Sweet Rome (Sweet Home) (39 page)

“Missed you too, gorgeous.” Her arms squeezed my waist in response, and I said, “I’ve just had an interesting call.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was Coach. I haven’t heard from him for years, but he’s in town and wants to grab dinner with us tonight.”

“The Alabama coach?” she asked, her surprised eyes fixing on mine.

“Yeah.” I laughed. “The Alabama coach.”

Her eyebrows pulled together in thought. “I wonder what he wants.”

“To have dinner,” I replied, slightly confused at why she thought it was anything more.

Stepping back to the opposite marble counter, she tilted her head as she stared at me. “Rome, you’re retiring this season, and suddenly the coach of the Tide just so happens to be in Seattle?”

Hmm… Maybe she was right. Her smug smile told me she knew it too. “Okay, Shakespeare, I’m listening. What do you think he wants?”

Moving before me, her fingers crept up my torso, and she gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “You.”

A strange excitement set in my bones. I’d never really thought about going back to Tuscaloosa. I love it, it’s my home, but we left a lot of shit behind all those years ago, and we had made a good life for ourselves in Seattle.

I glanced down to Molly again and asked, “You really think that’s what it could be?”

“I’d bet my life on it. He’ll want you to coach. Bloody hell, Rome, you’re one of the most successful quarterbacks in NFL history. If you joined the Tide, can you imagine how much better they could be? The recruits they could acquire?”

“And how would you feel about going back?”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I—I don’t know. I love it here. Our lives are here and Tuscaloosa… I don’t know, holds a lot of conflicting memories for me… for
us
.”

I stroked a finger down her cheek. “Then we won’t go,
if
he offers me anything at all.”

“Is coaching something
you
would want, though? Is it something you could see yourself doing with the rest of your life?”

“Probably. It’s the Tide. I didn’t know what I would do when football came to an end, but the thought of being involved again with Bama football… I’ve got to say it excites me. It’s in my blood. I’m Tide ’til I die.”

Nodding her head slowly, Molly looked up at me and said, “Let’s hear him out. If he offers you something, we’ll talk about it and decide what’s right for us all.”

She began biting on her lip and her hand ran down my body to snap the button on my jeans. I fucking loved that look in her eyes. “Now, I’ve come home early from work, we have a couple of hours before we need to pick up the kids from school, and you’re looking pretty damn hot, Mr. Prince, hot enough to make me think up some pretty naughty ways to spend the afternoon.”

I felt my cock harden under her light touch, and, instantly whipping her up off the floor, began running for the bedroom, Molly giggling over my shoulder, screaming, “
Romeo!”

“Oh, don’t you dare, Shakespeare,” I said with a hard crack on her ass. “You started this shit and I’m going to make sure I fucking finish it… at least three times!”

* * *

Centurylink Field, Seattle

A few months later…

“Taylor, Isaac, Archie, Elias! Come here, we have to go on the field in a minute! You all need to calm down!”

The roar of the crowd boomed all around the stadium, shaking the rafters, as we waited at the back of the players’ tunnel. Molly was busy running around after the kids, trying to get them straight. I couldn’t help but smile at them all in their Seahawks PRINCE jerseys, Elias’s jersey so tiny as he tottered around his momma’s legs—hell, he’d just begun walking and was already running rings around us both. And then there was Molly, long hair loose, tight jeans, her favorite brown cowboy boots and she too wearing my number. I could tell she was nervous; years of sitting in the “wives’ section” hadn’t prepared her at all for the craziness of today.

I was retiring. After nearly twenty years playing for the Hawks, I was calling it a day, and because of that, the Hawks were sending me off in the only way they knew how… big and loud.

Someone tugged on my jeans, and when I looked down, Archie, my son, was looking up at me with a strange expression on his cute-as-hell face.

Crouching down to his height, I asked, “You okay, little man?”

He pointed to the direction of the screaming crowd, all wide brown eyes, red flushed cheeks, and whispered, “Are you a superhero, Daddy?”

Smiling, I replied, “No, son. Why d’you ask that?”

He stepped forward, placing his chubby five-year-old hand on my shoulder, and said, “Because all those people are here today for you. They keep saying you are the best,
ever
, and the only other people who get treated like that are superheroes.”

