Hail Mary Baby: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (13 page)

T
he time had come
for Alex and I to stay in New York. I had packed all I needed to pack for the week and took off for the city. My plan was to turn off my phone and dive into the work for my show, but that of course, was impossible to try and pull off.

The morning I got in, I walked to Central Park with Alex, and sat down to enjoy the day. That’s when
he
called me. “Liam, stop it.” I said. “I don’t want to talk to you about this.”

He shouted over me. “You don’t understand what happened. I’ve seen the tapes of what happened and it looks worse than it was. This kind of thing happens all the time in football. It’s par for the course.”

“Which is exactly why I want this to end! I don’t like the football life. I don’t like the NFL, the stupid Patriots, and I sure as hell don’t like the violence they’ve embedded into you! It’s not normal to get in fistfights all the time. I don’t want Alex growing up around that kind of lifestyle.” I wanted to throw the phone in a nearby pond. This was my one free day with Alex and I wanted it to be good. Instead, I was too busy arguing with his father over something that was
so
over.

“Then I’ll quit.” He said in defiance. “I’ll fucking quit. Would that make you happy?”

“Look, Liam. I don’t care what excuse you have for me this time. Nothing is going to change my mind. It’s obvious you can’t control yourself out there. How will you be able to control yourself here at home when the going gets tough? You’re ruining your image and you’ve made me lose all the trust in the world for you.” I said, too angry to cry. “God dammit, Liam. I heard you got suspended too.”

“You don’t understand, baby. I was suspended for one game. That’s it! I—”

“I do understand. I understand a hell of a lot more than you do. For example, I understand that this is over. I understand that
you
and
me
are not connected. We had one silly night. One random, stupid night, and you became obsessed with the idea of being with me. But you don’t want to be with me. You want to fight with your
little
friends. You wouldn’t be a good father if you tried.” It was a harsh sentence to give. The problem was, he wasn’t all that bad. I knew that deep down. But this thing we had had gotten too messy. I didn’t know how to reconcile it. And this hidden violence that was within him was something I wanted no part in.

We had met. We got lost in our passions. And a life was born from ignorance and too much hopefulness. That was our story.

“I love you.” He whispered. I couldn’t tell, but from the sound of it, he had given up as much as I had. I gave us what we both needed: I hung up the phone.

I turned to my baby, sweet and innocent. But with every giggle and every smile, I saw him. His nose, the dimples in his cheeks, the color of his hair. It was all Liam.

In the distance were the rides. I remembered as a little girl being taken to the city once. It was the one trip out of the farmland, the one great escape. I remembered my dad holding my up against the wind, and I was screaming as we circled round and round. A million lights spun around us. The tallest buildings in the world towered above. “Someday,” He said, “this will all be yours.”

“Alex, want to ride the carousel?” I asked him.

“Daddy! Daddy?” He was asking for his father. It was times like these that made it hard for me. Life had a way of fucking things up for everyone. Why did I ever introduce both of them?

“Daddy’s not coming. He has a
big
game coming up.” I whispered with a huge fake smile on my face. He had begun to cry.

I picked him up and he wrapped his little arms around my neck. Again, I felt Liam. “I’m sorry for everything.” I found myself saying to Alex, walking toward the rides. “I know it’s been hard for you.”

Alex, still crying, was saying nothing. Obviously, he could barely understand the words I was trying to convey. I just had no one to talk to right now. I just wanted to make things right with my baby boy.

“But it’s been hard for me too. Your father is… Well, he’s different. He’s a rough guy. A handsome guy. But his job is scary.”

“Scawry?” Alex asked me. I laughed a little. He was learning too fast.

“Yes, scary. He’s not a bad guy. He has a good heart. He’s just unpredictable. Mommy needs someone who can give his all to you, not someone who’s going to give their all to a silly game.” I said. We finally got to the carousal. The same one I had rode with my dad a lifetime ago.

“I just wanted to apologize to you now, Alex. Someday you’ll be a big, strong man. You’ll find a woman you want to take care of and love. When you do, give her 100 percent. Give her your all. Because if you don’t, she’ll be gone forever.” The people all around us looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. All of the stress of this fucked up situation had gotten to my head a bit.

“Two riders for the carousel please.” I said to the booth man. I dumped the money into his hand and he handed us the tickets.

