Axel's Therapist: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (Blitz Book 2) Page 7

  When three different women accuse you of the same thing, you gotta wonder.

  "I don't know what that guy was talking about," I told her, genuinely confused. I looked down at the papers he'd served me, still clutched in my hand. Scanning through them, I realized that it wasn't specifically Taylor who'd had me served. It was the Denver courts. Taylor had filed charges of domestic abuse, along with claims that I'd been beating Riley, which was nonsense.

  The only thing more surprising than Taylor's false accusations were the ones of two other women I'd never heard of. Bernice Sanderson and Toni Hawkins? Who the hell were they?

  "Okay," I licked my lips, thinking. I looked up at Kaitlyn, who was watching me carefully. I didn't like the way her eyes seemed to look so distrustfully at me. "I think... I don't know who these women are," I finally said, flapping my arms in the air. I felt like a chicken with its head cut off.

  "What are you saying?" Kaitlyn demanded. "That two other women besides Taylor are accusing you of domestic violence and you've never heard of them till now?"

  When she put it like that, it sounded ridiculous. "Look," I told her, trying to think. I could see that I was losing her. So far, she'd been on my side, but this changed things. I didn't know what to do. How could I convince her I was telling the truth?

  "Riley!" I shouted. "Riley can tell everyone the truth. I've never laid a hand on her. I swear it."

  "So, what about these other women?" Kaitlyn asked.

  "Beats me. Maybe they saw Taylor on TV and thought they could get some money out of me. Or maybe they're friends of Taylor's. Who knows? The point is, I've never heard of these women before, and I've certainly never hit any of them."

  Kaitlyn was still looking at me like she didn't trust me. "Come on!" I yelled, starting to lose my temper now. "You're the one who hit Taylor that day, not me. You know that! What the hell is the matter with you? Can't you use your brain?"

  Kaitlyn's eyes widened. "So to prove your innocence, you're insulting me now?"

  "No, I..." Whatever I said only made things worse. So I decided not to say anything else. I moved toward her, hoping that if I could get close enough to kiss her, I could somehow set things right. But the moment my hand reached for her, I knew I'd made a mistake. Her eyes shifted to the blood still on my knuckles. It looked like I'd just killed someone with my bare hands.

  "I don't think we should see each other anymore," she said.

  "But... what about my therapy? What about my knee?" I was grasping at straws. My heart pounded in my chest. It was taking all of my strength not to yell or punch the wall again.

  "Fuck your knee," Kaitlyn said. "No one gives a damn about selfish child abusers. The next time you want to exercise your knee, go jump in a lake."

  21

  Kaitlyn

  I had no idea what was wrong with me. It had been three days since I'd last seen Axel, and he was still stuck in my head. The same questions circled my brain, driving me insane. Was his knee okay? Was Riley alright? Were the charges true?

  It pissed me off that I was still craving Axel after he'd kissed those girls and made a fool out of me. But it didn't stop me from wanting him any less.

  I knew Axel hadn't hit Taylor when she'd come by the locker room—that had all been on me, and if it came to it, I was happy to tell that to the authorities—but I'd also seen Axel's temper firsthand. Was it really so hard to believe that he'd hit Taylor before? And what about those other women? Were they just making it up? Axel had gotten a new contract this year, bigger than ever. That would certainly be enticing to the right kind of people.

  I hated the idea that people like that existed in the world. My stomach churned again and I made a nosedive for the Pepto Bismol. Lately, I'd been chugging the stuff like water. If I wasn't any better tomorrow, I'd have to go to the doctor. There was some sort of flu going around, and it had probably gotten ahold of me.

  The TV in the locker room blared as another tabloid reporter popped across the screen: "Axel Cooper is still in hiding after allegations of domestic abuse were brought forth by three different women." The reporter, if you could really call anyone at That's Funtainment "reporters," continued on about Taylor's allegations.

  Pictures of Riley were strewn across the screen. They blurred her face out because she was underage, but that didn't make it right. She and Axel must've been followed day and night. According to this reporter, Taylor had filed for visitation rights—as well as alimony—even though she and Axel had never been married.