Lifting him into my arms, I said, “I’m not a hero, little man. I just threw a football good for a lot of years and that’s why we’re here today, to say good-bye to all the supporters before we head to Alabama.”

He nodded his head in understanding, but pursing his lips, he leaned in and whispered, “I have a secret.”

I pulled back, dropping my mouth in playful exaggeration, and said, “You do?”

He nodded his head sagely.

“Am I allowed to know it too?”

Pausing for a moment and thinking hard, Archie finally sighed and nodded his head. His little mouth went to my ear and he whispered, “I think you’re a secret superhero and you’re saying you’re not because superheroes are not allowed to tell no one, are they? Just look at Superman; no one knew about the real him.”

“And what’s my power?” I asked, playing along.

“That you can throw a football farther than anyone,
ever
, and…” He motioned for me to lean in closer to his mouth, whispering, “You’re the bestest daddy in the world. The kids at school are always telling me how lucky I am. But they don’t need to. I know it.”

I stilled and closed my eyes, his words choking the fuck out of me, but two strong little hands pushed on my cheeks. “No telling the others, though, okay? It’s our secret.”

“Okay,” I agreed with a graveled voice, placing him back to the floor, letting him rejoin his brothers and sister playing across the way with a pigskin—they were football to the core.

A soothing hand rubbed at my back and Molly flashed me a wide, knowing grin. “You okay, baby?” A proud glint was shining in her golden eyes, and it was clear she’d heard what our son had just said.

Inching forward, I pressed a kiss to her lips. “Mm-hmm, more than okay.”

She placed her mouth at my ear and whispered, “I believe you’re the best daddy in the world too… and the best husband.”

Clasping both hands on her face, I pressed my lips firmly against hers again, laughing at her surprised squeal.

A throat cleared beside us, and, glancing beside me, I saw the field manager, embarrassed. “Mr. Prince, we’re almost ready.”

Molly quickly fixed her hair and squeezed my hand in reassurance. She was always there for me, today being no different. She’d attended every game, Superbowl, charity function—you name it—for years and most of all, she’d given me four beautiful children. I loved my girl more now than ever and still thanked God every day that he brought her into my life.

“Okay, kids, come here,” Molly shouted, and the four of them ran over, all smiles and hyper with excitement. Molly crouched down, meeting each of their eyes, and explained, “Now we’re about to go out into the stadium. It’s going to be super loud, so just prepare yourselves, okay?”

A chorus of, “Yeah, Momma,” came out in reply, and Molly moved to Elias and wrestled with him, trying to secure his noise-cancelling headphones in place.

After giving up and leaving them hanging around his neck, she said, “Now, what do you all have to say to your daddy?”

I narrowed my eyes at Molly and caught the happy expression on her face.

Taylor, our daughter, our eldest child… our
teenager,
stepped forward, and I bent down as she hugged me. “We’re all very proud of you, Daddy, and we wanted to let you know how much we love you.” She presented me with a handmade card, a hand-drawn picture of us all in our yard on the front and a framed picture of the six of us at last year’s Superbowl, all four of my children in my arms in the center of the field, huge, happy smiles on their faces and Mol kissing my cheek. “The boys made the card, but we all signed it for you. I chose the picture, well along with Momma—it’s our favorite.” I glanced to the picture again. It was my favorite too. A hand landed on my shoulder. “I really am so proud of you, Daddy.”

Kissing her cheek, I rasped, “Thank you, princess.”

Our three boys came to me next, and I could barely fucking speak through each hug and “I love you, Daddy.” Molly stood beside me, clicking away on her camera and unashamedly crying as she watched the impromptu presentation.

My kids had clearly caught my battle with my emotions, if their wide-eyed looks were any indication. And I had to turn away for a moment, trying my best to pull myself together. The last thing I wanted was to walk out onto the field a friggin’ emotional mess.

And after all, superheroes never cried.

As I looked at my beautiful kids, my chest swelled. I’ve never let myself forget how friggin’ lucky I am that I got this life. Got my girl when I nearly lost her and got four perfect kids on Earth—and one in heaven—when I never thought I’d have any.

