“She’s fine. She knows I wouldn’t lie about this.”
Debra cackled. “Naïve little thing, isn’t she?”
“Loyal is more like it.”
Debra grunted. “We’ll see how long that lasts. Good luck in the Super Bowl.”
The line went dead.
Debra had lost her mind. This didn’t even sound like the woman I’d dated for two years. She’d always been a bit of a media junkie. After all, her short, reality television career was birthed out of her onscreen relationship with gospel singers Terri Mary. She’d had a few other short stints in commercials and other shows, but even this was going to too far for her. What did she, as a Christian entertainer, have to gain from publicly lying about an unwed pregnancy? She couldn’t hate me this much. She hadn’t loved me this much.
My cell phone rang. It was my attorney, Vince Copeland. “I found out why Debra announced the pregnancy, and why she’s saying it’s yours.”
I closed my eyes. I could feel the bad news coming. “I’m going to hate this.”
“You are,” Vince confirmed. “She’s signed on to do a reality television show called ‘Saint Stephen’s Baby’.”
Blood rushed to my head. “Please tell me you’re messing with me, man.”
“I’m not. One of our investigators found out. The name of the show isn’t in stone. The others are ‘Debra’s Pregnancy Vlog’ and ‘Pregnant NFL Baby Mamas’. They’re hunting for other pregnant NFL mamas to script with her. If they don’t find anyone, they’ll go with Debra alone.”
My stomach dropped. “This is crazy.”
“I know.”
“Can we stop her from doing the show?”
“We can’t stop her. We can’t even force her to take a DNA test right now. It’s her body, her choice, but we can file a lawsuit. We can ask a judge to gag her. Keep your name out of her mouth. She wouldn’t be able to mention you on the show at all or talk to the media about you if – and that’s a big if – the judge rules in our favor on the motion.”
I sighed. “That’s better than nothing, so let’s do it.”
“We’re already getting the brief done. We probably won’t need you, but I’ll let you know if I think you should join me in court.”
“Yeah, man, just let me know whatever.”
“Stephen, I have to ask the question.”
“It’s not my baby.”
“I’m not asking you that. I’m asking you a much more personal question.” Vince paused, “Did you have sex with Debra?”
“If I’m saying it’s not my baby.”
“Protection isn’t foolproof. If you had sex with her, there’s always a chance of a pregnancy.”
“No, Vince. No sex. No sexual anything. It’s not possible. It’s not mine.”
Confidence entered Vince’s voice. “Okay, then we’re good to go to court.”
He shared a few more details with me and then we ended the call. I fell back on the sofa and remembered that last night Debra and I were together. The night before we broke up. I closed my eyes to the image of her naked body and shook my head. She’d tried me, hard, but we hadn’t had sex.
I opened my eyes and reached for the phone. I called Tamar. I was relieved she’d answered the phone. We hadn’t talked since the other day when she’d said she wanted to cool it. I was scared to know what that really meant, so I decided it meant she needed me to slow down like she’d been asking me to.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Hanging in there. What about you?”
I hesitated. I hated to tell her this, but it might come out soon and I didn’t want her being blindsided. “I talked to my attorney.”
Tamar was silent, obviously waiting for me to continue.
“Debra’s not crazy. She’s greedy.”
Tamar unmuted herself. “Is she trying to get money out of you?”
“Worse. She’s doing a reality television show about being pregnant with my baby.” I paused again. “Vince thinks we can file a motion, or whatever you call it, to keep my name out of her mouth so she can’t slander me the entire season of the show.”
I heard Tamar sigh. “Okay. He thinks he can.”
“We have to go to court.”
There was a beat of silence before she spoke. “What kind of woman would do this? Or more importantly, who is this woman you were engaged to?”
I covered my eyes with my free hand. “Please don’t ask me that. I’ve asked myself that 800 times today, baby. I feel like a fool. I don’t need any help with it.”
More silence and then. “Stephen, I need to go.”
“Tay, I want to talk. We need to talk.”
“It’s not the time. You need to get ready for the game.”
“Don’t worry about the game. I’ve got that. I want to talk to you. We’re not getting off this phone until I know where I stand with you. I feel like it’s shaky ground.”
Tamar was quiet and then she said, “Let’s talk on Monday.”
“Let’s talk now.” I barked. I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but I was frustrated.
“You’re pushing me. I told you I need space.”
“I need to know we’re together. Not cooling it like high school kids. I want us to work on our thing. We can show Debra and the media that we’re strong together,” I insisted. “And next week I want to go with you to South Georgia. I want to meet your aunt. Other than press, I’ll be done working. I have plenty of time for the trip.
Tamar was quiet again.
“Tay,” I said.
“You’re forcing me to say this.” She hesitated before speaking. “There’s no next week for us. I want to break up.”
***
There was silence on the other end of the phone. I shouldn’t have said that. I should have waited. I could practically hear Stephen’s heart breaking through the phone line. I closed my eyes to his pain. I hated the thought that I put it there. Especially since the truth was, I could never mean that I didn’t want to be with him. But he couldn’t come to South Georgia.
