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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Becca - One Month Later

What a difference a month can make. As of yesterday, I am no longer employed. I gave my notice and finished all the work for my clients, except for the ones who still had mediation to go through. Those I handed off to a co-worker.

“Sunshine, what are you doing?” John asks drawing out his words.

“Nothing.”

“I wouldn’t call a pile so large that I can’t fit through the doorway, nothing,” he says with a chuckle and a hint of concern in his voice.

I glance over one shoulder to see what he’s referring to. There are clothes and shoes stacked waist high and about five feet wide. My eyes widen at the mess I’ve made. I know it looks dramatic, but I can’t help it—my OCD has gotten worse.

Since my morning sickness has subsided, I feel like I’m on top of the world. Mom and my twin sisters came last week, and we went shopping for baby furniture and sent photos to John so we could decide together. “The furniture comes today, remember?”

“I do.” He jumps over the discard pile and the shirt I’ve folded three times. “Are you nesting already ?

Shrugging, I say, “Nesting is supposed to happen in the third trimester.”

“If this baby is anything like you, he’ll come out demanding organization.”

I catch John giving me that look—the one that’s equal parts amused and mildly terrified of his now color-coded sock drawer. “Don’t worry,” I add with a smirk, “if you lose anything, check the rainbow-labeled bins by the door. Or the spreadsheet on the fridge.”

“You’re neurotic, and I love it,” he admits as he wipes a loose tendril that’s fallen from my ponytail. “Are you happy? I ‘m sorry that for now we must have two of everything. I don’t want to transport stuff each time you come to our house here in Dallas.”

“So happy. Once the baby comes, I’m sure I’ll be overwhelmed, but Oakley will be a huge help. And when the baby and I are here, we’ll have everything we need… you.”

He wraps his hands around my waist, clasping them at the small of my back. “After this year, only two more years on my contract, and I’m retiring. Until then, you and the baby can come on the road with me as much as you feel up to it.”

The doorbell rings again, and he peeks out the double windows of what is now our bedroom in Dallas. “The Smile delivery service is here. I’ll direct them to the baby’s room.”

“Okay, when you come back, will you go through these clothes and let me know what I can take to the veteran’s home? Some of the guys are young, and I think it would make them feel good to wear brand-name clothes and Rattlers gear.”

“You decide. You know what I wear most of the time.”

He charges downstairs, and I hear the shuffling of feet and the delivery men’s voices. “Tilt it, cut to the left. Okay, you go up backward.”

But what I hear next is unexpected. John says, “Dad.”

John points the delivery men into the baby’s room, and his dad says, “Good to see you, Becca. You look beautiful. ”

“Thank you. Were you… in the area?” He lives in LA but has been overseas since Mr. Saccone was arrested.

He looks down at his athletic shoes, takes off his baseball cap, then places it back in his head. “Sorry to just show up, but I thought John could use some help putting baby furniture together.”

His dad isn’t exactly the paternal type, but he was only an asshole because he trying to protect John.

It doesn’t excuse him for the mess he made and for being so hard on John growing up.

John wants a relationship with him, so I say, “We appreciate it. How long will you be staying? I’ll change the sheets on the guest room bed. ”

“If it’s okay, I’d love to stay and go to the game tomorrow.”

John’s eyes light up. He’s desperate for his father’s love.

Who wouldn’t be? I’ve been so lucky in my life and realize so many others don’t grow up the way I did, in a two-parent household with no substance abuse or parents who place demands on you.

Essentially living through their kids instead of making their own lives.

Cheer parents can be like that too, so when I start the stunt and tumble trainings and then a competition team, I’ll have to keep that in mind.

“Absolutely. I need someone to sit with. I haven’t had time to meet the other wives or girlfriends yet.”

John gives his dad a loving slap on the back. “Dad, we’re happy you’re here, but I do have one question. Is it safe for you to be here? I… I…” He stammers, and it’s the first time I’ve heard him stutter since vacation when he was nervous. “I can’t put Becca or the baby in harm’s way.”

His dad grabs John’s cheeks. “The whole reason for what I did was to keep you safe, and I’ll do the same for you and your family.

The feds called me yesterday and said it was safe.

They’ve frozen all his assets, and Saccone’s attorney quit.

They said all known associates are in custody. But if you want me to leave, I will.”

John glances at me, then his eyes meet his father’s. John’s voice is strained when he says, “Stay with us.” Then he pauses before adding in a playful tone, “Now help me get this furniture together.”

I watch Mr. Basilio follow John into the bedroom next door, and I can’t help but feel relieved that this nightmare John has been through is over.

Three hours later, our master bedroom is organized, and John calls me into the nursery.

The furniture is gorgeous, a light-brown color with antique-looking spindles and a chest of drawers that matches. John has changed out the drawer pulls to stars in navy blue. We’re going with the Americana look for the nursery in his home.

It's obvious he’s proud of himself as he grins from ear to ear. “Do you want the crib here or over there? I know you were contemplating where it should go.”

Reality strikes, and tears form. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He drops his hands from his hips and takes two strides, enveloping me in his powerful but loving arms.

“Oh, I’m far from it, but we’re perfect together.” He hugs me tight, lifting me off the floor, swinging my legs wildly. He peppers my neck with kisses, nuzzling his nose under my ear.

His dad says to John, “I’ll get dinner from that Italian place you love.”

His dad must see my face scrunch up because he adds, “Becca, if you don’t want Italian, I can grab whatever you want.”

“I’m sorry, marinara hasn’t been agreeing with me.”

“It’s the smell. How about Mediterranean?” John asks, knowing exactly what I’ve been craving.

I offer a satisfied grin. “Yes, that sounds sooo good. I want a falafel and chicken shawarma.” They think I’m done, but then I say, “And some hummus and that tzatziki sauce.”

“Dad, they have a family platter that has everything she wants. I think it’s number seventeen, then just get whatever you want. ”

“You got it, son. Send me the address. I need to make a stop at the mall too, so I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

After he walks past us, John winks and tickles me. “You know what we have time for?”

“Yeah, to decorate this room.”

“Very funny, pretty thing.” John tosses me up, catching me in his arms honeymoon style, and takes me to bed.

I squeal in delight as John deposits me on the bed, my giggles bouncing off the walls.

I reach back, slinging one of my pillows across his body, trying to stop his roaming hands that I secretly love.

But there’s still a mess of boxes in the nursery, and I like things put away.

An epic pillow battle ensues until his cocky demeanor and terrible puns quickly melt me like a popsicle in the sun.

Before long, the glint in his eyes turns hungry, and our laughter dissolves into soft whispers, teasing caresses, and tangled sheets.

John has taught me that it’s okay to sometimes live in the chaos, to laugh at the mess, and savor every unscripted second.

He’s also shown me to ask for what I want—and not to apologize for wanting it.

For someone who used to play by every rule, I never expected to love breaking a few with him.

But I do. And when I tie his arms above his head, straddle him as his eyes darken, I know what’s coming next.

He loves to praise me in bed, and I love hearing that I’m a good girl, a bad girl.

But he doesn’t say either. Instead, he owns me and possesses me in the best of ways and says, “That’s my girl. ”