Chapte Sixteen
KENDALL
By the time I’m halfway down 4th toward the waterfront, the air smells
like wet brick and basil. A gull screeches overhead, banking low as if it
plans to steal someone’s crust. The neon sign for Luigi’s blinks PIZZA in
fat red letters —a glow that promises the pizza is worth the stop… and it is.
It’s late enough for the lunch rush to have thinned, early enough that no
one should be paying attention to who I’m meeting.
I double-check the street, then the reflection in the window. Dark sweater.
Black maternity jeans that Vivi swore made my “little bump” look like a
“fashion statement.” Hair twisted up. Nothing flashy. Nothing that says:
former NFL wife meets scandal-friendly ex for a little damage control.
Inside, the heat hits first. A delicious aroma of garlic and parmesan
cheese, mixed with the low mumble of a sports channel on a hanging up in
the corner TV. My stomach answers with a hopeful gurgle. I forgot to eat
lunch again today… shocking.
He’s already there.
Tarron sits at the far banquette, half-angle to the door like the room
belongs to him. Expensive shirt with the collar open. A face people used to
describe as “the future of the league,” and then later—most recently—“the
cautionary tale.” When he spots me, his smile stretches across his gorgeous
face. Easy, like he’s never had to work for anything.
“Hey, K.” He stands to kiss my cheek, palm skimming the small of my
back the way it used to, a choreography my body remembers all too well
even when my brain wants to delete it. “You look…” His gaze drops to my
belly and softens in a way I hate that I recognize. “Beautiful.”
“Don’t.” I step past him, taking a seat across from him. “We’re not doing
that.”
Something flickers in his eyes as if my rejection of his charms injured
him but he quickly smothers it. Even if I did hit a nerve, he won’t show it.
He’d consider that a weakness, I’m sure of it. He slides in opposite me,
hands laying on the table, one on top of the other as if we’re about to sign a
treaty.
“No public theatrics,” I say, glancing around. There are two old men at
the counter arguing about the Mariners. A couple sharing a slice and a
secret. A young family bribing a toddler with breadsticks. Safe enough. “We
talk, we align, we leave.”
“Align,” he repeats, amused. “You always did love a plan.”
He’s not wrong. Which is why an accidental pregnancy with no plan has
had my head spinning for the last several months since finding out.
“I love not being ambushed by headlines that make my job harder.”
The waitress appears with two waters and a smile that I return, even
though I barely have the bandwidth to return, but I do because she doesn’t
deserve to be caught up in the crosshairs of my annoyance with my ex
husband. “Menus?”
“Just the usual,” he says, like we’re still married and share a standing
order. “Large sausage and mushroom, extra sauce.
“Half cheese,” I cut in. The baby has opinions about mushrooms right
now and I’d like to keep this lunch down. “And a chopped salad. No
onions… please.” I say with a smile to her, trying to cover up the fact that I
just interrupted the man across from me quite abruptly.
Her job is hard enough without having to manage a squabbling ex and
their feud.
“You got it,” she says, pencil moving, and then she’s gone as quickly as
she came.
I turn back to him but because I can rip into him, he speaks first.
“I’m sorry about what I said this morning. I didn’t mean to make you
upset.”
“We’re past upset Tarron. I told you no more remarks. We could have
coasted on what you stupidly said at the charity gala. You didn’t have to say
anything else. People were already quietly speculating without any more of
a push. But instead you offered up a narrative that we could have done
without.”
“I didn’t offer a narrative,” he says mildly. “I offered hope.”
“For who?” I say. “Your new GM? The crowd that wants a redemption
story? Or the medical board that loves to poke around my life like it’s a lab
project?”
His jaw tightens for a breath. “You think I don’t remember what they did
to you in Florida? You think I don’t care?”
“You cared so much you set a fuse under me,” I say, soft. “Again. The
baby isn’t yours and you know it.”
He looks aside, then back. “They asked. I answered the gentlest version
of the truth I could. We are talking, and I never said that the baby is mine,
but I’m not against it either. You know my offer.”
I skip quickly past his “offer”. I’d never consider it after what he put me
through. Though my heart still breaks for the man he used to be–what we
used to be. I have to remind myself that we died a long time ago, and then
my mind goes to Aleksi. How quickly he jumps in for me–how quickly I’m
falling for him.
I can’t go there right now. I have to stay on track, eat and get out of here.
“We are aligning,” I correct. “On a boundary. I won’t give you more press
to spin. You don’t give the press anything about me. We keep this quiet.”
“Quiet,” he echoes, tasting the word like it’s a new language. “Kendall,
quiet doesn’t sell.”
