Fair Game: A Football Romance (51 page)

There are so many things I want to ask her so I can tell Major. I know he won’t want to talk to her again any time soon, but if I can explain what happened from her point of view, he might someday.

“I was shipped out here in a prostitution ring—sold, so to say. A woman walked in on a customer and me at a swanky party and blackmailed the guy into giving me to her. She runs an organization that works to stop human trafficking. HATH, Humans Against Trafficking Humans. They got me clean and helped me go to college. I owe them my life.”

This family has been through hell and back, and I’m not sure Major will be able to put it behind him. His head is a mess because of his abusive foster parents, but who’s to say he wouldn’t have been just as bad off if he’d stayed with his mother?

“I’ll try to talk to him, but I’m not making any guarantees.”

“Thank you, it’s more than I expected. I loved them, you know? I didn’t want that life for them. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

She sniffles and takes a tissue from her purse before she leaves. I watch her walk out the front doors and slouch back on the couch. What now? This is a king sized mess and I have no idea how to clean it up.

I inhale and blow out a long breath, rubbing my belly with one hand.

“Are you okay?” Major’s voice comes from behind me. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets. He takes one out and points at my hand rubbing my bump and rounds the couch to stand over me. God, he’s handsome in his dress blues. All the Marines at the wedding wore their uniforms. I should be thinking about strategies to reunite him with his mother, but his buttons and those stripes are very distracting.

“I’m fine. We’re fine. How are you?”

He sits down close to me and places his hand over mine on my belly.

“I don’t know. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her that day on the street when you introduced us. I was so wrapped up in you, I guess I wasn’t paying much attention. She looks different now—better, actually. Older but better. I remember her as a skinny, greasy haired waif with droopy, drugged out eyes.”

“She’s come a long way since then. She went through a lot too. I’m not saying what she did was right. But she was a kid and she was alone and scared. She did the only thing she could do.”

“And we all paid for her addiction with years of abuse.”

“True, but it’s done and you can’t change it. You’re a good man and she just wanted to be close to you without disturbing the life you’ve built for yourself.”

“I thought she was dead, you know? I tried to dig up information on her when I was seventeen. We were so desperate to get away that I was trying to find her and see if she could take us back. I must have been looking at the wrong junkie’s paperwork. I can’t believe I have a living biological relative other than Sam.”

“I’m sorry. This is so unbelievable. I don’t even know what to say to make you feel better.”

“Nothing.” He kisses my cheek and stands, pulling me up with him. “Let’s go back in there and try to forget all of this for a couple of hours and celebrate your friends’ wedding. And then I’ll take you home and we can practice for our honeymoon all night.”

“Sure?” I ask.

“Positive.”

“I like the honeymoon thing, and you’re killing me in that uniform, you know.”

He looks down at himself.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head up and down.

He scowls.

And winks.

Dressed in his uniform.

My heart skips a beat. “That’s a triple threat, Major Steele.”

“I know.”

“You’re so bad.”

“I know.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Major

Forgive and Forget

I hand my mom a cup of coffee and open up the daily newspaper on my tablet. A story about Craig’s arrest for drug trafficking out of his clinic and attempted murder lines the side column of the front page. The article is small but still on the front page. Will this story ever go away? Maybe now that Craig is going away, it will too. He’s not getting out of prison for a very long time, and I couldn’t be more pleased. Sam and the kids deserve peace and closure so they can get back to their lives.

“I saw that this morning, I was going to mention it but I figured you’d see it anyway,” my mom says. Never in my life did I imagine myself sitting down on a Sunday afternoon for coffee with my real mother to discuss the news.

“I knew it was coming. The arraignment is this week. I’ll just be glad to get this all behind us so Sam and the kids can get back to normal. Whatever that’s going to be now.”

“They have good support. I’m sure they will be all right,” she says with a smile.

A thump and the sound of giggling come from upstairs.

“She’s just braiding her hair. They will be down in a minute,” I say, explaining the noise.

After weeks of being the stubborn ass that I am, I listened to Violet tell me what my mother went through before and after she gave us up. I was pissed. I’m still pissed, but Violet made me realize that holding onto anger doesn’t do anybody any good.

