Deflected (Texas Mutiny Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  “Hold up. Didn’t you just tell me your wife used to throw up after having sex with you?”

  He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Tiffany, you are losing focus on the issue.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

  “Management could have thrown you under the bus because of some random morality clause none of us knew about or something. But they didn’t. They recognize your value and why you are important to this organization. If I get this job, no. When I get this job, I’m putting in my recommendation for you to take over here.” He turns back to his screen, pointing at me one last time. “Get ready, kid. Big things are happening for both of us.”

  He goes back to his work and leaves me to my own thoughts.

  I want this job. I want it so badly I can taste it. But how is this all going to work with a baby coming? I can’t take time off every time Rowen goes out of town. Is there even a twenty-four-hour daycare? And do I want my child to go there?

  Steve is right. Big things are happening. I just don’t know if they’re going to end up overwhelming me.

  It’s funny how everything changes when you find the one you want to be with forever.

  Two years ago, going on a road trip was fun. I liked visiting different cities and checking out stadiums around the country. I enjoyed hanging out with my teammates. We had a good time.

  Then Tiffany and I started dating and it got harder. I still enjoyed going on trips, but I always wanted to get back quickly to be with her. I wasn’t clingy or anything. Nothing stalkerish. With her is just where I wanted to be all the time.

  Now that she’s pregnant, though, I have no desire to leave whatsoever. None. My instincts have kicked in something fierce, and all I want to do is stay home and take care of her. It doesn’t help that she’s sick all the time. It just increases my worry tenfold. Even when she tries to make me feel better.

  “Seriously, Rookie, I’m fine.”

  “You aren’t fine, babe. I can tell by your voice that you just got sick again.”

  Sitting on the bench in the locker room, I’m taking advantage of the fact that everyone else is either showering, milling about, or wasting time on the field and not here yet. No one is listening to this conversation.

  “You can’t tell that by my voice.”

  “Yes, I can. You sound raspier.”

  “Well that’s—gross. Besides, I get sick all the time, Rowen. That doesn’t mean I’m not fine.”

  Sighing, I rub my hand down my face. “I know that. But I hate seeing you like this. I wish I could do more to make it better.”

  She laughs lightly. “You worry too much. You heard the doctor. This is normal. It just might take a couple more weeks before the sickness goes away.”

  “Are you sure you want me to go on this road trip, though? I’m gonna be gone for close to a week. I could always take a leave of absence—”

  “Shut up, Rookie,” she demands. I immediately stop talking. I’m no dummy. Tiffany doesn’t snap at me often, but when she does, she’s serious. “We’re not going to rearrange our entire lives because of a pregnancy. That comes after the baby gets here. Quit your bitching and do your job. You have games to win.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at her demanding tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t patronize me.”

  Now she has me smiling. “Okay, okay. I’ll back off. No guarantees I won’t ask again tomorrow, though.”

  “Fine,” she concedes. “But just be prepared for me to be pissy then too.”

  “Understood.”

  I hear shouting in the background through the phone, probably Steve, which is my cue to let her go.

  “Sounds like you’re getting busy.”

  “I wouldn’t call it busy.” She audibly sighs. “Steve is a little too excited about basketball season. Thank God your season just started too. I was almost ready to quit my job just so I didn’t have to hear anything else about this year’s upcoming Slam Dunk contest.”

  I chuckle, watching as Santos finally comes in. When I walked off the field, he was getting his ass handed to him by coach. No idea what kind of mood he’s in. He doesn’t seem agitated. Maybe they worked out a training plan, or something.

  “I hear ya. Well, get back to work, babe. I love you. Throw up and all.”

  “Love you too.”

  We hang up, just as my teammate reaches his own locker next to mine.

  “You ready to hit the road in a couple days, Rowen?” Santos takes a seat on the bench next to me and begins the tedious process of unwrapping all the athletic tape off his body. I make a mental note as I unwrap my own ankles to never take my age for granted. Someday, I’ll be taping up every part of myself as well.