Exactly… I knew what this was all really about.
“It’s not supposed to sell. It was just supposed to be enough to give the
Sentinels a glimpse and for no one to suspect who the father really is.”
The TV flickers a replay of a slap shot for last season when we lost the
playoffs. The commentators are talking about the Hawkeyes starting up this
season and their chances at another Stanley Cup run. I already know this
because everyone seems to be talking about the Hawkeyes right now.
He leans in. “The Sentinels brought me in on a trial basis. The new GM’s
watching me like a hawk. I’m not exactly his favorite person in the world.
My agent says a domestic angle helps. I settle down, keep my image clean,
show up on time—the NFL and this town forgives… people have a short
memory.”
“Not short enough,” I shoot back. I know he’s trying to say that people
will have a short memory about him, ever so subtly claiming my baby, but
that’s the kind of thing people will remember. “And tying me to that helps
you,” I say, flat. “You said as much at dinner.”
He doesn’t deny it. What he does is lower his voice.
“It helps you, too,” he says. “The board sees a believable storyline and
moves on. Do you think they are more likely to believe you put your license
at risk and got knocked up by a player on your team, or that your ex
husband just moved into town and now you’re being photographed together
and he’s flirting with the press about how we still care about each other. It’s
not even a hard sell,” he says, and I know he’s right. “No fraternization
scandal. No witch hunt. No headline: Team Doctor Pregnant By Her Own
Player.”
My heart slams once—angry that he’s right but I can’t do this with him
because at the root of it, he knows he’s pushing harder than he agreed after
the first slip up.
“I’m not your PR rehab center,” I say. “And I’m not your family-values
prop.”
His gaze drops to my hand on my belly, then lifts. “But you are family.”
“Were,” I say, and hate the wobble I hear on the word. “Past tense. Now,
we’re two adults trying not to sink each other.”
The waitress returns with our waters, the salad, and a basket of garlic
knots whose aroma could make saints sin. I tear a knot in half and pass him
the other piece because muscle memory is hard to kill. He accepts it with a
ghost of a smile.
“You said you knew who leaked the clinic story,” I say, leaning forward.
“That’s the only reason I’m here, Tarron. Who was it?”
He exhales slowly, looking down at his hands. “You’re not going to like
it.”
“Try me.”
“It was Eric,” he says finally. “My agent. He got a tip from someone who
claimed to know you—someone who said they could confirm your
appointment time for the right price.”
My pulse spikes. “Who?”
He hesitates, watching me too closely. “Your mother.”
The words knock the air out of me. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” His voice goes quiet, even toned. “Evidently she called
around every clinic in the city after those restaurant photos hit the blogs,
pretended to be you, said she needed to confirm her own follow-up. Eric
told me she was asking for money, said she’d give up the details if he wired
her half upfront.”
I stare at him, throat tight, stomach rolling. “And he did it?”
“He did,” Tarron says. “He thought getting the shot would help me, help
us. He’s an opportunist, what can I say.”
“Interesting… I know someone just like that,” I say, the taste of bitterness
on my tongue.
He licks his lips and lets out a sigh. He knows I mean him too. “When he
told me yesterday, I fired him on the spot. I’m sorry. I would never have
approved of the picture or of paying your mother.”
My hands flatten on the table because it’s that or shake. “I can’t believe
she did this.”
“Yes you can…” he says, his eyes earnest.
I look away, eyes burning. He reaches across the table like he wants to
touch me, but I pull back before he can.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” I whisper.
“I wanted to tell you in person,” he says. “You deserve to hear it from
someone who actually gives a damn. Who knows what she’s like.”
He didn’t believe my mother could be so ruthless when we first met. He
grew up differently than I did. Divorced parents but at least they had his
best interest at heart. They poured into his football career. He never could
understand how a mother could lack any maternal instincts–to be so cold
and cruel. He eventually saw it for himself, when he would give and she
was never content, only ever demanding more, bringing crazy boyfriends
that caused scenes at the games. He finally stopped thinking he could fix it
for me.
I did love him for that. His hope for me. And the way he held me tighter
than anyone has ever hugged me when realization finally came. “You
deserve so much better Kendall.” he whispered against my ear, and that was
the first time I let myself believe it.
I needed to see that I was worth more than that in the eyes of the man
who loved me.
Maybe that’s why letting go of those years when Tarron was good to me
are still hard, but with Aleksi, it makes letting go so much easier. Even on
Tarron’s best days, he doesn’t hold a candle to Aleksi… not even close.
“I won’t say another word to the press,” he says finally. “You have it. My
word.”
Whatever good his word is…
But it’s the best I’m going to get. I’ll have to wait and see.
