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“Camilla needs me.” Her eyes return to her paper.
There’s a frozen look of dread on Cam’s face.
“Please tell her you can survive without her.”
Shaking her head, Camilla murmurs out of the side of her mouth, “Your mother scares me. I can’t do it.”
“Then tell Calvin to do it.”
“Calvin’s scared of her, too.”
“Mamí––”
“No,” she repeats, still looking at that freaking paper. “I will never live with my children.”
I recognize the look on her face for what it is, an exercise in futility. It’s telling me there’s a greater chance of me moving in with her.
She suddenly looks up. “Bring him over. I want to meet this Dane Wylder.”
She goes back to her paper. Discussion over.
Chapter Ten
Stella
Stella Donovan
To: Dane Wylder CC: Steve [email protected]
Subject: The contract
I’ve take the liberty of listing some stipulations for our agreement. These are some of the non-negotiables:
•The child will spend Monday through Friday with the mother, or as negotiated by the father until a time when the child can choose for him or herself.
•The father can have the child any time with advanced warning as long as it doesn’t conflict with already planned vacation time.
•An itemized list of all expenses will be supplied by both parents.
•Health insurance will be covered by the mother.
•The father agrees to never introduce the child to a woman unless the time comes when the father chooses to marry.
More to follow.
My mother would like to meet you if you’re amenable. Calvin and Camilla invited us over for a barbecue this weekend.
Dane Wylder
To: Stella Donovan CC: Steve [email protected]
Subject: Re: The contract
I’m amenable to meeting your mother. :)Yes to the barbecue.
In regards to everything on your list––fine.
This is my stipulation:
•We talk everything out. Shit will come up on a daily basis, but we talk about it. We may disagree, but guess what, we still discuss it. We may both get angry. We may both feel shortchanged. And still we continue to discuss it. We discuss everything until we agree. We vow to never stop talking. The end.
A stupid grin spreads across my face as I stare at the computer screen. This is bad. Head shaking, I type out my response.
Stella Donovan
To: Dane Wylder CC: Steve [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: The contract
You drive a hard bargain. Pick me up at eleven on Saturday.
Dane
As soon as we walk in, we’re immediately greeted by Shaw’s wife. I’ve only met her once, at some charity function, though from what I can recall she’s real sweet and very much in love with my buddy.
She takes the apple pies we brought out of my hands as she’s sayin’ her hellos. Cal, the soft and cuddly type, jerks his chin in greeting and asks what I want to drink. I tell him a beer and he leads me into the kitchen while his wife and Stella talk.
Grabbing two Sam Adamses out of the refrigerator, Calvin pops the caps off and hands me one.
“So, what’s it like?” Arms crossed, he leans against the counter and awaits my answer with undivided attention.
He doesn’t have to explain. This is a topic every professional athlete simultaneously fears and purposely ignores. It takes complete dedication, one hundred percent of your time, to perform at this level. Most of us don’t know how to do anything else.
“It’s great. I don’t have to pop half a bottle of pain killers to get out of bed. I can take a day off from workin’ out and not feel guilty. I’m lookin’ forward to havin’ a real Thanksgiving this year, first one since I turned seven.”
He grunts and looks off. “I’ve been thinking about it…Camilla’s pregnant again.”
“Didn’t you just have one?”
Cal smiles. I haven’t seen this dude smile in a long time. Not since he won the Super Bowl. “My son, yeah. What can I say? Except––” Picking up his bottle of beer off the counter, he smiles. “Be careful.”
“Nah, you got it wrong. This isn’t…” I thought Stella had explained our arrangement. “Stella and I aren’t together in that sense. It’s an arrangement.”
Cal’s face goes completely flat. “Say what?”
“An arrangement, dude. I want a kid. So does she. Neither one of us want to get married. We’re keeping it real simple.” I take another pull of my beer.
Cal starts chuckling. I know for a fact I’ve never heard this guy laugh. Ever.
“What’s so funny?”
More laughing. “You think that’s gonna keep things simple?”
“Yeah, that’s the whole point of it.”
“Call me a year from now and explain to me how simple it is.”
“Be my pleasure.”
Unblinking, cold pale eyes watch me. My buddy is a trained killer. I say this as a compliment. I’ve seen him carve up defenses faster than a Thanksgiving turkey. The problem is he’s studyin’ me as if I’m a defensive formation.
“There’s something different about you. I thought it was retirement, but now…now I think you’re hung up on her.”
Something about what he said and the way he said it gets on my nerves. I like Shorty, of course I do, but he’s seeing ghosts. Things that aren’t there. Imaginary shit. There ain’t anything except respect between Stella and me.
Yes, we have fun together. And yes, she makes me laugh––at her. And yes, she’s probably the first and last person I want to talk to these days. But that’s because of our little project. I’m not hung up on her. I don’t do hung up.
“I’m not hung up on her, dude. No offense––I know you’re close with the family––but we’re just friends. That’s all.”
“You’ll realize it soon enough,” he adds with a sly smirk. It’s the smirk. The smirk makes me lose my cool.
“She’s not even my type!”
Three women are suddenly standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Shaw’s wife with Stella and Mrs. Donovan in tow. It has to be Stella’s mother. Other than the eyes, the resemblance is remarkable.
All three stare at me. None of them look happy. It hits me then, the knowledge that I’m gonna pay for this in the not-too-distant future. This has all the makings of an epic karmic ass-kicking with my name on it.
I didn’t mean to shout. I didn’t mean to say it at all. The words felt wrong. One, out of loyalty––she’s not only gonna be the mother of my child, she’s also a good friend. Someone I trust. And two, because if I’m being honest she kinda is…at least, she is now. I’m also pretty sure that I’m not her type in any way, shape, or form and Cal was poking at that sore spot with a stick.
My gaze settles on Mrs. Donovan, the only one wearing a subtle smile. I move forward to introduce myself.
“Mrs. Donovan? Dane Wylder, pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
As I gently take her hand in mine, she covers it with her other one. Filled with amusement, her sharp brown eyes assess me. I know the type. This woman is an iron fist in a velvet glove. Not unlike her daughter. Though her daughter could use a little more velvet and a little less iron.
“Call me Mercedes and I will call you Dane.” Her gentle Spanish accent puts me at ease, makes me want to kick myself in the teeth for what she overheard. Judging by the current mood in the kitchen there’s no doubt they all know whom I was speaking about.
I have yet to look at Stella in fear I’ll find disappointment on her face. Or worse yet, pain. She’s the last person on the planet I want to hurt. The thought alone digs a hole in my gut.
“Why don’t we move to the patio? I have appetizers there, and the grill is firing up,” Shaw’s wife announces. Her upbeat voice edges out the awkwar
d hovering over the room. I direct a grateful smile at her and she smiles back.
Ten minutes later we’re all on the patio, eating appetizers and drinking cocktails. I cut a glance at Stella and, catching me, she returns a small smile. Thank God. My little fuck-up seems to be forgiven and forgotten. I knew this was going to go smoothly.
This is not going smoothly. Not since Stella’s friend arrived an hour ago. Her name is Delia, or Suicide Blonde, as I’ve come to think of her. This chick has been staring a hole through my head since she walked in.
