Chapter Fifteen
The sun shone down on their heads as they made their way down Chestnut Street hand in hand. Every once in a while, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand, and she smiled at him, and to be honest, it was the simplest pleasure he’d ever experienced. Holding her. Touching her.
Having her.
It had been two weeks since they’d talked about being exclusive, and over a month since they’d decided to be together, and it had been a pretty incredible one. They’d spent as much time together as possible, and she never once seemed irritated with him if he had to practice late or watch some old games for prep, or if he changed his mind about hanging out in favor of spending some extra hours at the gym for conditioning with his trainer.
Football players usually had girls who complained if they spent too much time at the gym, or prepping for games, but Kassidy had yet to do so. If anything, she encouraged his focus. She even game-prepped with him and made sure he always ate well the night before a game and went to bed early with plenty of hydration.
Better yet? His game hadn’t suffered.
He was able to focus on football and her.
Guess it was time to admit he was wrong.
He could juggle more than one thing at a time.
Smiling, he glanced at her. She sipped her smoothie. She hadn’t been feeling well and was a little pale around the edges, but the strawberry smoothie was bringing some color back to her cheeks. This morning she’d gotten sick, and he’d held her hair back as she vomited. It sounded gross, and it was, but with Kassidy, he somehow managed to not care.
If she needed him, he was there.
Simple as that.
“Better?” he asked, squeezing her hand gently.
“A little,” she admitted, averting her face. “Kind of.”
“It was probably that sushi from last night. I’ve never been a big fan, but you hadn’t tried it, so…” He shrugged. “At least we can cross that off your list of things to try.”
She laughed feebly. “Yeah, we can.” Wincing, she pressed a hand to her stomach, losing some of that color that had just returned. “Permanently.”
“Are you up to watching some old clips of games? We can lay on the couch, and I’ll rub your back. Maybe you can take a nap?” He lifted his mango smoothie to his mouth and took a sip. “I have to prep for Sunday, but if you’d rather me go home to do it so you can rest alone, I can.”
She took another small sip, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Lying down on the couch sounds good. I don’t want you to go.” Swallowing, she glanced at him, turned away, and then back. “Wyatt, we need to talk. I think—”
“Shit,” he muttered, stepping in front of her and releasing her hand immediately. The last thing she needed right now was a picture of them holding hands blasted all over the media, and the attention on her personal life that would bring. “Hello, everyone. How are you?”
She craned her neck to peer around his arm. When she spotted the group of photographers in front of him, she stiffened. “What’s going—? Oh.”
“Can we get a picture of you and your girl?” One asked, lifting his camera.
Judging from the fact that she’d been puking all morning, he could only suspect she didn’t want her picture plastered over every Atlanta newspaper. When she went public as his girl, she would probably prefer it to not be while barfing.
He studied her, waiting to see if she stepped forward into the spotlight willingly, but she hid behind him even more, shuddering slightly. He took that as his cue that he was right. “She’s not my girl, just a friend. And she doesn’t need her picture plastered all over the media. But I’ll pose alone and let you guys ask a few questions if you’d like.”
Kassidy stepped back, resting a shoulder against the building next to them. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Do you mind?” he asked quietly.
“Of course not,” she said, offering him a small smile.
She was pale and was pinching her lips together, though.
Shit. Was she gonna blow again?
“Okay, let’s do this,” he said to the photographers. “But make it quick, please. My friend isn’t doing too well this morning, and we need to get her home.”
A woman from the Atlanta Almanac smiled and lifted her camera. “Too much partying last night?”
“Bad sushi,” he said. He posed, lifting his smoothie and smiling. After they all got their shot, he nodded. “All right. One question each.”
“Where’d you eat last night?” the woman shot out immediately.
“Diro’s.”
A reporter from The Sun called out, “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Not answering that one, but nice try.”
The guy laughed. “Fine. Are you ready for Sunday’s game?”
“I was born ready,” he said, winking.
Another woman stepped forward. He wasn’t sure what newspaper or channel she was from. “I read that you went to visit a sick child in the hospital last week. Is that true?”
“Yes. Daniel. He’s a huge fan, and he’s fighting cancer. I’m going back again next week to watch a game with him. I have every faith he’ll pull through this.” His heart ached for the ten-year-old. The kid was adorable, and a fighter. “I have every intention of visiting him as much as possible, during and after his treatment. If that’s all—?”
“One more, please,” that same reporter said, glancing at Kassidy and smiling before turning back to Wyatt. “You seem to like this child. Have you ever considered bringing another little Wyatt Hamilton into the world to grace the football field for generations to come?”
He laughed. “No. I’m sorry to say that there will be no little Wyatts running around. I’ve never wanted children, and I don’t expect that will change anytime soon.”
After a few more quick questions, he stepped back, checking on Kassidy again. She was even paler than before. “Are you okay?” he asked her, his voice low.
She nodded, not speaking and not meeting his eyes.
Turning back to the crowd, he pasted a smile on again. “Okay. We have to go now,” he said, resting a hand on her lower back. “Thanks, everyone. See you after the game.”
He led her away from the paparazzi. As soon as they rounded the corner, he said, “I’m sorry. I tried to make it fast, but—”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” she said, her voice strangled.