I let my shoulders drop a fraction. “Thank you.”
“But it comes with one small condition,” he says with a teasing smile.
“Oh God,” I say, rolling my eyes. “What now?”
“Come to opening game day. You can wear a ski mask over your face for
all I care. Just come and sit in my seats. I want to know that you’re there
when I take the field.”
“Tarron– I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please… I won’t ask for anything else.”
It’s hard for me to imagine that this is the last thing but it’s the only
leverage I have to make him keep his mouth shut.
“If you stop talking to the press about me, and anything to do with this
baby… I will consider it.” I tell him, because I’m not making any promises.
“Right now, my priority is staying employed and keeping this pregnancy
uncomplicated. Meaning low stress.”
“Which my big mouth does not help,” he says, knowing full well.
“Correct,” I say. “You only care about winning.”
He tips his head, unoffended. “Is that always a bad thing?”
“Depends what the prize is.”
He looks at my stomach, longingly, so I wad up a napkin and toss it at his
face. He doesn’t get to want something he gave up so easily, because I
already know that what he wants changes by the hour.
“What,” he says with a crooked smile.
“Don’t look at my pregnant belly like that. It gives me the creeps.”
He glances down at the pizza and chuckles, then his eyes meet mine
again.
“Just for the record–and I’m not saying this to lower your defenses,
because I know that’s what you’re going to assume–I know I let go of the
best thing I ever had.”
“I know… your football career with New York. That truly was a loss, I
agree. You’re an idiot.”
He gives me a side eye look that he knows I’m deflecting what he’s
trying to say.
“Kendall…” he says my name… my whole name instead of my initial as
usual. “I agree I was an idiot, but only for losing you. It’s hard to see you
pregnant and for the baby not to be mine. I guess, even after everything that
happened between us, I still never imagined you having kids that weren’t
mine. I thought we’d find a way back together—some day.”
“You didn’t see kids with the cheerleader? Or how about the model in
LA. Or the female broadcaster from–”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” he nods, cutting me off. “I fucked up, alot.”
“You fucked alot… that we can agree on,” I say, the sound of my voice a
little bitter than I wish it was after years apart. “But fucked up…” my mind
goes to Aleksi immediately, though the thought of him is never far away to
begin with. “…Maybe not. Maybe you set me free to find something better
for me. I’m finally happy, so please don’t screw this up for me.”
His eyes drop to his hands for the second, his smile dropping. A glimpse
of disappointment. It might be the first real emotion I’ve seen from him not
hidden behind a mask he’s always got on for everyone else.
When he looks up, he paints back on a smile like rejection does sting.
“Fair enough. But you’ll come to the game?”
“I said I will consider it, if you keep to your word this time.”
He sits back as the pizza lands between us, steam ribboning up. We eat.
It’s almost normal, which makes me queasy in a different way.
The bell over the door jingles.
I don’t look up until the shift in the room tells me I should. A small wave
of attention rolls through Marino’s—not the shriek of true celebrity, just the
ripple people make when someone familiar passes through their peripheral
vision and lands, briefly, in the center.
Coach Evans steps in—gray suit, handkerchief, a face made for ESPN
cutaways. He’s flanked by an assistant in a navy windbreaker with the
Sentinels logo. Seattle is smaller than it seems and the sports world makes it
even smaller. Of course they eat here. Of course they do.
Evans scans the room the way coaches do—fast, assessing, already three
moves ahead. His eyes pause on me, then on Tarron, then on the two of us
sharing a pizza with half cheese as if this is a script he expected to read.
“Kendall,” he says, warm, crossing to our table. “Didn’t know you were
still in the neighborhood. How’s our guy Slade’s shoulder?”
“Good,” I say, keeping my smile professional. “The off-season plan did
its job. He’s healthy and ready for the season.”
“A credit to your program, I’m sure.” He glances at my belly, and to his
credit, doesn’t make a face or a joke. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I manage. “If I could just get past the nausea and the
ligament pain, I might feel a little of that.” I tease.
He nods. “My wife Lexi had all of that too. Kids are a handful but we
couldn’t imagine our lives without our twins. The investment is high but it
pays back in high dividends, I promise.” he adds, straightforward.
“I’ll remember that,” I say.
Evans turns to Tarron, and the temperature drops half a degree. “You on
time this week, McCoy?”
“Yes, Coach,” Tarron says, easy. “You know me. The ever professional.”
Evans’ mouth twitches. He and I both know how many mornings that line
failed to be true, and now I see why the family man persona Tarron is trying
to push is because it’s not just the GM that has his doubts. Seeing it in
person gives me a different perspective. Not that Tarron didn’t earn
everyone’s concern as to whether he can handle the come back or revert
back to his ways.
