Be Mine Page 11

  Cassidy peers in and giggles. “You have a big mouth, Uncle Nick.”

  “All the better to eat you with.” I pretend to devour her while she screams with delight.

  Charlie shoots a guilty glance toward Lainey. “Will you get that, Nick?”

  No, I think, because my arm is still warm from the almost touch of Lainey’s hand, and I want to enjoy it for two seconds more. But that thought, like the crappy one I had five seconds ago about Chip, is better kept in my head. “Sure.” I push away from the table, and the still-giggling Cassidy, to go and let Chip in.

  Behind me, I hear whispering. “—sorry, Chip Peters is back.”

  “What?” Lainey screeches.

  I frown. How bad is Chip around Lainey? I’m going to have to keep an eye out.

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t even know he was back or that he was coming here. I swear it.”

  “You should have told me before.”

  “But I wanted to see you, and you wouldn’t have come over if I told you Chip was coming. He’s just dropping something off. Go hide in the bedroom. I’ll signal when it’s safe to come out.”

  I don’t even need to look at Lainey to know what kind of silent, disapproving expression is on her face now. It’s not the duh one, but a mom face. A face you learn when you give birth. My mom has directed it toward me a hundred plus times in my life.

  Face set in stone, Lainey comes over and picks up Cass, who squirms unhappily.

  “I’m coloring,” she protests.

  “We need to go into the bedroom.”

  “I don’t wanna. I wanna color.”

  “Cassidy Jean, it’s time to go to the bedroom.”

  “Oh God, I’m sorry.” Charlie wrings her hands.

  Chip knocks again. Lainey runs an agitated hand through her hair and sends me a frustrated look.

  “It won’t take but two seconds,” I promise.

  Lainey gives me a curt nod and sets Cass down. The little one picks up her crayon and proceeds to ignore us tense adults.

  I pull open the door. Chip greets me with a wide smile. “Brought your tape, man.”

  “Thanks.” I reach for the tape, but Chip pulls it back.

  “This your place? Something smells good.” He pokes his head inside.

  I shift to block his view. “Charlie’s cooking.”

  “Oh? Beautiful and a good chef? Is there anything she can’t do?” He moves again.

  This is stupid. I hold out my hand. “Yeah, and the food’s getting cold. If I don’t get to the table, she’ll kill me.”

  “I need to show you a couple of things. Coach wanted me to run over week thirteen.”

  I grimace. Week thirteen last year was one of my worst of the season. It was my second start and I threw five interceptions. Reluctantly, I take a step back and let Chip in.

  “Hey, good look—” he starts to greet Charlie but pulls up short when his eyes land on Cass and Lainey.

  “When the team told you that you need to do charitable work, they didn’t mean for you to bring it home.” Chip’s snide remark is delivered in a low voice, but the stiffening in Lainey’s shoulders tells me she heard him.

  “Are you talking about Charlie?” I deliberately misunderstand him. “She pays her own way. I’m not funding this palace on my own.”

  “I wasn’t referring to Charlotte,” Chip hastens to correct me. “I know she’s all class. Hey, gorgeous,” he says, walking up to give Charlie a hug. She stares at me wide-eyed as he gathers her into his arms like they’re old friends.

  I hold my hands up in confusion because I don’t know why he’s hugging her.

  She pats him awkwardly on the back. “Nice to see you, Chip. You know Lainey, right?”

  He barely gives Lainey a nod. “Hey, I smell something awesome. You’re beautiful and you cook? Marry me, Charlotte.”

  She shoots a glance over to Lainey, who looks up to roll her eyes. She’s quieted Cassidy down and has her on the sofa looking at a picture book.

  “It’s a kit I picked up from a store.”

  “Yeah? Tell me more.” Chip crosses his ankles as he leans against the kitchen island.

  “It’s a place that specializes in prepackaged dinners you cook at home. I thought it might be good for the single guys so they don’t have to eat out all the time.” Charlie’s reluctance to chat couldn’t be more obvious, but Chip is clueless.

  “Like me. I’m single.”

  Jesus, he is laying it on thick.

  “Well, um, okay.”

