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Her admission breaks my heart. She doesn’t trust much of anything or anyone—not her parents, not the institution of marriage, definitely not the father of her unborn baby because that ended badly once before. But she wants to trust me. She hasn’t run away. She’s beginning to tell me her truth and give me her pain. It’s more of her heart than I had yesterday.
“I’m patient. I’ll help you figure it out. I’ll show you that I’m not like your father. I’m not like the guy who knocked you up and ran out. We’re getting married, and I’m here.”
“For a year,” she mumbles, sounding as if that fact makes her miserable.
Telling her again that I love her or want to be with her forever won’t work. They’re words. For all I know, someone else told her those same things before he turned out to be an asshole of the highest order. Actions speak louder, and I’m going to have to find a silent way to shout my love.
“For at least a year. If I have my way, it will be forever.” When she opens her mouth to speak, I lay a finger over her lips. “Don’t say anything. Don’t argue. And don’t tell me I don’t know what I feel. Just let the words sink in. Repeat them to yourself a few times. Remind yourself what I said when you feel worried or alone. If you do it enough, maybe you’ll start believing that I mean what I say. If not, I’ll show you every day that I do. But one way or another, I’m going to convince you that we’re meant to be together.”
* * *
The following day, Cliff begins buzzing my phone at six a.m. I really have to introduce him to the concept of time zones and that mine is six hours behind his.
Groping around on my nightstand, I reach for my cell, gratified to see Harlow still slumbering beside me. After hoisting myself up and snagging my shorts from the ground, I exit the room and press the device to my ear. “Hi, Cliff. Why the fuck are you calling so early?”
“I know it’s morning.”
“The sun isn’t even up yet. I shouldn’t be, either.” I sigh. Cliff wouldn’t call without a reason, and I should get down to it instead of bitching at him. “What’s going on?”
“It’s the network. Mercedes Fleet keeps giving interviews…and she gave one that ran this morning with the ‘intimate’ details of your hookup.”
“The one that never happened? She’s making this shit up out of her head.”
“There are witnesses who said they saw you go into a bedroom with her…”
“I didn’t,” I swear. “I’ve never met her. I would remember doing her if I had, so those people have faulty memories or are being paid to remember incorrectly.”
“It’s your word against hers, man. And I have to tell you, right now it doesn’t look good.”
“I want a DNA test. That will prove I’m telling the truth.”
“That was going to be my next suggestion…if you’re really sure you never—”
“Ever. I did not touch her. I want this test ASAP so I can prove to the world that I’m being straight-up honest.”
“I understand. We’ll have our legal team reach out to her and start the negotiations to have a NIPP test conducted. She’s more than eight weeks pregnant if she conceived when she says she did. But it will still take a week to get the results once her blood is drawn. In the meantime, the network is nervous. Mr. Chickman—remember him, the president, COO, and executive producer—is seriously considering retracting the offer. I’ve spent all morning talking him out of it. You need to accept now.”
I can’t. Sure, Harlow and I have a plan in place to keep my anxiety in check and we’ll be following up with a doctor later this week, but I’m not ready to commit to the job. I’m still not certain I can even do it. Nothing like failing miserably on a really public stage… There’s no coming back from that.
“When I’m ready, Cliff. Not before.”
“Goddamn it, Noah. I worked for months to broker this deal and it’s about to dissolve under your feet like quicksand.”
“Then maybe it wasn’t meant to be.” Saying the words is like stabbing myself in the chest. I love football. I miss football. I’ll be gutted when July rolls around and training camps start in earnest without me. I fucking want this job. If it weren’t for my unpredictable loss of speech, I would have agreed to the deal weeks ago. It’s sweet and right up my alley. “I have a lot of things going on here.”
“Like what? What’s more important than this gig you practically begged me to secure for you?”
I feel like a shit to keep secrets, but I skip telling Cliff about my issues. He’s professional and really good at his job, but I don’t want a word of this breathed to the network, even inadvertently. They will worry. And there will be leaks. No thanks. I just want my problem solved so I can accept their offer and move on.
“Why are they in such a hurry to get this done? I don’t need to be in a booth for months.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you. This shit with the pregnant hookup has them worried about your image. The NFL has had its share of…let’s say less-than-sparkling domestic relationships in the press.”
I know that. It’s been a black eye on the league for a while. “Look, the thing that’s more important right now than saying yes to this job is the very thing that should make them feel better. I’m getting married.” I don’t mention the baby just now. It will make his head spin.
“What? That brunette you’ve been seen with on the island?”
“Harlow. Yes. We haven’t made any announcements because we don’t need the press crashing our wedding. It’s going to be small and quiet. We’ll send out a press release after the ceremony. I’ll text you details if you want to come to Maui for the event.”
