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“It sucks,” I tell him. “I didn’t imagine things to be this way, even though I knew the accident did a number on her body. She’s so strong though and never lets anyone see when she’s in pain. You know, she keeps her office at eighty degrees because the cold affects her. She rarely stays on the sideline, which I get, but still. Peyton wants a baby, one she gives birth to, and I’m doing my best to support this decision. I want it too, but at what cost to my wife?” I look off into the horizon, fighting back a wave of emotion. I can never say these things to her, not in a million years. It’s not about communication. These are my fears, and mine alone. I refuse to burden her, she has enough to worry about.
“As a father, there’s a lot about a woman and her desire for motherhood that we’ll never understand. Women have a time limit on their bodies, where men can produce children into their seventies and eighties. None of it will ever make sense. What Peyton’s going through . . .” He trails off and then sighs. “All you can do is be her support and let her know when you’re hurting too. Bottling it up and combining it with this contract shit isn’t good for either of you.”
“I do support her,” I tell him. “I hate that I’m not getting the job done for her, giving her the one thing she wants most right now. It destroys me to know our child will be created in a dish and maybe her body will reject carrying it. I also know, if I had come clean about how I felt about her from the jump, none of this would be happening. If I hadn’t cared about what our families would say about me wanting to be with her, she wouldn’t have been in that car.”
My dad sits there, knowing he can’t deny my logic. I will forever regret that I didn’t have the balls to tell Peyton how I felt and act on my feelings. She should’ve been mine from the night of her prom. Hell, even before that, but I was scared. Scared of what my parents would think, what Katelyn would think, and how I’d look to the NFL. The headlines would’ve done me in, and I’d forever be known as the quarterback dating an eighteen-year-old. My agent would’ve canned my ass. And because of my ego, the love of my life almost died in a car accident.
Dad and I walk back to the house. The old man finally admitted he had a cramp and then jokingly said the cramp was me. Once we enter my neighborhood, he brings up the contract.
“I can’t tell you what to do because I bailed on this part of my life, but if Portland is where you want to be, push for it. If it’s not, leave. Don’t wait for them to show you they care. If they did, you wouldn’t be going through this right now.”
I nod. He’s not wrong. Neither is Peyton. Deep down, I know the reason I want Portland is because of her. I don’t want to be away from her. Right now, I have the best of both worlds. When we travel, she goes with us. If I’m with another team, she’ll be home, taking care of our baby. Sure, she can go to the away games, but will she? It’s hard to say.
We’re standing at the edge of my driveway when I blurt out, “What if I quit?”
Dad’s eyes bug out. “What?”
Shrugging, I look down at the ground and toe a loose pebble. “The Stars want me,” I tell him. “They’ve asked me to come in, throw a few.”
“You know you can do both,” he tells me. “Bo Jackson and Deion Sanders played football and baseball successfully.”
“I’ve researched them. Game film, that sort of thing. I’m interested,” I say. “I miss baseball. I never thought I would, and I think I only pursued football because there was an opening at Notre Dame, and I could walk on. I never gave baseball a second look.”
Dad rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Maybe we should hit the batting cages and see if you still have some heat before you go out there, embarrassing yourself. Some of these kids these days are smoking the ball in.”
“Like Mack.”
My dad laughs. “Definitely like Mack. That boy is going places.”
“He’s fun to watch.”
We go inside and find Peyton sitting on the couch, reading the book I’d suggested she stop. She works herself up over things that may or may not happen to her. When she hears us, she looks up, closes her book, and comes toward us. I hold my arms out for her, but my wife goes to my dad first. I don’t even bother to try and stop my eyes from rolling.
“Ouch,” I say to them as they hug like long lost friends. “You guys suck.”
Dad snickers.
They follow me into the kitchen. I go to the sink, turn the water on and let it run for a second under the filter before filling my glass. My wife’s arms wrap around my waist. My free hand instantly finds hers. Once I finish drinking, I turn in her arms, glide the back of my fingers under her cheek to lift her face to mine and kiss her.
“How did it go?”
“Okay,” she tells me. “Preliminary results say I’m a good candidate, but I’ll know more once the scans are read.”
“Shots next then?”
She nods. “Then extraction.”
I lean down and kiss her again. “Then a baby.”
She nods and I kiss her again, not caring that my dad is in the room. He can deal. I need my wife to know I am with her, her constant support. I’ll be her cheerleader no matter what, even when I know there could be a time when I’ll want to beg her to stop. She’ll never know the fear I have deep within, or how I feel about the things her body puts her through because of me.
Those secrets will go with me to the grave.
5
PEYTON
“Hey, P.”
