Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (17 page)

Dr. Smith raises her eyebrows slightly but surprises me by smiling. “Well, congratulations. How far along do you think you are?”

“About five weeks, maybe?” I say. “I don’t have a stomach bug, by the way. I don’t know why I said that. Well, I
know
why I said it but I usually don’t lie to people, so I’m sorry I did that.”

Dr. Smith pats my knee with her hand. She has kind, brown eyes and I almost cry just looking into them. “Honey, it’s alright. We’re going to take a look at you and this all stays confidential, okay?”

I nod and tears well up. “Okay.”

She hands me a cloth gown. “Just strip from the waist down and put this on.” She pauses at the door. “Is there anyone you’d like me to call?”

My mind flashes to Saint. “I’ll…I’ll text someone. But him being here has to be a secret too. Can you….can you make a note in his file that he came here for a cold or something?”

The doctor smiles. “I’ll take care of it.” She leaves the room and I text Saint.

He responds immediately and I break down in tears again from relief.

Thirty minutes later, Saint is holding my hand and Dr. Smith is squirting cold lube onto my stomach.

“I can’t believe you have an ultrasound machine here,” Saint says.

“Well, it’s just this little hand-held one.” Dr. Smith glances at him. “I stole it from the athletic facility while Esther was getting changed. It’s the one the team trainer uses.”

Saint laughs. “I thought I recognized it.”

“Okay,” Dr. Smith says. She’s turned the lights off in the room and it’s almost cozy in here. She holds the screen over to us. “There’s your baby.”

I bust into full-on tears and Saint reaches over to kiss me. “That’s our baby.”

“Oh, my word,” I say through sobs.

Dr. Smith smiles. “Wait,” she says. “I can hear a heartbeat. Listen.”

The rapid-fire sound of a fetal heartbeat fills my ears and I cry some more. I can’t help it.

Dr. Smith cleans off my belly and I pull my sweater down. “I’d say you’re a lot closer to eight weeks based on the fact that I can hear the heartbeat, but you’d need a proper exam to really know for sure.”

Saint hands me a handkerchief again and I take it gratefully, mopping up my saltwater-covered face. “What are the next steps?” Saint asks Dr. Smith.

She pulls off her latex gloves and washes her hands. “Pre-natal vitamins, if you’re not already on them.”

“I’ve been taking them for a few weeks now,” I say.

She nods. “Good. Good. You’ll need to find an OB-GYN in the area as soon as possible. I can make some recommendations.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Saint says.

“From my old eyes, it seems like you’ve got a perfectly healthy baby,” she says. She pauses at the doorway. “And kids? Don’t let anyone tell you that you should be ashamed. A baby between two caring people is a beautiful, beautiful thing.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

SAINT

I straighten my tie. I’m never nervous before playing football in front of millions of people on live television. But this meeting?

Has me nearly sick to my stomach.

Ironic that I’m feeling sick just as Esther’s nausea has abated. I find myself wishing that I could hold her hand right now. But we can’t. We’re in the waiting area outside the Dean’s office, and these walls have eyes.

Besides that, all four of our parents are sitting behind the door to my right.

The Dean’s secretary keeps shooting us cute little smiles like she knows exactly why we’re here. Exactly what we’re doing.

And of course she knows what we’re doing. Why else would I be dressed up like this? Why else would all four of our parents be here, together, having tea with the Dean while we wait outside?

I shoot Esther a look of support. She nods back and mimes squeezing my hand.

Fuck, I wish I could touch her in here.

The doors to the Dean’s office open and I stand up immediately, smoothing my pants purely out of nerves. It’s the Dean.

“Come on inside,” he says with a smile on his face. He holds the door open and I let Esther walk in first. We shoot each other furtive looks of support.

We’re going to need it.

Esther’s parents are on one sofa; my parents across from them on the other. The Dean is holding court from a straight-backed chair and he motions us into two separate armchairs. I sink so low I may as well be touching the ground. I bet the Dean likes being on the tallest chair in the room. He’s always on a power trip.

“Well, we’ve all spoken with one another, but we thought we’d let you two have a few words as to why exactly you want to do this. Ladies first.”

