Chapter 23
Niko
Stavros
Sorry, man. This sucks.
I click on the link and my heart sinks. Bianca went to her appointment with Andrés Huntington.
Narrowing my eyes, I enlarge the image on my phone and swear as I note his protective touch on her spine, the way he holds the door for her, the way they effortlessly look like a couple. A couple having a baby.
My baby.
Jealousy burns through me and I fucking hate that I wasn’t with Bianca for what should have been a special moment.
Our moment.
Instead, Huntington stepped up—I can’t fault him for that—and stepped in. The latter, I want to fucking deck him for. He’s not supposed to be my stand-in. He shouldn’t be the man comforting my—what?
What the hell is Bianca to me anyway? We aren’t dating. We aren’t together. It’s her body and she can invite any person she wants to hold her hand during her appointments.
But fuck, I wish that person was me.
She did invite you. And you didn’t fucking show.
I push to my feet and pace around my apartment, hating how bare the walls are.
How sterile the space is. How lonely it feels.
Oppressive and restrictive and…fuck! I move into the kitchen, my breathing erratic.
Bracing my hands on the kitchen island, I hang my head and try to get a grip on my emotions.
No matter how hard I try, it feels like I can’t win. Like I’ll never get ahead, or into Bianca’s good graces. Like I have no fucking shot of doing this the way I want to—the way my father did.
My phone buzzes again and I race to the couch, praying it’s not my mother. The last thing I need is to address this shit with my family when my head is a mess and my heart feels like it’s being shredded by a cheese grater.
Bianca
It’s not what it looks like.
Oh, that’s rich. I snort, drop the phone, and shake my head. Is she saying that because it’s true? Or because it’s exactly what it looks like—Huntington making a play for Bianca—and she doesn’t want to fess up?
I turn my back on my phone, on Bianca’s message, and stride back to the kitchen.
Popping the tab on a Coke Zero, I take a swig and try to clear my head.
I’ve been losing my mind in my apartment since I returned home from Hamburg.
I left Bianca multiple text messages and voicemails. She didn’t respond to any of them.
Not when I explained the situation about the delayed flight out of Hamburg.
Or my cancelled flight to Spain.
Or air traffic control being on strike in France.
She sent me to voicemail when I begged for updates about the appointment. She didn’t even hear my plea to video call me at the appointment so I could have been present in some capacity, absorbing everything Dr. Fernando shared with her in real time.
While I was worrying about my baby’s health and concerned about Bianca navigating the appointment solo, she was having her back rubbed and God knows what else, by Andrés Huntington.
Bianca
My phone was off.
I’m just getting your messages now.
Each message she sends pisses me off more. Logically, having been kept on read and sent to voicemail, I know I should reply to her half-hearted attempts to explain herself.
But I’m exhausted, frustrated, and riding a wave of helplessness. So I ice Bianca out, head into the cold night for a run, and wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
“You should go to Spain,” my sister advises the following day on FaceTime.
“You have to have these conversations in person and show up for her. Prove to her that one missed communication isn’t going to derail the progress you two have made.
You’re going to be co-parents for forever, you know?
You have to set a healthy precedent now. ”
I scrape my palm over my jaw.
“You look like shit,” Alex adds.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I feel like shit too.”
“That’s because you haven’t nipped this miscommunication in the bud yet. It’s hanging over you, shadowing your every move, making you—”
“I get it.” I cut her off.
Alex shrugs. “Mom said Bianca isn’t dating anyone…”
“She’s not,” I bite out.
“So why are you so angry?”
“Because I missed the fucking appointment, Alex.”
My sister sighs, sympathy cutting across her face.
“That was out of your control, Niko. Do you know how many moments you’re going to have like that once your baby is born?
No one is the perfect parent. You try your best but there will always be things out of your control. Things that you just have to accept.”
I swear.
“You’re being awfully hard on yourself,” Alex comments.
I give her a look.
She smiles. “You’re going to be a great dad, Niko.”
“This conversation is giving me whiplash.”
My sister laughs. “Welcome to parenthood.”
“I don’t feel equipped for this, Alex.”
“None of us do. I promise,” she adds after I shoot her a skeptical look.
“You’re already doing great, Niko. Just…
go to Spain. Talk to Bianca. And figure out what the hell you want your co-parenting relationship to look like.
