I climb on the bus with the other guys and head to the club, counting down the minutes until I get to see her, and our baby growing inside of her. The need to touch her soft skin and kiss her lips is overwhelming. I fiddle with my ring, to try to rid myself of my nervous energy. It doesn’t help.
I need to physically know that she’s okay. My little guy needs to kick my hand. I’ve got to stop thinking of the baby as a boy. Jamie and Brad have been taking care of Charlie, but fuck, I’m glad that this is over. It’s my turn. I need a timeout with my wife before I meet this kid.
The club is blasting music so loudly that we can hear it through the bus’s windows as we creep closer through the millions of cars crammed on Ocean Drive. We’re treated like rock stars as we walk from the bus, down the red carpet, and through the very large gold doors. Ty yells in my ear, “Someday, people will be yelling like this for my mad guitar skills.” I smirk at him. My friend, who’s a rock star when he’s not my running back is really something else. I try to smash down his Cowboy-blue Mohawk, but he swats my hand away.
“Don’t touch the do, bro. This took me a good ten minutes with Hard Up Gel.”
I just shake my head, and flip him off.
Some of the players are already here. The place is packed. I’d gotten a text from Jamie that my family was in a VIP room on the second floor. I head for the stairs, noting that I look like I should be going more for a run on the treadmill than in one of the most exclusive clubs in Miami.
When I round the corner at the top of the stairs, I see Carter standing next to another shiny gold-painted door. We fist bump a quick congratulations as he opens it for me.
Before I can thank him, my family and friends surround me, yelling their congratulations, and hugging and kissing me like we’re at a reunion . My mom nearly climbs me to reach my neck. She’s crying, and I smile and hug and kiss her back. My dad gives me a tight hug, and whispers how proud he is of me. Charlie’s dad shakes my hand. Carmen kisses my cheek. Charlie’s mom wipes tears from her eyes, and pulls me tightly to her. They’re all so excited for me, and I love them for it.
But, I want my girl. I can see over the crowd that she’s sitting in the corner on a red-velvet bench, with her feet propped up on a metal folding chair. She looks like a dream. Her black V-neck sweater just shows the tops of her more than ample cleavage, and is straining to cover her rounded abdomen. Her caramel-colored hair is loosely braided, and resting on her left breast. Lucky hair. She looks serene. Our eyes lock—green to lavender—and her lips turn up into an innocent smile.
Dear God, I need her this moment. She knows what I crave. She’s waiting for me to come to her on my terms. She knows that I don’t like all the hoopla after games. I just need to be. I watch her right cheek pull up in a slight half-smile as she pats the bench next to her. Her wink is saying, “Come when you’re ready. I’ll be right here.”
I’m ready now. I make a loud announcement, thanking everyone for their love and support. Then I ask all of my guests if they’ll wait for us downstairs in the club. I turn, and watch impatiently as they file out of the VIP room, spinning my ring again. Once they’re gone, I step outside, and ask Jamie and Carter to make sure that no one enters the room.
As I walk back inside where she’s waiting for me, the door slams shut on the rest of the world. I hear silence for the first time in two weeks. The thump, thump, thump of the base becomes white noise. No one is yelling my name, or demanding a piece of me. Paparazzi aren’t attempting to catch a picture of me doing something embarrassing. No one is asking me if I’m the father of Charlie’s baby. Fans aren’t demanding autographs or pictures. It’s quiet, and peaceful. I’m with my wife, who asks nothing more of me than to support and love her, just as she is.
I walk to the bench slowly drinking in the sight of her. Her eyes travel all over my body, tenderly inspecting me for injuries. She grimaces when she spots the painful bruise near my surgery-incision scar on my right leg. I smile, trying to reassure her that I’m okay.
When I reach her, I lean down and let my lips feel her swollen, soft, cherry colored mouth. She tastes of vanilla sweetness and Charlie. It’s so intoxicating that I’m afraid my knees are going to buckle, so I collapse next to her on the bench—the spot that she indicated earlier is mine.
She doesn’t say a word. She just lets me use her like she knows that I need at this moment. I explore her mouth gently with my tongue, savoring being this close to her. My mind floods with all that is Charlie: her smell, her taste, and the moan that she makes when I nibble on her bottom lip. The known is so comforting. I cling to it, as the rest of my life is chaos.