  “I’ll stay and give you a client’s viewpoint.”

  It wasn’t even a request. Charlie’s eyes dart toward mine in panic, but what can I do? I can’t really tell him to shove off because he’s my coach and I’m a second-year starter. I could lose my position to the next man up if I don’t produce on the field.

  “Sounds good, Chip,” I say with false cheerfulness. I mean, really, how bad could dinner with Chip be?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lainey

  Dinner with Chip is just as excruciating as I suspected it would be. He takes every opportunity to get in a dig. Some of them Charlie catches and some, related to Chip’s and my tangled past, go over her head. I’m grateful for that. I wish they were all so obscure that only I understood them.

  When he compliments Charlie on how great she looks, he makes sure to emphasize her great taste in clothes. My style has evolved from leopard prints and sequins to cream-colored swing skirts, to cover my ample hips, and belted cardigans, to emphasis my small waist. But at seventeen, when Chip and I hooked up, my clothes were either appropriate for church or the corner of the street.

  “Charlotte, you're all class.”

  She gives him a thin, social smile. “Thanks.”

  She doesn’t give him more encouragement, but Chip, being Chip, can’t stop sucking up to her. She’s everything he imagines he should have by his side. Charlie isn’t just pretty. Pretty girls are a dime a dozen around guys like Chip. No, Charlie is like Reese’s thoroughbreds. One look at her and you know she’s expensive.

  And Chip wants that. Oh, he might dabble in the gutter with girls like me, but Charlie’s the type he wants to be photographed with. When he dumped me, he said he could take me out of the trailer park but cheap would always remain visible.

  I run a self-conscious hand over my skirt. I look good today. Professional even. Screw Chip.

  We sit down to dinner and Chip starts up again as we’re passing the tortillas around. He observes Cassidy with all the warmth of a long-suffering chaperone on a field trip.

  “The child is surprisingly well mannered,” he comments, as she thanks Nick for putting beans on her plate. “All things considering.”

  Nick shoots him a fairly hostile look. “Considering what, man?”

  “Lainey’s a single mom. Statistically, kids from single-parent households struggle.” Chip taps his fork on the table. “But this one”—he dips his head toward my angel—“appears to have learned a few things.”

  I hate that he talks about her like she’s not there. It’s made worse by the fact he won’t even say her name. I place a protective hand on the top of her head and glare at him. He hasn’t ever acknowledged Cassidy or me and never will. I don’t care. It is far better for Cassidy to have no father than one who despises her.

  And who can't be bothered to hide his disgust.

  He turns to Charlie again. “It's good of you to lend a helping hand. I've always thought you had a generous spirit.”

  Charlie is barely able to keep a straight face. “It’s the other way around; Lainey’s always helping me. If I didn’t have her around, my slip would be showing and I’d constantly have lipstick on my teeth.”

  “If you could find your lipstick,” Nick jokes.

  The three of us share a smile at Charlie’s forgetfulness. She’s just got so much going on that the little things escape her, which is what she has me for.

  Chip doesn’t like being left out. He places his elbows on the
table and leans toward Charlie while Nick looks on with faint amusement. We both know that even if the guy at the table weren’t Chip, the asshole, Charlie would be immune. She loves one person and one person only, no matter how many times she wants to deny it.

  “I'm a big fan of kids myself,” Chip interjects.

  I choke on my mouthful of fajita.

  “You okay, Mommy?” Cassidy asks, as I cough and cover my mouth with a napkin. My eyes begin to water, but Chip doesn't even look my way. His attention is wholly fixed on Charlie.

  “I like children,” she says slowly, as if she can’t quite figure out his angle.

  “How many kids would you want?”

  “I don't know. I suppose that depends upon my partner.”

  “I always felt like two is a good number.”

  “Not me,” Nick interrupts. “I think I’d like to have about five. Philip Rivers has eight.”

  “Who’s that?” Cassidy asks.

  Chip sighs heavily. Clearly his two children would be seen but not heard.

  “Used to be a quarterback like me, honey,” Nick says and rolls up her little fajita for her.

