“You gave me a key, remember?” He tossed a key chain with a miniature bobblehead Blaze football player onto the counter.
“For emergencies.” Will picked it up; the player was wearing number forty-eight, Will’s number. He shook his head as he pocketed the key. “Like when that crazy porn star was stalking you.”
“She wasn’t a porn star. She made independent films.”
Will took a bite of his sandwich and arched an eyebrow at Brody. “Don’t give me the story you tell your mother.”
Brody crashed at Will’s apartment only when one of his four older sisters visited, which was often. They were constantly trying to fix him up with their friends, often forcing the tight end to seek refuge in space containing less estrogen. Why he crossed the line of scrimmage and picked Will, a defensive player, to be his mentor was still a mystery. Despite Will’s attempts to shake him, Brody had latched onto him during his rookie season and hadn’t let go.
Brody guzzled the rest of his orange juice. Will sensed the tight end was stalling. Unlike most of the world, Will never underestimated the man seated in front of him. Brody took great pains to portray himself as the immature jock who thought nothing of using his good looks and perfect smile to get ahead in the world. But behind those lazy blue eyes was a shrewd twenty-five-year-old who wasn’t always successful at hiding his brain beneath his brawn. Even his clothes, cargo shorts and neatly ironed T-shirt, looked haphazardly thrown together, but Will knew that a consultant, probably one of his sisters, had likely pulled the pieces into an outfit. Brody also was aware of his place in the hierarchy of the team. Despite being a marquee player, he would never show up unannounced at a more senior player’s home without a very good reason.
“There’s been talk in the clubhouse.” Brody flipped the bottle cap between his long fingers, but his eyes never left Will’s face. Despite the fact it was the off-season, many of the Blaze players remained in town for Organized Team Activities, which consisted of optional twice-weekly conditioning sessions. The OTAs not only helped the players stay in shape, but they kept the esprit de corps among the team.
“There’s always talk. I imagine there’s more gossiping done in an NFL clubhouse than in a ladies’ room.”
“Yeah, well, everyone’s getting a little antsy about this investigation into your old coach and whether some of the dirt will rub off onto our team.”
Will took another swallow of coffee. One good thing about the previous day’s baby ambush—he’d completely forgotten about the witch hunt surrounding his former coach. Several players had filed lawsuits against coaches in the league alleging injuries they received were the result of players receiving cash payments for inflicting punishing hits. Coaches had instituted a bounty scheme to remove certain players from the game, these players claimed. And the coach named at the top of the list: Paul Zevalos, Will’s former head coach. As could be expected, Congress couldn’t pass up a chance to get involved in something other than the tedium of running the country, and Senate committees were already investigating the matter. Will nearly snorted in disgust.
“You were down in D.C. on Capitol Hill yesterday, Connelly. All day. That’s pretty serious.”
It had been serious, but not for the reasons his teammates thought. The story was going to get out soon, today probably, and Will needed to get things finalized. “Tell the boys not to worry. The stink from the Zevalos investigation will never reach Baltimore because there’s nothing there.”
“A senator asking questions usually means there’s something to the story.”
Will drained the coffee from his mug before rinsing it out and loading it into the dishwasher. He pulled a sanitized wipe out of a carton and cleaned up the crumbs from his sandwich and Brody’s sprinkles. “The meeting wasn’t about Zevalos.”
Walking toward the door, Will picked up his wallet and keys from a basket on a table in the entryway. Brody trailed after him. “Then what was the meeting about?”
“A baby.” Will pulled the bobblehead key chain out of his pocket. “My baby.” He watched as Brody’s jaw dropped before Will tossed him the key. “Here. Keep these. You can use the loft whenever you want. It seems I’m gonna need a bigger place.”
Owen looked much better than he had the day before. His skin was pinker and his breathing less labored. The baby had even treated Will to his one-eyed stare when he’d held him earlier. Dr. Ling pronounced Owen totally cured, and Will felt an overwhelming sense of pride at having been able to save his baby’s life. The feeling was so surreal, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Winning the Super Bowl a few months ago hadn’t felt this good.
He was still riding that crest of emotion when he sat down with Julianne later that morning. They’d ventured out to one of the courtyards outside the hospital to talk undisturbed. Will stared at her as she reclined in a deck chair, eyes closed, the spring sun shining down on her face. Perhaps she’d gotten some sleep last night or maybe it was the relief that Owen was going to be okay, but she looked less weary today. Less fragile. She was dressed more like the fashion icon that she was with tight gray pants, clunky black boots, and a pink V-neck sweater that tied in a bow at one side. Her hair was done up in a messy knot and she’d forsaken the glasses for contacts. Inky black lashes fanned out against her cheeks and her lips were glossed to a high sheen. Will shifted in his chair as he reminded himself that the sultry woman in front of him was the same one who’d tried to steal his child.
“So I guess this is when we get down to the nitty-gritty,” she said without preamble, eyes still closed.
“It’s a conversation long overdue, don’t you think?”
She opened one eye and squinted at him much as Owen had done earlier. Somehow, the look was a lot sexier on her. Releasing a breathy sigh, she sat up and leaned her elbows on the table, giving him an excellent view of the silver cross and the breasts it was dangling between. “Look, this situation is awkward enough. Can we start fresh today and figure out how to make this work with Owen’s best interest in mind?”
Will arched an eyebrow at her. “You want me to just forget you tried to hide my son from me?”
Julianne sat back in the chair, wrapping her arms around her. “No, but I want you to move on from there because, at the time, I thought I was making the best choices for myself and the baby.”
His jaw was clenched so tight, he was surprised he could get any words out. “But the hell with me, right? I’m just some dumb jock who could give a rat’s ass about how many kids I father, is that it?”
“No!” She grabbed the cross around her neck and began to fiddle with it. “I didn’t even know you! When I found out I was pregnant, I was shocked, but I wasn’t going to give him up. I had the money to support a child.”
“I wouldn’t have made you give him up! And you should have stuck around the morning after to at least exchange names, given that the condom broke.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I thought it was just my migraine medicine that made my birth control ineffective. I don’t remember the condom breaking.”
“It was at a pretty pivotal part of the evening, Princess.”
“My medicine makes me a little woozy, so I don’t really remember the evening that much.”
“You don’t remember?” Jesus! The best sex of his life and she’d been stoned?