  “I don’t normally mind these long stretches. But Tiffany hasn’t been feeling well,” I explain quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear. “I don’t like leaving her behind.”

  Santos stops unwrapping and looks around, making sure no one else is listening. I appreciate that he’s making sure this information is going to stay between us. “Everything okay with the baby?” Taking my cue, he speaks as quietly as I am.

  I nod, but I’m sure the expression on my face matches it. “So far. We had a doctor’s appointment yesterday and she’s officially twelve weeks.” That part makes me smile a little. Just remembering what our little baby looks like on that screen makes me all kinds of happy. If no one else was around, I’d pull up the picture I took on my phone and show him. Hell, I’m seriously considering doing it anyway, just because I want to look at again myself.

  Santos’s smile indicates he completely understands my excitement. But I guess he would. He’s got three kids of his own. Even after all the shit that led to his divorce, there was never a question in anyone’s mind that he’s a fantastic father. “That’s great, man. You’re almost done with the first trimester.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m worried.” I use a little too much force to toss my own tape into the trash and rest my hands on my knees, ready to tell all. “All that morning sickness is supposed to go away by ten or twelve weeks, but it seems to be getting worse. We asked about it yesterday and the doctor said some women never get over it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It doesn’t happen often, but of course it happens to my wife. And, of course, there’s nothing I can do about it. And, of course, the doctor mentioned watching for dehydration since she throws up a thousand times a day, so now I feel like I’m constantly making her drink water, which just makes her throw up again.” The frustration runs through me again, now that I’m not having to hold myself together in front of Tiffany. Not that I need to, but I know it adds to her aggravation these days.

  “I’m sorry, man. That fucking sucks.”

  “I don’t know how you went through this three times,” I say with a shake of my head.

  He chuckles. “It’s different every time. I remember the first time, Mari felt great. She would exercise every day and had lots of energy. With Lina, it was the exact opposite. She was tired and felt horrible.”

  That piques my interest. “Lots of morning sickness?”

  “None, actually. She said she just felt gross for nine straight months. Like when you just have a small fever, not enough to knock you on your ass, but enough for it to make everyday activities miserable. She said that’s what it felt like.”

  “What about the last time?”

  He laughs, like he’s enjoying this quick walk down memory lane. “She was huge. I mean, you saw her that one time at Daniel’s party.”

  I grin. “She was pretty big.”

  “She still had a couple months to go then. And the closer she got, ohmygod, she turned into a raging lunatic.”

  Furrowing my brow, I look at him. “Wait… Mari? Your wife, uh… ex-wife Mari was a lunatic?”

  Fortunately, he ignores my faux pas and continues on like I didn’t just verbally punch him in the gut. “Yep. My Mari. The sweetest, kindest, most wonderful woman I’ve ever known in my life
cussed like a sailor and had terrible road rage.”

  I can’t help but bark out of laugh. The thought of Mariana being anything but friendly seems almost ridiculous. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe it.” He smiles as he continues telling me all about when his kids were born. “The girls were the only people she was nice to. Everyone else could suck it. She made the grocery store cashier cry at one point for putting dishwasher detergent in the same bag as the bread. It was insane. And then one day, a couple months after Theo was born, it was like the switch was flipped, and she was back to my sweet wife.”

  He smiles at the memory. It’s nice seeing him happy. Well, maybe not happy, but at least content. Maybe Tiffany was right when she said he just needed some time to get over the hurt and anger. Maybe I was too quick to judge him. I know he apologized to Tiffany for his outburst, which I appreciated. But maybe this particular bridge can be rebuilt. We were all hurt when Santos’s marriage fell apart. It affected a lot of us in various ways.

  “That pregnancy was really rough,” he continues. “But it was totally worth it.”

  “Is it weird that I can already hardly wait for him to be born?”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Him? You already know?”

