32. Brent
32
Brent
“ Y ou don’t need to look for a job! You’ve already got one rehabbing me.” I’m infuriated with Joey, but she’s not backing down in the face of my annoyance. We’ve been going back and forth since our meeting this morning with the trainers and doctor about my treatment plan. The orthopedist said I’d be out for four to six weeks, but I want to be back sooner than that, with Joey’s help.
“Rehabbing you is not a full-time job,” she reiterates for the tenth time while she uses a cold roller on my ankle. I’m lying on the sofa while she sits at the other end, my foot in her lap. This beats therapy at a clinic.
“Besides,” she continues, “I need to find another apartment, and I’ll need a full-time salary to afford one if I want something bigger than the shoebox I lived in before.”
“I’m going to pay you a full-time salary. And you’ll be cooking for me. That’s another salary.”
“You’re not going to pay me to cook for you when I eat the food too. And you’re not going to pay me a full-time salary to rehab you when it’s not a full-time job.”
“I can afford to—”
“No.”
Joey’s abrupt tone stops me cold.
“I’m not taking money from you I didn’t earn.” She holds up a hand to cut off my protest. “I’d feel like I was earning it on my back.”
That shuts me up. What can I say to that? I want to say she’s being ridiculous, but I don’t think she’d appreciate that.
Then she grins at me, her face bright with humor. “I get on my back for pleasure only.”
“Oh yeah?” I enjoy these glimpses of her newfound boldness. “Why don’t you come over here and get on your back now? Actually, I think I’ll be the one on my back. You’ll have to do all the work.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and continues treating my ankle. She’s been staying at my place since the injury, at my insistence, to help me while I stay off my ankle. I could have managed on my own, but I enjoy her undivided attention, so I exaggerate my helplessness. She sleeps in my bed but puts pillows between us at night, afraid she’ll jostle my ankle in her sleep.
“I’ve decided to look for a job north of the city, if I can, so I can be closer to Charlie and your mom and Andi.” She picks up our earlier conversation. “I’ll try to find an apartment in that area too to keep the commute short.”
She already has a job and a place to live that are near each other. Can’t get any closer than working and living in the same place.
I can’t believe I’m practically begging her to live with me, but the thought of not being near her fills me with dread, pushing out the claustrophobia that usually accompanies the thought of a woman invading my space. I’m not ready to let her go yet.
Besides, we’ve spent most of our nights together at her place since training camp ended, sleeping in the same bed. Would changing locations really make that much of a difference?
“I have an idea,” I say, staring up at the ceiling twenty feet above while my heart starts thudding with…anxiety? Nervousness? Anticipation? Maybe all three.
When I just sit without saying anything more, she asks dryly, “Care to share it with me?”
I face her, my heart thudding against my chest. “Since you have to move out of your place soon, why don’t you…Why don’t you move in here?”
Oh, fuck. Did I really say those words out loud?
“What?” She appears as shell-shocked by my question as I feel. Am I ready to make our temporary arrangement more permanent? No, not permanent. Just longer term.
It’s too late to take it back now, so I shrug nonchalantly, feeling anything but. “You heard me. Since you’re going to be my therapist and chef again, it’ll make it easier for you so you don’t have to go back and forth every day.”
“But I told you, I’m still going to look for a full-time job.”
“That’s fine. Just put off committing to a start date until my rehab is done.” That would give me an out in a month if I can’t handle her living here.
When she doesn’t agree right away, I find myself rationalizing to her. “It’s not much different than me spending the night at your place all the time. It would just be a bigger bed in a bigger place. And it would be a lot more convenient, for both of us.” How is it that I’m the one trying to convince a woman to live with me?
“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly.
Fuck no, I’m not, but I’m sure that I want her close. If that means she lives with me, then…I nod. “Yeah.”
She stares down at my foot. What the hell is she thinking about? In contrast to my pleading for her to stay, I have to resist the urge to warn her not to read anything beyond convenience into my offer.
When she nods her head, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The tension in my neck eases. I may not be comfortable about her staying at my place, but I want her with me nonetheless.
“I still have to go to the apartment to check on the cat every day, and—”
“Bring her here.”
“ Aaaand ,” she continues, “since I can’t afford to pay you half the rent, you’re not going to pay me a salary either.”
“Of course I am. And I don’t pay rent. I own the place, for fuck’s sake—”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Christ, when did you become this stubborn?”
“Ha! You could give lessons on stubbornness,” she replies with heat.
I look at her in surprise. Another side of her that is emerging. I like that she feels comfortable enough with me to push back at me when I try to take control.
When I grin at her, her irritation with me turns into wariness.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I remembered something I learned from living with my sisters.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Women are born irrational.”
She glares at me and tweaks the big toe of my uninjured foot. I laugh, my good mood restored. She can pay whatever the hell she wants. I’ll just dump the money into an account in her name. Whatever it takes to make her stay a little while longer.
“What the fuck, Hutch? Are you whistling that Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood song?” CJ accuses me.
Players around me snicker. I didn’t even realize I was whistling. I grin and shrug. “What can I say? It’s a beautiful day. Don’t you boys think so?”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Whatever, man!”
I ignore my teammates’ grumpy responses and resume whistling, drying off from the shower and getting dressed. It is a beautiful day, and I feel truly happy for the first time in…since my life changed at fourteen.
