the ice. A smattering of other partygoers had already convened on the Ice and had started playing games. I hadn’t much interest in their brand of fun, so I did my best to avoid their gaze.
I stiffly started to skate about before finding my stride. I could feel the cool air stinging in my nostrils, as I sped along the outer edge of the rink. It had been a while since I’d been on the ice myself, but I felt the memories of all my old lessons coming back to me.
I started skating backwards, as I was taught, and I felt a surge of adrenaline course through my veins. It was a feeling I always had before I did something that felt right, but was usually stupid. It felt right enough to me, as I pushed off the ice and did a quick spin in the air, narrowly landing without falling.
It took me a second to catch my breath; I hadn’t done any figure skating since before my dad died. Even so, landing that jump brought back a few memories that I wish had stayed buried, as I felt a couple of tears begin to form at the corner of my eyes.
A small bit of applause began to roar from the center of the ice. My skating had garnered their attention, against my better judgment. I turned to them and took a quick bow, to appease their cheers, skating backward the entire way.
Then I bumped into him.
I lost my footing and fell over backwards, my legs flipping over my head, making me land face first on the ice while still sliding backwards. Then a hand shot out to stop me, which was, at least, a modicum of solace.
I couldn’t make out who was helping me, but was thankful that I was being helped up at all. I barely needed to do any of the work, as it seemed he felt intent to pick me all the way up. In fact, he did, cradling me in his arms for a moment while laughing.
I rolled my eyes and pushed off, finding myself standing back on the ice and more than a little woozy from the fall.
“You know, you should watch where you’re going when there’s a crowd on the ice,” he said between laughs.
I scowled at him for a second before responding.
“You could have gotten out of my way!”
“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have seen you do a backflip. Did anyone tell you that you’re cute when you’re angry?”
I flared my nostrils and began to skate away. He followed after me, to my chagrin.
“Why are you following me,” I asked.
“I wanted to make sure I was there to catch you if you tripped over someone else,” he replied.
“I can see where I’m going, just go away,” I said, steering out of the way of the group on the center of the ice.
“Are you sure,” he asked, coyly.
I stopped and wheeled around to confront him.
“You’re the worst kind of jerk,” I started, “at least normal jerks stop bothering me when I ask them to.”
He laughed.
I hadn’t had a good look at him before, but now that I was looking at him face to face, and not woozy from falling over, he was actually a little attractive.
A smattering of thick stubble surrounded his chiseled chin, as his thick unkempt hair tousled around his head, falling down to his forehead in wavy circles. He was taller than me, even though I was on skates. I couldn’t see much under his puffy, thick, winter jacket, but he wore it well with a strong stature.
“Didn’t I see you at the game, earlier?” he asked.
Now that I looked, I saw the same icy blue eyes staring back at me that I’d seen during the game earlier.
“You’re the player that got shoved against the glass,” I said.
He tousled his hair with his hand.
“Yeah, I still feel that one,” he replied, “are you enjoying the party?”
I looked over at the group gathered around the keg; they laughed as though being drunk were the best thing in the world.
“I was enjoying it in my own way, until you decided that I should be doing backflips instead of skating,” I said.
He laughed.
I didn’t know I was a comedian.
“Considering how sober you are right now, you must come with me.”
I stared at him quizzically.
“Just follow me, it’s important,” he said, beckoning me to follow.
My curiosity was taking over, and out of instinct and adventure I followed. He led me to the other side of the arena, to the group gathered around the keg.
“I have the other person for my team,” he shouted.
The crowd let out a collected cheer, and I was regretting wearing my ice skates right now.
“Okay, here’s the game. It’s team style beer pong; the winning team gets to choose a suitable punishment for the losing team. Standard rules, no rebounds.”
I felt like an idiot joining in on this inane game. An excuse to drink and throw things around was all it really was, and thinly veiled at that.
A ping pong ball was thrust into my hand. I leaned over to my partner and whispered in his ear.
“What do I do,” I asked in earnest.