  One of the other players in the locker room, Greg Merlock, threw a towel at the TV before getting up to turn it off.

  "I'm sick of hearing this bullshit," Greg said. He spat into a garbage can and chugged his water. All the guys were a little testy today after their big loss, and Greg was no exception.

  "You got that right," Jimmy chimed in. "No way did Axel hit those chicks. They're just looking for a handout, that's all."

  "Damn straight," Greg said. "No way he did that shit."

  "No way he didn't," Conner said. All eyes in the locker room turned to him. Conner was the newest member of the team, and the one most likely to put his foot in his mouth.

  "What the fuck you say?" Greg yelled, taking a giant leap in Conner's direction. Hunter stepped between them. "You think our boy is hitting girls?" Greg looked disgusted at the idea.

  Conner backed up with his hands in the air. "Hold up, man. I'm just saying that three different chicks say the same thing, and it makes you wonder, that's all."

  "Yeah, well, I ain't you. I’ve known Axel a long time now. He might be a know-it-all and a wise ass, but he don't hit women, and he takes care of that little girl he's got at home."

  I tried to pretend I wasn't listening. Hearing all this stuff about Axel from those who knew him best was like getting an inside peek into his diary. My heart fluttered every time I pictured Axel's face. It felt like if I didn't see him soon, my head might explode.

  "Don't blame Conner," Hunter said. "He wasn't around two years ago when that bitch Taylor did her number on old Axel." He turned toward Conner. "She had him wrapped around her little finger. Some sweet pussy on her, I guess. That's what Axel said. But it was more than that, man. Had to be. No other chick has ever fucked him over like that bitch."

  Hunter shot a glance toward me as I worked on stretching Jimmy's leg. "Sorry, Doc," Hunter said. "Sometimes I forget there's a lady present."

  I waved him off. "I'm used to it."

  I looked over the guys who were still gathered in the locker room. They'd lost by an earth-shattering 30 points tonight. Coach was in his office, probably drowning his sorrows in a bottle of scotch. The rest of the team had split into two groups: either they were hanging out in the locker room, hiding from the press, or they had gone to a bar to get wasted and forget about what fools they'd made of themselves on the playing field.

  A few players had noted that it wasn't just the first game they'd lost all season, it was also the first game Axel had missed. All sports guys were superstitious, and I felt that superstition creep up now. But maybe they had a point. Axel brought a kind of energy to the team just by being here.

  Most of the guys still in the locker room, with the exception of Conner, had been on the team a while.

  "So, what makes you think it's not true?" I finally asked. Hell, they'd brought it up.

  "Like I said," Hunter replied, turning to me, "bitch did a number on him. I seen her down here once, screaming in his face, so close to him the spit was hitting his goddamn eyeball. Still, that motherfucker never laid a hand on her. Not one finger. Get my meaning?"

  "So, fine, she's making it up," Conner said. "But what about those other women?"

  "Fuck them. They're probably Taylor's friends."

  Conner shook his head, though. "I don't know... maybe, I guess." He walked off to the showers, still shaking his head.

  I finished up with Jimmy and sat down, hoping to quiet my stomach.

  "Anyone here been sick lately?" I asked the re
st of the guys.

  They all shrugged. "Tony had a cold last week," Jimmy said.

  "Shit, you fool. Tony didn't have no cold. Tony was hung over last week," Hunter said.

  The team kept talking, but my mind couldn't stay focused on what they were saying, not that it mattered anyway. If Taylor was really as bad as these guys were making her sound, then maybe Hunter was right. Maybe Axel had never done any of the shit they were saying he did.

  Then I remembered his bloody knuckles and the temper I'd seen flare up in him so frequently in the short time I'd known him.

  My stomach churned again, and I ran for the bathroom.

  22

  Axel

  I found Riley sitting in the living room, playing with some dolls. She'd snuck away from me when I was washing laundry.

  "Riles, I thought you were gonna help fold," I said, acting hurt.

  Riley stuck out her bottom lip. "But Maria needs an opration," she said, holding up her favorite doll. "Ids an emergenzee."