I walked up to the wooden booth designed with horses, frogs, and other animals, and set Alex down on my lap. He stared above at the lights and old-style paintings. “It’s just you and me now, kid.” I kissed his head as the floor beneath us started to spin us into orbit. We were freely spinning, yet connected to all those around us. As hard as it was to see outside our booth, the world was there. It was just dormant. It was waiting for us to slow down.

What I needed, however, was a night out on the town.

S
uspensions aren't
for guys like me. They knew just how much they needed me. Which is why I only got one game I had to sit out. Well, one full game turned into one half a game. That is, after all the negotiations went down. Turns out, the fight actually boosted my career. My worth went up like a firework on the Fourth of July. My internet searches skyrocketed. People apparently liked watching me dick around on the field.

But I was still being rejected by the one I loved. I didn't understand – I was trying my hardest. If she knew what that guy had said to me out there, she might've understood. I had nothing else now. It was back to the basics.

I poured myself into training. Whether it was practicing my throws, my weight training, or studying my plays, I devoted my whole and entire life to it. I did this at all hours of the day. I became a fucking monk. It was football or nothing. But I promised myself that when I won this thing and brought my team to the top, I would get Laura back. I'd get her and my baby boy back.

The thing got me the most was that I was actually a good father. I was at least a million times better than my own. Yeah, I made mistakes. But they were the cost of the game. Sometimes you just got into scuffles. It was a hell of a lot better than getting a concussion. Yet, that kind of a thing was swept under the table. Tabloid magazines couldn’t give two shits about long term brain injuries. Sex and violence. That's what makes the big bucks.

I was getting bored of all that now, ever since I met Laura. Ever since I met my son. But it was all I had for now.

Even the players were lined against me. They were getting cocky, even when their playing was getting worse. Some fuck-toy on the second-string team even said, “Hey Conway. Now that you're on the outs, mind if I try out some of those signature plays?”

I threw the ball into his shaking hands. “I’d love to see you try, boy.” I laughed. Then I got real close to him and muttered, “I know you'll say anything for a reaction, but I'd hold your tongue if I were you.”

He kept on smiling, although I know deep down he was shaking in his underwear. “What'll you do? Hit me?” He asked.

“Oh, that's what you're scared of? Me hitting you? No I won't hit you, boy. I'll do much worse. I'll make sure you never play ball again. ‘Cause when I win and get this team the Super Bowl Championship trophy like I did with the Cowboys, people will be kissing at my feet. And guess what, partner? When that time comes, I'll be remembering that ugly face of yours.”

It was a useless threat, but I had to stand my ground one way or another. My team hated me now. That much I knew. But I wasn’t going to forfeit my crown that easily. Besides, I was still the best player on the team.

The entire practice was littered with smart-ass comments and attempts at getting the coaches to side against me. They didn't realize they already were. The narrative was: it's just not safe to put him in yet.

T
he night before the game
, I went out. It didn’t matter anyway, I was sitting out tomorrow regardless. I walked down the strip, searching for the right place to loose myself in booze and sorrow-filled stories. When I finally found a dive bar suitable enough for me to sink into, I did just that.

“I'll take a shot of bourbon.” I muttered at the middle-aged bartender. He has a towel slung over his right shoulder, a tucked in black t-shirt, and the hardened look of a criminal.

He turned to me and said, “Ran out of bourbon an hour ago. How ‘bout some whisky?”

I gave him a nod of approval, as if to say, “Sure thing, brother. Whatever will get me fucked up fastest.”

He poured me a shot and I quickly swallowed it down. “Another.” I said, slamming the glass down on the table.

“Alright. You're the boss.” He poured another shot. Again, I dropped it back.

“Another.” I said, straight faced. I was tired. Not physically or anything, but I was tired of all that bullshit going on around me at all times. Sick of the game, sick of the industry, and sick of the people. The booze was a bandaid of sorts. Only, I knew it wouldn't help anything. That night I had a death wish and I wanted anyone to come up and try me.

“Okay. Another.” He poured and slid the glass over.

“Ahh.” I drank it down, feeling the slight burn go down my throat. It had been a while since I had drank anything, but it was the same old beast. Beautiful and destructive all at once.

“Another.” I said.

“Listen, pal. I've already poured you three. Don't you think that's enough for a bit?”