I clench my fist. This is all theater. I’m the man. I’m the one who has to make the request. He’s just letting Esther say something to be polite. In reality, she holds no weight.

Esther clears her throat. “Saint, I mean, Francis and I are interested in courting. We would like the opportunity to get to know each other better in a way that is pleasing to God and our families.”

Esther’s eyes are downcast and it reminds me of the first time I met her. She’s really blossomed since then. We actually had to
practice
for her to look demure. We rehearsed it over and over and over again.

With generous breaks for fucking, of course.

The Dean nods and smiles. I haven’t taken my eyes off of Esther, partly because I want her to know I’m here for her and partly because if I look at her father I’m going to punch him in the fucking face. I can feel the resentment and disapproval radiating from his body.

“Alright, thank you Sister Avonlea,” the Dean says. “Brother Williams. It’s your turn.”

I clear my throat and smile at the room. “It’s like Sister Avonlea said. We are interested in getting to know one another in a godly way. We’ve both met privately with Pastor Blevins and prayed heavily on the subject. We seek your guidance and approval.”

It’s time for me to look at Esther’s dad. This will have to be the performance of my life. “Mr. Avonlea. I ask your permission to court your daughter, sir.”

There’s silence in the room.

Mr. Avonlea shifts in his seat. “I think we ought to hear from the rest of the room first. Mr. Williams, I think you showed some concerns.”

My dad leans forward. “Son, I think this is a strange time to enter into a courtship – that’s what it’s called, correct?” My dad, ever the perfect Catholic, loves to treat everything non-Catholic as this foreign, strange beast. The Dean nods. “It’s my understanding that these things are brief, maybe one or two months, and are part of the pathway to marriage.”

I nod at him. “That’s correct.”

My dad shakes his head. “Do you really think this is the best time for this? The draft is a month away. I just don’t think you should have distractions. You’ll be signed to a team in a matter of weeks. Then training starts. You could end up
anywhere
in the country. And Esther still has another year to go in her schooling, correct?”

“Yes,” I reply simply. I gear up to say the thing that we practiced. It feels like bile in my throat, lying this way. I might be a heathen, but I hate lying about God. “God has directed me to this. I’ve spent weeks praying about it.”
More like weeks spent in holy congress with Esther’s pussy.
“This is the path I’m being led to. If it’s God’s will that Esther and I be together, I don’t see how any distance could come between us.”

Silence again.

The mothers, of course, won’t be permitted to talk. I can’t read the look on my mom’s face, and Esther’s mom is staring at her own lap, as usual. Mr. Avonlea finally speaks. “I don’t agree with this at all. I think Esther should be focusing on her schoolwork and not on a boy.”

We knew that was coming. We also predicted what the Dean was going to say next.

“Well, not to be crass, but I think the two of them could be a great shining beacon of what courtship is for the rest of the country. Young people look up to Brother Williams. I think this godless generation would do well to have such a devoted role model. It’s a great form of ministry, I think.”

“So my daughter is supposed to be an advertisement for your school?” Mr. Avonlea roars. He’s angry now.

“Jed, please,” my father intones. “If the kids want to date each other, I don’t see why they shouldn’t. I know my son. He won’t let rules stop him from what he wants. And if they’re going to be together, I’d rather it not be behind closed doors.”

It’s like watching a tennis match, and Esther’s father is John McEnroe. He’s already yelled at the referee once. It’s only a matter of time before his temper spills over again.

But then Jed Avonlea does something unexpected. He sits back with a smile on his face. “Alright. Do it. Court each other. My daughter has already been acting in unexpected ways all this year. Like you say, I’d rather have them together in public than sneaking around behind closed doors.”

He looks at me like he’s trying to catch me in the act of feeling guilty. But my face is neutral. It betrays nothing.

Like I said, we rehearsed this.

The Dean claps his hands together. “Well, it’s settled then. Brother Williams, you will be allowed to court Sister Avonlea. You can go to my secretary for a list of the rules, guidelines, and times the courting room is open for your use.”