  "Oh, well, if it's an emergenzee," I told her, shrugging my shoulders. Riley went back to her doll, and I sat on the couch watching her.

  I couldn't believe things were as bad as my lawyer said. No way could Taylor take Riley away from me. I knew Taylor was full of shit. There were only two reasons she would want Riley: one, to hurt me; two, to get my money. Hurting me was probably secondary on her list—money was definitely the most likely suspect.

  Riley didn't know what was going on. Well, not exactly. She was too bright not to know something was up. Suddenly, I was spending way more time at home and I wouldn't let her go outside. I'd drilled her repeatedly about how to call 911, which neighbors she could go to for help if something happened to me, and where we keep our spare key hidden in the fake rock out front. I sighed, glancing at my cell phone. I had turned it off the night before because some crazy person had somehow gotten my number and called repeatedly, telling me I was going to hell for my sins. I'd told her I'd see her there.

  I picked the phone up, wondering if I should call Kaitlyn. Coach had given me her number when I'd refused to come to the stadium. I'd told him I was afraid my presence at the stadium would be a distraction to the team, but they'd lost anyway. A hard one, too. Thirty points was nothing to sneeze at. Coach wanted me to keep up with my exercises, but my leg was the last thing on my mind right now.

  "Want anything to eat?" I asked Riley.

  "Pamcakes," she said.

  I smiled and walked into the kitchen, getting out the pancake stuff. I set the phone on the counter, pushing thoughts of Kaitlyn aside. God! Why couldn't I get her out of my head? Kaitlyn was beautiful, sure, but I'd had plenty of beautiful girls before. What the hell was it about her that had me so bunched up?

  I could still smell her skin on mine. A soft floral scent that made my head spin. Her porcelain skin was so smooth, it was like touching velvet. I closed my eyes and allowed myself one brief moment to taste her soft, pink lips and squeeze her perfect, luscious breasts.

  "Daddy?" Riley asked from the living room, snapping me out of my reverie. "Did you hear the doorbell?"

  I listened and realized my doorbell was ringing. Probably another sleazy reporter. I looked out of the window and spotted my parents’ car in the lot. Thank God. I threw the door open and welcomed them inside.

  "Nana!" Riley cried! "Pappy!" She threw her doll to the ground and ran to them, covering their faces with kisses.

  My father scooped Riley into his arms as usual. When I'd told them I'd gotten Taylor pregnant four years ago, initially, they'd been upset. They'd thought two people who were having a baby ought to be married. But when Riley was born and Taylor had gone on her last big bender—the one that had put Riley in the hospital—they'd changed their tune.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, shutting the door behind them. My mother fit the mold of a typical grandmother. She wore loose, flowery pants and a soft blue shirt that brought out her eyes. Her gray hair was short and hung loose just above her ears, where it stopped short.

  My father was no less than six feet four inches tall. Even in his sixties, he'd shown no sign of shrinking. He was just as tall and strong to me now as he had been when I was growing up. The silver that colored his hair now only made him look that much more handsome. My parents had always made a fine couple.

  "We got worried. Why didn't you answer your phone?" my mother asked, scolding me.

  "I turned it off. Too many fucking crazies calling me."

  "Axel," my mother hissed. "Language." She glanced in Riley's direction, but Riley had her head buried in a bowl of ice cream my father had scooped for her. She scarfed it down while he tried to catch her nose. Riley giggled so much she spit the ice cream out of her mouth, then tried to suck it back in.

  "Sorry, Mom," I said.

  My mom took a seat on the couch and motioned that I should join her.

  "What's wrong?" I asked. I could tell by the way she was scrunching her eyebrows together that there was something more behind their visit than checking up on me.

  "Your father lost his job yesterday."

  "What?"

  My dad had worked at the same company for almost thirty years.

  "Don't exaggerate," my dad said, coming up behind me. "I didn't lose it. I was only suspended. Indefinitely."

  I searched his face for some hint of his real feelings. My father had never liked expressing sorrow.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "Nothing. One of the guys there is a real asshole, that's all. I might've taught him a bit of a lesson."

