Tracy Solheim - Foolish Games

They stood in silence, the infernal monitors beeping in the background as the sounds of hospital personnel going about their business echoed beyond the curtained wall.

“Julianne Marchione,” Carly finally said, pulling her friend into her arms. “I could never hate you.”

They made their way to the sofa, where Carly settled Julianne’s head on her shoulder. “Start at the beginning. I’m tired of guessing at this story,” Carly said, stroking her friend’s hair.

“I’m so ashamed and afraid you’ll hate me once you hear everything,” Julianne whispered.

“I promise I won’t hate you, but I can’t help you if I don’t understand how all this happened.”

Julianne sighed. “It was at Chase Jordan’s wedding. I wanted you to come with me, remember?”

“I will hate you if you pin this on me,” Carly cautioned.

Julianne let herself relax a little. “I’d had a migraine all week, so I was taking my medicine.”

“The one that makes your birth control ineffective. I think we covered this when you first told me you were pregnant. For the record, you were six months pregnant when you finally confessed, but we’ll let that pass for now. Go on.”

Guilt once again clamped onto Julianne’s belly. “Well, the pills make me kind of woozy, too. I was careful not to drink, but for some reason the medicine seemed more potent than usual. I found out later I’d been prescribed a higher dosage than I normally took, but the pill looked just like my regular one. Anyway, after the wedding there was a bad storm.”

Carly’s hand stilled on Julianne’s head. “Oh! And you were on Sea Island, right on the beach.”

“Yeah. With an excellent view of the churning ocean.”

“Oh, wow. That must have brought back some bad memories for you. I’m so sorry.” Carly hugged her a bit closer.

Julianne shivered as memories of a tragic night on the ocean flashed through her mind. “I ran into Will in the hallway. I recognized him as one of the groomsmen, but I didn’t know who he was at the time. The storm was raging and I couldn’t get my key to work in the door. And then the lights went out. He took me to his room. He was going to get me a new key. I was a little . . . out of it with fear and everything. Will was trying to make me feel better, to reassure me. He held me. And then, one thing led to another . . .”

Carly stiffened beside her. “Look at me. He didn’t force you, did he? Because if he did, I’ll kill him. I don’t care if he is built like a truck. I know people who are bigger than him.”

Julianne smiled at her friend, relieved at finally having someone to share her story with. “No, from what I can remember, the kissing—and everything else—was mutual.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Well . . . I mean . . . not everything really. But I know I was a willing partner.”

Only part of Julianne’s statement was true. Despite the fog of her medication, she remembered every hot moment she’d spent in Will Connelly’s arms. She’d relived them often enough alone in her bed at night. That evening on Sea Island, he’d been compassionate and kind, so unexpected from a man who made his living tackling and crushing other men. His hands, huge and strong, had been tender and gentle on her frenzied body. He’d tasted like bourbon and smelled like a day at the beach, if that were even possible. Julianne succumbed to the touch of his mouth and hands without any resistance.

Right up until the most embarrassing portion of the evening: when she’d called out Nicky DiMarco’s name as she climaxed. Her stomach roiled and her face burned as that moment replayed in her mind yet again. Burying her face in her hands, she tried to rationalize it for the millionth time.

She and Nicky had spent the better part of their young lives in each other’s company while their fathers had served in the diplomatic corps together. In many ways, Nicky was the only link she had left to her mother—the only one who shared her profound loss. After all, he’d been in the car accident with Julianne and her mother that tragic night. Since that time, Nicky had been one of the few constants in her life. Always there for her if she needed him.

For years, Julianne had considered Nicky to be her soul mate, the man she fantasized about spending her life with. But as she entered adulthood, she realized that type of relationship with him was impossible. That didn’t stop her from measuring all other men against the ideal fantasy she’d created in her mind, however.

One night spent with Will Connelly surpassed all the fantasies she’d ever had about Nicky and more, though. So much more. It was the only reason Julianne could come up with for calling out Nicky’s name. That—and even more shameful—she hadn’t known her lover’s name.

The fact remained, Will Connelly had been the perfect lover. But she didn’t want her friend to know just how vulnerable she was to him. To his body.

“A word of advice here,” Carly said. “When you two talk about this, and you two need to talk about everything, don’t mention that you don’t remember having sex with him. He’s a professional athlete and if his ego’s anything like my husband’s, he won’t take it very well.”

They were quiet for a few minutes before Julianne forced herself to ask the question she most wanted the answer to. “What’s he like?”

“Will? Oh gosh, I don’t know if anyone really knows the real Will Connelly. He keeps to himself. Definitely the strong, silent type. Very cerebral. He went to an Ivy League school, Yale, I think. I know that management and the guys on the team really respect him both as a player and a person.”

Julianne pulled out of Carly’s embrace and began to pace the room again. “But what about his personal life?”

Carly sighed. “I don’t know a lot about that. Like I said, he’s very private. He was involved with an actress from a crime drama that’s on cable, but I don’t think it was serious.”

“She said in several interviews they were very serious.”

“Aha! So you at least took the trouble to find out his name and keep tabs on him. Good to know.” Carly sounded relieved. “I wouldn’t worry about what some actress said. They all try to use a relationship with an athlete to get publicity . . . wait . . .” Carly stood and turned Julianne so they were face to face. “Is that why you never said anything to him about the baby? You thought he was involved with someone?”

