Chapter 14
Melody
Knox Bradford sits in the window seat of his penthouse apartment in a white tank with a baby girl asleep on his chest looking like some kind of idealized image of the dream father.
Cricket’s little face is the picture of contentment resting against his rounded bicep, and her silky dark hair and intense blue eyes do make her seem like his daughter.
He places the bottle he was giving her on the table beside him and glances up at me in a way that squeezes my stomach.
All the insanity of this afternoon has calmed, and he’s utterly gorgeous. Who am I kidding? Even overwhelmed, with baby poop on his shirt and anguish in his eyes, he’s perfect.
“It’s like I stepped onto a roller coaster and it hasn’t stopped dropping and spinning for three days.” His voice is low, a soothing vibration for a sleeping baby. “She’s so helpless. I’ve never had anybody depend on me like this. It’s a lot.”
“Do you know anything about her mother?” My voice is equally quiet.
His full lips pull down on one side, and he shrugs. “Her name was Jules Allen, but I’m waiting for more information. The lawyer who brought Cricket said if I disputed my paternity, they’d order a test, but it can take up to ten days to have an answer.”
The little girl exhales a big sigh at that moment, and I think about her earlier in her little chair, kicking her legs and blowing bubbles.
“She’s really cute. How old is she?”
“Nine months.” He looks down at her asleep on his arm. “My mom said skin-to-skin time helps establish a bond.”
“Do you want that?”
His expression falters. “If she’s mine, then yeah, I definitely want that. If she’s not…”
I can see the conflict in his eyes, and my heart melts a little more. It’s written all over his face. He doesn’t want to believe she’s his, but he also doesn’t want to abandon her if she’s not.
Turning what I know over in my mind, I glance up at him. “Why would this Jules say she’s yours if she’s not?”
He shakes his head, looking down at the baby. “I guess she believed it was true. I know I’m supposed to just go with that. Why would she lie about it?”
I stand, crossing my arms and pacing the living room. “It’s probably best to reserve judgment until you know for sure.”
He exhales heavily. “I can’t believe I don’t at least remember her name. She clearly remembered me enough to say I slept with her.”
“Is it possible she used a nickname? Where were you…” I do some quick math in my head. “Seventeen to nineteen months ago?”
He drops his head back, and those luscious muscles stretch in his neck.
“Eighteen months ago, I was a first-round draft pick for the New Orleans Saints. Austin and I were down here talking to scouts. When the word came, it was the happiest night of my life. I wanted to celebrate, but he went back to the hotel. Some of the guys were with me, and we all stayed out late.” He lifts a hand, sliding his fingers over his closed eyes.
“I know I did some things I wouldn’t normally do, but I’ve never been a fuck boy.
I know the names of the women I sleep with. ”
My eyes slide to his, and he’s so earnest, my chest softens. “I believe you.”
Quiet falls. I look past him, through the picture windows, out at the lights of the town. It’s a dark night, no moon, and windows are lit in the tall buildings. Further west, towards Canal Street, the lights of Bourbon create an orange glow in the hazy night sky.
I trace his face in the silhouette. I study the lines of his jaw, his chin, his lips. My eyes drift higher, and sapphire blue clashes with them in a way that makes me smile and blink down.
“You never told me why you came here tonight.” His eyes drift to my body, taking in my baggy tee and leggings. I know I look like a wreck, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You look like you’re ready for bed.”
My chin dips, and I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “You usually text me after the games and then nothing. I kept waiting… I thought you were mad at me.”
His head drops back again, and he looks out at the city. “No… Not mad.”
The baby girl is completely asleep, and her little fingers tense and relax on his arm. Somewhere a clock ticks. It’s so quiet.
“We never talked about that game. It was very good. Possibly your best.”
“You were on Chet Arnold’s show.” He visibly swallows. “Talent, but no discipline?”
“I could revisit that. It feels like the situation is changing.”
“It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah.” With all that’s happened, I’ve pretty much completely forgotten how I felt storming over here tonight.
It seems like I was mad about something, but who even cares in view of all this?
“It was the best game of my career.” He looks down at the tiny hand on his arm. “Now I’m freaking out that it could be over. I’m just getting started, and now this. How will I handle this?”
“You will.” My voice is level, confident.
“Maybe.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to walk away from my career. I want to keep going. I want all the things, the years, but if she’s mine, how can I?”