  I reach to tap her glass to remind her to drink her milk. She has the same idea and our hands collide. Mine pushes hers awkwardly and her glass of milk spills, splashing on Chip’s plate.

  “Oh no,” she cries.

  I jump up and bump the table, which knocks the entire bowl of fajita filling into Chip’s lap.

  “Goddammit you—”

  Nick cuts him off with a sharp warning. “Chip!”

  Chip jerks his head up and swallows whatever spiteful, mean thing he was going to say. But he’s fuming. He brushes at his pants front, which is now doused with food and meat sauce.

  “What’s a five-year-old doing with a regular glass? Don’t you have that spill-proof crap?”

  “Come on. I have a pair of sweatpants you can change into.” Nick jerks his head towards his bedroom.

  For a moment, Chip wavers between bitching me out and following Nick. Charlie jumps in.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says. She tugs on his arm, and between her and Nick, the two lead Chip away.

  “I’m sorry,” Cassidy weeps. Her little face is scrunched up in dismay.

  I wipe her tears away with the side of my sleeve. “It’s no big deal, baby.”

  She presses her baby face into my belly and mumbles, “I don’t think he’s very nice.”

  That’s putting it mildly. “Can you go and put your stuff in Mama’s bag?”

  “We leaving?” she sniffles.

  “Yeah, but we’re going to stop at McDonald’s on the way home. ’Kay?”

  The promise of fast food and a treat brighten her mood. I wish that’s all it took for me to forget Chip. Unfortunately, this encounter is going to bother me all night. That asshole. I can’t believe I allowed myself to be sucked in by him. As much as I hate the man, I can’t regret the past because I’d battle a thousand Chips to have Cassidy. I wanted Cassidy’s dad to be someone else, but that he’s not? Well, that’s on me.

  As I’m packing up, Charlie reappears. Her pretty face is flushed with anger.

  “That man is such a jerk,” she fumes and then immediately turns to Cassidy, who is waving her princess wand at the television. “Sorry, baby, don't ever repeat that word until you’re like 18.”

  “She’s not listening, and if ‘jerk’ is the worst word in her vocabulary, I think she’s going to be all right.” I brush a hand over my baby’s hair. “Cassidy, run into the kitchen and get your tiara, okay? Mommy needs to talk to Auntie Charlie for a minute.”

  “’Kay.”

  We watch Cassidy scamper into the kitchen before Charlie turns to me. “I don't know how you deal with that.”

  “I don't. I don’t see him or talk to him. This is the most time I’ve spent with him in years, so it’s fine.” I give a tiny shrug. “Not gonna lie. There were moments during dinner when I wanted to shove my steak knife into his throat, but as long as he stays on his side of the city and I stay on mine, it’s all good.” I shoulder Cassidy’s toy bag and grab my keys.

  Charlie makes an unhappy noise. “I hate that you’re leaving. Can we try again tomorrow?”

  “Sorry. We have ballet lessons.”

  “Mommy, I need to use the potty,” Cassidy interrupts.

  I bend down. “All right. Run to the bathroom and then we’ll leave.”

  “Can you come with me?” She twists a foot into the rug.

  I exchange a surprised glance with Charlie. Cassidy’s pretty independent, and the fact that she wants me to go with her to the bathroom is worrisome.

  “Sure, baby girl.” I hand the toy bag off to Charlie and follow Cassidy into the hall bathroom.

  Cassidy doesn't actually go potty. Instead, she burst into tears.

  I scoop her up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did I ’barass you?” she cries, her bright blue eyes sparkling with tears.

  “No, baby. Of course not!” I cradle her head against my shoulder and jiggle her a little, just like when she was a little baby.

  “I knocked the man’s glass over,” she sobs.

  “So what? That’s no big deal?”

  “But we’re leaving now and it’s my fault.”

  Oh Chip. Goddamn him. I hate him so much, but storming out of here and slamming my fist into his face—no matter how personally gratifying that would feel—isn’t going to make Cassidy stop crying.

  “It’s nothing. We all spill. Remember the other day when I dropped the bowl of yogurt and it splashed all over?” She nods, rubbing her wet face in my neck. “We cleaned that up and got another bowl out of the fridge and it was no big deal, right?”

