Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,15

Lachlan to sing the rest of the song.

I should have been more relieved about her assessment. I knew I belonged on the field. The game was the most important thing in my life—something I sacrificed my mind, body, and soul to play and win.

I had nothing else.

No girlfriend.

No family.

No real home after I moved teams to find another city willing to give me this last season.

This was my last chance for glory. Once I led the Rivets to the championship, I could retire with pride as one of the greatest running backs to play the game. I’d leave on my own terms. My decision.

But I watched the door after Rory left, hoping she’d rush back inside.

She didn’t.

For the first time, a championship wasn’t all I wanted to win.

But chasing after Rory was a game we’d both lose.

3

Rory

Eric dropped the subtleties and roared into the phone. “You’re fucking pregnant?”

Not exactly the inspirational message I’d write on my baby shower’s cake. But it’d pair well with the How Could You Be So Irresponsible? party hats and Since When Are You Such A Slut? banner my step-mother would hang.

“I can’t fucking believe this! You? My little sister?”

A dull thud echoed through the phone. Hopefully Home Depot sold My Sister Is An Idiot drywall to fix the hole left by Eric’s fist.

“How the hell did you get pregnant?”

Why was that everyone’s first question? It didn’t take a medical degree to figure it out.

“I made a wish in a cabbage patch.”

“Rory!”

“No, wait. It was an Enchantress. She floated down and turned the mantle clock into a baby.”

“I swear to God—”

“No!” I paced my office and knocked over the folders on my desk. That lasted about a millisecond. The guilt forced me to immediately reorganize the workspace. “It’s not my baby. I got it for spinning someone’s hay into strands of gold.”

“Don’t make me fly home, Rory, so help me God. I will leave Atwood right now.”

“I’m collecting a lot of first-born children. Seemed more fun than stamps or football cards.”

It wasn’t a good idea to taunt a six-foot-six, three-hundred-pound defensive end, but I never let Eric blitz me before. Wasn’t about to start scrambling now.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he said.

“I can’t believe you know!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Another slam. This time dishes in the sink—no, I knew my step-brother better than that—probably beer bottles. “You didn’t even call me.”

“So I could get this warm and fuzzy reaction? No, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t you give me that lip.”

“You’re damn lucky it’s my lip and not my fist. How did you even find out…”

I answered my own damn question. That son of a bitch.

“Never mind,” I grumbled. “I know who told you. Jude.”

“Yeah, Jude. At least he treats me like family. Tells me what the fuck is going on.”

I’d kill him.

After everything I did for him? Clearing him for practices, giving him a relatively clean bill of health, letting him sign with the Rivets.

And he snitched on me?

It hadn’t even been a week since I’d told him! If Jude Owens didn’t have a brain injury now, he sure as hell would have one when I got through with him.

“Are you gonna tell Mom?” Eric asked.

“Are you crazy? Why would I do a stupid thing like that?”

“She’s going to lose her shit.”

“And this is just the preview, right?”

Eric laughed. “Oh, no. This isn’t losing my shit. I’m still holding on super tight to my shit.”

“I can write you a prescription for that.”

“How could you ruin yourself like this?”

“And now you can shove it up your ass. Do you have any idea what I’m going through?”

“No,” he said. “Maybe because you didn’t tell me! Didn’t you trust me?”

Damn it. Of course I trusted Eric. The step before brother was just a qualifier. I couldn’t have asked for a better sibling, and I loved him like we shared blood.

“I’m sorry.” I sighed. “Maybe I didn’t want my big brother thinking I ruined myself.”

His voice softened. “I’m sorry, Rory. You’re not ruined. You’re going to be fine. You’re too good and innocent and wholesome and perfect—and who the fuck did this to you? This is his fault.”

He wasn’t going to like this. “It’s complicated.”

“How is it complicated?”

Eric launched into another tirade—rapid fire profanity punctuated with avant garde descriptions of bodily functions. I rested a hand over my tummy in the hopes of covering Genie’s ears. She’d experience her uncle’s destruction of the English language soon enough. I only hoped her first words would be Mama and not Puss-Sucking Donkey