Chapter 32
Tilly
I’m woken up by a commotion in the house, but the moment I start to get up to see what’s going on, if we need to be doing something, Blaise hooks me by the waist and pulls me back into him.
And then he reaches a little further and pulls Donovan in, too. We accidentally woke him up last night, and once I had him calmed down, Blaise convinced me to build a pillow wall and bring him to bed.
“Just for tonight,” he swore. “We’ll go home tomorrow.”
Home. My tiny, shitty apartment, but I’m excited to have our space again.
I was supposed to stay an entire week in California, but I burned some serious midnight oil and swapped shifts with the other costumers so I could come back three days early without inconveniencing anyone.
The other costumers might have a couple doubles to work through, but they also got some surprise days off. It all worked out.
“They’re just getting pumped up before heading to the stadium,” Blaise says now, and he makes himself sound very sleepy and cozy, like this is exactly what he wants to be doing, but I don’t believe him.
“You sure you don’t want to go with them? As, like, a team thing?”
“And miss out on quality time with my wife and son? Never.”
It’s gross how good that sounds. And I do want to have this quality time with him, actually, but I know how much he loves game days.
“I love you, too,” I whisper, entwining my hand with his over Donovan’s little tummy.
“But you’re still part of the team. It’s only for a few weeks.
You should still be with them. I bet they’ll be bummed that you’re not in the locker room with them. ”
“Yeah, they’re all bummed they’re not gonna see my dick today.”
“Blaise!” I smack his hand.
“You wanna see my dick today?”
“Our son is right here!” I hiss, but I can barely keep a straight face. And obviously nothing is going to happen and it’s just the reality of a guy, first thing in the morning, but I am fully aware of his dick prodding against my ass.
“I didn’t mean this second,” he says with a kiss on my shoulder before he flops back on the bed with the resigned sigh of a man about to drag his butt out of the bed he’d rather be in.
He pushes the blankets away, smacks my ass, and gets up, hobbling to the restroom.
Mid-stream, he calls out, “I’m gonna go see them off, I guess.
But then we’re going to raid their kitchen, have ourselves a big brunch because I could literally eat a football right now, and then we’re going tailgating with Joss. ”
“Oh, are we?” I chuckle. “Did you manage to schedule an outing with my friends after you sexed me until I passed out last night?”
“Nah, Joss and I scheduled this days ago. Tamara invited us to the owner’s box. Wants to meet the babies.”
“Well, crud. That’s actually sweet.”
Blaise isn’t joking about big brunch. He shamelessly raids the kitchen, not even pretending like he’s contributed any to the food budget during his stay here.
In fact, he laughs maniacally as he tells me to fry up an entire half-pound of bacon that he says Vedder has shipped in from Canada and will be pissed when it’s not here for him tomorrow morning.
When I hand him a bag of shredded cheese for the giant omelet he throws together, he turns it down, demanding Bodley’s applewood-smoked Gruyere.
He sings about carbs as he flips pancakes that he’s dumped all of Thompson’s blueberries into.
I make a mental list of everyone I need to apologize to, finally deciding that one day, when we’re stable, when hopefully Emerson’s connection will come through like he’s promised me they will and this is all behind us, I’ll have them all over for brunch.
That hypothetical future involves a proper house, of course, but I picture them all in my tiny apartment and get a good laugh about it.
We sit at the kitchen table, Donovan between us in a high chair, splashing in a puddle of applesauce, Blaise surfing through the news channels for gameday coverage, and it’s nice.
He even settles on a local channel, so we get more than just football.
A freak elevator mishap has left two people dead in a midtown corporate building, the weather’s going to be nice enough for just long sleeves under our jerseys, there’s construction on the highway, so we better take the highway down, Ani-Con just announced they’ll be moving to a different hotel next year.
The local animal shelter will be at the game today, hoping to adopt out some of their pets.
Blaise and I exchange a look but then shake our heads simultaneously. That’s another discussion for the future.
When we show up at the entrance to the private party for the big spenders, everyone loses their minds.
Poor baby Donovan ends up being a human shield, the only thing that keeps Blaise from getting trampled by rabid fans.
When he first grabbed his baby harness as we were packing up for the day, I suggested we use the smaller one that’s sized for me to wear, but now I get it.
He puts a tiny custom-made jersey onesie on Donovan, along with sunglasses and baby-sized headphones, straps him on, and the little one is enough to get everyone really excited while also keeping their distance.
I get a fair amount of attention, too. Blaise tries to shoo off sports reporters, worried that I haven’t been briefed on everything Emily Hess and the rest of the PR team have done, but I do have some dormant social media accounts.
I have been getting hit up constantly since the photos dropped on Thursday.
I’m now on a first-name basis with Emily Hess.
“Why haven’t you made an appearance before now?” one of the reporters calls.
Another says, “Is there a reason the Jugs have been hiding you?”
I can’t even say I’m blindsided when the next asks, “Do you have anything to say about the allegations you’ve been having an affair with Emerson Michaels?”
Blaise attempts to intercept, but I hold him back. “I’ve been Emerson Michaels’ costumer for many years now. No, my relationship with him is not simply professional — he’s also an extremely good friend of mine. Of ours. Isn’t that right, Blaise?”
Blaise stares stupidly at the phone that’s being held up to us, obviously recording. And then he grins and says, “Yeah, that’s right. Em and I like to throw the ball around occasionally.”
I remind myself to punish him for that jab later, but I plaster a smile on my face for the camera.
“As I’m sure you’ve all figured out already, I have had medical issues in the past few years.