  She nods again. I continue to rock her and rub her back until her thin body stops shuddering. Outside the bathroom door, I hear noises and then a slammed front door.

  A knock on the door is followed by a soft voice. “It’s me, Charlotte. Chip left.”

  And it’s time for us to go too. Cassidy’s tired. I set her on the edge of the sink and wipe the tears off her face. “See, baby. The bad man left. It’s time for you and Mommy to go home.” I rub my stomach dramatically. “I am so hungry for French fries.” Her little stomach contracts as I poke it. “Your tummy says it’s hungry, too.”

  She gives me a watery smile.

  “Okay, do you still need to use the potty?”

  “Yeah.”

  I help her down. “Do your business and then come out and say goodnight to Auntie Charlie.”

  “And Uncle Nick?” she asks, as she waddles over to the toilet.

  “And Uncle Nick.” I close the door behind me and look up to see Uncle Nick leaning against the wall, his arms folded, ankles crossed, and an unhappy expression marring his perfect, masculine features.

  “Lainey, I’m sorry. He just is not a fan of kids.”

  “Oh really?” I say sarcastically. “I swear I heard him say he wanted two of them.”

  Nick’s face twists up, but I decide to let the guy off the hook. My quarrel isn’t with Nick. I wave my hand. “Don't worry about it.”

  “You don't have to leave.”

  “I'm tired. Cassidy’s tired. You have film to watch.” Suddenly, I do feel exhausted.

  “I suppose so.” He tucks a few fingers into the tops of his pockets and looks down at the tops of his shoes. He’s embarrassed by what happened at dinner, caught between his coach and his friends. And I don’t like being the source of his discomfort.

  Without another word, I retrieve Cassidy. After she gives her hugs and kisses goodbye, I take her hand and we walk down to the parking lot. She helps me buckle her in and happily accepts my phone with Backyardigans cued up. I shut the car door, and when I turn around, Chip is there.

  I jump back, hand over my heart. “Good gracious. You scared me.”

  He steps forward, into my space, until the toes of his expensive loafers are nearly flush against the tips of my ballet flats. “You have a nic
e little set-up being friends with Charlie and Nick. How’d trash like you get hooked up with a quality pair like those two?”

  I'm so grateful for the night that disguises the heat on my cheeks. “Go to hell, Jonathan.”

  His face grows angrier at my use of his birth name. He likes being called Chip, although I have no idea why. It’s a snack food, for Christ’s sake.

  “You're nothing but camp pussy—a whore that goes from player to player. Except you have a particular fetish, right? Quarterbacks?”

  I glance back at Cassidy, hoping to God she can't hear him through the glass of the car door. “Seriously, move the hell away from me.”

  He doesn't move. If anything, he leans closer.

  “I told you I never wanted to see you again, but you didn’t listen. What do you think your precious Charlie and Nick would think about the fact that you got pregnant during an orgy? That you weren’t even sure who the father of your kid was? Do you think they would want you to hang around? A slut like you?”

  My cheeks burn with shame. Charlie doesn’t know the specifics of how I became pregnant, and I would die before Nick ever found out. I try not to let Chip see this though. I try to not give him another weapon over me. “You know this kid is yours. And I would never have been in that situation if it weren't for you.” I was seventeen and at a party with a bunch of pro players where drugs and liquor were being passed around? What chance did I have?

  “But you were. And I've got the pictures to prove it. Anytime I want, I can pull those pictures out and smear your name all over this city. By the time I’m done, there wouldn't be a judge alive who would let you keep your kid.”

  I curl my hands into fists and fantasize about pummeling Chip until his jaw is broken and he can’t spew this filth.

  “You don't want a child. You said that. We agreed that you would have nothing to do with Cassidy. That I would never make a claim on you.”

  “Because I paid you a hundred grand to leave Dallas,” he spits.

  “No. You said that you never wanted to see me again. You came to me, not the other way around. Nothing in our agreement defines who my friends are,” I say, and am surprised at the evenness of my tone, despite the fear and anger raging inside of me.