“You can.” Defensiveness rises in my chest. “You have to. You have too much potential—too much to walk away.”
“I don’t know. I look at what Dad went through, Austin… Family comes first.”
“You’ve got money. Hire the help you need to take care of her, and get back out there. No one benefits from you walking away and then resenting your decision for the rest of your life.”
He’s quiet again, and I know he has to see what I’m saying is right. It is right.
“After my grandparents died, my dad had to take care of his brothers and sister.” He slides his fingers over the baby’s. “He still went to Texas, and they made it work. My aunt Dylan still collects strays, and Mav is just like her. If anyone’s in need, they’re always ready to help.”
“They sound like good people.” I think of my own family.
Mom lost her mother at a young age. I was only three when my grandfather died, and it was hard on her. It was also the same year my dad came back, and we got a big, new family, who took us in with open arms.
“What do they say?” I look up at him.
“They’re excited to meet her in a few weeks.” Frustration enters his tone, but I can’t help a laugh puffing through my lips.
“They’re not sending in the cavalry?”
“Everyone has an excuse—work, school, pregnancy, you name it.” He shakes his head. “I know they’re loving this.”
“They believe you can handle it. From what you’ve said, they’re all rooting for you and wishing you well.”
“I don’t know.” He exhales heavily. “I keep waiting for the hidden cameras to jump out and tell me it’s all a big joke, a reality-TV prank or something.”
I look around, thinking he’s not wrong. “It would make a great reality show. It’s definitely going to be the TMI headline tomorrow, if it’s not already.”
His entire mood changes on a dime. Putting a large hand on Cricket’s head, he sits forward, eyes locking on mine.
“That can’t happen. We’ve managed to keep all this off the radar, but if they get a hold of the story, it’ll be a three-ring circus.”
“I completely agree.” I nod. “It’s the last thing you want, but how will you keep it hidden? I’m surprised I wasn’t followed here tonight. Maybe I was?”
He straightens his back, standing slowly. “I’ve been lying low, keeping off the grid. I haven’t had any visitors besides family. And now you.”
My lips tighten with a smile, and I stand, going to him. I place my hand on his forearm. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Our eyes hold for several blinks. Our gazes mingle, and that chemistry between us surges to life. Up until now, we’ve been competitive, rivals, me daring him to show me his best. Him showing me… on and off the field.
Now the fury has dulled. The gloves are lowered and something different filters in around us, something new but just as potent.
“I need to get her ready for bed.” He breaks the spell, shifting the baby in his arms in one fluid movement that doesn’t seem to rouse her.
“You do handle a football well,” I tease gently.
“I handle other things equally well.” His suggestive tone heats my stomach.
I follow him into his large bedroom. My senses are very aware of being in his space. I want to pull his arms around me, reach up and put my hands on his scruffy cheeks, kiss him.
His bed is a massive California king with a cream and navy-striped duvet cover and matching, decorative pillows. It’s cozy, but it doesn’t feel entirely his. It’s missing pictures, things that show his personality.
“Are you happy here?” I ask. “Is it someplace you want to stay?”
He looks around briefly then shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess?”
“I don’t think this place will feel like home until I have someone I care about to share it with me.” He puts a knee on the bed and lays Cricket in the center of a rectangular pad with raised soft edges all the way around, creating a plush enclosure. “Maybe it’s her?”
“Maybe…” I watch his broad shoulders, muscled arms as he secures her in the nest.
He’s so careful with her, so sexy.
“I could take you shopping,” I offer quietly.
He turns to face me, and heat washes from my neck to my toes, by way of my tingling pussy. “What for?”
“For starters, you need a crib.”
“The portable one Dove said I should get was on backorder, and I guess… I didn’t know how much furniture I wanted to buy.” He rubs the back of his neck again, making his bicep flex.
I sigh, walking around, inspecting the crown molding and arched doorways. “My mom has an antiques store, and I learned a little basic interior design from her. I’d love to decorate a big ole place like this. Help you make it your own.”
“With somebody else’s old stuff?” A teasing light is in his eyes, and I feel my cheeks trying to heat.
“Somebody’s nice old stuff. It would be from estate sales. You know, expensive things, things people cherished, that are warm and homey.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know… whatever speaks to you. Works of art or even frames for your pictures.”
“All my pictures are on my phone.”
“We’ll make prints of your favorites.”
“Is this your funny way of asking me out on a date?”