Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“You don’t get it.”
“You’re right, I don’t. You have teams willing to offer you millions and you’re holding out for a team that isn’t even returning Allen’s calls. Why? What’s so damn important about the Pioneers?”
“You,” he says matter-of-factly.
His one word gives me pause. I blink back a rush of tears and shake my head. “Don’t stay there because of me,” I tell him.
Noah drops his head and sighs, then walks toward me and surprises me when he drops to his knees and hugs my legs. “I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses my legs, torso and finally my lips. “I’m so damn mad.”
I thread my fingers through his locks. Now that he’s not playing, he’s let his hair grow. The ends curl and they make me hope our child will be lucky enough to inherit his curls.
“I know you are, but please don’t base your decision on me.”
“How can I not?”
He’s right.
I trail my fingers along his hairline and down his cheek bone. “I love you for thinking of me, but don’t let that drive you, Noah. We’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
“It’d be no different if I took a sideline reporting job. I’d have a home base and I’d travel.”
“You know that doesn’t work with your type of job, right?”
I nod. It also won’t work if we have a child and we’re not living together. The thing is, I’m not ready to give up on my career just yet. I lean forward and kiss him.
“I love you, Noah. No matter what you decide, things will work out.”
He climbs onto the couch and pulls my legs over the top of his. He takes my book, looks at the cover, shakes his head, and then sets it down, making sure to save my spot. “I’m sorry I said what I did about the book, it’s just that her story isn’t yours and I don’t want those thoughts in your head.”
“I know.”
Noah leans his head back, over the edge of the couch. “When did life become so complicated?”
“It’s not complicated, we’re evolving.”
He half chuckles, half sighs. “My career’s a mess. I thought re-signing would be a no-brainer.”
“I can’t help but wonder if it’s me. Maybe they want to let me go but figure if they re-sign you, I come back.”
Noah looks at me. “Do you think about quitting?”
I shrug. “At times. There are a lot of sports analysts who work and have children. I certainly wouldn’t be the first, but I also don’t want a nanny raising our child. Since you asked the other day, I’ve given it some thought. I just don’t know.”
“Well, I want to be wherever you are.”
“What if that means not playing football or only seeing each other one day a week?”
Noah shakes his head. “The one day a week thing won’t work for me, and I’m not sure if not playing works either.”
“Then it looks like we’re in a wait and see holding pattern. Maybe we need to take some trips to these other teams and document everything on social media. That might make the Pioneers get off their asses.”
“I’ll have Allen set some things up.”
“Just wait six weeks.”
Noah looks from me to my stomach. His hand rests there. “I wish it were me putting our baby in there.”
“Me, too.”
4
NOAH
After Elle picks up Peyton, I slip into some running shorts, sneakers, grab my ear buds, and head for the door. I pause in the hallway and look at myself. It seems I’ve forgotten a shirt. I think about heading out without one. The likelihood that I need to go into a store or something is nil, but you never know. On closer inspection, I spot a love bite from my wife.
“Yep, definitely putting a shirt on,” I say to our empty house. She wouldn’t let me make love to her this morning, no matter how hard I tried. As much as the rejection stings, I accepted her reasoning. Some medical professional will be doing uncomfortable things to her today and the last thing she wanted was for some tech to ask her if she had sex this morning. I really didn’t buy her excuse but didn’t push further. I respect her boundaries, just as much as I respect the fact that she wanted to take care of me and satisfy my needs. The damn hickey is another story.
With a T-shirt on, I head back toward the front door, open it, and find my father standing there, poised to knock. I slip one of the ear buds out and say, “What are you doing here?” My question is snotty and not meant to be rude or insulting. My parents can visit whenever they want. But they normally give us a heads up.
“Hi, son.” My dad smirks. “May I come in?”
I shake my head, clearing the instant fog, and step back to let him in. He has an overnight bag, which he sets down near this table Peyton found at some desert antique shop last summer. The person who sold it to us gave my wife some song and dance about its history and then instantly charged us a hundred less than the price shown on the tag. History my ass.