Five
Sleep eluded Will that night. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Julianne, dressed like a temptress in that skintight red dress, her hair flowing behind her as she laughed at him while she pushed Owen in a stroller across the turf in the Blaze stadium. No matter how hard he tried to catch them, they kept getting farther and farther away. The senator’s voice blared across the PA system repeating over and over again: “She never wanted you to know about the baby. She’s going to raise him by herself in Italy. You’ll never have to see him.” Will’s cleats sank like cement into the grass at the fifty-yard line as he helplessly watched her flounce out of the stadium, Owen in tow.
He woke up drenched in sweat and in need of a cold shower, for multiple reasons. It was hard to separate the erotic fantasy Julianne presented from the duplicitous woman she was. The fact that his body still reacted to her made him madder than hell. He would never be able to trust her. She had every intention of denying him the right to raise his son. The sooner he got Owen’s paternity sorted out legally, the better. Especially if it meant less contact with his son’s mother.
Thirty minutes later, Will made his way downstairs to his kitchen for some much-needed coffee. As he peered over the metal railing leading down from his bedroom to the high-ceilinged living area of his loft apartment, he spied a pair of yellow running shoes hanging off the side of the sectional sofa. Unfortunately, they were still attached to the muscular legs of Blaze tight end Brody Janik. Will swore as he stomped down the stairs.
The Today Show blared from the sixty-inch plasma TV hanging above a gas fireplace. Will maneuvered through a storm of dust motes floating across the oak plank floor in front of the large industrial windows. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the ineffectiveness of his cleaning service, much less the six-foot-three, two-hundred-ten-pound pretty boy sprawled out on his sofa.
“That Natalie Morales is hot. Think she’s married?” Brody thought every woman was hot. And hot for him, which, given his cover-boy good looks and athletic superstardom, was probably true.
Will shoved Brody’s sneakered feet off the sofa and picked up a bottle of orange juice that was leaning precariously against the ottoman. “Show a little respect, Janik. This isn’t a frat house.”
“Jeez, Grandma.” Brody pulled himself up to a seated position before standing and following Will into the state-of-the-art galley kitchen. “You treat this place like a museum just because it’s been featured in Architectural Digest.”
He doubted Brody, who’d grown up in a wealthy Boston suburb, could appreciate the sense of accomplishment Will took in living in a place he actually owned. It had nothing to do with his loft’s appearance in national magazines. That was his buddy Gavin’s doing. Gavin, a successful architect, had helped to design and restore the bank of warehouse lofts in the trendy Federal Hill area of Baltimore, where Will now lived. For Will, the eighteen-hundred-square-foot loft represented a form of security he’d never felt growing up inside a drafty trailer parked in hurricane alley.
Standing in the galley kitchen decorated in varying shades of gray, Will surveyed his home. The kitchen featured concrete counters, stainless steel appliances, a glass-tile backsplash, and glass-front mahogany cabinets. The two-story living area and the large upstairs master bedroom gave the illusion of an abundance of space, but he was just one person living there. Where would he put Owen? And the kid’s crazy mother, if it came to that? There weren’t any parks or playgrounds nearby. Boys needed a place to run and throw balls. Owen couldn’t do that in Fed Hill.
He loaded a canister into the Keurig machine and contemplated his housing dilemma as Brody straddled one of the two bar stools, hooking his heels on the bottom rung. “I brought you some doughnuts.”
Will watched as Brody crammed half a chocolate doughnut in his mouth, sprinkles raining down on the counter like confetti. “Seriously, how do you eat such crap and still run the forty in four point six seconds?”
“Great genes.” At least that was what it sounded like around the doughnut.
Shaking his head, Will grabbed a piece of wheat bread and the peanut butter out of the pantry. When he was growing up, peanut butter made up two meals a day most weeks. He swore when he had money he’d never touch the stuff again. But when he was stressed, his body seemed to crave the familiar taste. After slapping the peanut butter on the bread, he pulled his cup of coffee out of the machine and took a tentative sip. He was reminded of Sebastian and his tea the day before, and he felt the squeezing begin at his temples again. “How’d you get in here, Brody?”