“Did I ask you to stop? I said another. I'll tip you triple this time.”

“Sure. No big deal.” He said. This time he was eying me with caution. It was obvious I wasn't someone to fuck with.

Drink, slam, and ask for another. That was the ritual at hand, right. “Another.”

“One more, champ. Then I want you out of my bar.” He said, loosely pouring me another shot. “I mean it. Last one.”

“I hear you.” I mumbled and took the shot.

“Alright, time to go.” He said. He wouldn’t take his eye off me for one second.

“You always stare at your customers like that? I didn’t come to cause any trouble. Just wanted to drink in peace.”

“I stare at people who come into my establishment with negative emotions surrounding them. We get a lot of that here. If a man downs four shots in a row, I know he’s going to bring me down with him. Got it? Now get the fuck out.” He threw a pointed finger at the door, which actually made me break down in heavy laughter. He didn’t scare me. No one did.

At this stage in the night, I was drunk off my head. Really, I just wanted to disappear. “Do you know who I am?” I asked him, headed for the door.

“You’re my mother’s uncle. No, I don’t know who the fuck you are and I could give two shits. Out!”

“I’m Liam Conway. Number 18 and starting quarterback for the New England Patriots.” I slipped and the rest of the bar couldn’t help but cackle with laughter. I threw the door open and the wind hit my face unexpectedly.

“Bye-bye, Liam Conway!” Someone drunkenly yelled from their seat.

I walked until I found a lone liquor store. “Light at the end of the tunnel.” I whispered to myself. Tonight was everything it ought to have chalked up to be. I bought a bottle of whisky and walked to the park nearby.

Sitting and drinking aimlessly, I wondered to myself, “How funny would it be if a cop walked by me right now?” I could lose my career.
All for the better
, I decided. Maybe then I could get her back. Maybe then I could have a real fucking life.

No. That wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t be coming back to this wreck. She was long gone and I simply had to accept it. But men like me don’t accept the hard truth too easily. Men like me fight. We get maimed, shot, and lose limbs for the big things in life.

The night I met her – that man held a gun to our heads. I risked getting shot just to save her. Couldn’t she see I loved her? Couldn’t she understand that I would do anything for her? Shit, relationships are hard and people make mistakes. But if you really loved someone, shouldn’t you give them more than one chance? I know I had done wrong. I know it. But I was willing to take a step in a new direction.

I fell asleep with that bottle in my hand. By the time my eyes closed it was empty and dry as a bone. Men like me didn’t give up without a fight. Only problem was I was only fighting myself.

T
he TV
in the bar blared loudly. I normally didn’t go for mimosas this early, but I didn’t have to shoot until eight PM, so why not? A sitter the network had suggested, thank God, was watching Alex. So it was me, all by myself. Just like old times. I could do anything I wanted. Of course, somehow I was sitting watching the fucking Patriots game in a bar in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

“I’ll take another, please.” I said politely.

“Sure thing.” The bar tender, classy and very put together, said.

The TV roared above us: “
And there we have it, folks! The Patriots, playing a good game this morning, but not good enough.”
The one announcer said.

Another chimed in, saying, “
One can only imagine what Liam Conway would have brought to the table.”

The first commentator laughed,
“If you have just started tuning in, Liam is nowhere in sight. It looks like his half-game suspension is turning into a complete no-show...”

The bar tender shook his head as he gave me my second mimosa. I took a sip and eyed him. “Why the shake of the head?” I asked.

“Where the hell is he?” He threw his hands up in the air.

“Who? Liam Conway? Aren’t you in New York? You can’t be a Patriots fan.” I joked.

“I’m from Boston, born and raised. I’m just out here for this job. I’m banking on the Patriots winning the Super Bowl. He needs to be out there. They’re shit without him.”

“He’s a bit reckless though, don’t you think?” I asked him.

“Reckless? He’s the best quarterback the world’s ever fucking seen. So he got into a fight? Even the NFL doesn’t give a shit about that.”

“But he got suspended.” I argued.

“Yeah, for half a game. I saw that. Doesn’t mean shit. They have to do that kind of stuff. They know not to press him too hard though. They need him in there. He wins and he sells tickets. I just don’t know where he is or what the hell he thinks he’s doing by not showing up.”