He shifts back to me. “If you ever get bored on the other side of town,”
he says lightly, “we have a couple of research slots opening up with our
medical staff. Injury analytics. Player wellness. Could use a brain like
yours. You don’t have to interview, just say the word. Penelope might
revoke my christmas party invite though, but I think it would be worth it,”
he says with an easy yet professional smile.
My skin prickles. An opportunity disguised in small talk. My future
disguised as an escape hatch, but it means giving up the Hawkeyes. Maybe
this is the only way Aleksi and I can come out of the shadows with our
baby. But does it mean I give up the only family I’ve ever known to do it?
Penelope, Isla, Cammy, Theo… the team who treat me like a little sister but
with credentials. Am I willing to give them all up for this?
And it would put me back in the NFL. A media circuit that iced me out.
That believed the gossip a crooked agent pushed so that my cheated
husband got an easy out. I finally have peace in my life in the NHL.
“It’s a long drive,” I say, and he hears what I’m actually asking: Could
this be a lifeline if the board comes sniffing? If my situation becomes
untenable?
“Seattle’s a small town with good bridges,” he says, eyes kind. “Think
about it.”
He squeezes my shoulder. His hand is warm. When he leaves, he pauses
just long enough to clap Tarron on the back—not hard, not soft. “Eyes
forward,” he tells him. “No detours.”
“Yes, Coach,” Tarron says with a mocking salute. The minute the door
shuts, irritation flashes across his face and vanishes. “He loves to perform
in public,” he mutters.
“So do you,” I say, but it’s gentle this time.
We make it through two more slices and a detour story about a mascot
and a rogue T-shirt cannon before the bell chimes again—and this time the
ripple is bigger. I don’t need to look to know why my pulse jumps. My
bones feel him first. Our son wiggles in my belly as if he already senses
him too.
“Alek—” I almost say his name out loud and catch it with my teeth.
He’s in a charcoal hoodie and a ball cap, hair doing that damp curl thing
that makes my fingers itch to run them through it. He scans the room like
he’s checking to see if his team got here first and lands on me, on us, at the
same moment I’m trying not to stare.
For a second, everything freezes.
A stupid, traitorous part of me thinks: He’s here.
My flesh and blood symbol of safety standing in the doorway of this
pizza parlor.
Another part: This is going to get messy.
He picks a line down the center, weaving through tables with that easy
athlete awareness of space. I don’t miss the look he gives the room—
measured, checking the exits, scanning for cell phone cameras. The easy
go-lucky Aleksi that I’m used to is gone. Replaced by the competitive and
protective Aleksi that makes my heart thump wildly every time he takes the
ice, and steps in for me, like during a quarantine scare. When he reaches our
table, he doesn’t look at Tarron first. He looks at me, a quick head-to-toe
sweep that ends, inevitably, and warmly, on my belly.
“Hey,” he says, quietly.
“Hey.” I try to shape my mouth around casual and land somewhere near
breathless.
“Aleksi,” Tarron says, standing like we’re about to shake hands before a
ceremonial puck drop. “Grab a slice?”
Aleksi’s eyes flick to him, then back to me. The corner of his mouth lifts,
but his jaw is tight. “I’m good. Thanks. I’m meeting some teammates.”
I glance around as they exchange words. Still no cameras peaking out of
other booths. Which is good since this is how rumors are born: two athletes,
one woman with a visible bump, and everyone desperate for a story.
Penelope would kill me.
Then the door jingles again and I see Trey and JP walk in. I exhale a
breath of relief. They’re both peacemakers when needed on the ice, though
they both have been known to throw a punch if they have to. Still, I feel
better to see them walk in, more likely to defuse a situation than to make it
worse.
Trey catches a glimpse of the situation first and slams JP’s arm with the
back of his hand as JP makes a move towards an open table. Then Trey
points and doesn’t move. Now two of the Hawkeyes players are standing
still, waiting to determine if they need to step in or take a seat and mind
their own business.
“You needed a ride after?” Aleksi asks me, perfectly ordinary.
“That’s fine. I got her.” Tarron interjects, and then looks at me. “If you
need a ride I can take care of you.”
“I think you’ve proven you can’t take care of her,” Akeski jumps in.
Tarron takes a step forward. “You don’t think I can take care of my
wife?”
“She’s not your wife anymore. I suggest you remember that.”
In the corner of my eye Trey takes a step forward but I flag him to stop.
Down boy. I got this.
We don’t need ex-military level bloodshed in this pizzeria.