“You gave me a key, remember?” He tossed a key chain with a miniature bobblehead Blaze football player onto the counter.
“For emergencies.” Will picked it up; the player was wearing number forty-eight, Will’s number. He shook his head as he pocketed the key. “Like when that crazy porn star was stalking you.”
“She wasn’t a porn star. She made independent films.”
Will took a bite of his sandwich and arched an eyebrow at Brody. “Don’t give me the story you tell your mother.”
Brody crashed at Will’s apartment only when one of his four older sisters visited, which was often. They were constantly trying to fix him up with their friends, often forcing the tight end to seek refuge in space containing less estrogen. Why he crossed the line of scrimmage and picked Will, a defensive player, to be his mentor was still a mystery. Despite Will’s attempts to shake him, Brody had latched onto him during his rookie season and hadn’t let go.
Brody guzzled the rest of his orange juice. Will sensed the tight end was stalling. Unlike most of the world, Will never underestimated the man seated in front of him. Brody took great pains to portray himself as the immature jock who thought nothing of using his good looks and perfect smile to get ahead in the world. But behind those lazy blue eyes was a shrewd twenty-five-year-old who wasn’t always successful at hiding his brain beneath his brawn. Even his clothes, cargo shorts and neatly ironed T-shirt, looked haphazardly thrown together, but Will knew that a consultant, probably one of his sisters, had likely pulled the pieces into an outfit. Brody also was aware of his place in the hierarchy of the team. Despite being a marquee player, he would never show up unannounced at a more senior player’s home without a very good reason.
“There’s been talk in the clubhouse.” Brody flipped the bottle cap between his long fingers, but his eyes never left Will’s face. Despite the fact it was the off-season, many of the Blaze players remained in town for Organized Team Activities, which consisted of optional twice-weekly conditioning sessions. The OTAs not only helped the players stay in shape, but they kept the esprit de corps among the team.
“There’s always talk. I imagine there’s more gossiping done in an NFL clubhouse than in a ladies’ room.”
“Yeah, well, everyone’s getting a little antsy about this investigation into your old coach and whether some of the dirt will rub off onto our team.”
Will took another swallow of coffee. One good thing about the previous day’s baby ambush—he’d completely forgotten about the witch hunt surrounding his former coach. Several players had filed lawsuits against coaches in the league alleging injuries they received were the result of players receiving cash payments for inflicting punishing hits. Coaches had instituted a bounty scheme to remove certain players from the game, these players claimed. And the coach named at the top of the list: Paul Zevalos, Will’s former head coach. As could be expected, Congress couldn’t pass up a chance to get involved in something other than the tedium of running the country, and Senate committees were already investigating the matter. Will nearly snorted in disgust.
“You were down in D.C. on Capitol Hill yesterday, Connelly. All day. That’s pretty serious.”
It had been serious, but not for the reasons his teammates thought. The story was going to get out soon, today probably, and Will needed to get things finalized. “Tell the boys not to worry. The stink from the Zevalos investigation will never reach Baltimore because there’s nothing there.”
“A senator asking questions usually means there’s something to the story.”
Will drained the coffee from his mug before rinsing it out and loading it into the dishwasher. He pulled a sanitized wipe out of a carton and cleaned up the crumbs from his sandwich and Brody’s sprinkles. “The meeting wasn’t about Zevalos.”
Walking toward the door, Will picked up his wallet and keys from a basket on a table in the entryway. Brody trailed after him. “Then what was the meeting about?”
“A baby.” Will pulled the bobblehead key chain out of his pocket. “My baby.” He watched as Brody’s jaw dropped before Will tossed him the key. “Here. Keep these. You can use the loft whenever you want. It seems I’m gonna need a bigger place.”
