Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Page 6

  “This is waaaayyyy too big.”

  “You look cute.” He palmed her head and kissed the top.

  They padded downstairs to the kitchen. Samantha looked in his cabinets and fridge. “You’ve got enough stuff in here to make dinner.”

  “You cook? Great. Who knew? Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “Plenty. Yes, I can cook.”

  “How about a beer?” He popped the tops off two bottles and handed her one.

  While she created a meal, he retrieved one of his guitars, strummed a few familiar tunes, and sang. Samantha enjoyed the music and the clear, clean voice of her lineman. Was he hers? Seemed like it. She smiled as she pulled down cans and boxes of food.

  She defrosted a block of chopped meat in the microwave and added canned ingredients to pasta. Fishing some shredded cheddar from the refrigerator, she made a topping for the casserole.

  She took dishes down, and Bull put his guitar aside to set the table. The aroma of the food in the oven made her stomach rumble.

  “Guess I’m not the only one who’s hungry.” He chuckled.

  Embarrassment flew through her. She put her hand on her belly. Bull found a cold bottle of white wine and nabbed a corkscrew from the drawer. He poured two glasses and raised his for a toast.

  “To Samantha, prettiest girl in New England.”

  She lifted her glass. “Thank you.”

  As they sat down to eat, the doorbell rang.

  “Go figure,” he said, shaking his head as he pushed to his feet. Sam parceled out generous portions of the steaming food while he was at the door.

  When he returned, he had a large envelope in his hand. He opened it up and read.

  Sam cocked her head. “What is it?”

  He held up his hand and kept reading.

  “What did the man at the door say?”

  Bull looked up at her, a flash of anger in his eyes. “He said, ‘you’ve been served’.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a subpoena. Fucking A. Shit. Means I have to testify in court.”

  He slammed the papers down on the table and stalked out of the room.

  Chapter Five

  Samantha reached for the document Bull had thrown. It summoned Sly to testify in a trial regarding Tiffany Belden. Tiffany? Before she could finish, he had returned and plucked the sheets out of her grip.

  “I don’t have any idea what the hell this is,” he said, his voice angry and apologetic.

  “Isn’t she your old girlfriend? Fiancée?”

  “Yep.” He shuffled through both pages, reading and re-reading. “Seems like she’s charged with a crime.” His brows knitted.

  “You’d better sort this out. Why’s she bringing you to court? I thought you hadn’t seen her in a year?” Sam’s stomach tightened.

  “I haven’t. Believe me, Sam. I have no idea what this is about. Do you mind if I call her?”

  “Hey, do whatever you’ve gotta do,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s late. I have to work tomorrow.”

  “It’s not late. We haven’t finished dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She avoided his gaze.

  “You do believe me, don’t you?” A few beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Sure, sure,” she said, taking her dish to the sink. Was Devon right after all?

  He grabbed her arm. “I know that tone. You think I have something to do with this.”

  “Don’t you? Else why would she be dragging you to court?”

  Sly shook his head. Sadness filled his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “Doing what? Wondering what your ex wants with you, if you haven’t been in contact?”

  “It’s not her. It’s her lawyer. We haven’t. You think I’m lying?”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him as she scraped the uneaten food from her plate.

  “Then, we have nowhere to go from here. I’m sorry, Samantha, but I can’t take anymore distrust from you.”

  Panic gripped her. He’s giving up?

  “I’ve tried everything I know to convince you I’m not a player and that I’m serious about you. You refuse to believe it. I’m out of ideas. I’m done. If I can’t convince you, after what we just shared, then I never will.”

  “You’re giving up?” Her throat constricted, and her mouth got dry.

  “Not me. You. You’re giving up on us. I’ve jumped through every hoop. As much as it kills me, I’ll have to let you go.” He turned away from her.

  “Wait. That’s all?”

