Foolish Games(89)

Settling on the sofa, Will took a bite of the pizza before tossing it onto the coffee table as the phone beeped again. He ripped the phone out of the docking station and glanced at the screen. Just as he suspected, a voice mail from Julianne. Hadn’t she gotten the message? He didn’t want to talk to her. He couldn’t bear to talk to her.

The voice mail had been left just after midnight. Good, she couldn’t sleep, either, Will thought with satisfaction. But then he immediately considered Owen. What if the baby was sick? Or worse? Panic clenched at his gut as he put the phone on speaker and clicked on the message before thinking better of it. Julianne’s husky voice filled the loft.

“Hi.” Just that one word was enough to rip the breath from Will’s lungs, his body heating up instantly. He hated how much power she had over him. Even in disgust, he still craved her, ached for her.

“Um,” she continued. “Since it looks like you plan on being in Baltimore for the next few days, I’ve decided to bring Owen up there so you can spend time with him.”

No! Seeing Owen meant seeing the boy’s mother, and Will wasn’t ready for that yet.

“The whole point of this . . . marriage was so you could bond with him, and that’s not going to happen if you’re seven hours away. He misses you,” she added tenderly.

Her words nearly ripped Will’s heart out of his chest.

“We’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. I guess I’ll just text you when we arrive. Unless you want to be a grown-up and talk directly.” There was an exasperated pause. “Good night, Will.”

He chucked the phone onto the coffee table, barely missing the slice of pizza. She wasn’t just crazy, she was the queen of manipulation. Julianne would definitely use their son to get back into Will’s life. Fortunately, he saw right through her. He didn’t need the distraction of her in Baltimore this week, but the fact of the matter was, he did miss Owen. Something would have to be worked out. Something that didn’t involve him having to interact with Julianne.

Grabbing his phone again, Will scrolled through the photos of Owen he had taken. His throat constricted as he perused the pictures. He missed the feel of Owen sleeping against his chest and the sweet smell of clean baby after his bath. Will hadn’t realized how much of his life revolved around the little guy. After the hearing, the two of them would probably be spending a lot more of the season together than Will had originally imagined. It was the one consolation of the decision he’d made.

He laid the phone back on the table, which was littered with documents. The subpoena sat next to the custody agreement Roscoe had drafted up earlier. His agent had not been happy with either of the decisions Will had made over pizza and beer a few hours before.

“I know if I look hard enough,” Roscoe had advised him. “I can find something on her that will ensure you full custody.”

“No,” Will had replied. “That would only hurt Owen. Besides, you’re going to need to spend your time trying to get my suspension lifted so I can play football this fall.”

Roscoe had heaved a sigh. “Or you could just tell the committee and the league what they want to know, thus avoiding suspension altogether.”

“I’m not snitching.”

“The man is guilty, Will,” Roscoe had argued.

“Probably. But it’s not my story to tell, Roscoe. I have no proof where that money came from. Neither does the committee. It’s all conjecture. There are likely dozens of guilty players who know a hell of a lot more than I do. Let the committee target them.”

“The whole world will presume you’re guilty if you don’t talk.”

That part wasn’t as easy to swallow, but Will figured it was the price he had to pay for keeping quiet these past eight years. Back then, he’d been a fledgling player without a home in the league, his only evidence coming from his gut. Now he would play the waiting game, hoping Coach Zevalos developed a conscience before he died. Hoping the man wasn’t as diabolical as the media made him out to be. That would mean Will’s loyalty those early years was totally misguided.

“And your son? What will you tell him when he’s old enough to ask?”

Will had taken a long swallow of beer before he was able to answer Roscoe. “Let’s hope it’s cleared up before then.”

Roscoe had muttered a few choice words about not getting paid enough, but then he’d let it go. “At least you were smart enough to have Julianne sign all the separation papers before the marriage. It will move the process along that much more quickly. I want to file right away, so people will know she sold you out. We don’t want her to have any sympathy with the public. You’ll need it all on your side.”