I stand up and shake Mr. Avonlea’s hand. I look him dead in the eyes. “Your daughter is safe with me, sir.”

He squeezes my hand so tightly I wonder if he’s attempting to break my fingers. “She better be.”

And on that ominous note, the meeting ends.

I feel like I can finally breathe again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ESTHER

“I can’t believe you two are going through this courting charade. What’s the point of it?” Romy asks in the lunch line.

I pick up a square of some sort of Italian casserole and put it on my tray. I’m finally hungry again after weeks of throwing up. “It’s not a charade. We’re serious.”

“Like,
marriage
serious?” Romy laughs as I swipe my student card. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

I shrug. “This is what we want.”

Romy lowers her voice as we find an empty table. “But you’re still,
you know.
Having sex, right?”

I flash back to earlier that day when Saint and I met up in the greenhouse. We’d had sex. Three times. I was starting to think a rabbit had taken over my soul. Then again, I’d read that pregnancy makes your hormones go wild. “Of course,” I reply.

Romy sits back and crosses her arms, a smile on her face. “I never in a million years would have thought you’d shed your uptight ways and become a dirtier, unholier person than I am, Esther Avonlea.”

I’m so jaded at this point my blushing is only ten percent of what it used to be. “Life is full of surprises.” I dig into the congealed casserole with relish. It’s nasty, but I seem to have reached the ‘eat everything in sight’ phase of my pregnancy.

The pregnancy that literally only three people on planet earth know about. That third person is not Romy.

Romy is still staring.

“What?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. There’s something different about you. Even apart from the secret trysts and you talking back to professors.”

“I’m wearing tinted lip balm. That might be it.” I push my square of chocolate cake over to her, hoping it’ll appease her. “Here, have my cake.”

Saint walks over to us and sits down next to me. “Sister Esther, Sister Rory,” he says with an ironic grin. He immediately slips his hand under the table and squeezes my upper thigh.

“It’s Romy. What brings you to our table today, Brother Williams?” Romy’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “You all packed and ready to fly to Chicago for the draft?”

Saint nods. “Yep. Flying out first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I wonder what it will feel like to know you’ve become a multi-millionaire basically over night?” Romy asks, a dreamy look on her face as she skips her meal for my proffered chocolate cake.

“I’m just hoping I get a team in a warm climate.”

“I’m guessing you’ll have your pick of teams. Who are you looking at the most?” Romy replies.

“I guess you’ll find out this weekend,” Saint says cryptically. “Subject change because I’ve been talking about football teams endlessly for the past month.” He turns to face me. “Would you like to meet in the courting room at six o’clock this evening, Sister Esther?”

“Certainly, Brother Williams,” I reply. It’s all I can do to not burst into laughter.

Romy groans. “You two are ridiculous. I’m telling you. I don’t know why you’re going through this but I’m determined to find out the real reasons.”

Later that night, Saint and I spend an excruciating half hour in the courting room under the watchful eyes of a volunteer honor committee member.

When we part, we take circuitous routes and end up in the greenhouse again.

I’m not in there two seconds before Saint has me up against a wall, my wrists pressed against cold glass.

“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he whispers to me, showering my body with kisses.

“Me too,” I reply.

“I want to fuck another baby into you,” he says.

That gets me wetter than anything he’s ever said to me. And that’s saying something; it’s a long and distinguished list.

And we’re off to the races.

I lay with my head on Saint’s lap, sprawled on the velvet couch an hour later. We seem to really enjoy having sex in upright positions. “I need to see a real doctor soon,” I say to him.

The stars have come out; they fill the night sky. They’re slightly distorted by the wavy, single-pane glass squares but they’re there, winking down at me.

He kisses me on the forehead. “When I get back, we’ll go someplace nearby.”

“Not
too
nearby,” I point out, entwining my fingers into his.

“I really don’t want to leave you tomorrow,” he whispers to me. His eyes are serious and sad. I’m not used to seeing him that way.

“It’s only five days,” I remind him.

“Yeah, five days with my father,” he points out. “That might as well be six months when you combine it with not getting to fuck you for that long.”