What. The. Fuck.
I stare at the tow-headed little boy who runs right into Victoria’s arms, like he was waiting for her.
She has a kid?!
And he has to be around three.
Jesus Fuck.
I put my SUV in reverse and slowly pull out of her driveway, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Or the little boy who seems so happy to see her. He probably can’t see me through the tinted windows, but just before the door closes behind them, I see a little hand come up in a wave.
Did he just wave at me?
Fuck. Me.
I pull in a shaky breath and head back the way I came, but my heart is racing like I just skated a double shift on the ice. It isn’t possible. We didn’t sleep together again after her miscarriage.
Was there a miscarriage? Did her fucking father lie about that too? Just like he tried to say I raped her. Coerced her. How I was an adult and she was an innocent little teen. There’s only nine months between us. I turned eighteen in February. She turned eighteen in November of the same year.
And despite what everyone thinks, we waited. Not because it was illegal. There’s a Romeo & Juliet law in Florida. If a woman is sixteen or seventeen, and the guy is under twenty-four, which I certainly was, then it’s not statutory rape. But we waited because she asked me to. It was important to her to be ready, and turning eighteen was her benchmark.
So that’s what we did.
I never hurt her, never would have done anything she didn’t want to do. I wasn’t a virgin but had only had sex a few times with one other person. I was her first everything, and we enjoyed the hell out of it. Each new position, every single experiment, was nothing but pleasure.
The idea that I did something illegal, or worse—immoral—never sat right with me. Thankfully, she had my back in that regard. Not in any other way, but at least when it came to the legalities, she never backed down.
But there’s a kid.
A child I didn’t know about.
How is this possible?
My thoughts race the entire drive home and then I sit in my driveway for a while. I’m currently living with my friend and teammate, Jude LeBlanc, and his wife Chloe. After getting sent down to the team’s minor league affiliate in Atlanta, and finally getting called back up, I’ve been bouncing around a little. Living with one teammate, who then got married, and now with Jude.
It’s not that I can’t afford a place of my own, I’ve just been trying to figure out what’s next. Whether I want to rent or buy, and if I buy, do I buy a house or a condo or something else. I’m not necessarily afraid I’ll be sent back to Atlanta—I think I’ve proven myself to the team at this point—but it’s more about feeling restless.
Why would I buy a house on my own? A house should be shared with a partner, right? I just haven’t met anyone I want to get serious with. By the same token, buying a condo feels wasteful. So many fees, HOAs, maintenance, and a bunch of other shit I don’t like.
Living with Jude and Chloe is easier.
I don’t pay rent, but I buy groceries and do little things for them, like pick up our collective dry cleaning.
Chloe is a doctor and her hours are insane. Jude and I travel a lot with the team. Not to mention practices, games, and other responsibilities. They’re grateful to have someone who can do time-consuming chores for them, and I’m grateful to have good friends willing to give me some time to figure out what I want in life.
The house is quiet when I go inside, but I see light coming from the family room, which means someone is watching TV. It’s probably Jude, so I pad in that direction and am surprised to see the two of them cuddled on the couch.
“Oh, hey. Sorry.” I lift an apologetic hand. “I just wanted to say hi. I’ll leave you guys alone.”
“It’s okay.” Chloe sits up. “Movie just finished. We were going to bed anyway.” She pauses, cocking her head. “You okay? You have a weird look on your face.”
Chloe is like the big sister I never knew I needed. She’s intuitive and thoughtful, a good listener, and a really good friend. Which is exactly what I need tonight.
“I don’t want to bother you,” I say slowly. “But I had an interesting night.”
“Come tell us,” Jude says.
“Well,” I say slowly, walking over and perching on the back of the sectional. “I saw Victoria tonight.”
