When I Need You, Page 34

  In addition to talking briefly about each kid—with a limited enrollment I had gotten to know them individually—and introducing the camp staff, I brought Aunt Priscilla, Aunt Edie and my mother onto the stage because they deserved recognition for all the good things LCCO did for the community. They even got a little teary eyed when they noticed I’d saved the biggest bouquets for them.

  As soon as I finished closing remarks and encouraged everyone to wander the building, the reporters approached me. No matter how many times I tried to redirect, they were focused on getting the story about Camp Step-Up from The Rocket. I kept as much of the conversation away from football as I could.

  So I didn’t get to see my family until nearly half an hour later.

  The hallway teemed with kids and parents, but I was looking for one kid in particular.

  Calder spied me first. The instant he saw me, his face lit up. Then he was running toward me, dodging and weaving through people like I did on the football field—not that I’d make the comparison to his mother—when I had the goal line in my sights.

  He threw himself at me and I caught him, crushing him to my chest as he wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed me tight. I closed my eyes and let his excitement and his need to share it with me flow through me.

  I’d missed this.

  “Did you see me dance?” he demanded.

  I propped him on my hip and smoothed his hair back from his face. “Of course I did. I was in the front row.”

  He chattered on and I listened with amusement to his analysis of every dance, which also led me to comparisons of how I rehashed a game, discussing the highlights and the mistakes. When he paused to breathe, I said, “You were outstanding, ninja-dance boy.”

  “What was your favorite part?”

  I grinned at him and kissed his forehead. “Are you kidding me? When you took center stage and performed that move we saw on Dancing with the Stars! How long did it take you to learn it?”

  He groaned. “All summer. I thought I’d never get it.”

  “Well, it looked like you’ve got it down, little dude, and you know the deal we made. You gotta teach it to me.”

  “’Kay.”

  Calder rested his head on my shoulder. “Seems like you were gone a loooong time. Are you done with football camp?”

  “Almost.”

  “I’m glad you were surprised, Rocketman. Mommy was too.”

  “She didn’t know you were working on that move?”

  He shook his head. “I wanted to do it just for you.”

  I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat. I kissed the crown of his sweaty head. I glanced up to see everyone in my family—and Rowan’s family—watching me.

  Let them stare. This is you proving you give a damn about someone besides yourself and something beyond football.

  Then I didn’t see anything else as my beautiful Rowan walked toward me, a soft smile on her face. She pressed her palm against my chest and rubbed Calder’s back. “You okay, sweet boy?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I said, “I’m good too.”

  When she said, “You sure? You want me to take him?” Calder burrowed deeper into me.

  “Nope.”

  “You got waylaid for a while with the media. Is everything all right?”

  “We’ll see how it shakes out tomorrow.”

  “Come on, everyone is waiting to talk to the man of the hour.” She gently nudged me toward our assorted family members.

  “Hear that, Calder? Everyone is talking about that fancy-ass dance move you did.”

  He giggled. “No. They’re talkin’ about you, silly. And you’re not s’posed to say the A-word, remember?”

  “My bad.”

  For the next half an hour as I talked with the Lund Collective, as well as the Michaels family, Calder refused to let go of me. With all the noise around us, it surprised me to look down and see Calder’s mouth slack and soft snores drifting out as he drooled on my shoulder. I grinned at Rowan. “Like mother, like son, huh?”

  She whispered, “I drool on you for another reason entirely, Lund.”

  “But you conk out just like this after I wear you out,” I murmured back.

  She rested her head on my arm. “Can we go home now? I missed you.”

  I kissed her temple. “Let’s say our good-byes.”

  Rowan’s parents were staying in the Cities another day, so we made plans for a late dinner. And the Lund Collective insisted on changing the normal Sunday brunch time to an early-evening meal so I could come with Rowan and Calder.

  We walked outside with my parents and Martin. The humidity had dissipated, leaving it a beautiful, balmy night.

  Martin and Dad were laughing sort of hysterically about something that I didn’t want to know about. Rowan was readjusting Calder’s car seat. Leaving me with my mom.

  She brushed my hair out of my face. I was twenty-eight years old and she still fussed at me. “Is this a bruise?” she demanded in Swedish when she noticed the spot on my cheekbone.

