Keep My Heart (Top Shelf Romance Book 7)

by Lex Martin

  I don’t even have to think about it. I’ve had to familiarize myself with most sports, but basketball is my first love.

  “Ninety-seven NBA Finals,” I answer, relaxing my shoulders and unknotting my fingers. “Utah Jazz and Chicago Bulls.”

  “Game five,” we say together, sharing a smile because he knows exactly where I’m going.

  “Jordan was sick as a dog,” I say, “but somehow, he dug deep into reserves that most people don’t even have and willed that game into the win column. It was Herculean.”

  “Good one.” Jared nods approvingly. “And what did that say to you?”

  “Let nothing hold you back or keep you down.” Conviction rings in my voice because those are lessons I had to learn growing up, a child of the Ninth Ward. A Katrina refugee from a city that had to reincarnate itself more than once. “Even when you think you’re defeated, dig deeper. Go harder. Press, because there is something worth it on the other side.”

  “Good lesson.” Jared glances down at my resumé, lifting his eyebrows and nodding. “You’ve been busy. This all looks good.”

  “Thank you.” I fight back a premature smile.

  “If offered the opportunity,” Jared continues, “you realize it pays next to nothing, will take over your entire life, and requires you to relocate to Chicago.”

  The money, or lack of, doesn’t matter. I’ve learned to live with less than most. Hard work has never scared me.

  Caleb’s face flashes through my mind, creased with disappointment if I make a decision before we know where he’ll be drafted. And for some reason, August’s face follows soon after. And his words, cautioning me not to lose myself in the world he and Caleb will enter soon. It’s been two weeks since the championship, but I’ve thought of him more than once, and his advice in my head is exactly what I need to hear.

  “I’m willing to do what it takes for this chance.” I infuse the words with confidence and meet his eyes without hesitation.

  “Good.” He stands and walks around the desk, prompting me to stand, too. “We have a few more of these job fairs to do, and we won’t make selections for the next couple of months, but you definitely impressed me, Iris. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you.” I force myself to breathe evenly, but my heart is sprinting. A job like this is exactly the kind of opportunity I need to launch my career in the business of sports.

  Jared grabs my hand for a firm shake. “And, hey. I’m sorry again for starting on the wrong foot. Assuming you were on-air talent—”

  “Nothing wrong with on-air talent,” I interject with a forgiving smile. “Some of the smartest people I know sit in front of the camera. I just don’t happen to be one of them.”

  He releases my hand and walks over to the door. I’m following him when my stomach roils like an angry ocean. Nausea washes over me, so strong it takes my breath, makes my mouth water and dots perspiration across my skin. My eyes stretch when I feel my breakfast reversing, making its way up my throat. I part my lips, prepared to give a quick goodbye and make a hasty departure, but it’s too late. It’s sudden and inevitable. Everything in my stomach ejects from my mouth in a putrid stream.

  And splatters all over Jared Foster.

  Iris

  “I can’t be.”

  The words tumble past my numb lips. I stare at the urine-stained stick, predicting that in a few months I’ll be the last thing I want to be at this stage of my life—a mother.

  “Yeah, well four positive pregnancy tests say you are,” Lotus replies from the screen turned to face me, her concern evident even over FaceTime. We live in the same city, but we’re on different campuses. With our hectic schedules, we FaceTime like we live in different countries.

  “How’d this happen, Bo?”

  “What do you mean?” With wobbly knees, I sit on the bed, careful not to disturb the laptop displaying Lo’s face, the only reassuring thing in this unexpected shit storm. “It happened the usual way.”

  “I know, but the usual way for people with a shred of common sense involves condoms or shots or pills that keep this from happening.”

  “The pills made me sick. The shots made my hair fall out, so Caleb used condoms.”

  “Apparently not every time,” Lo mutters, eyebrows sky high.

  “Yes, every time, Lo.” I swallow another wave of nausea, this one less to do with my pregnancy and more to do with the tough choices ahead of me. “We were always careful. We didn’t want to jeopardize our future plans.”