Now I’m getting to know Marie. Malory has a grandma and Samantha has a mother, and Violet has a soon to be mother-in-law. Sam was much quicker to forgive. That’s just how she is.

Violet and Marie are taking the kids to a movie this afternoon and I’m going to spend some time with Sam. My sister is the second most inspiring, amazing woman I know, Violet being the first. I am blown away on a daily basis with her progress. They gave her a year to be ninety percent, but she’s going to surpass that estimate by six months at least.

“Ready?” Malory yells, racing down the stairs. Violet follows at a much slower, much safer pace, which makes me very happy. I love watching her body change and grow in all the right places. Pregnancy suits her well.

“Sure thing, let’s go.”

Violet catches up and heads straight for Marie’s coffee cup. She picks it up off the table and dumps it out, washes it, dries it, and replaces it in the cupboard.

“How come he gets to keep his?” Marie complains.

“Because he’s staying and you’re coming with me.”

“He’s rubbing off on you, isn’t he?”

“I think it goes both ways. I’m neater and he’s . . . not freaking out when someone isn’t sterile.”

They laugh at me, but nobody’s been sick since we moved into this house and I take all the credit.

Marie lifts Violet’s left hand when she walks by the table. “You finally made it official.”

I ‘put a ring on it’, as the kids keep saying, a week ago. We had a few hours alone when Malory went to pre-school. I filled our sinker tub for two, or three, as it turns out, with bubbles and lit candles all over the bathroom. I massaged her shoulders and her arms, and when I reached her hands, I slipped a three-carat teardrop diamond ring on her finger, and then I slipped her something else. Both made her happy, but only one made her cry. Pregnant women cry a lot. I looked it up to make sure it was normal, and apparently it is, along with a million other things. But I’m not complaining.

“Yep, you like it?” she asks.

Marie looks at her like she’s dense. “Uh yea, there’s so much of it to love.” She turns Violet’s hand and the sun catches it, spraying sparkles of light all over the kitchen walls.

“Watch out, he might try to wash that off,” Violet says, teasing me.

I roll my eyes and drink my coffee. Let ‘em tease. Who will come to their rescue when they lose their keys or a shoe? Me. Who will have the healthiest kid in school? Me. Who will have the most satisfied wife on earth? Me. That last one doesn’t have much to do with being organized and germ free, but it’s true just the same.

Violet bends down to kiss me. Her hands are on my shoulders and mine are holding my coffee cup. The generous show of cleavage isn’t lost on me. I know what she’s doing when she sucks that full bottom lip of hers between her teeth. She’s promising to take care of me after the movie.

“How long is your movie?”

“I dunno, the normal length I guess.”

I stare down at her ample breasts and then focus on her mouth.

“What are you going to see?”

She slides one hand off my shoulder and lifts my chin until we’re eye to eye.

“The never ending story.”

Epilogue

Five years later

“Is anybody planning on picking up this mess?” I yell from the living room.

Maggie tears through the Lego mess on the floor in her slippers, laughing wildly with Malory right on her heels.

“I’m serious, girls, this isn’t funny. Get in here and put these away.”

“Dad, she won’t give me my pink marker and I need it for my homework!” Malory stomps back into the room, throwing her hands in the air.

“Magnolia Marie Steele, report to the living room, now!”

Maggie peeks her little curly head around the corner, flashing me her seafoam green eyes. She’s holding back her laughter, nearly bursting at the seams, but it doesn’t last long.

Malory lunges toward her and Maggie shrieks. She’s gone, Malory is gone, and the mess is still here.

I slide my hands through my hair on both sides of my head and count to ten. I’ve come a long way in five years, but I will not tolerate messes or disobedience.

“Hey there, Marine, you doin’ all right?”

Violet. Thank you, merciful God, for sending her home from work early.

“No. Your children are not listening, and I’m about to lose my shit with all these Legos on the floor.”

“Aw, poor baby.” She sets her purse on the chair positioned precisely where she used to drop it on the floor when she would come home from work. I like her purse off the floor. Purses carry millions of germs, and nobody is allowed to sit in that chair.