Even though she said she was fine and didn’t mind, he couldn’t help but think something was off. He replayed everything that had happened, trying to think of what could have upset her. All he’d said was that—oh shit. “I didn’t mean it when I said you were just a friend. I figured you didn’t feel well and weren’t in the mood to—”
“Wyatt.” She let go of his hand and unlocked her door. After opening it, she faced him again. “I’m not upset about that, okay?”
“But you’re upset about something,” he said, walking past her and into the house. Once she was inside, he shut and locked the door. “I have a sister. I can tell when a woman is upset with me, and I know better than to ignore it when she is. If it’s not that, then what is it? What did I do?”
“It’s just…” She pressed her lips together. “It’s nothing.”
“Kass.” He closed the distance between them and caught her hands, lifting them to his mouth. He kissed each one, locking eyes with her. Her green-flecked blue eyes were dimmer than they were last night, and she had bags under her eyes from missing sleep, but she was still the prettiest woman that he’d ever seen, inside and out, sick or not. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s up. You can tell me anything, and I’ll be right here, helping you figure out why you’re upset and how to fix it.”
“I know.” She grabbed his wrists, biting down on her lip. “I…we need to…” Before she could get another word out, she clasped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, and ran off to the bathroom. She was nothing more than a blur of blond hair and blue sundress.
He started to follow her, but she shut and locked the door before he could join her. He stood there for a second, hovering outside helplessly. He could hear her through the door, and it hurt his heart that she was suffering like this. He had half a mind to call the restaurant and rip them a new one for making his girl sick.
Swallowing hard, he pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen, grabbing her empty smoothie cup as he went. If history repeated itself, she’d want a glass of water after she was finished, and then maybe a cracker or two. He had no clue what the hell had been in that sushi last night, but it was pretty toxic.
He wouldn’t be eating there ever again, that was for sure.
Grabbing a cup out of the cabinet, he filled it up with water, then set it down. After wetting a paper towel, he headed for the bathroom. He was halfway out of the kitchen when he saw the empty smoothie cup. “Shit.”
Setting the other items down, he picked it up and walked to the trash, stepping on the pedal that lifted the lid. As he dropped the cup inside, his eyes caught the edge of a box that was tucked under a plastic bag, and when he read the words on it…his stomach dropped like a bad fifty-yard pass.
He fisted his hands, staring at the pink and white box, the world spinning around him.
He’d changed a lot for Kassidy.
Given a lot of allowances.
Taken risks.
But this…?
No. Hell no.
He was a quarterback. A free man. A guy who knew what he wanted out of life. And it wasn’t this. It wasn’t supposed to be this.
And yet…
He couldn’t deny the slight flutter of excitement, underneath the shock, fear, and anger roiling around in his stomach.
The bathroom door opened from behind him, and Kassidy came out. “Ugh.”
He still didn’t move. Just stood there, in front of the trash can. If this was real, what were they going to do? What would she want to do? How could they possibly—?
“Is this water for me?” she asked from behind him, her voice weak.
“Y-Yes,” he managed to say.
“Thanks.” She walked up to him, water in hand. “We need to…”
When she didn’t finish the sentence, he took his foot off the pedal and turned to her, body stiff. So many emotions swirled within him, fighting for control. Anger. Pain. Denial. Fear. He grasped the anger that seemed to be the strongest thing besides fear, and firmly ignored that tiny bit of excitement that betrayed him by even existing. “Talk?”
She nodded.
“What the hell is going on?” he gritted out from between clenched teeth.
She bit her lip. So, she was nervous.
Good. So was he.
“I… You see… Uh…”
When she said nothing else, just stammered out a start a few times, he said, “Tell me that the pregnancy test box I see in the trash is just you being paranoid because you’re late. Tell me it wasn’t positive. Tell me it’s your friend’s, or your brother’s girlfriend. Tell me it’s bad sushi making your stomach upset, and not a fucking baby.”
“I…” She paled even more, biting her lip harder.
He covered his face, his heartbeat echoing loudly in his head, and laughed. It was hoarse and not really a laugh, but hey, it was all he had in him. He should stop talking before he said something he regretted, turn around, and get the hell out of here, but he couldn’t stop talking.
If he stopped, if he thought about it, it would be real.
Shit, this was real.
His heart pounded. His palms sweated. His stomach twisted into knots.
What are we going to do?
“Jesus Christ.”
She made a small sound. “Wyatt…”
“Don’t. Just…” He slashed a hand through the air. “Just give me a second.”
She said nothing, giving him what he asked for—like always.
For some reason, that just pissed him off even more. She fidgeted with her glasses, something else she always did when she was upset or nervous. He knew that about her now.
He knew lots of things about her.
Closing his eyes, he cursed under his breath. Images played out in his mind. Standing on a field, the crowd cheering for him. At home as a kid, sitting on his father’s lap in his library as he read a book to him. His mother hugging him tightly, singing a song to him and not letting go as her perfume washed over him. And last, but not least, Kassidy and him in the shower, discussing whether or not they still needed to use a condom.
Clearly, the answer was yes.
Also clearly, they’d messed up when they opted not to.
The question was…
What happened next?
“Say it,” he rasped. “Say the words.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her lower lip trembled, and she stared at the floor as she said the words he swore he would never hear spoken to him.
“I’m pregnant.”