  "You got into a fight?" I asked, half-amused and half-horrified. I had always known I'd gotten my temper from somewhere, but I had assumed it was my mother after witnessing her tell off a salesman who'd tried to price gouge her when I was a kid.

  My father shrugged. I could tell he didn't want to talk about it.

  "Just tell him," my mother said. My father shot her an annoyed look.

  "It's no big deal. I'm sure I'll be back there as soon as they realize nothing's getting done without me there."

  "Dad," I said. A creeping suspicion had just reared up in me. "What were you fighting about? It wasn't me, was it?"

  My father looked at me and shrugged. Oh shit. It was me.

  "The thing is," my father said. "The guy I punched... his son works at some law firm." He took a deep breath. I'd rarely seen him so anxious. "He said that they're representing Taylor and that they've got it nailed shut. Says those other women who are saying you, well, you know... that they check out. I don't believe it, of course, but I thought you should know."

  My heart thumped hard in my chest. Taylor was winning. She had just scored her first touchdown, and I was still at the fifty-yard line.

  23

  Kaitlyn

  I stepped out of the bathroom with my stomach still churning. I'd just spent the last twenty minutes on the bathroom floor of the players' locker room. My stomach had quieted down, but from my most recent experiences, I knew it would take another twenty minutes before it had settled completely. The toilet bowl had become my new best friend as of late. I was starting to think I should carry around one of those barf bags you get on airplanes.

  The players had all disappeared. I guess they'd finally gotten tired of waiting for the press to leave, or maybe the press had decided they'd gotten tired of waiting for Axel to show up. If he wasn't coming down to the stadium, then they would go elsewhere. There were always new stories to be told, new “truths” to be uncovered.

  Butterflies scattered throughout my stomach, and I moaned. My hand moved to the wall as I bent over at the waist and stayed there until my nausea passed. I still didn't get why I was so sick all of a sudden. It had started a few days after I'd first slept with Axel. A lightbulb went off in my head. My feet stuck to the ground, and my breath caught in my chest.

  No. It can't be.

  Let me think, let me think, let me think. Um... I'd slept with Axel my first day at work. That had been how long ago now? Not t
hat long. Oh no, certainly not long enough to get morning sickness. I pulled my phone from my pocket and did a frantic Google search. HOW LONG TO FEEL PREGNANCY?

  A thousand answers filled my screen. Mommy blogs and parenting threads ran on and on before me. None of them gave me comfort: I felt it right away; implantation symptoms can begin within five days; I was throwing up the next day.

  Fuck me.

  Coach stepped out of his office, and I jumped about a foot into the air, throwing my phone across the room. It hit the wall beside him and fell to the floor. My screen was still lit up, and I could just make out the website I'd been surfing. Splashed across the homepage was a silhouette of a woman's bulging belly as she gently touched her hand to it.

  "Oh jeez," I laughed. "You scared me."

  "Sorry," Coach said. He kept walking, but halfway across the room, he paused and turned back to me. Something in the way I stood smiling must have caught his attention. I felt like one of those dolls with their mouths painted into a big, false smile. "You alright?" Coach asked, looking at me a little strangely.

  "Sure! Great!" I knew I sounded way too enthusiastic and tried to recover. "I mean, you know, okey-dokey."

  I laughed some more—a high-pitched nervous laugh—and Coach must've thought I was drunk or something. I didn't entirely blame him. Had I just seriously said, "okey-dokey?" What was I? Two? Coach started picking up the phone to hand it to me. I had a five-minute time out on my screen; the pregnancy boards I'd been reading screamed at me like a red balloon in a sea of white.

  "No!" I shouted, grabbing the phone from his hand before he had a chance to see it. I pulled so hard I nearly ripped one of his fingers off.

  "You okay, Wright?" he asked, jerking away from me.

  "Yep," I nodded, slipping the phone back into my pocket.

  Coach had a knack for reading people—you had to when you were a coach—but that didn't mean he was a mind reader. I tried to remind myself of that as he studied me. Just because my heart was pounding and my head was light didn't mean that Coach knew what was happening inside my body. Finally, he just said he'd see me around and went on his way.