  “You didn’t want to jeopardize your future plans,” Lotus says, doubt leaking into her voice. “This pregnancy means you might have to depend on Caleb more. It makes it harder for you to be independent and live apart from him. Maybe he was less careful than you thought.”

  “No.” I shake my head in adamant denial. “And don’t you think I would have noticed if he skipped the condom? Caleb wouldn’t do that. He didn’t want me living somewhere else and working in another state, but he would never do this on purpose.”

  “He wrapped it up?” Lo lifts a skeptical brow. “Every time?”

  “Every time,” I say with confidence, because to even entertain what she’s suggesting would make Caleb a stranger to me—a manipulative person willing to sacrifice my future, my dreams for his wishes. And I can’t believe I’d be intimate with someone like that and never know. I can’t have been that wrong about him. It’s just not possible.

  “What’re you gonna do about it?” Lo rests her chin in the heel of her hand and watches me steadily.

  “I’ll talk to him, of course,” I tell Lo, glancing at my phone on the bed to check the time. “He’s coming over. We’ll talk and decide what to do together. I’ll figure it all out. This pregnancy won’t slow me down.”

  The words ring hollow. It will change things. It has to impact my plans, of course, but I know I can make it work. I have to.

  I sign off, promising to call Lotus once Caleb and I finish talking. We’ve both always been afraid of ending up like our mothers—depending on a man for everything, taking his scraps. This isn’t that. I know it, and I hope Lotus knows, but she still wants to make sure. And when I face Caleb on my doorstep, so do I.

  When I tell him, his laugh booms in my small room. A wide smile crinkles his eyes and creases his lean cheeks.

  “This is awesome.” He grabs me by the shoulders and dusts kisses all over my face. “Baby, this is the beginning of our future together.”

  Or the end of the one I envisioned for myself, if I’m not careful.

  I press my hands to his chest, carving out a small space of breathing room.

  “It’s not awesome, Caleb,” I say softly, firmly. “It’s a problem. I’m about to start my career. I’ve been interviewing for positions and feel really good about my prospects. This is a major wrench.”

  “Baby, you don’t have to work anymore.” Arrogance stamps his face. “You never really needed to. Even without an NBA contract, I can take care of you. You don’t need to worry about anything. Just move with me, and you and the baby will be taken care of.”

  Taken care of.

  That’s one thing I promised myself I’d never be. I remember my mother emerging from the bedroom at the back of our small apartment, a robe hastily tied over her nakedness. A near-stranger walked out after her, zipping his pants, tucking in his shirt, counting off bills for her waiting hand.

  “But none of the positions I’m in the running for are in the places you’ll probably go,” I say firmly. “There’s one in New York, and I had a great interview today with Richter Sports. I think they may offer me a job with their Chicago office.”

  A cloud darkens his expression.

  “Chicago!” He levels a glare at me, the blue of his eyes going almost black. “The odds of me being drafted by Chicago are next to zero, Iris. How could you even consider it?”

  “I considered it because it’s a great opportunity.” I step away from him altogether, escaping the anger vibrating off his body. “One I should t
ake before I have a family and obligations. This is the time for us to risk and explore, and figure things out.”

  “What’s there to figure out?” he demands. “I love you. You love me.”

  I just blink at him. We’ve said those words, yes, but this relationship isn’t the filter for all my decisions, just like it can’t be the filter for all of his. Why can’t he see that both things are true? That I can love him, but not be ready for this? Not be ready to hitch my entire future to him? That I’m not sure, and that I shouldn’t have to be yet.

  “We’re having a baby. We should be together,” he continues, apparently not concerned by my silence. “And you and my child will go with me to the city that drafts me. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

  “What about my dreams?” I watch his face for any sign that he would mourn my ambitions at all. That my hopes mean more to him than getting his way. “I don’t want the last four years of college, all my hard work, to go to waste.” I lick my lips nervously. “Let’s just weigh our options, Caleb. We have options.

