The Rebel's Own(18)

Kennedy watched him as he moved about the room, picking up the breakfast dishes and straightening it out. The urge to reach out and touch him was compelling, but she couldn’t let herself succumb to her heart. She had to protect herself and her children. Kennedy didn’t want to go back to the dark hole she was in when Ryan left her the first time. She made up her mind not to love him and hoped that her heart wouldn’t put up much of a fight.





Chapter Ten





Kennedy ran to get the door as the knocking turned into pounding. Between the pregnancy and Riley’s late nights, she could feel her body beginning to shut down. A whirlwind of events was converging on her house; it was a day to the championship and two days to Riley’s last chemotherapy appointment. Both the men in her life were excited, and Kennedy was just counting the seconds to it being over. Kennedy had to stop and catch her breath, unwilling to face the guest on the other side of the door, flustered and out of breathe. But as soon as she opened the door she wished she hadn’t.

Clara sauntered into the house, her eyes roaming everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Kennedy bit back the insult at the tip of her tongue when she watched Clara inspect her house through narrowed eyes.

“Clara, what do you want?” Kennedy looked nervously towards the stairs, afraid that her son would wake up from his nap.

“You know he bought this house for me, right?”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house now. Please feel free to leave.” Kennedy opened the door wider, her hands signaling for Clara to exit through it. But the woman didn’t take the hint.

“He’s not going to stay with you. As soon as your brat is better, he’s going to leave you,” she taunted. “We both know you only got married for the insurance. Ryan loves me, not you.”

Kennedy sighed, thoroughly exhausted. “I’m happy for you. The second Ryan and I get a divorce, I’m sure he’ll give you a call.” She bit back the steely barb waiting on her tongue. She didn’t want to aggravate Clara anymore than she already was. An octave higher, and the woman’s shrill voice would be waking Riley up.

“You are so pathetic,” Clara spat out her hate. “You were desperate back in high school, and you are desperate now. Just because you lost some weight and got rid of the ugly braces, you think he’s going to love you. You are nothing and you will always be nothing. He loves me! Not you, me!”

Clara cheeks were slowly turning crimson. Kennedy watched, half expecting to see smoke blowing out of her ears, horns growing out of her head, and a pitch fork suddenly appearing in her hands. She waited, hoping that all that hate might actually cause Clara to spontaneously combust.

“Why are you here?”

Kennedy turned and saw Ryan’s massive body filling the living room entryway. She released the front door and stepped back into the small foyer, and watched as the scene unfolded before her.

“I came to see you.” The hate in Clara’s voice had disappeared and was replaced by a feathery child-like tone. “I know tomorrow is your big day. Your first Super Bowl! I bet your fake wife didn’t know that.”

Kennedy wanted to dispute that. She had been media stalking Ryan since his Hail Mary play won the Rose Bowl for Oregon back in his first year of college. But she wasn’t going to confess that, because then she might have to admit that she had dreamed of him every night, cried herself to sleep over him, and woke with Ryan as the first thought on her mind each day of the past five years.

Kennedy watched as Ryan stretched out his hand to her. Cautiously, she took it, and gasped when he pulled her into his side. He gave her a kiss on the forehead, then a kiss on the lips, and rested his hand on her belly.

“How is my little girl doing?” he murmured into her ear.

“Uhmmm… fine,” she said, confused. It was way too soon to know the baby’s sex yet, but she’d play along. Kennedy watched as Clara’s eyes grew wide then reduced to slits. Ryan was completely ignoring Clara.

“And my little boy?”

“He’s taking a nap. He had a rough morning.” When Kennedy saw the flash of concern in Ryan’s eyes, she knew it was genuine, and for a second, as he looked towards the stairs, it was like his mind had left the room.

“I got jerseys for the both of you.”

Kennedy watched as Ryan pulled out two bright red jerseys from his gym bag. He held them up so she could see that on the back they read “Carville” with his number six below. Lost for the appropriate words she mumbled, “Thanks.”

“What about mine?” Clara chirped up.

Her husband finally turned his attention back to the other woman, scowling. “Why are you here?”