  I nod, and I’m sure a blush is creeping up my face. It always does whenever I feel a strong emotion, and really, nothing has ever felt as strong as my excitement over my son. “She had a blood test a couple of weeks ago for some other things and they could tell that way.”

  “You’re having a son?” His smile widens as I nod again. “Congratulations, man.” He slaps me on the back and I swear my face is on fire now. “That’s great news.”

  “What’s great news?” Daniel asks, throwing his cleats in his locker with a bang.

  Nope. Not gonna go there right now. Santos is one thing. He gets it. But the rest of them can wait for a while.

  “Oh, uh, my parents have decided to find a place down here,” I retort quickly, stripping off the rest of my clothes and wrapping a towel around my waist. “I can’t wait for her to cook for me on a regular basis. I love Tiffany, but good god, that woman can’t cook for shit.”

  Daniel shakes his head, eyes glazed over as he thinks. “Yeah, there’s nothing like your mama’s home cooking. Have I ever told you about my mama’s enchiladas?”

  Christian groans as he strips. “I’m already hungry. Don’t talk about my favorite meal. It’s gonna make that protein shake I have waiting for me taste like dirt.”

  Daniel makes a face. “It tastes like dirt because you put too many greens in it. Why don’t you just blend a bunch of dried up leaves instead.”

  Christian throws a sock in Daniel’s face making him squeal like a little girl, and it’s on. I know better than to stick around for the wrestling match. Instead, I head for the showers to think.

  The biggest question on my mind is how I can take care of my wife while I’m gone. Surely there’s something I can do to make her life easier. My parents will be flying in tomorrow, so maybe I can elicit my mam’s help. If she can make some plain rice and noodles to put in the fridge for Tiffany to eat while I’m gone, that means she won’t have to cook. It’s a far cry from bangers and mash, but it’s better than nothing.

  I make another mental note, this one to stop by the store and grab some crackers, ginger ale, and lemons on my way home. And I can wash the sheets tomorrow before packing, to make sure she’s got fresh bedding.

  This pregnancy is not what we expected, and it’s already starting out harder than we’d hoped. But this is what partners do—they help ease the burden for each other. And if a little bit of bland food and clean sheets can make my wife more comfortable, I’m game.

  This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want Tiffany to feel like it’s the worst.

  I underestimated the vastness of the housing market in Houston. By a lot.

  Who knew when you have a decent-sized budget and a good realtor, you could spend hours upon hours searching for the perfect home?

  I didn’t. And now I regret it.

  When Rowen’s mom, Denise, invited me to come along with them, I reluctantly said yes. I am almost out of my first trimester, but the exhaustion and sickness is still taking a huge toll on me. I really wanted to nap instead, but they’re my husband’s parents. My child’s grandparents. I want us to be close since they’re going to be around so much more in the next few months.

  Plus, a small part of me still feels like I’m trying to impress them. It’s overcompensation for the embarrassment I still feel about our first meeting. I know I shouldn’t feel that way. They’ve made it very clear they don’t look at me differently or anything. But damn if that insecurity doesn’t rear its ugly head if I think too hard. Hormones don’t help.

  So I agreed to go house hunting, assuming it meant seeing a couple places and then calling it a day for lunch.

  Oh, how wrong I was. We ended up touring at least a dozen different places all over town. It took hours to get from one side of Houston to the other to see them all. And I’m still not sure we did it because the realtor scheduled them all for today to be efficient, or if it’s because Ryan demanded they find something immediately. He can be kind of obnoxious that way.

  As evidenced by the fact that he and Denise are trying to narrow down their options, but still can’t agree because of one little thing.

  “I think the condo is perfect.” Ryan’s thick Irish accent bleeds through. “It’s gated and has that little courtyard thingy—”

  “It was a two-by-two grass patch, Ryan,” Denise interjects, as she pours some ginger into the rice she’s making. I have no idea what she’s cooking, but it smells good. “I would hardly call it a courtyard.”

