Page 75 of False Start
I ignore the 34 messages from my husband and tuck my phone into my purse. It’s not okay not to come home when you’re married. It’s definitely not okay for him not to call his wife if he isn’t going to be able to make it home for an unforeseen reason, and there aren’t many of those that are going to fly in my book.
I remain tucked in the small cafe for most of the afternoon, and when the summer sun begins to warm in color in the later part of the day, I head home. My head is full of test questions and self-doubt over my answers, and my heart is full of concern for my husband’s recent actions. Between school, football, and all the damn events he’s invited to, we don’t see each other as much as we used to. I didn’t realize we’d grown apart to the point where he can so easily dismiss his own wife when he’s drinking. Or, at least, it’s what it feels like.
Our home has a gate at the entrance to the neighborhood and another gate at our long drive. When someone pulls through it, a chime sounds inside the house, so Bryant is already standing in the garage waiting for me when I pull inside. He’s shirtless and covered in ink. Andmy God. I never grow tired of looking at him, even when I’m pissed at him. His long brown hair hangs past his shoulders now. Blue gym shorts hang low on his waist and show off the sharp V of his hips.
He walks over to my door and opens in when I don’t immediately emerge. There’s concern etched across his face and a plea in his eye. “Baby, please come inside and talk to me.” I move from the car to the kitchen with his hand at my lower back without a word. Once we’re in the kitchen, immediately inside the garage door to the home, he spins me around, presses me against the door, and puts his forehead to mine. He looks deeply into me with his light green eyes, and my resolve starts to melt. “I fucked up. It won’t happen again, Z.”
The tears I’ve held at bay all day finally come. “You didn’t sleep next to me last night, so who did you sleep next to?”
“No, baby. No. That isn’t what happened,” he says, and then he smirks. “I slept beside Demarion, and he snores like a beast. I kept thinking it was you. Imagine how confusing my dreams were when I kept reaching for a much larger version of you.”
A snicker escapes me. “Yeah? Should I kick his ass for trying to snuggle with my man?”
“Most definitely.” He reaches down and picks me up until I wrap my legs around his middle. With one hand on my hip, and one at the back of my head, he softly kisses me. “I think he tried to come on to me last night. Maybe my hair began to look a little too much like Livia’s?”
I snort, but then I refocus and bring the attention right back to the issue at hand. “If you can’t come home, and there aren’t many reasons in this world that you can’t come home, all I ask is you call and give me the courtesy of knowing where my husband is—the same I think you would ask of me.”
“It won’t happen again. I’m so sorry you were worried. Do you still love me?”
“To the moon and back, Quarterback.”
The next kiss is slow, deep, and it means everything. I feel so connected to him through it, more than ever before. His hunger is evident in the way he kisses and from the hardness beneath me.
He carries me upstairs, lays me on our bed, and begins to remove my clothing piece by piece. His lips caress every inch of my skin, the tips of his fingers leave goosebumps in their wake, and I part for him. I open up to my husband again and forgive him for his minor transgression. We’ve never been the couple who argues. We much more prefer to make love, and it’s exactly what we do as his mouth meets mine again and he slides inside.
Slowly, he moves on top of me, pushing my legs open to allow him to move his hips in wide circles. He pulls his lips from mine and moves down until his teeth scrape against my nipple. And then he sucks the pink flesh into his mouth. My back arches in response, and a loud moan escapes me.
God. He’s so good at this.
“I belong inside you,” he whispers against my lips, and he slows his thrusts until he stops completely and looks deeply into me. “We’ve been together four years, Z. Let’s have a baby. We’re good. We’re solid. We’re ready.”
“We don’t have to rush it.”
“Babe, I want to see you pregnant with my baby. I want to hold your hand and cheer you on while you give birth, and I want all the sleepless nights, diaper changes, feedings, burpings, baths, and newborn cries. I also want to nibble on chubby baby parts and blow raspberries on their bellies. And I want to do it all with you.”
He’s serious, sincere, and very much wants to be a dad. “It could take us months after I stop taking my birth control.”
“That’s okay. It’ll give us time to fix up a nursery.”
The word “nursery” tugs at my heartstrings. Thinking of my husband holding and loving our child fills me with such joy that tears begin to leak from my eyes. And the beautiful thing about Bryant is I don’t have to explain my tears to him. He gets it. He understands it. And he leans down to kiss them away as we both erupt around each other.
— 26 —
Then
AFTER NINE MONTHS PASS with no signs of pregnancy, I start to worry. Bryant says he isn’t concerned at all, and we’ll get pregnant when it’s meant to happen. I try to stay positive and upbeat about it, but it’s difficult at times. It’s as though once I decided I really wanted a baby with Bryant, I became baby crazy and very impatient.
In two weeks time, Bryant will enter the Super Bowl as a contender with the Los Angeles Spartans. He’s worked hard and become the leader I saw in my father. I’m proud of the man he’s become on and off the field.
I’m standing in the room that we’ve begun decorating as the nursery for our first-born child when Bryant wraps his arms around me from behind. He nearly scares me to death, but I quickly relax when I smell his cologne and snuggle into him.
“Z,” he croaks which has me twisting in his arms to see what’s wrong, “I need to go back to New Orleans.”
His face is full of a pain I’ve never seen before. “What’s wrong?”
“Mom called. Dad fell over at the dinner table tonight and had a massive heart attack.”
“Oh my God. Is he okay?”