  “Yeah. I got smacked kinda hard in practice today.”

  “I always hated that part of football.”

  “Getting pounded into the dirt isn’t my favorite part either.” Such a lie. I loved that.

  “No, I meant the marks you’ve been getting since you were boy of ten.” She ran the back of her finger over the spot. “Bumps, bruises, even broken bones. You loved the game so much that I had to hide my tears from you over every bump, bruise and broken bone. I had to pretend I didn’t hurt to watch you training and playing when you were in pain. I had to suck it up and be proud, smiling mama on the outside when you caught the ball but took a hit hard enough to rattle your brain. I had to cheer when I watch you block and save a play but I see blood on your uniform and you limping off the field. I see you work harder and harder to become better, faster, stronger. I watch you become more football machine than man. I watch and I wait and I hope in silence for the day to come when there’s no more bumps, no more bruises, no more blood, no more broken bones . . . no more hurting for you, even knowing, as your mama, that when that end day does come, it will hurt you more than any bone-rattling, jaw-cracking body slam you’ve ever felt.”

  I stared at her in utter shock. It was more than she had ever said about me playing football, not about my football career. It never occurred to me how much courage both she and my dad had to let me walk onto that field every time, knowing I’d be hurt every time.

  “I will be good mama, supportive mama until that day comes, Jensen. I feel pride for all you have done. But know, in your heart, as I know in mine, that it is not all you can do.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I’m told . . . hate the game, dude, not the player.”

  “Mom.”

  “Fine, I say nothing before because I get in trouble when being meddlesome botherer in your life. “

  I snorted.

  “But I’m telling you now mostly because I love you.” She straightened my collar. “And maybe you’re ready to hear it.” She smiled softly at Calder. “He is sweet boy.”

  “Yeah. He is.”

  “Too bad you don’t want more than friends with his mother, yah?”

  “You’re always going to rub that in, aren’t you?”

  She smiled cockily and for the first time I realized I’d gotten that cocky damn smile from her. She patted my cheek. “Still my sweet, strong boy, Jensen Bernard Lund. You will make sweet, strong father. And you will make lots more sweet, strong boys for me to be meddlesome botherer with.” She kissed my cheek and then Calder’s before she turned and walked away, yelling at my father to get the head out.

  I started to correct her: You mean . . . head out? Or get the lead out? But . . . nah.

  Rowan moved in beside me. “Do I even want to know what your mother’s flurry of Swedish was about?”

  “Nope. But it’s all good. I promise.”

  Martin wandered over and lifted Calder out
of my arms.

  I wasn’t nearly as startled by that as Calder was. He blinked sleepily at his uncle and then at Rowan. “Mommy?”

  “Hey, little dude,” Martin said. “Guess what? You and me are havin’ a sleepover in Jensen’s apartment. I already spread your sleeping bag out on that big couch, I got Lilo and Stitch and The Secret Life of Pets cued up in the Blu-ray. I got us cheese popcorn, red licorice and grape soda. It’s gonna be party in the USA, man.”

  “But . . . I wanted to read Harry Potter tonight,” Calder said to me.

  “Tomorrow night we’ll read as many chapters as you want. I promise.”

  He turned his teary eyes to his mother. “But, Mommy, I thought I was gonna be with you . . .”

  I expected her to give in.

  But she didn’t. “Uncle Martin has been planning this surprise for you for two days. I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin it.”

  He looked at Martin skeptically.

  “We’ve got some serious chillin’ in front of the TV to do and . . .” Martin whispered something in his ear.

  Calder grinned. “Super Mario Brothers!”

  “Gotta learn the life of a gamer sometime, amirite? Tell your mommy and Jens good night.”

  After a round of hugs and kisses, we watched as Martin strapped him into the car seat and drove away.

  “God, I love that kid.”

  Rowan stepped in front of me and twined her arms around my neck. “I can’t tell you what it means to me to hear you say that.” Then she pulled my head down and fastened her mouth to mine in a wet, dirty kiss. She murmured, “How fast you think you can get us home?”

  Turned out when properly motivated, my Hummer could give my ZR1 a run for its money.

