Chapter 15
Knox
“Why are all these baby supplies still in bags?” Stanley twirls his fingers at the plastic bags of baby supplies scattered all over the kitchen counters and clearly looted.
He has a light accent I can’t place—it’s like Cuban… or Italian? He walks through my apartment with the poise of a dancer and the face of a disapproving judge.
Arms crossed, he turns to face me. “I’m not your man-servant, Mr. Bradford. I will not be doing housekeeping.”
“No way—I would never.” I add quickly, “You can call me Knox.”
I’m standing on the other side of the bar holding Cricket against my chest watching this small man judge us. It never even occurred to me that he might turn down the job, and now I’m kind of nervous. I need his help.
“Should I choose to accept the position, I will call you Mr. Bradford and you will call me Stanley.” He levels me with a stern, dark glare. “It keeps things clear.”
Stanley has style, and growing up with my uncle Craig, who is also my aunt Dylan’s best friend and former ballet partner, it actually makes me feel a lot more confident leaving Cricket with him.
Craig knew when to party and he knew when to be serious, and he took great care of us kids. Mom trusted him with her life.
“Understood.” I nod. “You don’t have to worry about any of this stuff. I’ll take care of it when I get back from practice. All I need is someone to watch Christine and not talk to the paps.”
“I’ve worked for bigger stars than you, Mr. Bradford, I know the rules.” His arms lower, and he pulls down the side of one of the plastic bags. “I presume these are baby supplies?”
“My cousin took me shopping,” I explain. “She picked out all these things, but I’ve been sort of in survival mode. If you decide to unpack them, I can pay you extra.”
“There’s a distinct odor of feces in this kitchen.” His upper lip curls.
“We had a little mishap with her diaper yesterday…”
“Where is it?”
“The diaper?” I reach down to pull out the cabinet drawer holding the garbage can and all the dirty diapers.
All I smell is peppermint, thanks to the Stinkbalm.
“Gah!” He holds the back of his hand under his nose. “No dirty diapers in this bin. I’ll order a Diaper Genie. Give me your credit card.”
“Right!” I reach into my back pocket taking out my AMEX. “I’ll just leave this for you in case you need anything else.”
“Straight men,” he mutters, shaking his head as he exhales slowly. “How do we survive them?”
“You got me there.” I exhale a chuckle. “If you’d seen me three days ago.”
He walks over to where I’m holding Cricket. “Nine months?”
“Yeah, good guess.”
His eyes roll to me and he holds out both hands to her, palms up. “This isn’t my first rodeo, as you might say.”
He waits with his hands out, and Cricket studies him, like she’s unsure.
“Hey, Crick, it’s okay.” I give her a little bounce. “This is your new buddy Stan the manny.”
“Stanley,” he corrects.
I lean forward, ready to pass her off, but she turns away, arching her little back and making a squeal-ey noise. She doesn’t let me go, and my stomach pits. I look from her to him unsure what to do. I don’t want to force her, and this clinginess is tensing my muscles.
“Ahh…” I swallow hard. “C’mon, Crick. I’ve got to get to practice. Y’all are going to have a fun day.”
“What is this ‘Crick’?” Stanley’s tone is firm, but I notice it has softened a bit as he approaches the baby.
“Christine sounded too old, so I’ve been calling her Cricket.”
His voice rises an octave, and everything about him changes on a dime. “Hello, little Cricket. We’re going to have so much fun while Daddy plays football!”
I don’t know why that makes me feel like an asshole.
“It’s football practice,” I clarify. “I’ll be working out with weights, running laps, doing drills. It’s a lot more than just playing. It’s hard work.”
“I’m not your therapist,” he waves me away. “Come here, sweetie.”
To her credit, Cricket still isn’t entirely on board with what I now realize is an extremely judgy little man. Like he has any right to make me feel guilty for doing my job.
She finally lets him take her from my arms, but she looks up at me with those big blue eyes, a little worried but trusting me. I rub my hand over the tightness in my chest as I pick up my gym bag. Now I’m questioning everything.
