“Ouch!” I yelp and rub my arm in mock pain as we walk out of the courthouse into the bright, sunny day. “I did so know it. We just had an interlude where that might have been in question. Just for a little while.”
“Like that time I got you engaged to a ruthless psychopath.”
“Don’t be so hard on Kinley, guys,” Wingate says. “She might just be a narcissist. In fact, I think that might be the case. I hear she’s dating Nick Jonas now. Poor guy. Doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.” Wingate shakes his head as we walk down the street. The day is warming up, and I pull off my jacket and carry it over one arm. There’s nothing I want to do more than get this gorgeous, curvy woman back to our house and make love to her for the rest of the day, but I do suppose we need to eat.
“That’s a fact,” Renata replies. “Something was wrong with that girl. And I’m glad it’s not us dealing with it anymore.” She’s silent for a moment, and I know she’s thinking about the decisions we all made during that time. She’s apologized over and over, but hell, she was just doing her job. And I was the one who was acting out in the first place—I was just too stupid to realize that it was Renata I needed all along. My beautiful Renata.
The three of us walk along, and it’s clear that we’re all thinking of Kinley and the whole debacle with Eddie Davidson. We shouldn’t be.
“We need some burgers. In fact, I fully prescribe burgers for all three of us.”
“Sounds good,” Renata says, pulling me close. We move on to talking about where we should dine, and if we should take our meal over to Golden Gate Park or not. The end vote has us headed there, and we all walk over together with our lunches and fountain drinks. It might not be the wedding and reception either of us had in mind when we started out on this journey, but I know for certain it’s the best-tasting meal I’ve ever had in my life. Maybe it’s because the burgers are particularly good—they are, in fact—or that the restaurant we stopped at had cream soda and fresh-made root beer on tap. But I’d wager it’s more because we’re all sitting together—me, my wife, my best friend, and the child I’ve always wanted. It doesn’t matter if the future is uncertain, if it holds things that we’re not expecting. What matters is us.
After I take Renata home later, we fall in bed together and make love—carefully at first and then faster and more enthusiastically. I tell her she’s beautiful—she is—and that she’s the sexiest woman in the whole city—that’s a fact too. We don’t have a honeymoon planned since I need to take the GMAT and get on with my life, so we stay in bed for the rest of the weekend, talking about how we can enjoy the short time we have where it’s still just the two of us. We plan for date nights and movies, dinners out at Indian and Japanese restaurants, and long walks in the park as she gets closer to her due date.
There’s no mention of football, and for now, that’s okay. It’ll enter back into our lives in some way, at some time. I feel it in my bones.
For now, there’s me and Renata. And that’s more than enough.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Three Months Later…
The phone rings in the middle of the day on a Saturday—and it’s our land line. No one ever calls our land line. I’m suddenly suspicious, and my palms start sweating. We’ve been talking to a few different teams on the West Coast, and both Mack and I are anxious. Even though he’s in classes at USF part time, I know his true talent lies on the field. Tentatively, I step over to the phone and pick it up.
“Hello?” My voice wavers when I pick up the line. There’s silence on the other end for a brief pause. And then a man’s voice responds.
“I hope I’m talking to Renata Young.”
I gulp like I often do when I’m picking up the phone these days. Macklin’s job offers haven’t exactly been rolling in, but a girl can always hope when she’s picking up the phone, can’t she?
“It’s Renata Pride these days, I’m afraid.” I stand by the couch in the tiny house I bought years ago. It’s not the one Mack built for me, and it’s barely affordable by San Francisco standards. But here we are—and we’re happy. I pat my growing belly. Thirty weeks this Saturday. The baby kicks hard before the man responds.
A football player like Daddy, Mack keeps saying. I have to remind him each time that I’m carrying a girl. He waves his hand at me like it doesn’t matter and tells me she’ll be a professional athlete anyway, no matter what sport she chooses.