Page 48 of Faking the Pass

What’s It Really Worth

P resley

At the beginning of my football career, I’d been taught to use every weapon I had in my arsenal to win the game.

Based on the way Rosie was starfished on the bed this morning and the blissful expression on her face, I’d won a significant battle last night.

Well, several battles actually—eight to be exact. I had a lot of stored up ammo.

I would fight the war every day if that’s what it took to convince her we were the real thing, and I wasn’t above using sex to do it.

Actually, that one was a win-win. Last night had been one of the best in my entire life, and I woke up ready for another go this morning.

As I stroked her messy hair away from her face, I was a little afraid Rosie would see things differently in the light of day.

Would she have regrets about what had happened between us? I understood her continued reluctance a little better now.

She’d been protecting herself, waiting for the other shoe to fall without warning, the way it had back in high school.

It was wild that she’d believed all this time I hadn’t wanted her. Of course my immature ghosting hadn’t done anything to contradict that assumption.

Once again, regret rolled through me, followed by determination to show her just how much she was wanted—and loved.

I hadn’t said it last night because I didn’t want her to think I was just saying it so she’d sleep with me again, but today...

Her eyelids fluttered a minute before opening. When they did, she looked around the room for a few seconds, obviously trying to get her bearings, and then her gaze found me.

She burst into a brilliant smile. “Good morning,”

“Good morning,” I murmured and leaned forward to kiss her.

Rosie rolled toward the other side of the bed and out of it, speed-walking toward the bathroom.

“Morning breath,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

I’d been awake for a while, watching her sleep, and had already brushed. After a few minutes, Rosie emerged from the bathroom, smiling.

She returned to the bed, sliding up against me and resting her head on my chest with one leg slung over my left thigh.

It was a perfect fit in a whole different way. I would literally never get tired of this.

Kissing the top of her head, I stroked her upper arm and slid my hand to her hip, the skin silky and warm.

“Did you have a good sleep?” I asked, my breath sinking into her hair.

She shivered and made a satisfied little humming noise. “Yes… when you let me sleep.”

She giggled, and an unrepentant laugh rumbled in my chest. “Same. Are you rested enough to… are you too sore?”

Rosie tilted her head up so I could see her big brown eyes. “I am a little. But I’m sure you’ve played sore plenty of times.”

I chuckled. “True. I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

She smiled and traced a fingernail around my navel. “So considerate. Speaking of that… I was thinking about our contract.”

My muscles stiffened a bit. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking we should amend it when we get home,” she said. “We could add in that we’ll keep having sex until the hearing is over and the marriage ends.”

There was an abrupt sinking sensation in my chest, and my eyes closed. Maybe I hadn’t been so victorious last night after all.

Maybe it had only been about sex for her. I wasn’t going to give up that easily though.

“Well I’m thinking that when we get home, I’m going to take that fucking contract and barbeque it on the grill,” I said. “No piece of paper is going to keep me from sleeping with my wife.”

For a moment, Rosie was still. And then she surged upward and kissed me, sliding her leg to the other side of my hips so that she straddled me.

It was all the opening I needed. I picked up that ball and ran with it for all I was worth.

Fuck was I in love with this woman.

If it was only about the sex for Rosie, I’d take it for now and make it the most unforgettable sex of her life.

I still had until the end of the court hearing to work on the rest.

I arranged for a late checkout, and a driver came to pick us up that afternoon.

The ride back to Rhode Island was almost over when I got a text from Coach Maddox—who never texted me.

Good news. You’re cleared to play Sunday. We’re gonna start you. See you in the morning.

I let out a shout when I finished reading it. “Yes!”

Rosie, who’d been dozing against my shoulder, lifted her head.

“What? What’s happening?”

I tilted the phone so she could read the message. “It’s from Coach. I’m cleared to play again.”

Rosie sat up and threw her arms around my neck, laughing. “That’s amazing. Are you surprised? Do you feel ready? It’s only been eight weeks since your surgery.”

“I’m more than ready. I’ll wear extra padding just to be safe, but I know I can do it. I just… well, I was afraid to hope it’d happen this soon. We still have ten games left.”

She nodded, understanding immediately. “And you still have a chance at the Super Bowl.”

We hugged again, then I started texting my brothers in our group chat.

They were happy of course, and Merc joked about how he was going to wipe the floor with me when our teams met up in a few weeks.

Everything was perfect now—almost.

I’d decided at some point during the ride that I needed to do something to prove to Rosie I was in this thing for real—something beyond having sex eight times without a condom.

As I’d watched her dream against my arm and stroked her hair, it occurred to me that she might be pregnant now. And I realized the thought didn’t scare me at all.

That’s when I’d decided to propose again, only much better this time. The last one kind of sucked.