  “You don’t mean abortion?” Caleb goes still, and his eyes ice over. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Would I? The space between theoretical and actual makes you consider things you never thought you would.

  “No.” I shrug. “Not really. I don’t know, Caleb. This is just a lot.”

  “I know.” He walks me to the bed, sitting down and pulling me onto his lap. “But this only accelerates the plan. You know I want to be with you, want to marry you. I want you with me when I’m drafted, and I want us to have a family. I’ve known this for a long time.”

  How? How do you know?

  The question rattles in my brain, my uncertainty butting up against his confidence. I care about Caleb. He wouldn’t have been my first, wouldn’t have gotten past the walls I used to protect myself if I didn’t care. But forever? Marriage? Children? Somehow, even as I stare into his dark blue eyes and lean into the gentle stroke of his hand in my hair, I have trouble seeing the rest of my life with him. And I shouldn’t have to see it right now.

  “Caleb, I can have this baby even if we aren’t married. Even if we live in different states for a while. People do long-distance relationships all the time.”

  “Are you not happy in our relationship?” Hurt creases his expression into a frown. “Am I missing something?”

  I leave his lap to pace in front of the bed, fixing my eyes on the thin, cheap carpet. “It’s not that. I . . . we’re young. We have a lot of life ahead. We don’t have to chain ourselves—”

  “Chain?” He expels the word on an outraged breath. “A lot of girls wouldn’t see marrying me as a punishment or a prison.”

  “A lot of girls would see this baby as an opportunity, Caleb.” I look up to meet his eyes frankly. “I don’t. When and if I marry someone, I don’t want to feel trapped into it.”

  “Trapped?” His disbelieving laugh fills the room. “Not to be arrogant, but I’m the one who has to worry about being trapped by a woman with a baby.”

  “Not this woman, you don’t,” I fire back. “I’m not asking you to marry me. If you would listen, I’m telling you I’m not ready for that.”

  “And our baby?” His tight lips barely let the words out. “I suppose you’re not ready for that either?”

  At his question, Lotus’s concerns echo in my ears.

  “How, um . . .” I swallow my reluctance and force myself to go on. “How did this happen? We were always so careful.”

  I risk a glance at Caleb’s handsome face. “Weren’t we?” I ask softly.

  Something flickers through his eyes so quickly there’s no time for me to read it. Guilt? Anger?

  “I’m pretty sure you were there, too, Iris. Wouldn’t you know just as well as me if we were always careful?”

  I don’t wear the condoms.

  It screams through my head, but I can’t make myself say it. Anything close to an accusation would only worsen this already tense situation. Honestly, I can’t ever remember a time when we didn’t use protection. Does it really matter whose “fault” it is? Condoms aren’t fail-proof. Even though Caleb has been pressuring me to discard my plans and get in line with his, I can’t imagine him going to these lengths.

  Besides, it’s like he said: men in his position are the ones worried about being trapped by a grasping female securing a bright future via uterus. Even though I’m being dragged into this situation kicking and screaming, people will assume that’s what I’ve done. That I’ve “trapped” Caleb. They’ll have no idea that I can barely breathe with this baby growing inside of me. That my palms practically drip sweat when I think of Caleb’s ring on my finger. That it’s not satisfaction I feel knowing I’m pregnant by an NBA draft shoo-in.

  It’s claustrophobic.

  August

  I’ve been under bright lights a lot the last few years. I should be used to them by now, but squinting into blinding bulbs on the set of Twofer, the sports show hosting the Draft Class Special, I’m not so sure.

  “Nervous?” Avery Hughes, one of the hosts of Twofer, asks.

  Uh . . .” I glance around the set, taking in the huge cameras, the sleek furniture, and the crew scurrying around and preparing for the show. “Nah. What’s there to be nervous about?”

  “Nothing at all.” Avery’s dark eyes and the smirk tilting her mouth convey amusement. “Thanks for coming on.”