  Twenty-four

  ROWAN

  With the first preseason game in the new stadium happening in two short days, I had purple, white and gold on the brain 24/7. Not only did I think about my part, I worried about Jensen because his part was much bigger than mine. Provided he was finally taken off the injured reserve list.

  Since I’d never been involved with a pro football player, I wasn’t sure if this was his standard preseason behavior—pulling back, pulling in. Turning quiet and contemplative. I didn’t ask if this was the norm for him because I knew how he’d answer; there’d been no norm for him since his injury. So I let it go.

  The only time he seemed like my Jensen was when he read Harry Potter to Calder.

  Or after he crawled in bed with me.

  My stomach did a little flip whenever I thought about how thoroughly Jensen showed me he was mine and I was his when the bedroom door closed. We were insatiable. Neither of us had had this type of intimacy before, so we craved that connection all the time.

  All. The. Time.

  I hadn’t understood how incredibly patient Jensen had been with me, letting the relationship build at my pace, masking his physical need—not just for sex but for affection—until I’d had a taste of his sexual appetite. The man wanted me morning, noon and night. Some days, he had me that often. I needed that body-to-body connection and release just as frequently. But I was glad I’d waited to share and explore that part of myself until Jensen because I trusted him with every aspect of my body—including my heart.

  I’d gotten a message from Coach T to come in early before cheer practice. So as I paced in the spookily empty hallway outside of the conference room, I texted Daisy.

  Me: Are you running late?

  DO: Late for what?

  Me: The meeting with Coach T.

  DO: What meeting?

  Me: The early one she called before tonight’s practice?

  DO: ??? There’s no practice tonight. Didn’t you see that on the group text message?

  I scrolled to my message list. The last message I’d gotten from Coach T had been sent as a private message. I had nothing new from the group for over twenty-four hours.

  DO: What’s going on?

  Me: I don’t know. I think I’m the only one here.

  Before I could add that I’d started to get a bad feeling, the door to the conference room opened and Angela, liaison between the team and the national sports organization, stepped out. I’d only had dealings with her one time, and my bad feeling transformed into dread.

  “Miss Michaels? We’re ready for you.”

  Who’s we?

  Don’t ask; just move your feet forward.

  When I cleared the doorway, I saw six people at the conference table. I knew three of them. Coach T; Izzy, the media director; and that Brian guy who’d given the “follow the rules” speech months ago.

  Months ago when I’d gotten so infuriated with Jensen for acting like we were friends.

  Oh, if they only knew how things had changed since that day.

  Maybe they did.

  “Please, Miss Michaels, have a seat.”

  They were spread out on one side of the table. I sat across from them like I was being cross-examined in court.

  “I imagine you wonder why you’ve been called in today.” This came from the woman I didn’t know. No name tag, no indication of who she might be except efficient and annoyed.

  “Sort of feels like I’m facing the Inquisition, and I’m woefully underdressed.” I’d worn my warm-up suit because hey . . . I thought I’d be headed to cheer practice after the meeting.

  “We brought you here to ask a few questions.”

  “Do I need an attorney present?” I said coolly, even when my stomach knotted.

  “No. It pertains mostly to your contract.” She smiled.

  Okay. Maybe this wasn’t what I’d feared.

  “How well do you know Jensen Lund?”

  And . . . yep. There it was.

  Stick as close to the truth as possible. “I know him pretty well. He lives in my apartment building. LCCO, the charitable foundation that his family runs, sponsored my son’s summer camp. And I’ve cheered for The Rocket for the past four seasons as well as cheering for him when I was on the cheer team at the University of Minnesota.”

  “Do you have a relationship with him?”

  I have a beautiful relationship with him. He’s a wonderful, loving man and I’m so lucky, blessed and excited to have him in my life.

  But I couldn’t say it. It killed me to say, “Yes. We’re friends,” instead.

  None of them looked at each other, but they were all staring at me, as if I’d break in the silence.

  Jensen always joked that the silent treatment was the best way to get me to talk.

  Not this time.

  “Do you have a personal relationship with Jensen Lund?” This from Brian, the blatherer.

  “Are we personally friends?”

  Brian imparted a condescending smile. “Come now. I think you know that’s not what we’re asking.”