Lots of different romantic options went through my head, but I needed a little time to settle on one. I wanted to make sure the occasion was spectacular.

I wanted Rosie to have the kind of proposal that would erase all doubt from her mind and show her I wasn’t a man being led to his execution, but a man who was in it for the long haul.

That I was thoroughly in love with her and always would be.

Arriving at the house, the car dropped us off at the end of the gated drive, and I went to the mailbox and pulled out its contents, sorting through the pile as we walked toward the house.

Since we’d only been away for a night, I hadn’t paused the mail delivery.

The return address on one of the envelopes caused me to stumble a bit on the crushed seashell drive.

Randy’s law firm. It was addressed to Rosie, so I handed it to her.

“Looks like we might have a court date,” I said.

For the first time since I’d kissed her on the dance floor last night, I had a twinge of regret. Maybe rubbing it in Randy’s face hadn’t been the best idea.

Or maybe this had already been planned. I wasn’t all that sure how these things worked.

Weird coincidence though.

Rosie tore open the envelope, pulling out the letter inside and reading through it quickly. As she did, her face paled.

“It’s this week,” she said. “Thursday.”

She looked up at me, “Pres, we’re both subpoenaed. Your practices. The game this weekend.”

My heartbeat slowed, mired in dread as I took the letter she offered, reading through it myself. It said we were both required to appear on Thursday, two days from now, ready to face the civil suit.

“I’ll call the lawyer,” I said. “Maybe he can get it delayed.”

She nodded rapidly, but her expression was full of fear. Her eyes started filling with tears.

“I hope I haven’t caused you to miss out on playing this season. What if it drags out? What if you miss your chance at the record?”

The possibility sat in my gut like a rock, but I wasn’t going to show that to Rosie.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I drew her against my side.

“If it does, it does. There’s always next season,” I said. “And anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Maybe we can get a delay until the season ends or something. They do that kind of thing, don’t they?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

Rosie’s tone was filled with self-recrimination. “I should never have dragged you into this. If you miss the season, it’s going to be all my fault.”

“Hey.” I stopped walking and turned her to face me. “It’s not your fault, okay? It’s Randy’s fault. This whole mess is Randy’s fault. And I wasn’t dragged into anything. Publicly violating the NDA and getting married was my idea, remember?”

Rosie nodded half-heartedly, and repeated the one word that should never have left my mouth.

“It is a mess.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “I misspoke. This whole… thing. Situation. Whatever. But ultimately, I’m glad he did what he did because if he hadn’t, you’d be married to him now, and I’d never have found you again.”

I paused for a second, studying her woeful expression and sad eyes. She didn’t believe me.

Gripping her shoulders lightly, I squeezed them, trying to impart the depth of my sincerity.

“I’m glad we’re married, okay? And this lawsuit and the football thing… they’re going to work themselves out. And the Super Bowl record? What’s it really worth anyway?”

As I said it, my heart contracted painfully. I still wanted it.

But did I really need it? I wasn’t sure anymore.

One thing I was sure of… the girl I loved was standing in front of me, looking like she had lost something irreplaceable, and it was killing me.

“Everything,” she answered quietly. “It means everything to you. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

“That’s not true,” I argued. “We’re going to get through this, okay? It’s all gonna work out.”

She nodded and rolled her lips inward, obviously struggling to keep tears at bay. I hated to see her cry.

I hated that she wanted to cry, that Randy Ryland was still in our lives, hurting her and threatening what we had.

I’d never truly hated another person or wanted to kill someone. That was pretty extreme. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Rosie, not in maximum security on murder charges.

But I wouldn’t have shed a tear if the man happened to step out in the street in front of a bus or something.

We resumed walking toward the house, and when I took Rosie’s hand, her fingers curled loosely around mine.

“How much will the call to the lawyer cost you?” she asked.

What? That was what was going through her head?

“I have no idea, and it doesn’t matter. I want you to stop thinking about stuff like that, okay? It doesn’t matter. You’re worth it all.”

Rosie nodded, but I could tell from her leaden steps and subdued body language and the way she refused to meet my eyes, she wasn’t convinced.

Once we were inside the house, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, trying to impart with my lips and touch that she’d become the most important thing in my life—far more important than any record could ever be.

Rosie had accomplished something I would have considered impossible before—she made me believe there was more to life than football.

To my massive relief, she kissed me back, and that night she let me make love to her again.

In the middle of it, when I’d whispered, “I love you,” she’d said it too.

Then she’d stayed the whole night in my bed. As complicated as our relationship was, the chemistry part, we had no trouble with—never had.

As I held her against me feeling her vulnerable heart beating against my side, I literally prayed it would be enough to get us through what was coming.