Chapter 15 #2
“What’s wrong, son? You don’t sound like yourself.”
I’m the worst liar ever. Especially to my father.
I never lie to him. It physically pains me to be anything less than truthful with him.
The fact is, he never judges me, but I know the sanctity of marriage means something special to him.
He would be wildly disappointed in me for treating it so frivolously.
“Nothing,” I answer. “I’m just tired. I might be a bit jet-lagged. I’m still in bed with BJ. She missed me.”
“Oh, I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No,” I reply. “I was just getting up. We have a team workout.” And then I have an afternoon date with my wife. I wisely keep that last part to myself.
“Okay. I’ll let you go. One of these days, the right woman will come along, and you’ll be a goner. Just like I was with your mother and Ashleigh. I’m a lucky man. You’ll hit the jackpot one day too. I have no doubt.”
I love that even though he lost his wife so young, he always has a positive outlook on love, relationships, and life in general.
That’s how I need to handle this situation with Kennedy.
I can’t change the facts, but I can make the best of them.
Moping around about it won’t change anything.
I don’t want to be miserable for nine months.
In the often-repeated words of Hank Humblecut, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’
“Thanks, Dad.”
“For what?”
“For always knowing what I need to hear when I need to hear it. I love you, you big hunk of stud muffin sexiness.”
“Back at you, you beefcake burrito.”
I smile as I hang up, determined to make myself a big pitcher of lemonade.
Vance elbows me. “Dude, what’s wrong with you? You’re so quiet. No jokes for the team?”
“Oh…umm…why did the sperm cross the road?”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I put the wrong sock on this morning.”
The guys all laugh from their various workout locations in our team gym. Even Coach cracks a smile.
My stomach lurches when I see him smiling at me. He’s technically my father-in-law right now. How crazy is that? What will happen if he finds out about Vegas? Will he hate me? Cut me from the team? Kill me? All of the above?
“Coach, how was your pickleball tournament this past weekend?” I ask. He mentioned having one before we left.
His face falls. “I came in second place. If Kennedy were around, we would have won. Such a bummer.”
Apparently, my wife is a good pickleball player. She’s a freak of an athlete, so I suppose that makes sense.
I shrug. “I’m sure you’ll win the trophy next time, Coach,” I offer in a hopeful expression of support.
He crosses his arms. “Would you believe they tried to give us a second-place trophy? When I grew up, trophies were for first place only. Now they have tenth-place ribbons. What a joke. I refused the trophy,” he announces with a large dose of pride.
Vance and I both chuckle. Coach is so funny. He doesn’t even try to be funny, but he is.
Vance nods at me. “Want to run a few plays this afternoon?”
I shake my head. “I…umm…can’t. I’ve got plans.”
“With whom?” he asks.
Beau leans over and says, “I appreciate the correct use of grammar, Vance. Not everyone knows how to use whom properly when it functions as the object of a verb or preposition.”
I have no idea what he just said, but Vance nods, so I do too.
“You’re the master, Beau Fudd,” Vance replies.
He winks. “That’s what she said.”
I let out a loud laugh at Beau’s uncharacteristic humor.
He shrugs. “What? I can be dirty too.”
I pound my chest. “I feel like I’ve imparted that wisdom to you. I’m proud of you.”
He rolls his eyes, and I laugh before turning back to Vance. “Just an appointment.” I don’t want to lie to him. An appointment to spend time with my wife.
Three hours later, I’m waiting in the park for Kennedy while I shoot hoops.
I see her form tentatively approach. She’s hard to miss.
Exceedingly tall, attractive women don’t grow on trees.
And I’m noticing for the first time that she has a sway to her hips when she walks.
Maybe when it comes to athletic wear, I’m used to seeing her in baggy basketball clothes.
Today she’s in tight leggings and a small, hooded zip-up sweatshirt that shows a hint of her flat, toned stomach.
I get flashes of her in bed in Vegas. The way her body moved under and over mine. Pieces of that night are slowly coming back to me, especially the sex. I keep replaying it in my mind. It was electric. There’s no denying that.
I adjust my half-chub in my sports shorts, knowing she won’t appreciate it making an appearance. I pull down my white T-shirt a bit, hoping to cover it.
As she approaches, I notice she looks so sad. I offer her a small smile when she draws closer. “Hey, wife,” I joke to try and lighten things.
She stops short and throws her hands on her hips. “Don’t call me that.”
I shrug. “We’ve got to practice me calling you wife and you calling me husband. Wife, wife, wife. My wife is here to play ball. See, it’s not hard. Now it’s your turn to use husband in a sentence.”
She thinks for a brief moment before giving me a smile full of attitude and saying, “My husband will be home in five minutes. You’d better crawl out the window to be safe.”
I let out a laugh. “Oh shit, that was funny. See, we can have fun.”
“Why is your laugh so damn loud?” she asks with a tone of embarrassment as she looks around to see if anyone heard me.
“Pft, you should hear my father. Your father-in-law,” I jokingly remind her.
Her face immediately falls. “Stop.”