  “All?” He whirled around, anger flashing in his stare. “All? You’ve got some balls. Every time I try to do anything nice for you, you doubt my motive. You think everything is about getting you into bed. Well, we’ve done that. And I’m still here. Still wanting to be with you. If I’m a player, how do you explain that?”

  She stammered. Words jumbled in her mouth. “I—I—I’m sorry. I—”

  “Yeah? I bet you are. Real sorry. Go, Samantha. Find someone you can trust. Obviously, that’s not me.” He returned to the table and sat down.

  Tears stung as her breath caught in her throat. Her world was collapsing around her, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

  “I don’t know about you, but when someone I once loved is in court, charged with a crime, and they need my help, I’m not going to turn my back on them. That’s not how I roll.” He picked up his fork and toyed with his food.

  “I never…”

  “You want me to abandon Tiffany? She’s obviously in some kind of trouble. You want me to turn my back on her. I can’t do that.”

  Suddenly cold, she shivered. This was her cue to get on her high horse and ride away, alone, for the millionth time. She couldn’t do it. The memory of the love they had shared, the warmth of his body on hers, the safety of his arms around her, tugged at her heart. Don’t be stupid. You’re losing him. “You’re right.”

  His head snapped up.

  “I’m so sorry, Sly. You’re completely right. It would be terrible to abandon her. If you can help, you should.”

  “And you’ll stick around?” He put his fork down.

  Tears flooded her eyes. “If you still want me to.”

  “Oh, baby!” In one graceful movement, he was up, out of the chair, and scooping her into his arms. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you for trusting me,” he whispered.

  She cried into his chest while he kissed her hair.

  When she stopped, he grabbed the tissue box from the counter and stepped back. “Let’s eat. Then, I’ll call her. Okay?”

  She nodded, words trapped in her throat.

  “Get your appetite back?” He tilted her chin up.

  “I’ll try.”

  He kissed her. “Good. That’s my girl. Gotta keep your strength up.” He retrieved a clean plate from the cabinet and ladled food on it before placing it in front of her.

  She picked up her fork.

  “This is really delicious. Where did you learn to cook?”

  She smiled at him. His handsome face crinkled a bit. His clear, gray eyes gazed at her with warmth. She slipped her hand over his.

  “Thank you. You mean a lot to me, Sly. I don’t want to lose you.” Her heartbeat doubled.

  “Sam, you’ll never lose me.”

  Mentally cursing herself for being foolish, selfish, and immature, she let out a breath. Sly Brodsky, bear of a man, still wanted her. She said a silent prayer of thanks then shoveled a forkful into her mouth.

  When they finished eating, Sly suggested they go out for ice cream. First, he wanted to check in with Tiffany.

  “Let me call her. I bet we can clear this up quickly. Maybe I don’t even have to go to court. It could simply be a misunderstanding.”

  Sam tried to smile. “Maybe.”

  He dialed while she cleaned up the kitchen.

  “Hello? Yeah, it’s Sly. I got a subpoena today. What the fuck is that about?”

  Samantha listened, but he was quiet. S
he guessed Tiffany was talking.

  “You did what?”

  Sam’s heart sank. Her hope of a simple resolution went up in smoke.

  * * * *

  Across town—Coach Bass’s beach house.

  Jo rolled over on the massive bed in the master bedroom. She had taken a three-hour nap on a Saturday afternoon. Not known as a nap-taker, Jo rubbed her eyes twice when she glanced at the clock. It was six. There was no aroma of dinner in the air. She dragged herself out of bed and slipped on shoes.

  Fall had arrived, and the wind whipped off the Connecticut coast, chilling the house she shared with her husband, Pete Sebastian, Coach of the Connecticut Kings. Coffee! Wondering how she could still be tired, she pushed up to stand.

  Pete came bouncing into the room. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got dinner handled.”

  “You do?”

  “Yep. You looked so cute sleeping, I didn’t want to bother you. So, I picked up Chinese.”

  “Great.” She yawned.