“This is not how people handle relationships. When you have a problem, you keep talking. You talk until you work it out.” He paused. “I love you. And I believe you love me. We can't let a malicious liar like Debra break us up.”
“This is not really about Debra, Stephen. It’s about me not wanting to be a public person. I’ve already had doses of that. And I hate it. I let myself get lost for a moment being with you. But I don’t want celebrity. I don’t want paparazzi. I don’t want any of it. I really want to end this.”
My heart broke as those words came out of my mouth. I knew they were hard. I knew they were cold. And worse than that, they were lies.
A pain-filled grunt came through the phone. “I can’t make you want to be with me. I thought we had something special, but I guess it’s like you said. I keep not understanding all that you went through.”
I continued to be mute.
“Tay, I wish you would consider maybe talking to somebody about the experiences that you had.”
“I’ve been to therapy. Extensively. One of the things I learned in counseling was to be okay with what I want and my choices and to not let anyone make me believe that what I want is bad.”
He interrupted me. “I’m not saying—”
“Let me finish.” I was firm. “One of the things that I want is a private life. I can't sacrifice that, not even for you. Not even for love.”
Stephen didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “You’ve really given this a lot of thought.”
“Ever since the first reporter stuck a mic in my face at the reunion.”
“Wow,” he whistled. “Talk about a brother being clueless.”
“You’re making this about you.”
“No, I think I really should have done exactly what you asked me to do and that was give you time. But now I’ll do that. I’ll let you go,” Stephen said. “I’ve said all I can say rig
ht now.”
Tears streamed down my face. I fought to keep the tremble out of my voice. “I’m sorry. “I mean, I hate the timing. I know you have the game.”
It took Stephen a long time to respond. When he finally did, he sounded completely broken. “I’ll be fine for the game. I’m a professional.”
“I’ll be rooting for you.”
“I guess I appreciate that.” The sarcasm in his voice was strong. There was a lull of silence again. Neither of us spoke. I cleared my throat. I was about to end the call when Stephen said, “This isn’t the end of our story.”
I squeezed my eyes tight. More tears escaped through my closed lids. I fought to keep my voice even. “Bye, Stephen.”
The line went dead.
I dropped to the counter and began to sob. So many lies. Lies upon lies, every word out of my mouth. I’d hurt him, just like I said I would. But I’d made the right decision. I knew that because when I eventually told him the truth about Isaiah, he was going to hate me anyway. He might as well go ahead and start hating me now.
Chapter 10
The play wasn’t supposed to go like this.
It was the fourth quarter. Eight minutes and thirty-five seconds on the clock. The Center snapped the ball. The QB received it, then he looked for open receivers. The first down pass couldn’t be made. We only needed three yards. The QB ran the ball one yard before he needed to pass it.
It took a second for him to see I was open. As soon as it touched my fingers, I saw Number 54, the defensive tackle, barreling toward me – all 345 pounds of him. I cut through the middle for the run, but I was blindsided – hit high from the right. The force of the blow threw me, and then Number 54 came in low. My body twisted and I fell backwards over a body. Weight pushed me into the turf.
Pop!
Slam!
I was dying. I heard the popping sound again. It was my ankle coming apart and then there was pain in my back. Excruciating pain. I screamed inside.
Six seconds.
That was all it took to take me down.
Chapter 11
“Stephen, baby, it’s Mom. Can you hear me?”
I tried to open my mouth. Where was I? I fought to open my eyes. They were heavy. They felt like they were taped down. I tried to clear my throat, but it didn’t even feel like it was a part of my body. Why couldn’t I see or talk?
Pain shot through me. Blinding pain.
“Stephen?”
“Give him a few minutes,” a male voice over my head said. Not my father.
I fought against the blinding dark and pushed my heavy eyelids open. That was when I felt it again. The pain. Then I remembered - the game.
I was hit.
Hard.
I was down.
That was the pop. The pop that played repeatedly in my head. My ankle.
I felt my back grinding into the turf.
Slam!
More weight.
Coach’s voice: Don’t move, Stephen. We’ve got you.
“Don’t try to move.” It was the voice again. Not Coach. Coach was in my head, not over my head. “Be still for me.”
Was I moving? I felt like a hunk of lead was weighing down my chest. Like Number 54 and his team were still on top of me. I couldn’t move.
I heard people in the room. They were rushing around. There were conversations between medical staff. I tried to stay awake for it, but then I slipped back into the darkness.
My back.
My ankle.
The play wasn’t supposed to go like this.
I whispered in my spirit what I couldn’t say out loud.
God, please help me.
Chapter 12
I woke up to bad news. The ankle needed surgery. It had been knocked out of place. Because of the ligament damage, it was a difficult injury to rehab from. I also had an injury to my upper back at the base of my neck as well.
“He’s looking good. The doctors are optimistic. Sure, we’ll be in touch.” At first, I could only hear him and then I could see.
Clyde slid his phone in his pocket and approached the bed. He wore stress like a weighted blanket. “How you doing, player?”
I released a frustrated breath. “You tell me.”