“Yeah, me too.” I whispered. I grabbed my phone from my purse and decided to do the unexpected thing. I called him. “Can you excuse me for one second? I have a phone call to make.”

“Sure thing, doll.” The man winked at me as the phone rang into my ear.

Somewhere in Massachusetts, Liam answered his phone solemnly. “Yeah.” He said.

“Liam? It’s Laura…” I waited for a reaction. Anything to tell me he was at least okay. He disappointed me, but I still wanted the best for him.

“Laura? Hi, uh, Hey. How are you?” He sounded congested, like he was just waking up. Weird, however, was the fact that I could hear the sounds of people talking in the background.

“Where are you? What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“Nothing, I… Nothing.” He mumbled. The sounds of birds chirping and kids playing echoed in the background.

“Are you in a park?” I asked him.

“I went for a walk.” He said. “What’s going on? I thought you didn’t want to speak to me anymore.”

“I didn’t say that. I just want you to recognize your mistakes. Anyway, that’s a different conversation for a different time. You have a game to play, dammit!” The people next to me at the bar turned and looked at me.

The bar tender stopped drying one of his glasses and whispered, “Can’t be him, can it?”

“I was suspended, remember? Besides, none of them want me out there. I’m a fucking joke. To everyone. I ain’t worth jack shit.” He said. “When the going gets tough, men like me get thrown into the gutter. It’s not long after everyone forgets your name.”

“Liam, you need to listen to me. Call a cab and have them take you to the stadium. Get a coffee, take a shower, and do whatever you need to do to wake the fuck up and play.”

He shouted into the receiver, “No! I’m done with this game. You hear me? Done.” At this point it was clear he was drunk. It was about an hour to halftime and if he didn’t sober up fast he would lead his team into the ground.

“You idiot. Your team needs you. They’re losing badly out there. If it’s true that they hate you now, they won’t when you lead them to victory. So sober up, you bastard, and take your team into the Championship game. We need a hero this morning.” I said, hoping he’d come to his senses for once. The bartender had a huge smile on his face. He had stopped all his activities to listen to my conversation.

“You still done with me?” He asked me.

“We’ve already had this conversation. I definitely don’t want to have it again. If you can’t help yourself, then no one can. Not me, not your coaches, not anyone.” I hung up the phone, furious at him once again. When would he learn that he needed to be strong without me? That was what I liked about him in the first place.

When we first got to know each other, it was as if everything changed in an instant. He was polite, strong, and clear-headed. Now he was losing it, falling asleep in parks and missing huge games. I couldn’t even think about it. It was making me too angry.

“Was that…?” The bar tender gestured toward my phone.

“Yeah. We know each other. Long fucking story.” I said, taking a big gulp of orange juice and champagne. “I’m going to need a third, please.”

“Is he going to play? What happened? I can’t believe you know Liam Conway!” He exclaimed for the whole bar to hear.

“Keep it down. I’d rather not let the whole bar in on my personal life.” I said, motioning for him to speak quiet and close to me. “Who knows what he’ll do.” I shrugged.

“Fucking suspension…” The bar tender mumbled angrily.

H
alftime came and went
, and the Patriots were getting slaughtered to high hell. If I was on TV reporting on this, I would have said the team was done for. The morale was extremely low.

“Any hope for Liam Conway to save the day has now gone out the window. Folks, I think we know how this one ends.”

I shook my head and pounded my fist on the table, drinking my fifth mimosa of the day. “Damn you Conway!” I yelled at the screen. “Bastard.”

“Fuck the Patriots.” Someone in a booth behind me said. I didn’t even take a look to see who they were. I was glued to the screen.

“The Green Bay Packers are taking this one home. Another touchdown! I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel for the Patriots. At this juncture, they need a miracle.”

“Come on…” I whispered. “Don’t let me down again.” It was odd how invested I was in the game. Liam and I may be done for good, but we would always be connected one way or another. I couldn’t just watch as his team dug their own grave.

“Wait a second! Holy moly, folks! I can’t believe my eyes. Is that…? Yes! It’s Liam Conway!”

“Yes!” I screamed, jumping out of my seat.

“He ain’t gonna do shit.” Someone else yelled at the television. “Look at him. He looks like a wreck.”

“Oh yeah? Is that what you think?” I turned around and faced them. “Just you watch.”