“That was a big part of it. The birth control failed and I got pregnant. I didn’t want to mess up a relationship that might have been important to him because I wanted to keep the baby. I have the money to support a child, and I’m not the type of woman who wants to brag about her kid’s famous father just for publicity’s sake. Besides, the whole idea of having that conversation with a total stranger was humiliating. I just thought we’d all be better off if no one knew who Owen’s father was.”

“Well, you’re going to have to have that conversation now. And everyone is going to know Will is Owen’s father.”

When Julianne didn’t say anything, Carly reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “Oh no, Julianne.” Her voice was laced with disappointment. “You don’t seriously think Will is going to come in here, give his son a few pints of blood, and then walk out of your lives? Is that what you want? To take Owen back to Italy where you can hide out until you figure out what to do with your life? Pretending Will doesn’t exist?”

Carly’s tone implied she was disgusted again, the fragile truce they’d been working on these past few minutes gone. “There is something you should know about Will. He didn’t grow up with a father in his life. I don’t know the whole story, but I do know he is very passionate about a father doing right by his children.”

Pulling out of Carly’s hands, Julianne crossed her arms defiantly. “We don’t know that for sure. Maybe he doesn’t want kids right now. Maybe he’ll be just fine with us going back to Italy and going on with our life without him!”

The color drained from Carly’s face, her eyes focused owlishly behind Julianne. Taking a slow peek over her shoulder, she saw the object of their discussion standing in front of the curtain. His posture was equally defiant. Julianne licked her lips and wondered how a man so massive could move so quietly. As she turned, she took in his Gucci loafers and an Armani business suit that made him look like he preferred lobbying politicians to crushing opposing players. Her gaze wandered up from his strong, square jaw to meet angry green eyes.

“Don’t count on it,” he said before disappearing behind the curtain again.

Mr. Clem prattled on about something, but Will wasn’t listening. Instead, he tried to rein in his temper. The woman was insane if she thought he’d let her take his son to live in another country. She was certifiable if she believed he’d give up his paternal rights to any child of his.

If in fact he was the boy’s father.

That pertinent bit of lab work still had yet to be resolved. His DNA had been collected as soon as he and his entourage had arrived at the hospital, but according to Mr. Clem, the results could take up to twenty-four hours in spite of the fact the hospital had put a rush on them.

That technicality didn’t deter the hospital ombudsman one bit, however. Mr. Clem was prepared to rip off Will’s jacket and begin transfusing blood immediately. The man’s enthusiasm for his job was a bit over the top, but Will was glad the baby had someone in this world protecting him. Someone other than his lunatic mother.

She burst through the curtain in much the same manner as he ruptured offensive lines, with a ferocious look on her face. Not that she was necessarily intimidating. Standing nearly a foot shorter than his six-foot-three-inch frame, she’d have to stand on her toes just to reach his shoulder. He knew from experience she weighed next to nothing. Pregnancy hadn’t exactly fattened her up. In fact, she looked nothing like the woman he’d encountered that long-ago stormy night.

Gone was the hot dress she’d worn to tantalize the men at the wedding. Today, she was dressed in an ivory turtleneck, the outline of the cross necklace she wore visible beneath it. Her black yoga pants fit snugly over generous hips, but they were frayed slightly at the bottom. Not exactly the haute couture she was supposedly famous for creating. Tortoiseshell glasses couldn’t hide her red-rimmed eyes or the dark smudges beneath them. Her wild mahogany hair pulled tight in a high ponytail accentuated the gauntness of her face. The only part of her that hadn’t changed were her lips: still pink and full where she’d obviously been gnawing on them, much like the night they’d made love.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Will raised the palm of his hand to silence her and she stilled, her eyes wide. If she spoke, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to control his anger. He’d worked all his life to suppress the rage he often felt, channeling his pent-up aggression into football while perfecting his stoicism so no one saw the intense ire that boiled beneath his surface. The crazy nymph in front of him just might shatter his carefully crafted façade. When he thought about her scheme, his fingers itched to wrap themselves around her neck and throttle her.

Or pull her in for a kiss.

And that pissed him off even more. He was disgusted at the part of him that still wanted her. She leveled angry eyes at him as she crossed her arms under her breasts. Those had definitely benefited from pregnancy, not that they were bad before. Will had to take a reflexive step back as a bead of sweat trickled down his back.

Mr. Clem stepped in between them, momentarily defusing the situation. “Miss Marchione, we won’t be able to perform the transfusion immediately, unfortunately.” He shot a furious glance at Will.

Julianne’s hands dropped to her sides as Carly Devlin emerged to support her with an arm behind her back. He wasn’t sure why the wife of the Blaze’s quarterback was here, but he’d figure out that mystery later. Right now, he needed answers to the many questions Mr. Clem hadn’t been able to answer during his hurried explanation of the blood disorder Julianne Marchione’s baby had been born with. Until he got them, there was no point in arranging a transfusion.

“I don’t understand.” Julianne sounded deflated as her eyes darted to Mr. Clem’s face.

“It’s pretty simple, really.” Sarcasm dripped from Roscoe’s voice as he spoke from somewhere behind Will. “Until we know definitively who this baby’s daddy is, no one is sticking another needle in my client.”