• • •
Owen looked much better than he had the day before. His skin was pinker and his breathing less labored. The baby had even treated Will to his one-eyed stare when he’d held him earlier. Dr. Ling pronounced Owen totally cured, and Will felt an overwhelming sense of pride at having been able to save his baby’s life. The feeling was so surreal, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Winning the Super Bowl a few months ago hadn’t felt this good.
He was still riding that crest of emotion when he sat down with Julianne later that morning. They’d ventured out to one of the courtyards outside the hospital to talk undisturbed. Will stared at her as she reclined in a deck chair, eyes closed, the spring sun shining down on her face. Perhaps she’d gotten some sleep last night or maybe it was the relief that Owen was going to be okay, but she looked less weary today. Less fragile. She was dressed more like the fashion icon that she was with tight gray pants, clunky black boots, and a pink V-neck sweater that tied in a bow at one side. Her hair was done up in a messy knot and she’d forsaken the glasses for contacts. Inky black lashes fanned out against her cheeks and her lips were glossed to a high sheen. Will shifted in his chair as he reminded himself that the sultry woman in front of him was the same one who’d tried to steal his child.
“So I guess this is when we get down to the nitty-gritty,” she said without preamble, eyes still closed.
“It’s a conversation long overdue, don’t you think?”
She opened one eye and squinted at him much as Owen had done earlier. Somehow, the look was a lot sexier on her. Releasing a breathy sigh, she sat up and leaned her elbows on the table, giving him an excellent view of the silver cross and the breasts it was dangling between. “Look, this situation is awkward enough. Can we start fresh today and figure out how to make this work with Owen’s best interest in mind?”
Will arched an eyebrow at her. “You want me to just forget you tried to hide my son from me?”
Julianne sat back in the chair, wrapping her arms around her. “No, but I want you to move on from there because, at the time, I thought I was making the best choices for myself and the baby.”
His jaw was clenched so tight, he was surprised he could get any words out. “But the hell with me, right? I’m just some dumb jock who could give a rat’s ass about how many kids I father, is that it?”
“No!” She grabbed the cross around her neck and began to fiddle with it. “I didn’t even know you! When I found out I was pregnant, I was shocked, but I wasn’t going to give him up. I had the money to support a child.”
“I wouldn’t have made you give him up! And you should have stuck around the morning after to at least exchange names, given that the condom broke.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I thought it was just my migraine medicine that made my birth control ineffective. I don’t remember the condom breaking.”
“It was at a pretty pivotal part of the evening, Princess.”
“My medicine makes me a little woozy, so I don’t really remember the evening that much.”
“You don’t remember?” Jesus! The best sex of his life and she’d been stoned?
She didn’t meet his eyes, giving him a little shrug instead. Will felt like his head was going to explode. He closed his eyes and tried in vain to sort out his feelings. Her story was plausible, but he still didn’t trust her. He didn’t want to trust her. Well, at least most of his body didn’t want to.
“Now do you see why we should just start from today and move forward?” She posed the question softly. “Our lives are going to be forever entwined with Owen’s. It would be a lot easier if we could at least get along. For his sake.”
Will rubbed his hands down his face. “You’re not taking him to Italy.” He’d compromise if he had to, but not on that. “You’ll have to tell your clients you’re working from the U.S. until we can arrange something.”
“Not a problem. I’ve . . . I’ve put my work on hold for now. I need to concentrate on Owen.” Her statement surprised him. When he’d Googled her the night before, Will had discovered that Julianne was a rising star in the very competitive design industry. She’d been right when she said she could easily support a child, but what effect would a prolonged absence have on her career? Begrudgingly, he had to admire her devotion to Owen; he only wished that dedication to do what was best for her son had included allowing his father in his life long before the baby’s illness forced her to.
“Owen is just a tiny baby,” she said. “He needs his mother right now. I can get a place here in D.C. or closer to you in Baltimore. You can see him every day. But I can’t be separated from him. Not after I almost lost him.”