I wasn’t in a position to make public appearances, and as much as I’m sure you fine people would have respected our privacy in those trying times, we decided together that it would be easier to keep our relationship quiet. ”
“What’s changed?” one of the reporters asks.
I’m about to say that I’m clearly well now and never intended to stay in the shadows forever.
But Blaise is Blaise; I don’t know if he’s just being himself or if he’s concerned I might accidentally bring up the blackmail, but he hoists Donovan straight out of the harness and holds him for all the world to see.
For Donovan’s part, he uses the scrunched up underarm hold as an opportunity to chew on his fist and drool all over his tiny #12 jersey and Blaise’s fingers.
“Because do y’all see this?” Blaise says proudly. “Do you see this cutest munchkin ever? This is my baby right here, and I wasn’t about to let you guys get all up on my woman and my kiddo without me here to protect them!”
Man, that started out so well, and then Blaise just kept on going.
The reporters exchange glances, and then one is brave enough to say, “The play in which you were injured last week drew up a lot of speculation as to whether you were deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way.
Are you now telling us that you purposely got yourself injured in order to take your wife and son to a game? ”
“Now that’s just libel,” Blaise declares, but it’s not, and no one cares to point that out.
“And thank you for calling her my wife. But no, it’s a not-so-lucky consequence.
I never expected to have this chance with them.
I’m bummed I’m not going to be able to play the next couple weeks, but I’m going to take advantage of it by enjoying a game with my wife. ”
He leans down to kiss my cheek, which elicits awws from some of the reporters as well as fans who have gathered around, but already a reporter is asking when Blaise will be in uniform again.
Tamara Godwell, owner of the Wilmington Juggernauts, is an impressive woman.
Everyone knows her history. She inherited a struggling residential construction company from an uncle while she was still in college.
In four years, she had flipped it to commercial and made her first million.
Within the decade, she was on Forbes’ 30 Under 30.
She’s an effective, ruthless businesswoman.
There’s also been a lot of speculation over what’s underneath some of her biggest builds. As in, people think she’s being paid off by crime lords to hide bodies and god knows what else.
I’m pretty sure she’s expecting all this to color our meeting, like she’s used to people being intimidated by her at first. And I don’t think she’s planning to take advantage of it, like she’s going to bully me or put me in my place over the recent drama I’ve inadvertently caused the team.
She just seems taken aback when she introduces herself to me and I don’t say anything more dramatic than, “It’s wonderful to meet you.
I’m Tilly Washington, and I’m not going to be changing my name, but thank you so much for helping Blaise out with the ring. I love it.”
She blinks a couple times, looks back and forth between the people surrounding us, who all shift nervously, then shakes her head with a soft laugh. “Okay, I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Get how you got caught up in this mess with Sinclair and why you’ve gone along with it this whole time. You’re a spitfire, aren’t you?”
“Not even remotely.” I laugh, which masks the truth of what I’m saying.
I’m going to do my best to be what Blaise wants me to be.
My trip to California, an opportunity to literally run for my life if I chose that, knowing that Donovan would be taken care of, only built my confidence in how I feel about Blaise.
I do love him.
And I do need to hold him accountable.
And I do want another baby.
And I do agree that the safest, smartest, most reasonable option is to go through a surrogate. It was a miracle that I conceived Donovan. Not just a miracle, but fate. I doubt it will happen again if we want it to.
I do need to do everything I can to ensure the longest, healthiest life I can for my family.
Blaise is standing next to me but engrossed in a conversation with one of Tamara’s other guests. But I wrap my arm around his waist, and without missing a beat, he throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in.
Tamara’s eyes soften. “You’re going to be good for him,” she says with a smile.
“Yeah, I hope so.”
“No, I mean, you better be good for him because he’s costing us a stupid amount of money right now.
And you better not be planning on jetting off again any time soon, because we’re starting him on ten-hour PT tomorrow.
He needs to be at the training center at eight, and he’s going to need dinner ready for him when he gets home.
He needs to be a damn machine when he comes back. Got it?”
I nod solemnly. I’m an okay cook, but I don’t think Tamara is the one to ask about what he needs to eat, not after she paid for not only my ring but is also apparently slipping Blaise an extra stipend off the books to help with daily expenses.
I do a quick flip of my mental rolodex and decide I’ll talk to Cadence about it. Ask her what she feeds Dominic.
I stare Tamara down hard to hold back a giggle at the thought of whether or not there’s canned quarterback chow out there, and my eyes start to water when I realize Dominic probably gets the senior formula.
I swear Tamara is reading my thoughts when it pops into my head that clearly, Dominic is eating Cadence, but Tamara doesn’t say she’s psychic, and there’s nothing I can do to stop my brain.
The stadium beyond the glass walls of the owner’s suite grows louder, and we look out to watch the boys take the field. From my peripheral, I catch Blaise slump, so I squeeze his hand.
“We’ll get you back out there soon,” I assure him, even though he’s the one who’s gotta put the work in. But the motivation is there. He’s going to do it.
On my other side, Tamara says in a low voice, “Sinclair says your people are working out what to do about these emails he’s been getting. Are you sure they’ll be able to handle it?”
I grin, but I keep it just a lift at the corner of my lips. Tamara is incredibly subtle; I need to be, as well. “I’ve been assured they’re the best of the best.”
“Any chance you’d tell me who it is who’s praising them so highly?”
“Emerson Michaels.”
That has her turning her head. I guess she hasn’t been paying attention to the sports gossip columns this week. “Oh, you do know some people. If anything changes, you let me know. And, Sinclair?”
“Yes, ma’am?” Blaise replies over my head even though Tamara is no taller than I am.
“Gimme that baby. In this box, he’s mine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”