  “No,” Ryan concedes, arms crossed over his broad chest as he debates. “But it’s a big enough area for me to stretch on the way to me run and a place to take off me sweaty clothes on the way back before hittin’ the shower.”

  Denise turns the heat up on the rice and opens the fridge, talking loudly over her shoulder as she digs around on the shelves.

  “They have a place just like that in the brownstone. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s called a laundry room,” she emphasizes, turning back with a carton of eggs in her hands. “And the best part is you can throw those sweaty clothes right in the washer instead of on the grass.”

  He harrumphs. “In the condo, I don’t have to maintain a yard.”

  “In the brownstone, I don’t have to vacuum stairs.”

  They come to a standstill, and I find myself giggling.

  “What’s so funny, banchliamhain?”

  I slowly lift my head from where it was resting on my crossed arms. “I’m just trying to figure out how you’re going to cut the grass in that tiny little courtyard. Are you gonna use scissors?”

  Denise laughs lightly, placing the eggs in the bottom of a pot. Ryan, on the other hand, seems stumped.

  “The lass has a point,” he eventually says to Denise.

  “She does,” Denise agrees. “I think she also would feel more comfortable knowing her child is visiting a home that doesn’t have stairs but does have a backyard he can play in.”

  Ryan grunts again and rubs the scruff on his face. “Ye really want that brownstone, aiy?”

  She shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not about wanting the brownstone as much as it’s about getting the right house for this season in our lives. Ryan, we aren’t moving to Houston because it’s been our retirement dream or anything. We’re here to be with our family and to help raise our grandson. I want our home to be functional for that.”

  He sighs again before admitting defeat. “Alright, Muirneach. If that’s the one ye think is best, let’s put in an offer.” He raises his finger as if he has an important point to make. “But I’m hiring a lawn guy. I won’t be doin’ the grass in this humidity.”

  Denise rolls her eyes at him but continues filling the pot with water. “Because pushing a lawn mower a couple times a
month is so much harder than shoveling the snow every time we have a blizzard in Detroit??”

  “I’m gettin’ old, grá mo chroí. Need to save me energy for teachin’ me garmhac how to kick the ball.”

  “Here we go again,” Denise exclaims. “It’s the same thing I heard for my entire pregnancy.”

  “What er ye goin’ on about, woman?” Ryan jabs playfully, making her pop a towel at him.

  “This child is goin’ te be a football star, Denise,” she mimics using her best impression of her husband’s lilt. “Start training ’em young. Times a wastin’.”

  I chortle while Ryan feigns indifference.

  “It worked, didn’t it? Me boyo isn’t here because he’s on the road with his team, aiy?”

  Denise gives him a glare over the bowl she has now pulled out. “I’ll tell you the same thing I said twenty-five years ago. Show him how to play, but let him decide if it’s his passion. This isn’t even your child.”

  Ryan scoffs. “He’s me garmhac. He might as well have come from me own loins.”

  I grimace and Denise smacks him on the arm. “Don’t you have a game to watch or something? Something that means you’ll be out of this room and out of my hair?”

  He grumbles something I don’t understand, probably in Gaelic, and kisses her on the head before leaving. But before he goes, he turns around quickly.

  “Tiffany.” I lift my eyes up to his and cock my head. “Why did the narcissist cross the road?”

  Without delay I answer, “Because he thought it was a boundary.”

  “Dammit, I thought I had her,” he mumbles under his breath as he turns to talk away.

  Laying my head back on my arms, I notice Denise has a huge grin on her face.

  “What?” I ask.

  She glances up at me then back down to dump some flour in the bowl. “Every time he can’t stump you makes me laugh. You know he actually jots down jokes now, so he can remember to try them out on you?” She chuckles. “It’s become his personal mission to prove he’s funnier than you.”

  I shake my head, stifling a giggle. “That is a very strange life goal.”