Even though her hair is in a perfect ponytail and she’s wearing makeup, I notice bags under her eyes. “You look tired, wife. Is something keeping you awake at night?” I ask.
She gives me a bit of an incredulous look as she exaggeratedly scratches her chin.
“Hmm, what could it be?” she asks sarcastically.
“Well, nothing big and stressful is going on in my life right now, so it must be something smaller. Oh, I know. I was up all night wondering how a blind person knows when to stop wiping.”
If she thought my laugh earlier was loud, it’s nothing compared to what comes out of my mouth at that comment.
She shivers. “Fuck, you’re so loud. Do you realize every person in this park stopped what they were doing and looked this way when you laughed?”
“Can’t help it. My wife is legit funny.”
“I swear to god, Daylen. I will kill you in your sleep if you keep calling me that.”
And just like that, I’m committed to calling her wife as much as possible. It’s good to know marriage hasn’t changed our dynamic.
“Got it, wife.”
She exhales an annoyed breath of frustration. “Why are we here?”
“We’re being forced to date,” I answer. “Remember?”
“I know that. Why are we in the park where people can see us? And why are you holding a basketball?”
I shrug. “I figured joint meals at restaurants would make it look more like dates. Two athletes shooting hoops in the park isn’t that big a deal.”
“You do know I’m a professional basketball player, right? I just came from basketball practice. I don’t need more basketball from a non-expert in the field.”
I throw my shoulders back. “I’ll have you know I was an all-conference basketball player in high school.”
She lets out a laugh.
“What’s so funny, wife? I was. I have the height for it.”
“It’s funny because that’s a red flag of mine. Men who brag about their high school athletic awards.”
I sigh. “Is everything I say and do a red flag of yours?”
“Pretty much,” she answers without any hesitation.
“Mean bitches are a red flag for me,” I spit in response but immediately regret my words. I don’t want to fight with her. She just makes it so easy.
I run my fingers through my hair. “Listen, I’m not thrilled about this situation either, Kennedy. I’m just trying to make the best of it.”
“You’re making light of it. This is horrible. Gut-wrenching. Catastrophic. A—”
“I get it,” I interrupt. “I’m not making light of it.
I’m just trying to make the best of the cards we were dealt.
We’re in this for nine months, whether we like it or not.
There’s no sense in being miserable. It’s a beautiful spring day.
I thought it would be nice to be outside.
I know a lot of female athletes use male athletes to work against. Is there anything in particular you want to work on? Maybe I can help.”
She runs her bottom lip through her teeth before it pops out. “Can you dunk?”
“Of course.”
She fidgets nervously. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her nervous. It’s kind of cute. “I can’t. I’ve been trying for years. I worked on my vertical jump this off-season and am up an inch or two, but I still need at least two more full inches to have a chance at dunking. It feels impossible.”
I grin. “You’ve seen me fly through the air to catch Vance’s passes. I have a forty-three-inch vertical. Jumping is my middle name. I can definitely help. Let’s work on it,” I offer in a genuinely hopeful tone.
After a brief moment of hesitation, she nods. “Okay. Forty-three inches? For real?”
“My cock and my vertical are the same.” I wink before I turn and dribble over to the hoop, leap into the air, and dunk the ball with ease.
After retrieving the ball, I motion for her to come to me, which she does.
“I have some drills my trainer does with me, and we’ll do those too, but we can also work on your arm and leg interplay.
You need both in sync to get extra height.
You have strong leg muscles. It’s clearly visible.
” I point to her legs. They’re long and extremely well-defined.
“You obviously spend time in the gym. You must have your dad’s work ethic. ”
She rolls her eyes. “I have his coloring. Eyes and hair. That’s about all I want from him.”
“What’s the deal with you two?” I ask.
“He was an absentee father. I barely saw him when I was growing up. He was married to football, not his family.”
I twist my lips. “I’m surprised to hear that. He’s so involved with Pierce.”
“How many times have you met my brother?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Hundreds. I feel like I’ve watched him grow up in our locker room.”
She nods. “Exactly. You’ve played for my father for a decade. How many times did we meet before Layla brought us together?”
My shoulders fall in realization. “Zero.”
She nods again. “Right. I was in high school when you started playing for him, yet we never met. Nannies raised us. I’m not sure what happened after I left for college because I rarely come home, but my parents were never around for us when I was growing up.
I’m happy that Pierce is having a different experience, but it wasn’t mine. ”
“Both of them? Your mom too?” I ask.
“She’s worse than him. Way worse. I tolerate him now and then, but I don’t speak to her at all. I can’t even look at her.”
“Why?”
She grabs the ball from my hands and starts dribbling toward the basket while shouting back, “Enough marital therapy for the day. Let’s play ball.
Time for me to kick your ass, Humblecut.
” She easily lays the ball into the basket and places her hands on her hips.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. High-School-All-Conference. ”
She proceeds to kick my ass for the remainder of the afternoon, but it’s the most fun we’ve ever had together. Maybe there’s hope for us to get through the next nine months relatively unscathed.