“Mr. Prince, we’re ready. Please follow,” the field manager announced, and I heard Molly instruct behind me, “Okay, two of you take my hands; two take Daddy’s.”

Two hands instantly encased mine; I knew who’d be with me and who’d be with Mol. Glancing down, I smirked to see I was right: Taylor, our girl, and Archie, who apparently believed I was a superhero.

I turned to Molly, who was holding hands with Isaac and Elias—now happily in his headphones—took a deep breath, and mouthed, “You ready?”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head dramatically and mouthed back, “
No!
”

Music began playing, and the announcer hyped up the crowd as I laughed and winked at my wife’s worried face. “
Seattle, please welcome to the field, for the final time, your quarterback, Romeo ‘The Bullet’ Prince!
”

With a squeeze of my hands, my family and I walked forward out of the tunnel. As we stepped on the field to fireworks and the roar of the crowd, I finally let myself exhale. This field, these supporters were my second home and I was going to miss them so damn much.

After a lap of the field, waving and thanking the fans, we were ushered to a stage on the fifty-yard line. Molly and the children stood beside me as I walked to the microphone to address the crowd.

“Good evening, Seattle!” The booming response from the crowd was deafening; the sea of flashing cameras and applauding fans, all of them on their feet, was a sight I would never forget. They were all here tonight for me, and my legs shook slightly from the enormity of the moment.

I waved to the crowd; they gradually quieted to silence.

“When I came to y’all twenty years ago, I had no idea what to expect.” I laughed into the microphone and turned to Molly, who nodded in agreement. “I’d never left Alabama for any real period of time, had just got married to my girl.” I reached out my hand, and Molly moved beside me, holding it right back. “And suddenly we were thrust into the crazy world of the NFL, and y’all welcomed us with open arms.” The crowd stamped their feet in the stands and bullhorns sounded around the packed stadium.

I watched my children drop their mouths at the deafening reaction and gape in shock at the thousands of people all screaming for their daddy. Turning back to the mic, I waited until they quieted and continued. “The team and staff are my family, you guys who support us week after week are my family, and we’re going to miss y’all so damn much. I never knew what I’d do after retiring from pro ball, but an opportunity has come up, and I am happy to announce that I have accepted the position of Quarterback Coach at the Alabama Crimson Tide. After many happy years in Seattle, my family and I are going back down south, back to my home, but I’ll never forget Seattle and all the amazing years we’ve enjoyed here.”

Squeezing Molly’s hand for strength, I brought it to my lips and pressed a kiss to her wedding ring. Coach had offered me a position with the Tide coaching team the night we went to dinner, and Molly agreed I should take it. She thought a change would be good for us all.

“My wife has been a professor at the University of Washington for over ten years now, and my kids, well, all my kids are Seattle born and bred, something I’ll never let them forget.”

Roving a gaze around the huge stadium one last time, I lowered my eyes, holding back the threatening lump inching up my throat, and said, “Thanks to y’all for making my career here the best time of my life.”

The crowd erupted once more, and with a drum roll from the band, a large banner dropped from the rafters: my name and jersey number, now officially retired in my honor.

Staring up at the banner, a sense of accomplishment filled me. I’d lived my dream to the best of my ability and loved every minute of playing for this team.

Suddenly several sets of hands wrapped around my waist and legs, as my children ran to me in support, and a familiar arm slipped around my waist: Shakespeare.

“You did it, baby,” she whispered, still staring proudly at my banner, happy tears in her eyes. “You did it all.”

Cupping her face, I pressed a kiss to her lips and said, “You ready to get back to Bama, Mrs. Prince?”

Moving in for another kiss, she giggled and replied,
“Roll Tide!”

Epilogue

Tuscaloosa, Alabama

Six months later…

Shit. The Tide QB I was watching on the new game tapes Coach’d just sent me had rendered me speechless. His quick feet, the power of his passes
and
his running game were sick. He was a triple threat and, no doubt, the kid had some serious friggin’ skills.

Hearing the quick stomping of feet coming up the stairs, I quickly switched off the TV, fumbling the remote and jumped to my feet just a Mol came through the door.