  Pete pulled a chenille robe from her closet and held it for her. Jo wore leggings and a Kings’ jersey, no bra.

  He wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. “Love you, baby. I hope you’re rested. We have a game tomorrow, and I’d love to get it on tonight.”

  “I know how you are before a game. I’ve got it on my calendar.”

  He stepped back, raised his eyebrows, and stared at her. “You schedule our sex life on your calendar?”

  “Of course not. It’s just a manner of speaking.” She waved her hand.

  “Good. I was wondering how it would read. Hmm, let’s see…‘get laid tonight’? Maybe…‘fuck Pete’s brains out tonight’. No. I know…‘screw husband till the cows come home’.” He chuckled.

  Jo laughed with him as she followed him down the stairs to the dining room. Pete had done a beautiful job of setting the table and putting out the various containers of Chinese food. There was Mu Shu pork with two pancakes, Shrimp in black bean sauce, fried dumplings, white rice, brown rice, and packets of soy sauce.

  “Sit. I’ll serve you.”

  He heaped food on a plate and placed it in front of her. The aroma wafted to her nose. A wave of nausea washed over her. Jo eased the dish to the side.

  “What’s wrong?” Pete sat down and sampled the food. “Tastes okay to me.”

  “I can’t eat it. It’s making me sick.” She pushed away from the table. “Thanks anyway. I’ll have some tea and toast.”

  Pete placed his hand on her forehead. “Are you sick?”

  “I don’t feel great. I’m tired. Exhausted.”

  “After that long nap?” Pete’s forehead wrinkled. “Go back to bed. I’ll make the tea and toast. Tomorrow, you call the doctor.”

  She gifted him a wan smile and dragged herself back to the bedroom. As hard as she tried to stay awake for the tea, Jo drifted off.

  Sunday morning, she awoke at six, starving. While Pete slept, Jo made herself three poached eggs and tea, in deference to her tender stomach. By seven, he was up and in the shower. Jo put coffee on.

  He entered the kitchen wearing a robe and rubbing his head with a towel.

  “I’m so sorry I crapped out on our date last night.”

  “No problem.” His brow furrowed. “You were asleep by the time I got there with the tray. Are you okay? Maybe you should call the doctor.”

  “He doesn’t work on Sunday. If I still feel like this tomorrow, I’ll call.”

  “Okay. But don’t take chances with my girl.”

  She looked away. “Ready for today?”

  “We’re gonna beat the shit out of the Rams.”

  His heated tone of voice drew Jo’s attention. “What?”

  “You heard me. Thought they could take you away from me? Montana’s going home broken, a defeated team. And their stupid, fucking owner too.” Pete poured a cup of coffee and offered it to Jo. She made a face and turned it down.

  “No need to feel that way. You won.”

  “Damn right, I did. You’re here, where you belong. With me.” He came up behind her and circled her waist with his free arm. He bent to kiss her neck. Jo thrust her head back, exposing the sensitive column.

  “We could have that date now, if you want,” she said, her voice low.

  She sandwiched her hand between the back of her leg and the front of his and slid it up until she was cupping him.

  “Whoa. Lady. You mean it?” His lips brushed her ear.

  “Do we have time?”

  He put his coffee on the counter and closed his fingers around her breast. “Baby, there’s always time for love.”

  Jo took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

  * * * *

  They arrived early at the stadium. Pete went into his pre-game routine while Jo met some of the other team wives in the owner’s box. Lyle Barker, the owner, always had a spread there. Since the game was at four, he had a platter of sandwiches, crudités, salads, dip and chips, soft drinks, and beer. A plate of pastries sat next to a giant urn giving out the sweet aroma of fresh coffee. Jo found a ginger ale and munched on a piece of celery.

  The spacious room was furnished with plush seats and two sofas near the back. A water dispenser sat in one corner. There were restrooms and a small kitchen, fully equipped. The room was well heated so that the guests could watch the game in total comfort. Admittance to the owner’s box was one of the perks Jo enjoyed as senior management.