Talk to her about it. And move forward. If you beat yourself up over every mistake, you’re both going to be miserable and so is your kid. ”
I heave out a sigh, feeling marginally better. My sister is a wonderful mother to my two nephews and niece. If she’s cutting me slack, I should take her advice and run with it.
“Thank you, Alex.”
“Anytime. You’ve never doubted yourself before, Niko; don’t start now. I’ll talk to Mom so she doesn’t call you a million times. Just…go make this right.”
“Okay.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too. ‘Bye.” I end the call.
Then, I book a flight to Valencia on my next day off—three days from now—and leave a message for my agent. I have one practice and one game to get through and then, I’ll see Bianca in Spain.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I spin away from a defender, deftly maneuver the ball, and take a shot on goal.
“Goal!” Jorgen cries out, lifting his arms in the air.
Gus rushes me. I grin as he slings his arm around my neck. Shaking my head, I allow the relief to flood my system, and look up into the crowd. I smile at the cheering fans, my eyes scanning the stadium. And then, I falter.
Because she’s here. Right on the sidelines. In the restricted access area there’s no way she could be sitting in without special clearance. Clearance she must have begged her brother or Alejandro to arrange for her.
But fuck me. Bianca DiBlanco is here, cheering so loudly for me that my heart expands into my throat.
“Yes, Karas!” she screams.
Emotions rise within me as I note she’s wearing my jersey, rocking my number. Eleven.
Pressing a kiss to my fingers I extend my hand toward her and an audible gasp sounds through the stadium.
Bianca beams.
“Karas! Get your head in the fucking game!” Coach barks.
Turning away from Bianca, I focus on the game.
But now, a lightness buoys my every move.
Happiness and relief flood my system, giving me the extra boost of energy I need.
I play my heart out—tuned in and unstoppable—for the remainder of the game.
I want to make Bianca proud. I want to thank her for being here. For showing up for me.
I score another goal and ensure Stuttgart’s win.
When the game is over, I rush to Bianca and she reaches for me. Throwing herself in my arms, she hugs me tight. “You were amazing! You are amazing,” she murmurs in my ear.
I kiss her temple and drop my hand to her abdomen. The sweetest swell pushes into my palm.
“You’re here,” I breathe out as a weight slips off my shoulders. Now that I’m with her, all my frustration from the past week dissipates. I don’t want to fight with Bianca. I want to…fuck, I want to be with her. Care for her. Love her? A laugh barks from my throat.
Bianca tilts her head, questioning. “Is that okay?”
I nod, emotion sweeping through me. “More than okay. I’m happy to see you.”
Around us, people shout and click photos. There’s cheering and laughing and genuine excitement over the win. But I block it out and focus on Bianca.
I hate the purple smudges beneath her eyes. But I love the way her lips curl into a smile. She’s really here.
“I’m sorry about the blogs,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault.”
“I should have listened to your voicemails instead of turning off my phone,” she tacks on.
“I should have picked up when you called after the appointment,” I admit.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Karas.”
“Niko.”
“Niko.” A small smile flits across her lips.
“And we’re not fighting. We’re…figuring shit out.”
She nods, her eyes brightening.
And then, just to make things more complicated, I lean down and press my lips to hers. She doesn’t pull away like I half expect her to. Instead, she winds her arms around my neck and parts her lips.
Jesus. Fuck.
I kiss her deeper, arching over her, and letting the feel of her hands, of her mouth drag me under. She tastes like salted caramel and dark roast coffee and everything I ever hoped for.
When she pulls away, she bites her bottom lip but her eyes dance.
The stadium roars their approval and we both laugh. Looking up, I lift an arm and the cheering turns raucous.
“Well, we definitely gave them something to talk about,” Bianca comments. “They’re going to rip me apart wondering if the baby is yours or Andrés’.”
My neck snaps toward her and I scowl at the mention of his name.
“Sorry,” she laughs.
I shake my head. “The baby’s mine.”
“I know,” she says lightly, slipping an arm around my waist.
I tuck her under my shoulder, just as my team begins to razz me.
Coach looks less than amused.
“Go,” Bianca says, giving me a little nudge.
“Wait for me?”
“Of course. I’ll be outside the locker room.” She lifts her fancy VIP pass.
I shake my head. “Luca?”
“No,” she admits. “Andrés.”
I pull in a breath and recognize the olive branch for what it is. Dipping my head in acceptance, I move toward my team. “Wait for me,” I remind Bianca, pointing at her.
Stavros slow claps as I enter the locker room. Jorgen, Gus, and some of the other guys join in.