Not only has the weather cooled to the perfect fall temperature with low humidity, but my ankle healed more quickly than expected. I’m playing again, better than ever, making big plays to help my team win. We’re going to go far this season—I can feel it. Maybe even all the way to the big game.
But it’s more than just football, which has always been a part of my life. It’s spending time with Joey. Whether we’re laughing while I help her cook, or doing nothing more than watching TV, or lying in bed with her wrapped in my arms as we sleep…I feel content simply being with her. It’s as good as—okay, almost as good as—the sex.
Besides the therapy and training the last few weeks, we’ve filled some of our evenings by hosting casual dinner parties. Who’d have thought I’d actually enjoy doing something so…couple-y? I love seeing Joey coming out of her shell and interacting with my friends and teammates. Everyone thinks she’s amazing, something I’ve always known. With our age difference and her being too good for me and my own issues, I never felt like I could do anything about it. Thank fuck for the night at the club and her getting drunk, allowing us to finally take that step forward.
I pull out of the underground parking lot of the training facility after practice and head out onto the main road. Practice ended early today, so I’m hoping for an easy commute home. My phone rings as I’m about to call Joey to ask her what she wants for dinner. I’ll grab takeout on the way so she doesn’t have to cook tonight.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say before glancing at the caller ID on the dash and realizing it isn’t her number.
“Well, hello to you too, darling.”
Caitlyn’s saccharine-sweet voice comes over the car speakers. Just like that, my cheery mood evaporates.
“What the fuck do you want? And how did you get my number?”
“Is that any way to talk to your sweetheart?” Her mocking laugh grates. “I didn’t realize you had one, Brent. You’ve been holding out. Who is it?”
I tense at the thought of Caitlyn finding out about Joey. She can’t know. No telling what she’d do with that information.
“My baby sister,” I lie. “You remember Bobbie, don’t you?”
“Oh.” Clearly disappointed at the lack of a juicy tidbit, she moves on. “I need to see you.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, but I do. It has to do with Emily, my daughter. Possibly our daughter.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“ Our daughter. As in yours and mine.”
What the absolute fuck?
A fist squeezes my heart—and throat. It’s been a while, but I recognize the signs of an impending panic attack. I hang up on her and swerve over to the side of the road. Angry horns blare past me when I cut over two lanes to do so.
From what seems like far away, the ringing of the phone echoes throughout the car. I ignore it, taking deep breaths, using the method a therapist taught me when I used to have these all the time.
When I can breathe normally and think clearly again, I remember this is Caitlyn, who always has an agenda. And she’s the viper my mother called her. I can’t just ignore her.
I call her back. “You were on the pill,” I say without preamble when she answers. “And I suited up every single time, even when you told me not to.” From the very first time I had sex, I used a condom, without fail.
“Come on, darling. You know that’s not a guarantee.”
No, it wasn’t. Fuck! “Why are you telling me now?”
“I tell you that you might have a child and that’s your response? God, you always could be an asshole.”
“Me?” The fucking nerve of her. “If you thought she could have been mine and you’re telling me ten years later, who’s the asshole here? And let’s not forget you dumped me when you thought I might not play football again. You immediately got your hooks into some baseball player right before he was drafted into the MLB. Or did you start hedging your bets with him as soon as I got injured?”
Even as I say it, I realize it might actually be true. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Her voice is choked with tears when she responds. “How can you think such hateful things of me? I knew I made a mistake almost right away, but then I found out I was pregnant. I swear I didn’t know whose it was. You were so angry, I knew you wouldn’t take me back. And Paul loved me. He asked me to marry him when I told him. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to tell me then, goddamn it!”
“Brent, please. If I could do things differently, I would. But right now Paul is fighting for sole custody of Emily. I can’t let him take her away from me. I’m asking for your help.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that? And why the fuck would I help you?”
Caitlyn huffs audibly. “Look, I just need you to slow down the proceedings by putting in your claim for custody.”
“Are you shitting me?” I laugh at her. “Why would I put in a claim when there’s no proof she’s mine?”
“You can have a paternity test done.”
The thought of it—the possible result—terrifies me. I think of Joey and the impact this will have on our relationship, whatever the outcome might be. This can’t be fucking happening. This has to be one of Caitlyn’s mind fucks.
I try to think beyond the terror to what her endgame is by getting me involved in her divorce and custody battle after all this time. Coming up empty, I ask her point blank, “What’s your real game here, Caitlyn?”
“I told you. If she’s yours, then the judge won’t give him full custody. You can help me fight it. If she’s not, then it will at least slow down the proceedings until I can talk some sense into Paul.”
Something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on it. I need to think about this, all of it. Not just Caitlyn’s motives, but the possibility of a daughter and Joey and…My brain feels like it’s about to explode. It’s too much for me to take in what she’s even saying.
“Give me a few days. I’ll call you back.” I hang up without giving her a chance to respond.
I refuse to consider the possibility that the kid might be mine. My focus is Joey and how she’d react if she knew about Caitlyn and her accusation. She’s probably seen the stupid shit on social media that has been suddenly popping up about my past with Caitlyn since we were photographed together a couple of times, but Joey has never asked about it after that one time. I hope that it’s a sign of her trust in me.
But I’m afraid, due to her issues with her father, that everything will change between us if she thinks I’ve abandoned a daughter. Will it matter that I didn’t know that the possibility of one existed?
She can’t find out about this.