  Lauren Montgomery, pregnant, waddled in. She looked around for a comfortable chair. Jo went to help her.

  “You look good,” Jo said.

  “Liar. I look like a hippo. And I feel like one too.”

  “But everything’s going okay, right?”

  “With the pregnancy? Yeah. Thank God. Where did you get that?” Lauren pointed to the ginger ale. “Do they have another one?”

  “I’ll check.” Jo dug through the cans of soda until she found another caffeine-free drink and returned to Lauren.

  “Thanks. Are you okay? You look a little pale,” Lauren said, then took a sip.

  “I feel crappy. Have been like this for a couple of days.” Jo described her symptoms.

  “After the game, let’s go to the drug store. I’ve got something that can fix you right up.”

  “Really? That would be a relief.”

  “No sweat. But you’ll have to help me up. I can get into a chair, but not always get out.”

  The ladies laughed.

  When the score became tied, ten to ten, Lauren and Jo attacked the buffet. Jo fixed them plates of sandwiches, potato salad and cole slaw. They chowed down while their men toiled to bring home a victory. In their quest for a second Super Bowl win, every game counted. They couldn’t afford to lose. The pressure even got to their wives.

  “When are you due?” Jo asked, her eyes searching the field for her husband.

  “During playoffs. But doctors don’t really know much about due dates. They’re rarely accurate. Fingers crossed Griff is between games when this baby comes.”

  Jo patted her friend’s hand. “I’ll be here too. Just in case.”

  “When I go into labor, I might want to hit someone. I’d rather hit Griff than you.” Lauren smiled.

  By halftime, Jo was tired. She helped Lauren up, and they drove to the drugstore then back to Lauren’s house because it was closer. Both women took naps.

  When they awoke, Lauren put the game on television. They saw the last quarter, where the Kings managed to tie the score then squeak out a win with a field goal. Jo texted Pete that she was with Lauren and asked him to pick her up there.

  The women shared a snack of cheese and fruit while they waited for their spouses. The key in the lock started Spike, the Montgomerys’ pug, barking. The little dog ran to the door, making a racket. Griff entered, followed by the Coach. As usual, they were deconstructing the game, talking about what went right and what went wrong.

  “Bull took care of that asshole on the Rams. He should get credit for our touchdown,” Gr
iff said, pulling the zipper down on his jacket.

  “Jo! Are you okay?” Pete rushed into the room and embraced his wife.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I was so worried when you said you were leaving. I was afraid I’d have to meet you at the hospital.”

  Jo smiled, shyly.

  Lauren grabbed Griff’s arm and led him from the room. “Come on, Griff. Give the newlyweds a few minutes.”

  “I’m starved,” he mumbled, as his wife led him away.

  “I’ve got lamb stew ready for you.”

  When the Montgomerys left, Jo sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. Pete sank down, his lips compressed into a frown, his forehead furrowed.

  “What is it? I can take it.”

  Jo beamed up at him. “I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re what?” Pete shook his head slightly.

  “You heard me, Pete Sebastian. I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh my God. That’s what was wrong?”

  “Lauren knew. When I told her what had been going on. She said, ‘tired and hungry equals pregnant’. So, we stopped at the drug store and bought a couple of pregnancy kits.”

  “How many did you get?”

  “Three. And they all came out the same. I’m pregnant. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the doctor.”

  “Oh, Jo. I’m so relieved.” His eyes watered. He whipped out his handkerchief and mopped his face.

  “And you’re going to be a father again.”

  His worried expression melted into a huge grin. “Yeah. A baby! Wow. A baby! That’s so great. Jo. Honey. You’re okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I love you, baby. You’re gonna be a great mom.”

  “I’m scared. Will you help me?” she whispered.

  “Of course. This time, I won’t have to do it alone.”

  “I’ll be there all the way.”

  “Promise?” His eyebrows rose.

  “Promise, Coach.”

  He kissed her.