Quarterback's Secret Baby(95)

It took a few minutes for me to realize we were heading out of town and then a few more to notice the road as it turned into gravel and the hills started to roll up on us. That's where we were going - the hills. The same hills we went to after that football game in high school and then again on the day of our prom, which seemed like a thousand years ago. Eventually, Kaden pulled up at a rocky outcrop overlooking the town.

"Is this-"

"Yeah, same place," he said, knowing what I was going to ask.

We got out and stood looking over Little Falls for a few moments.

"I bet it seems so small now, huh?" I asked. "I mean, compared to Dallas?"

"It is small, but it's home." Kaden replied, pointing into the distance. "Look - look over there, to the left of the brick building. You can see the end of the Reinhardt stadium."

I followed his direction and sure enough, there it was, the concrete curve of Little Falls' secular church.

"Oh my God, you're right. I can see it. It feels like an ancient artifact, doesn't it? Like a memory of a dream rather than something that really happened."

Kaden sat down on the ground and took his coat off, laying it down next to him and patting it with his hand.

"You'll get cold!" I protested.

"No I won't, the sun's out and my blood runs hot, anyway."

"I bet," I laughed, sitting down and experiencing a weird time-warp effect as the memories of years past crashed into the present reality. I looked up at Kaden sitting beside me - he still had exactly the same effect on me as he had when I was in high school, I was as tense with the adrenaline of attraction and love as I had been then.

"It doesn't seem like that long ago to me," he mused, wrapping one of his muscular, million-dollar arms around my shoulder. "Seems like just yesterday, actually. Except now I live in Dallas and you live here and we have a baby."

We were at ease with each other. The previous day's conversation had cleared away all the doubts and misinterpretations clouding our minds. I was just so stupidly happy to be there, beside him.

"I'm really sorry, Kaden," I started, overwhelmed once again with a feeling of guilt.

"Stop," he said, putting his hand up. "You don't need to say it, Tasha. I know it. I know you're sorry. I forgive you. I hope you forgive me my stupidities and assumptions as well."

"I do, but I think what I did was-"

"Stop!" He turned and looked me in the eye, smiling but firm. "Do you have a time machine, Tasha?"

I giggled. "Uh, no. I mean, I did have one but it broke last week."

"Damn, too bad. Well, given that neither of us has access to a working time machine I think it's OK if we just agree to do the best from now on, don't you? For ourselves - and for Henry?"

I went a little quiet at the mention of our beautiful son. He was probably at home right now, waving his chubby little fists in the air and demanding to be fed. "Yes," I replied. "OK, Kaden. That's a good idea. Although I'm not saying I'm just going to be able to change into a different person in a day. I am who I am, but I'm going to try, I promise you that."

"I don't want you to be a different person," he told me, squeezing my knee. "I want you to be exactly who you are. I know your father did a number on you - on all of you - but you need to believe that I love you, that I'm here for you, that whenever you worry or feel alone you can tell me and I'll do everything I can to reassure you."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, warm in spite of the nippy weather and asked: "Do you even know what a big deal that is to me?"

Kaden turned his head down to look at me. "I think so."

"Really," I continued, "I think that's all I ever wanted from the people I loved - reassurance. It's why my family is so tight, we're all so conscious of what it feels like not to have it."

"I know, Tasha," he whispered, kissing my forehead. "I know. It took me awhile to figure it out, but I've got it now. That's actually kind of why I brought you up here."

"Is it?"

Kaden shifted his weight slightly, so we were facing each other and I sensed that something important was coming. At the time I thought it was words. It was, but it was so much more than words.

"It's funny, isn't it?" He said, running a single finger down my cheek. "Everything used to seem so difficult - our problems so insurmountable - didn't they? And they're not. They're really not."

"How do you mean?" I asked and then watched, baffled, as he got up on one knee.

"I mean," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box, "that we can make this work. That I don't want to do anything with my life except that - to be with you, to be a father to Henry - that we both need to stop being such chickenshits and just admit we should be together."