“Oh, are we?” I chuckle. “Did you manage to schedule an outing with my friends after you sexed me until I passed out last night?”
“Nah, Joss and I scheduled this days ago. Tamara invited us to the owner’s box. Wants to meet the babies.”
“Well, crud. That’s actually sweet.”
Blaise isn’t joking about big brunch. He shamelessly raids the kitchen, not even pretending like he’s contributed any to the food budget during his stay here. In fact, he laughs maniacally as he tells me to fry up an entire half-pound of bacon that he says Vedder has shipped in from Canada and will be pissed when it’s not here for him tomorrow morning. When I hand him a bag of shredded cheese for the giant omelet he throws together, he turns it down, demanding Bodley’s applewood-smoked Gruyere. He sings about carbs as he flips pancakes that he’s dumped all of Thompson’s blueberries into.
I make a mental list of everyone I need to apologize to, finally deciding that one day, when we’re stable, when hopefully Emerson’s connection will come through like he’s promised me they will and this is all behind us, I’ll have them all over for brunch.
That hypothetical future involves a proper house, of course, but I picture them all in my tiny apartment and get a good laugh about it.
We sit at the kitchen table, Donovan between us in a high chair, splashing in a puddle of applesauce, Blaise surfing through the news channels for gameday coverage, and it’snice. He even settles on a local channel, so we get more than just football. A freak elevator mishap has left two people dead in a midtown corporate building, the weather’s going to be nice enough for just long sleeves under our jerseys, there’s construction on the highway, so we better take the highway down, Ani-Con just announced they’ll be moving to a different hotel next year. The local animal shelter will be at the game today, hoping to adopt out some of their pets.
Blaise and I exchange a look but then shake our heads simultaneously. That’s another discussion for the future.
When we show up at the entrance to the private party for the big spenders, everyone loses their minds. Poor baby Donovan ends up being a human shield, the only thing that keeps Blaise from getting trampled by rabid fans. When he first grabbed his baby harness as we were packing up for the day, I suggested we use the smaller one that’s sized for me to wear, but now I get it. He puts a tiny custom-made jersey onesie on Donovan, along with sunglasses and baby-sized headphones, straps him on, and the little one is enough to get everyone really excited while also keeping their distance.
I get a fair amount of attention, too. Blaise tries to shoo off sports reporters, worried that I haven’t been briefed on everything Emily Hess and the rest of the PR team have done, but I do have some dormant social media accounts. I have been getting hit up constantly since the photos dropped on Thursday.
I’m now on a first-name basis with Emily Hess.
“Why haven’t you made an appearance before now?” one of the reporters calls.
Another says, “Is there a reason the Jugs have been hiding you?”
I can’t even say I’m blindsided when the next asks, “Do you have anything to say about the allegations you’ve been having an affair with Emerson Michaels?”
Blaise attempts to intercept, but I hold him back. “I’ve been Emerson Michaels’ costumer for many years now. No, my relationship with him is not simply professional — he’s also an extremely good friend of mine. Of ours. Isn’t that right, Blaise?”
Blaise stares stupidly at the phone that’s being held up to us, obviously recording. And then he grins and says, “Yeah, that’s right. Em and I like to throw the ball around occasionally.”
I remind myself to punish him for that jab later, but I plaster a smile on my face for the camera. “As I’m sure you’ve all figured out already, I have had medical issues in the past few years. I wasn’t in a position to make public appearances, and as much as I’m sure you fine people would have respected our privacy in those trying times, we decided together that it would be easier to keep our relationship quiet.”
“What’s changed?” one of the reporters asks.
I’m about to say that I’m clearly well now and never intended to stay in the shadows forever. But Blaise is Blaise; I don’t know if he’s just being himself or if he’s concerned I might accidentally bring up the blackmail, but he hoists Donovan straight out of the harness and holds him for all the world to see.
For Donovan’s part, he uses the scrunched up underarm hold as an opportunity to chew on his fist and drool all over his tiny #12 jersey and Blaise’s fingers.
“Because do y’all see this?” Blaise says proudly. “Do you see this cutest munchkin ever? This is my baby right here, andI wasn’t about to let you guys get all up on my woman and my kiddo without me here to protect them!”
Man, that started out so well, and then Blaise just kept on going.
The reporters exchange glances, and then one is brave enough to say, “The play in which you were injured last week drew up a lot of speculation as to whether you were deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way. Are you now telling us that you purposely got yourself injured in order to take your wife and son to a game?”
“Now that’s just libel,” Blaise declares, but it’s not, and no one cares to point that out. “And thank you for calling her my wife. But no, it’s a not-so-lucky consequence. I never expected to have this chance with them. I’m bummed I’m not going to be able to play the next couple weeks, but I’m going to take advantage of it by enjoying a game with my wife.”
He leans down to kiss my cheek, which elicitsawws from some of the reporters as well as fans who have gathered around, but already a reporter is asking when Blaise will be in uniform again.
Tamara Godwell, owner of the Wilmington Juggernauts, is an impressive woman.
Everyone knows her history. She inherited a struggling residential construction company from an uncle while she was still in college. In four years, she had flipped it to commercial and made her first million. Within the decade, she was on Forbes’ 30 Under 30. She’s an effective, ruthless businesswoman.
There’s also been alotof speculation over what’s underneath some of her biggest builds. As in, people thinkshe’s being paid off by crime lords to hide bodies and god knows what else.
I’m pretty sure she’s expecting all this to color our meeting, like she’s used to people being intimidated by her at first. And I don’t think she’s planning to take advantage of it, like she’s going to bully me or put me in my place over the recent drama I’ve inadvertently caused the team. She just seems taken aback when she introduces herself to me and I don’t say anything more dramatic than, “It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Tilly Washington, and I’m not going to be changing my name, but thank you so much for helping Blaise out with the ring. I love it.”
She blinks a couple times, looks back and forth between the people surrounding us, who all shift nervously, then shakes her head with a soft laugh. “Okay, I get it now.”
