Secret Baby Scandal(31)

"Never mind." She rushed to fill that moment of silence, thrusting his  ring back in his palm. "I'm being overly sentimental, I know. You didn't  expect that from me with all my lawyerly practicality, did you?" She  shook her head, babbling and unable to stop herself since her eyes  burned and she couldn't bear for him to see her cry. Damn these  postpartum hormones still having their way with her. "And so foolish of  me, too, since you had no problem walking away from me after we were  together last winter. I mean, who walks away if they have an ounce of  tenderness in their hearts?"

"Please, listen." He was on his feet, tucking the ring box in his pocket again.

"No. I don't think I will." She held up her hands defensively. "I don't  think I can. I was listening very hard a moment ago, and when I didn't  hear what I hoped to, I had to ask about it, embarrassing us both." She  headed for the stairs, needing to put space between them. "Now, I'm  going to return to my room and we can figure out how to co-parent when  I'm not completely mortified over needing footnotes to explain my  marriage proposals."

He chased her down, capturing her before she could descend the wooden steps.

"You're the only woman to ever break my heart, Tatiana. The. Only." His  face was inches from hers, his grip unshakable. "I put everything on  the line to come to New York at eighteen and see you. To tell you all  the things I have a hard time saying now. Leon made sure my life was  hell afterward since I left without his knowledge or permission and he  was furious that I would dare to step foot in Jack Doucet's house. But  none of that mattered to me because you wouldn't even speak to me."

She spun to face him, her yellow dress swishing around her legs. "I was  just seventeen years old, for heaven's sake. My father made me say  that."

He thrust his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "I realize that  now. Do you think it mattered to me then?" He set her aside gently and  shook his head, as if the memory was something he didn't want to think  about. "I became a much different person after that, and I know you did,  too. It was no fault of yours or mine. But you, of all people, should  understand that I don't think I can fall in love in a week these days. I  turned off that switch a long time ago."

"You've never been in love? Ever." She didn't believe him. "If you've  never been in love, then how do you know what a broken heart is?"

"I'm twenty-eight years old, and call it a cop-out-but I'm married to the game."

"You can't be serious." It added insult to injury that he would use that for an excuse not to get close to someone.

His fierce expression never wavered. "It takes all my time. All my  brainpower. Every ounce of my physical energy. Normally, I'm training  for hours every day. This week I've sacrificed workout after workout  trying to show you how much I want to be a part of César's life. And  yours. I wish that was good enough for you, because I'm offering you  more than I've ever wanted to share with anyone else."

"So I should be thrilled that I rate higher than your free weights this  week?" She wanted to throttle him. To make him see how ridiculous that  sounded. To make him stop breaking her heart.

"I hoped you would be happy to sleep in my arms at night and give us  more time to fall in love." The sincerity in his eyes hit home, finding a  place in her heart.

Why hadn't he said this before? Or did he only go to this argument as  his plan B? She didn't want to be his checkdown because he couldn't  complete the long pass. She wouldn't be his safe option.

"Marriage is forever for me. I won't gamble on a maybe." She knew he'd  said all he could say. That he'd dug as deep as he could for her.

But no matter how much she wanted it to be enough, she knew she would  always feel as if she'd settled. As if she'd been too concerned about  appearances and married the father of her son to quiet any gossip.                       
       
           



       

"I respect that." He shook his head, his proud shoulders falling just a  little. "But I'm not going to lie. It hurts like hell to think I won't  be with you and César every day."

She couldn't agree more on the hurt-like-hell part. But they'd reached  an impasse. And no matter how valiantly Jean-Pierre fought to keep a lid  on the news of their son's existence, the story was going to come out  all too soon.

And despite what she'd hoped, there wouldn't be any wedding news  attached to it. Unable to return to someone else's happy event, she  descended the boathouse stairs and headed toward the main house, knowing  all that remained for her here was to pack her bags.





Thirteen

Good game, Reynaud, Jean-Pierre thought to himself-heavy on the sarcasm-as yet another poorly thrown pass got picked off in practice the  week  after Gervais's wedding.

Back in New York at the Gladiators' training facility,  Jean-Pierre  finished up his last practice before the game against the Hurricanes two days from now. The team would fly to New Orleans in the morning  and have a  meal together the night before the  brother-against-brother matchup the media had  been hyping for  weeks.

His ill-fated reunion     with the coach's daughter had only revved the hype to a fever pitch, putting the game in the public eye in a way  that went  far beyond the interest of football fans. Since news of  their son had hit the  papers the day after Gervais's wedding, the  press had mobbed the Gladiators'  practice field during the  sanctioned media times, making it impossible to duck  their  questions. While Jack Doucet-who'd barely spoken to him this week, preferring to glare darkly at him-had texted him a reminder that he did  not need  to discuss his personal life in the interviews, the  questions were nonstop.

Will you live in the same state as your son? What are  Tatiana's plans now? As if he flipping knew. As if she  cared about  him enough to tell him. Her law firm had sent him an efficient packet of options for possible co-parenting agreements, but he'd been  too  disheartened to wade through the legalese.

"Get your head in the game!" the quarterback coach shouted at  him  across the field as if Jean-Pierre was a distracted JV player and not  one of  the league's elite.

Actually, with how he'd been playing all week in practice, the  JV comparison felt kind of accurate.

The coach's whistle trilled from the sidelines, calling an end  to  the day's team workout. Jean-Pierre would still prepare for hours with  the  offensive coordinator, with the quarterback coach and then on  his own to be sure  he understood the game plan and his opponent.  But whereas at another time he  might enjoy the challenge of going  up against Henri and really pitting their  strengths against each  other, this week he felt as though someone had put a fist  in his  chest and stolen his heart. No doubt this was what heartbreak felt like.

The ache was so literal it was ridiculous.

And how ass-backward was it of him to realize what all that  hurt  was about now that it was killing him. He loved Tatiana. He was just  too  blind to recognize that feeling for what it was. He'd spent so  much time living  in his head, methodically moving through his life,  that he'd forgotten how messy  and painful emotions could be. You  couldn't control them the way you could  manage a game plan or  manipulate a play.

"Reynaud!" The shout didn't surprise him. Someone or another  had  been chewing his ass all week for his piss-poor efforts on the field.

Turning, he was surprised to see Jack Doucet himself storming toward him. He noticed most of the rest of the team had already headed  indoors  to shower up and head home. Actually, now that he thought  about it, some of them  would be talking to the press since there  was a scheduled media hour after this  practice.

More time to face the firing squad about his shortcomings as a man. He hadn't even managed to communicate how much he loved the mother  of his  firstborn. Thinking about that made him welcome whatever  diatribe Jack Doucet  had in store for him.

"Yes, sir?" Jean Pierre lifted a towel from the metal bench  along  the sidelines, swiping the sweat from his face and hair. The team had practiced outdoors in the November cold, but the sharp gray wind  didn't  penetrate a helmet.                       
       
           



       

"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" The coach  slammed  his clipboard onto the bench with enough force to make the metal ring. "You've got the eyes of the whole football nation on you, and you're  lumbering  through this week like a homesick rookie."