Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (22 page)

F
or the second time
, I spend the night with Holden.

I wake up with a stupid, silly grin on my face. And again, just like the first time back in Denver, I’m nestled in his arms, feeling his body hard and warm against mine.

For a moment of panic, I check my phone, but it’s still early.

Saturday or not, today’s the board meeting where I find out what the hell is happening to my team.

And me.

But there’s no word yet on when we’re meeting, so I toss the phone back down and slide back into his arms.

I wake up an hour later, again, glancing at my phone. This time, there’s a message from Tom of all freaking people. I open it.

I’m about to text back or try calling Richard for some clarity, but my phone dies after not being plugged in all night.

Whatever.

And in one sense, it’s a relief knowing I’ve got the day. Hell, my dad’s right: I
do
work too hard.

I grin, biting my lip as I feel Holden’s chest rising and falling against my back.

Heck, I’ve earned this.

But on the other side, it would be
great
to know what the hell is happening and what the board’s decision will be on what’s going on moving forward.

I’m thinking of Serena’s words from yesterday and trying not to get panicky.

“You’re London Jacobs, girl. Your family is Bulls football. They’d be fucking idiots not to have you running things.”

Yeah, I’m not worried. Well, trying not to be. Because how
can
I be, when I’m right here where I am?

I’m snuggling back into him and making the decision to go back to sleep when suddenly, something twists in my stomach. I feel a cold sweat and the horrible feeling of nausea rising up inside as I lurch from the bed and make a dash for his bathroom.

I make it, barely, before whatever I ate the previous night comes back up.

I grimace.

That’s
twice
now I’ve eaten bad food, in not so long a period of time.

Maybe I’ve developed an allergy or something.

I’m still kneeling on his bathroom floor when the cold chill hits me.

No
.

No
way
. It’s literally impossible; I’m on birth control.

But for a moment, my high school health teacher pops into my head:

“Now remember, no contraceptive is one-hundred percent!
”

I shiver there on the bathroom floor.

No, it’s impossible.

But I’m sneaking out of the bathroom and grabbing my pill case from my purse before I slink back in and shut the door. I count the circle of bubble-top pills, taking tally of the placebos and the real deals.

The chill comes back, shivering up my spine as I sit there staring at the pillbox in my hand.

Impossible

Except, it’s not. Not really and not at all.

I’m five days late, and I’ve
never
been late; not once since I started taking birth control ten years ago.

I snap the pill case shut, standing and flushing the toilet before rinsing my mouth out in the sink.

No, not a
chance
.

Yeah, how many times exactly have you used a condom with Holden?

I shake that thought from my head as I take a swig of his mouthwash and swish it around my mouth.

It’s just stress is what it is. That’s all. I’m overworked, my dad just had a heart attack, and all this shit with the board and Joanne sticking her nose into things.

Not to mention not knowing what the hell I’m doing with Holden.

All of it though is just playing havoc on my body.

That’s what this is.

Because I’m
not
pregnant.

* * *

H
e’s
awake when I slink back into bed.

“You’re up?”

He groans. “Yeah, just got call from the offensive coach. They want to kick start training with some play drills today.” He turns me in his arms and grins down at me. “I don’t suppose you can get me out of that can you?”

I laugh.

“What, you want a doctor’s note or something?”

A grin spreads across his face.

“You want to be my nurse?”

He stands, slipping from the bed. And my momentary uncertainty and confusion slips away as I let my eyes roam over that
perfectly
sculpted ass of his.

“Hey, eyes up here, perv.”

I laugh again as I glance up to see him grinning at me.

“You can stay here while I’m gone.” He frowns suddenly, as if catching himself. “You know, if you want to,” he finishes brusquely.

I smile.

He leans down and kisses me again, and something about this is so damn comforting and easy that it almost hurts when the thought comes back again.

What if I’m pregnant?

But I can’t be.

I can’t be.

T
he board meeting
was my only plan for the whole day, so after Holden leaves, I head directly home.

Freaking out with every passing second.

I
know
it’s just stress; of course it is. But…it’s a thought that won’t go away. And whatever, a test will settle my damn nerves.

Because it’ll be negative, of course.

I go through the drug store checkout line with a red face, like I’m a teenager buying condoms for the first time or something. And it just
sits
there in a plastic bag in the car seat next to me, the whole drive back to my apartment - this illicit
thing
.

And what was a “oh I should do this” thought becomes a burning
necessity
as I drive home.

I have to know.

Right
fucking
now.

I slam the door shut to my apartment and run to the bathroom, tearing the packaging, feeling my pulse race. I can feel my knees shake and the sweat break out on the small of my back as I sit.

It’s fine,
I tell myself.

You’re not pregnant, obviously.

This is just mental maintenance - shoring up my nerves.

I finish and place the stick on the sink counter.

I pace the bathroom, picking at my cuticles while I stare at the second hands on my watch.

This is just reassuring myself that I’m not-

Three minutes is up.

I stop pacing.