“I left my cell number there.” I point to the Post-it on the refrigerator. “I’ll have it on me all the time. If you need anything…”
“You filled out the questionnaire online?” Stan clarifies. “She has no allergies or medical conditions?”
“Not that I know of. She’s only been with me a few days. Her mom died and all.”
He straightens, holding Cricket on his hip like he’s been doing it for years. His expression softens, and he puts a hand on my forearm.
“Go to your practice, Mr. Bradford. Your daughter will be perfectly fine. We’ll have a great day, and if anything happens, which it won’t, you’ll be the first to know.”
He says it with such calm confidence, his voice low and even—not like the voice he used with Cricket. He waits, smiling like I’m overreacting, and I huff out a breath.
“Okay, then.” I step forward, kissing Cricket on her cheek. “I’ll be back at six.”
I head out the door slower than I usually do, looking over my shoulder at the two of them. Cricket’s little eyes are on me, and I swallow the lump in my throat. She’s not crying, at least.
I tell myself she’s going to be okay. The sitter service did all the work, and even Melody said his references looked good. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie can’t be wrong. Although, they did have a pretty messy divorce…
Knox
I can’t tell if I like Mermando or if I want to throw him back.
I’m sitting in the back of the black SUV texting Melody.
She slipped out this morning before I even woke up, which I hate. I don’t know how long she stayed with us, but having her there was so reassuring.
I don’t know what it is about her. She doesn’t know anything about babies either, but she has a way of making me feel like I can do hard things.
Melody
What happened?
Knox
He’s very judgy. I’m not sure he even likes me.
Melody
As long as he’s good with Cricket. That’s all that matters, right?
I lean back in the seat, looking up at the Superdome rising in the distance. She makes a point, and I suppose I don’t want some pushover manny.
Knox
Thanks again for coming over—and staying the night.
Melody
Glad I could help.
Knox
You didn’t have to.
Melody
I can’t abandon a friend in need.
Knox
I thought we weren’t friends. You told me straight up, that very first night. You’re not my publicist.
Melody
I don’t remember saying that.
Knox
Maybe it was you’re not my coach.
Melody
And you’re glad I’m not. You wouldn’t be doing half the stuff you’re doing if I were.
Knox
For example?
Melody
Women wouldn’t get into your apartment building by buzzing all the names like in a movie.
I lean my head back and laugh. I know exactly who let her in.
Knox
Old Mrs. Burnbaum thinks she’s going to get lucky. I think she actually lived in the building when Brad Pitt was in the neighborhood.
Melody
She probably knows Mermando! Also, you would not be gallivanting all over Bourbon without security.
Knox
I don’t need security. The great people of New Orleans respect my boundaries.
Melody
That’s how you got into this situation, if I remember correctly.
Knox
It’s how I got into you, if I remember correctly.
I shift in my seat at the memory of her bent over that sink, her round ass all pink with my handprint. The way we fucked so fast and hard. Damn.
Melody
And on that note. Gotta run—lmk how it goes with Cricket.
The car stops, and I grin at her fast sign-off. That’s right, QP, you thought it was fucking hot, too.
* * *
“You don’t look like you’ve had the stomach bug.” Fonz stands at the head of the bench-press machine looking down on me. “What? Did you play too good a game and decide to take the week off?”
My face tenses from pushing 300 pounds on the bench. It’s not about bulking up. It’s about keeping my throwing arm strong.
I exhale heavily, sitting up. “You have no idea what I’ve been dealing with this week.”
“Hey.” Baker walks past, slapping me on the shoulder. “Sounds like a story. Spill it.”
I look up at Fonz. “Remember that night we were drafted? Way back. We were all out at that dance club?”
Fonz drops his head back, laughing. “How could I forget? You asked me if I was related to Britney Spears.”
“I was young.” As much as I hate asking this question, I have to hold out hope. “Do you remember me being with any one chick in particular?”
“There were a lot of beautiful babes partying with us that night, bro. It was the night they leaked the list.” He shakes his head. “We got seriously fuuuucked up.”
Pushing off the bench, I walk around to the treadmill and switch it on.