“You two knock it off or we’re going to have to start selling tickets to this
shit show. You’re going to make a scene and Penelope and Tucker Evans
will have both of your asses,” I say in a harsh, yet hushed tone. “At this
point, I’d rather walk home than go with either of you clowns.”
That finally gets both of their attention and their heads snap to look down
at the woman half both of their size. Two giants and a little mouse with a
baby bump. Their dick measuring contest about who gets to drive me home
would maybe be considered comical if all of our career weren’t on the line.
“Kendall–” Aleksi says as if he’s about to explain himself.
I know what he was trying to do, and I appreciate it at some level. I’m
sure seeing me with my ex was an unwelcome surprise, but he came over
here and started it.
“Just go eat with the guys. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He doesn’t nod
but the way he swallows hard tells me that he realizes he came in a little too
hot and that I’m not exactly pleased with him. Then I turn to Tarron. “And
you… our lunch is over and I think we’ve said everything we meant to say.
I have a meeting with a neurologist to go over a few players. I need to get
back to the rink.”
“I’ll see you later?” Aleksi says.
I nod and then Trey and JP, still standing at the doorway, make their move
to meet Aleksi at an open booth in the back of the restaurant.
I lean over the booth to grab my things and Tarron reaches over to grab
his wallet and phone.
“So that’s the one, huh?”
“The one what?” Though I know exactly what he means.
“The father. Aleksi Mäkelin. Didn’t peg you for being into foreign guys. I
thought you liked the all-American type.”
I roll my eyes as I drop my phone into my purse and zip it up. “You mean
you?”
He grins, sliding his wallet into his back pocket and his cell phone into
his front. “Just saying.”
“You better not be sitting on your wallet in the car, it’s going to screw up
your alignment.” I tell him like a broken record of what I used to harp on
him about back when we were married.
“I won’t,” he grins as if me stating the obvious means I still care.
“And as far as my tastes, they’ve changed since I left the NFL.” I meet
his eyes. “I don’t date cheating assholes anymore.”
His grin falters. “I’m not that guy anymore, Kendall. If you’d just give
me a chance to prove it—”
“I think our story’s a little worn out, don’t you?” I swing my purse over
my shoulder, grasping with one hand at the thick leather strap to anchor me
to something. “It’s time we both move on. If we keep our mouths shut, this
baby story gives you your second chance and buys me enough time to stay
out of hot water until maternity leave. Don’t make it worse. Please, for once
in your life… do something decent for me. You owe me that much.”
He looks at me for a long time, then says quietly, “For what it’s worth, I
still love you.”
I pause, my heart heavy and unflinching. “If that’s true, then do what I’m
asking. Keep your mouth shut, and let me go. Because the only thing you’re
capable of doing is hurting me again. Stop pretending like you don’t already
know that.”
Then I turn and walk toward the back door.
“Kendall…” I hear Aleksi’s voice running behind me.
I turn to see him coming straight for me.
“I’m sorry. I acted like an ass in there. I just… seeing him look at you
like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like he still thinks he’s got a shot to get you back, calling you his wife
in that interview, I lost it. That’s my problem, not yours.”
I understand how he feels. I remember the feeling of seeing the pictures
of him with his sister thinking it was his new girlfriend. I know what that
kind of panic feels like.
“I’m not mad…” I say though I’m still annoyed because they could have
made this whole thing worse. “I’m just–”
“I know.” He says, taking a step forward and offers up his hands. I take
them. “Can I make it up to you?” he asks, a careful smile pulling up at the
corner of his mouth. “Tomorrow night?”
“You want to make it up to me? How?”
The thought of what he did in my office awhile back would do the trick,
but I’m not telling him that. I’d like to know what he has in mind.
“A date? My place? I’ll cook, you just come.”
“A date?” I ask, unable to stop my only smile from forming.
“We kind of jumped ahead a few steps with the baby. But I realized that
I’ve been trying to give you space and I’ve never taken you out on a real
date.”
“Yeah… okay. A date.”
He takes a step forward and kisses my forehead.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
I nod and then he turns and heads back inside.
As the door closes behind him, I glance through the window, just long
enough to see Tarron still at the table, staring across the restaurant at
Aleksias; he joins the guys again, and Aleksi stares back at him. Two men
sizing each other up, both knowing exactly what’s at stake.
I rub my belly knowing that the only thing I care about is the little person
still safe and protected inside of me. Part of me wishes I could keep him all
to myself forever. Never let him feel pain, or loss, but that’s not possible.
“Don’t worry little one. I’m going to clean this mess up before you get
here. I promise,” I say as I turn away from the restaurant and head for my
car.