I suck in a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror as I pick up the test stick. I steel myself, and I swallow.

And then I glance down.

Seconds tick by like hours as I stare at the little window.

I drop the stick into the sink as I start to tear the packing off another test. The words “false” and “positive” reverberating through my head as I try and force myself to pee again.

This time, after getting the same little plus sign, I sit on the floor after, holding my knees and drumming my fingers across them as I try not to hyperventilate.

One test is a false positive. Two is bad luck, I tell myself.

But after 15 minutes of me chugging water and trying two
more
tests, the odds are
very much
against me.

Holy shit.

* * *

T
his can’t be happening
.

I’m sitting on my sofa later, shaking my head.

I can’t be pregnant, with
his
baby.

But that’s real.

That’s happening.

I’m pregnant.

This isn’t in the plans. I don’t have metrics for this, or spreadsheets. I don’t have stats in front of me, only the unknown - a gut
feeling.

And that’s what got me here in the first place - here being wrapped up and involved with the hottest, most consuming, most notorious man in pro football.

And now I’m carrying his baby.

Holden is many things - incredible player,
fantastic
at making my body shatter and come in ways I’ve never even imagined it could.

But
father?

I drop my head in my hands, knowing how shitty that even sounds to think, but knowing it’s true.

This is the man who’s famous for throwing a ball harder, faster, and with more precision than really anyone in the history of the sport. But also, for sleeping with half the women in Denver. And their friends.

Holden Cade is
not
known for his life skills or his ability to hold shit together.

You know,
essentials
for becoming a parent.

I sigh as I drop my head to my knees. In any case though, he needs to know. No one
doesn’t
deserve to know, that’s for sure, no matter how ill-equipped they are for the job.

I go and grab my phone I’ve basically forgotten about since Tom’s text this morning from my bag. I glance down and frown: fifteen missed calls from both my office and Richard.

Jesus, one day away from the office and you’d think the building was on fire.

I decide to call Holden first.

“Hi,” I say, my voice cold, scared.

“Hey sugar,” he purrs. “Just finishing practice and was thinking about you and last nigh-”

“Can we meet?” The words drop like rocks from my lips. “Later?”

My voice is cracked as I push my finger through my hair.

Holden clears his throat.

“Uh, yeah?”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“My place?”

He chuckles darkly.

“Guess someone didn’t get enough last night, huh?”

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Just come over later, whenever you’re done. Please.”

There’s no flirtiness in my voice, no sass or smile.

He must hear it, because his voice loses that charming drawl.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. London, what’s-”

My phone rings on the other line, and I glance down to see Richard’s number popping up.

“I have to go, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah okay-”

I click off quickly, dropping the phone in my lap.

I can’t do this.

I don’t know how to do this.

I rock myself on the couch, chewing on my lip before I take a deep, shaky breath. I pick up the phone and call Richard back.

“London.” Richard’s voice is strained sounding, and for a moment, I’m terrified that it’s something to do with my dad before I remind myself that I’d have certainly gotten a call from the hospital if that were the case.

“What’s up, Richard?”

“London, where
were
you?”

A horrible sensation creeps through me.

“What?” I croak out.

“The meeting, London! The board meeting today!”

I’m shaking my head, feeling the blood drain from my face.

“No, Richard, it was postponed.”

“It just
happened
, London.”

I’m falling.

I’m in total free-fall, and there’s no bottom in sight.

“No, that’s impossible-”

“London, I’ve been trying to reach you for over two hours!”

“My phone…” I trail off, my voice sounding like it’s outside my body. “Richard, what-”

“London, it’s
Joanne
; she’s taken control of the board,
entirely
.”

What.

I stand abruptly from the couch, feeling my head reel and the room sway.

“That’s impossible.”

“Not with the right votes it isn’t. She invoked your father’s position on the board as a forty percent voter.”

“She can’t do that!” I yell in the emptiness of my apartment.

“Yes, she can,” Richard says icily. “She’s automatically in a position to speak for him legally when he’s not well.”

“He’s
fine!
” I’m screaming now.

“But he’s in the hospital, which
legally
declares him ‘unfit’.”

This isn’t happening.

“This can’t be real! How could she-”

“
Tom,
” Richard mutters under his breath. “Tom got to Hutchins and Peterson somehow and the three of them plus her forty percent vote swung things.”

“Richard,” my voice is quieter now, but shaking. “What does that mean?”

“It means your stepmother is now effectively running this organization.”

“What?
She can’t do that.”

“She can, and she just did. And she’s using your dad’s current medical stuff as proof of his being “unfit” to run, including his wishes for succession.”

This can’t be happening.

“She could take the team, London.” Richard says with a heavy voice. “With a board majority, she could vote in a new president or even transfer ownership.”

My head’s spinning as I try and focus on what he’s saying.

“London, where
were
you?”

Making mistakes.

Making huge mistakes.

Because suddenly, the rug’s being pulled out from under me.

I’m losing the team.

I’m failing my father’s legacy.

And I’m pregnant with Holden Cade’s baby.