I’ve got to run three miles before I can break for lunch.
Then after lunch I’ve got to hit the field and drill.
We’ll work on all the plays, old and new, then we’ll scrimmage against our defensive line. Those boys don’t mess around.
“So you don’t remember me with anybody in particular?” My breath picks up as I jog faster.
I remember Raymond had the list, and he carried it to the group. I remember seeing my name, and everyone screaming and cheering. I remember someone handed me a hit of Molly, and I took it, which I never do.
After that, it was all streaming lights, sweating, and so thirsty. The words came to life in my head, and I was in a puddle of hugs and happiness and love and music.
A growl moves through my throat, and I drop my head, running harder. How could I be so fucking careless?
Mom would say my prefrontal cortex was not fully developed. The only problem is now the result of that careless behavior is waiting at my apartment for me.
Thirty minutes later, I step off the machine. My legs are pulsing, and I spend a few minutes pulling my heels to my ass as I check my phone.
Mermando
Your daughter is highly intelligent. She is already attempting to say words above her developmental level. “Fu” is a particular favorite. Congratulations.
The message is accompanied by pictures of my pretty little girl sitting in a brand-new high chair, holding a spoon in her hand and smiling at the camera.
Her dark hair is styled in a cute little way with a ponytail on top of her head, and her blue eyes shine like an angel’s. Warmth moves through my chest, and I’m relieved she looks happy.
Leaving her this morning was some unexpected shit.
Knox
Sorry. My mom said I had to start a swear jar. Looks like she was right.
Mermando
Moms are always correct. Cricket doesn’t know what the words mean, but she understands context. She’s well on her way to a cum laude in swearing.
I can’t tell if this guy’s fucking with me or being serious.
Knox
I’ll do better. See you in a few hours.
I shove my phone into the locker and head out to the field for drills.
Etienne does the snap, and Brady is doing a better job keeping pressure on me. We all acknowledge it’s my weakness.
The coaches drill the offense on protecting me better, creating a pocket, but if they can’t get it done, I’ve got to be able to decide quicker. I can practically hear Melody saying these words to me. She’s in my head.
I think about seeing her again, and Brady slams his hands on the tops of my shoulder pads. “Head in the game, K-Brad! You just got sacked.”
It takes all my will power not to shove him. This asshole has no idea how little sleep I’m operating on right now.
“Right,” I growl, shaking off his wakeup call.
For the rest of scrimmage, I focus on completing passes, gaining yardage, and yes, taking the checkdown. After three hours, we call it a day.
I’m frustrated Brady made it to me more times than I’d like. “I can’t be off my game so fast. We just handed Texas their asses.”
“You’ll get it back.” Kyler is as encouraging as always. “You’ll be ready for Sunday.”
“I only have a few days left.”
I make quick work showering and changing back into my dry clothes. I’ve deposited my uniform and gear in the bins for steaming and washing.
“I’ve been thinking about your question,” Fonz puts a hand on my shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. “There was a girl. I think her name was Bonnie?”
In a flash, I remember. She was a pretty little brunette with big blue eyes. She danced with her hands over her head and she had a really sweet smile—right before she handed me a tiny white pill.
“Shit.” I nod slowly. “That was her. What happened to her?”
“Don’t know.” Fonz shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. His curly hair is always a mess, and his mustache looks like it just came in. It never needs trimming.
“You don’t remember anything?” I don’t remember anything, but I want to say I have an excuse. I was on drugs.
“Ahh…” He drops his head back, scrubbing his fingers over his eyes. “She was in Mamma Mia? Or she was into it or something? You know, the movie?”
I shake my head. “Never heard of it.”
“She said it was something like her summer of freedom or her last summer.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I just thought she was having a good time. She loved that movie, and oh yeah, she had a friend.”
“Who?” I lunge forward, grabbing his arm. “Who was her friend?”
“Dude.” He jerks out of my grip. “Chill. I think it was Sabrina or Stacy. She’s on the Cheer Krewe. Go over there and look her up. Hell, they’re probably practicing today.”
I’m out the door before he even finishes speaking.