she was pregnant,” he said, his tone sharp as a razor. “We’d been dating for three years, and I was just about to hit it big. We’d always been safe with sex because I hadn’t even considered marriage. But she demanded a wedding. Said it was the only way to raise the baby the right way.” I cringed. “And…” he sighed and stepped over a pile of clothes to sink onto the edge of my bed. I couldn’t help but gape slightly at the way his weight bowed the thin mattress as he left me standing there looking down at him. “She had paperwork drawn up, a date set, everything. She’d been meticulous with the prenup, and I hadn’t even bought her a ring yet.” He shook his head, his elbows on his knees. “I found out a few days before we were supposed to get married that it was all fake. The doctor she’d supposedly seen, the pregnancy tests, all of it.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.
“I pressed her on it, and after a long, brutal fight, she admitted she was going to say she’d lost the baby after we’d been married. Claimed it was because she didn’t want to lose me, but all she really wanted was a meal ticket for the rest of her life.”
Acid crawled up my throat, rage bubbling for a woman I’d never met.
Who could be so callous? Thousands of women all over the world suffered miscarriages or couldn’t conceive, and this woman wanted to use that tragic situation for what, money? Not to mention the emotional scarring alone from Nixon thinking they’d lost a child—
“So, that’s why I was such an asshole—”
“Hey,” I said, dropping to my knees before him. I reached for his forearms, my fingers gliding over the smooth skin wrapped over hard, corded muscle. I squeezed him gently. “She was a fucking cunt.”
Nixon barked out a laugh, jolting slightly on my bed at my words. “Is that a technical diagnosis?”
I smiled up at him, happy that those brown eyes didn’t look so damn heavy. “No,” I said. “It’s a purely emotional response, but it doesn’t make it less true.” I let out a sigh. “Look, I get it,” I said. “I hate that you endured such an awful situation, but I get it, now. The reaction to me showing up at training camp.” I sighed. “I know I looked crazy.” I laughed. “But I swear I only wanted to be fair to you. To be honest. I would hate having a baby out there I didn’t know about,” I teased, and he laughed again, the warm, full sound tingling my bones.
He laid his hand over the one I still had on his forearm, the muscle rippling beneath my touch. “Move in with me,” he said, a plea to his tone. “No expectations,” he said. “I just want to take care of you and the baby. I want to know you two are safe while I’m not here.”
Right. Because away games and practices and press conferences…
What did I get us into, baby?
I rose from my kneeling position, pacing the small length of clear floor in my room. “I don’t know, Nixon,” I said. “We really barely know each other—”
“I’ve been trying to fix that,” he said.
“I know. And I really appreciate it. I do. I swear. I actually look forward to your texts now,” I admitted, and he smiled as he pushed off my bed. A real smile, not a practiced one. “But moving in together? That’s a huge step.”
“Again,” he said, stepping into my path to stop my pacing. “No expectations.”
I tilted my head as I gazed up at him. “I never read anything about your ex and that situation in the press.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “You’re saying you followed my career?”
“Maybe.”
He nodded. “I paid a ridiculous amount of money to ensure no one heard about it.”
I hissed. “You had to pay her to keep quiet.”
Another nod.
“How many other people know about it?”
“My brother and my parents” he said. “And my boys, Roman and Hendrix.”
“And now me.”
“And now you.”
Trust. Honesty. Exactly what I demanded of him.
“I need to think about this, Nixon.”
“Understandable,” he said, a sigh of relief rushing past his lips. I guess he assumed I’d say no right off the bat. And maybe I should’ve because merely having him this close, all caring and sexy, did things to my already confused soul. “That’s all I want,” he said. “A chance to take care of