  “No problem.” I fill a Styrofoam cup with the dark roast coffee on the table. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  Lloyd, the agent I just signed with, would have had a conniption if I’d refused to appear on Twofer, one of the most popular sports shows around. He thinks the higher my profile as we approach draft night, the better. I’m just ready to get it over with.

  “You were first on my list of guests,” Avery says, drawing my attention back to our conversation. She’s a beautiful woman, but she’s best known as a tough journalist. A smart one, too. “You and Caleb Bradley.”

  “Wait.” My hand pauses with the coffee halfway to my mouth. “Is Caleb on today’s show, too?”

  Just the sound of that dude’s name scrapes my nerves. I’ve thought of Iris more times than I want to admit in the last three months. Unfortunately, that also means thinking about her punk-ass boyfriend. The media can’t seem to say my name without saying his, and vice versa, but thank God Caleb and I haven’t actually been in the same place at the same time.

  “Yeah, Caleb’s on the show, too.” A frown crinkles Avery’s smooth skin. “Your agent didn’t tell you?”

  My eyes lock with Lloyd’s as he walks on set with MacKenzie Decker, president of basketball operations for the San Diego Waves, the latest expansion team approaching their first season. My agent glances away almost immediately. He knows there’s no love lost between Caleb and me and probably assumed I would have declined this appearance had I known Caleb was booked, too.

  My stepbrother, an agent himself, didn’t want to mix blood with business, or he would have repped me. Technically, he’s not blood, but most in the league don’t even know we’re connected. He recommended Lloyd with only a few reservations. Right now, facing an hour on camera pretending not to hate Caleb, I have even more reservations about my agent.

  “Lloyd has a lot going on,” I reply, smoothing my expression into a blank slate as he and MacKenzie Decker approach. “He must have forgotten to mention it.”

  Deck, as everyone calls him, ignores me and reaches for Avery immediately, pulling her close to kiss her cheek. She glances at me self-consciously, but a smile spreads over her face and affection warms her eyes when she looks way up at the basketball executive and former baller. I’ve heard rumors about them dating. It’s obviously true, because Deck looks like he might scandalize us all and bend her over the nearest couch any minute now.

  “Ahem.” Avery puts a little space between her and Deck but doesn’t step completely from the crook of his arm. “August, have you met MacKenzie Decker?”

 
“I’m a huge fan, sir.” I extend my hand to one of the greatest point guards to ever lace up. “It’s truly an honor.”

  “You can drop the ‘sir’ and call me Deck,” he says, accepting my handshake. “You have a bright future, August. I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

  I glance between Lloyd and Decker. I don’t want to play for an expansion team. Even Deck, one of the most brilliant basketball minds of our generation, can’t skip the slow start any expansion team inevitably experiences. It’ll be awhile before the Waves start winning. Spending my most productive years in a brand-spanking-new, dead-end situation is not how I envision my run as a professional basketball player.

  If I thought Lloyd was avoiding my eyes before, he’s damn near hiding now. There are several things we haven’t seen eye to eye on already, and if he was expecting some wet-behind-the-ears pup who would blindly do whatever he said, he’s got another thing coming.

  “Congrats on the championship.” Deck sips his coffee, one arm still resting lightly around Avery’s waist. “And on the Naismith. That’s quite a senior year you had there.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The lift of his eyebrows reminds me he doesn’t want the formality. “I mean, Deck.”

  “You took a risk staying all four years,” he says, watching me closely.

  Most players with my prospects leave college after their sophomore or junior year. They want to start earning as soon as possible, and the risk of injury before we reach the NBA always hovers over every year we remain in college.

  “I wanted my degree. Wanted a thorough education.” I toss the half-full cup of coffee into a nearby trash can. “On and off the court. Coach Mannard’s program was great to shore up my fundamentals.”

  “True. And frankly, I wish more players stayed in college longer. The one-and-done era has weakened fundamentals overall.” Decker nods, his mouth quirking in a one-sided grin. “There’s no education like playing against elite players, though. There’s no preparation for that. You just gotta dive in, sink or swim.”