Will leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had no intention of keeping her from Owen. She was right, the baby needed her. Hell, he didn’t even know how to feed him, much less change a diaper. But in three months he’d be back playing football, and that meant he’d have little time to care for Owen. He needed to bond with him now, to let his son know he wasn’t a fatherless kid who’d be looked on disdainfully by everyone else. Like Julianne, he didn’t want to be apart from his baby right now.
Julianne’s tone became more urgent at his silence. “Please, I’ll agree to joint custody; we’ll live wherever you want us to. I’ll do whatever you want, Will.” The last part came out as a strangled whisper.
He opened his eyes and considered her for a moment. “My place in Baltimore is small and in the heart of the city. The only other home I own is in coastal North Carolina. I planned to spend a couple of weeks or so there during the summer, but I can go now. It’s a big house and the sunshine and sea air will be good for Owen.”
“We’d all live in the same house? Near the ocean?”
Jesus, was she already backpedaling? “A minute ago you said you’d do anything, live anywhere. Was that just lip service, Princess?”
“I meant it! It’s just that babies cry and don’t sleep through the night. Caring for a baby is twenty-four-seven. You need to be sure you know what you’re getting into. You might want some space.”
“I have three months until training camp begins and the season starts up again. Right now I have nothing but time on my hands.” Not exactly true—he had obligations during the off-season—but he wasn’t going to let her martyr herself by putting her career on hold and have it bite him in the ass later on. “You’re not the only one who wants to bond with Owen. And, like I said, it’s a big house. Plenty of room for you, Owen, and me.” He didn’t bother mentioning his mother lived there, too.
Damn, he’d forgotten to call his mother. He needed to before she heard about this from somewhere else.
Annabeth Connelly insisted on living in the small town where she’d grown up on the poor side of the tracks, the same place she’d raised Will. If she ever felt the same contempt for the townspeople who’d treated them with such disdain, she never showed it. Will spent as little time there as possible, going back only when Chase or Gavin were in town. But Gavin was living there indefinitely, sorting out his father’s business after his death of a heart attack, and Will found himself in Chances Inlet more frequently lately.
“Okay.” Julianne wasn’t successful in hiding the reluctance in her voice. But to her credit, she brooked no argument. “As soon as Dr. Ling says Owen can be released, we’ll go to your home.”
Will could only imagine what a homecoming it would be. The locals didn’t have a problem sucking up to him now that he was a famous, rich football player. But he could already hear the whispers once he arrived with his bastard son and his baby mama in tow. They’d say he’d turned out just as they expected, except, perhaps, wealthier. He suppressed a shudder just thinking about his childhood spent longing for a normal family dynamic of two parents who were married to each other.
Hell, he wondered, does that dynamic even exist anymore?
Long ago, he’d made a promise to himself that any child of his would have that one thing he wanted most of all: legitimacy. Despite his best efforts, he’d failed his son. Not that it was too late. He rubbed a hand over his forehead, trying to scrub that ridiculous thought from his mind as he glanced over at the woman who’d borne him a son. Julianne was babbling on about all the things they’d need for the baby, her previous trepidation suddenly diminished by thoughts of shopping. In that respect, she was just like any other woman. He held a hand up to quiet her. “Just give me a list. I’ll have it taken care of before we get there.”
Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip to stop herself from complaining. “Fine,” she said. “I assume we’ll work out a long-term agreement when we get there?”
“You already agreed to do whatever I want.” He leaned the chair back on its back legs and tried to remind himself not to flirt with her. She was the enemy. Instead, he forced his best William the Conqueror stare on his face. It worked to intimidate rookies all the time.
A flush spread over her cheeks. “Only with regard to Owen.”
“Since Owen is the only one I care about, we shouldn’t have a problem.” Something flashed in her eyes before she reined it in. It was killing her that he had the upper hand, but she didn’t dare challenge him.
Suddenly her face lit up as she sprang from her chair. “Nicky!” she cried. Will felt his jewels shrivel up at the sound. The last time she’d cried out that name, he’d been buried deep inside her on a hotel room bed.