She sashays across the room in her tank top and baggy linen pants that hang low on her curvy hips. When she reaches me, she lifts my shirt up and kisses each muscle in my eight-pack. She stops when she reaches my sternum to look up at me through her long, black lashes.

“I like this view, but can you do me a favor and move south about twelve inches?”

She laughs and drops my shirt just in time for the girls to make another pass through the room at warp speed.

“Hey! Hey now! Stop!” she yells, grabbing each one by part of their shirt and effectively stopping them.

“What did Daddy just tell you to do?”

“Pick up Legos,” Maggie says, rolling her eyes. Four and a half, and she’s totally mastered the eye roll already.

“Malory?”

“Pick up the Legos and don’t run in the house. But, Mom, she won’t give me—”

“Don’t wanna hear it. You give the marker back, and both of you clean up this mess.” She points at Maggie, who is clutching the pink marker in question and then waves her hands in a circle, gesturing at the the Lego mess.

“And listen to your daddy.”

“Daddy? Can I see you upstairs for a minute? I’m going to take care of that thing you were asking about, you know, the one . . .” She mouths the words, ‘twelve inches south’ and points down. The mess and the marker and the screaming, running kids are forgotten, and I’m pushing Violet toward the stairs. I look back and see both girls on their knees, tossing the tiny little torture devices into the bucket labeled
Legos
. Malory has the pink marker, and it’s sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans.

I prop my chin on Violet’s shoulder on the way up the stairs and reach around to feel her flat belly.

“Why do they listen to you and not me most of the time?” I ask.

“Why are they
my
kids when they’re driving you crazy?” she says.

“Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Why not?”

She bursts out laughing, and I shove her into our bedroom and lock the door.

“You’re gonna get it now, Mrs. Steele.”

“I thought
you
were gonna get it, Major Steele?” She says, cocking her head to the side, pretending to be confused.

“Okay, truce. Let’s both get it,” I say.

“Deal,” she says, reaching out to shake my hand. I take her hand and lead her to the bed.

She lifts her arms and I peel her tank top off and unclasp her bra. She gently tugs the drawstring on her pants and they pool on the floor around her feet. I’ll fold those in a little while.

She strips my shirt over my head, standing on her tiptoes, and tosses it in the growing pile of clothes before she sits down on the edge of the bed to unbutton my jeans.

She looks up at me again the same way she did downstairs, only this time, exactly twelve inches south. Her hands slide around to my ass and she pushes my jeans and boxers down, freeing my hard length. The exact moment she touches her gifted tongue to the tip of my cock, there’s a knock on the door.

“Mommy, Malory locked me out of her room,” Maggie wails.

I look down at Violet, and she flops onto her back on the mattress.

I’ve always said kids have shitty timing, but this is ridiculous.

“This is going to have to wait, isn’t it?” I ask.

“I guess so.” She sighs.

“Like for ten years, until she’s a teenager and Malory is in college?” I say, pulling up my jeans.

“Um, no, try fifteen or twenty.”

“Are you counting on Maggie flunking a few years of school?”

“No, I’m counting the years until the new baby is a teenager,” she says, hopping up. She pecks me on the lips and bends down to grab her clothes.

“I’m pregnant,” she announces with wild, crazy eyes, pulling on her clothes.

Maggie knocks again. “Mommy.”

“Duty calls.” She flutters her fingers in a playful wave goodbye and slips out the door.

Groaning, I smooth out the comforter where she was laying and turn around and sit on the edge of the bed.

Another baby? Can I do this again?

I hear music blasting down the hall . . . Malory. I get up and open the bedroom door and follow the sound to her room. When I reach the threshold of her open door, I stop and watch my wife and two daughters dance like maniacs to the latest number one hit on the pop charts. Maggie is jumping on Malory’s bed, making a colossal disaster of her blankets and pillows. Malory and Violet are flipping their hair all over the place, jamming out. I lean against the doorframe with my hands in my pockets and smile. This is my never ending story.

There is no end to this story.