“You did good in surgery. They got the swelling down around your neck. It’s going to be fine. The injury is minor.”
I swallowed. I had a sense that what was happening with my neck wasn’t that serious. I mean I wasn’t paralyzed, and I was grateful for that. But there was the other. “My ankle?” I whispered it like I could barely stand to know.
Clyde avoided my eyes. “The ankle is more complicated.”
I gritted my teeth. “Clyde.”
“It’s not great, but you’re young, and you’re in great shape. You work hard. You’ll be fine for next season.”
“Is that what the doctors say?”
Clyde chuckled nervously. “The doctors talk over my head.”
“But coach doesn’t,” I said firmly. “Has anyone else come back from what I’ve done?”
“From this?” Clyde raised his hand and washed it over his face. “I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
“Stephen, I don’t know. I didn’t try to find out. What good would it do? This is your race. You run it the Pierce way, not the way anyone else does.”
I chuckled, but I felt like crap. “It must be really bad.”
Clyde frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“You just preached a sermon.” I closed my eyes and pushed my fists into the bed on both sides of my body. “My career is not over.” I declared through clenched teeth. “It’s not over.”
Clyde’s hand was on my arm. “You take one day at a time. Rest your neck. Then we’ll get going on the ankle.”
I looked at my casted foot. I loved Clyde, but we were not going to rehab the ankle. I was, and if the pain in rehab was anything like the pain I was feeling right now, I was going to hate it.
“I’ve never been hurt,” I said it like Clyde didn’t know. Like he hadn’t been with me from the beginning. He knew I’d never been hurt.
“Eight seasons in this sport, not including college. You’ve had a lifetime twice.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Everybody gets hurt, eventually. You’ll recover.” Clyde raked his hand over his head.
“I know that, Clyde. I just, I don’t know. A lot is messed up right now.”
“I talked to Vince. He’ll be in court this week. Your mother is going with him because you’re here. He said he’s sure the judge will gag her. He found a precedence or something. DNA don’t lie. Debra will be exposed for the liar she is.”
I wasn’t thinking about Debra.
“I can’t speak for the Tamar situation, but she was here yesterday,” Clyde said.
I held my breath for a moment before responding. “Did you talk to her?”
He shook his head. “She had some words with your mother. Then she talked to your father and left.”
I felt steam rise from my belly. Now she wanted to talk to me. Now that I was hurt.
“What do you want me to do?” Clyde asked. “You want me to call her?”
Tamar didn’t love me. Not the way I needed her to, and I didn’t need the back and forth drama with her when I was trying to get my body right. I also didn’t need her pity. Not when I was like this. Neck in a brace and foot in a sling. I couldn’t even relieve myself on my own. I was peeing in a bag.
“Stephen, what do you want me to do for you?”
I swallowed my frustration and my fear. “Tell the Giants, I’m coming back strong and to be ready to offer me a big contract.”
Clyde nodded. His eyes filled with tears. “That’s the Stephen Pierce I know.” He patted my arm, and repeated the words, “That’s the Stephen I know.” But his voice – it didn’t sound convincing.
***
My nights were horrendous
. The pain was demonic. I chanted scriptures as prayers over and over.
“By your stripes I am healed. Have compassion on me, Lord. I am weak. Heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony. God you heal all diseases, you redeem my life from the pit and crown me with love and compassion. You will restore health to me and heal my wounds. Lord, these bones can live.”
I said them over and over, but the pain was excruciating. Heartbreaking.
I knocked a vase on my nightstand to the floor, and it hit with a crash. My private duty nurse rushed from the far side of the room.
“Can you take the thing off my neck? Just for a few minutes,” I begged, grabbing at it.
“We can’t do that, Mr. Pierce,” the deep voice came back to me. I preferred a male nurse. I was glad I had one. There was kinship there that was more understanding than sympathy. The woman that worked days reeked hopelessness. I could feel her pitying the end of my career. I needed to replace her. She was no good for the atmosphere in the room.
Pain shot down my spine. Hard and sharp. I cried out. I kicked my good leg as I grabbed the sheets with both my hands.
“Mr. Pierce, please let us help you. We can give you more pain medication.”
Another nurse entered the room to assist. She picked up a towel and began wiping the perspiration off my forehead.
“No!” I yelled. “They make me hallucinate. Just get me something to help me sleep.”
“Right away, sir.” The female nurse rushed out. She returned with a pill and raised a water jug to my lips. I swallowed the pills and sipped the water through a straw. Not much because I already needed to urinate. I hated to watch the nurses measure the contents of the Foley bag and then empty it. The entire process was humiliating.
After I calmed down, they left me alone again.
“Have compassion on me, Lord. I am weak. Have compassion on me. I am weak.” I mumbled repeatedly until I fell asleep.
Chapter 13
I woke to the sound of gospel music playing and a sweet familiar scent in the room. Once my vision was clear, I saw her. Tamar was sitting on the side of my bed, next to the Foley bag, reading something on her phone. Her hair, usually a mass of curls, was blown somewhat straight. She had it pulled back into a thick ponytail.
The Winter Wedding Page 7
