Drew + Fable Forever
Page 7
She steps out from behind me, her jaw hanging open. “Infamous? Are you serious?”
Hell. This is the last thing I want.
“Well, yeah.” The guy smiles easily—I think his name is Joe? John?—and takes a step toward Fable. I throw out an arm, shielding her from him, but she gently pushes it away with a little snort. As if I’m ridiculous wanting to protect her. “Everyone wants to know more about Drew Callahan’s new wife.”
“I find that hard to believe. Wouldn’t you rather talk to Drew? He’s the famous football player.” She waves a hand in my direction.
“And you’re the famous football player’s beautiful and soon-to-be-equally-famous wife. The public is looking for any hint, any little bit of information they can get about you.” He smiles, full of easygoing charm. It’s a façade, I’m sure. The guy is as sharp as can be and as hungry as a starving tiger looking for prey. He’s eyeing Fable like she’s his next meal. “You should give me an exclusive. I’d love to talk to you. Find out more about you, about Drew and your relationship.”
She glances at me and I send her a stern glare, hoping she can read into the look I’m giving her that I don’t want her to do this. I’m sure she doesn’t want to either.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
I can’t f**king believe she just said that. “Give us a minute,” I tell the reporter, grabbing her arm and steering her away from him so he can’t overhear us. “Are you crazy?” I ask the moment we’re far enough away from him.
“What?” She extracts her arm from my grip, looking at me like I’m nuts. “I don’t see the big deal in talking to him.”
“He’s just trying to dig up information.” I slam my lips together. There’s a lot of information I don’t want anyone to ever find out about me and she knows this. She has her own secrets to hide. Letting a reporter in is like an open invitation for him to dig and dig and dig until he finds the real juicy dirt.
We’ve got a ton of it, too. Our past could fill up an entire book. Maybe two.
“I know. So instead of us hiding from the media all the time, we’re going to tell them only what we want them to hear.” She smiles, so brilliantly I feel like I’ve just been momentarily blinded. “Right?”
Ah. My girl is … so damn smart. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I know.” Her smile turns smug. “We give them a little bit of info and they’re happy. If we look like we’re hiding, then they’ll think we are. And then they’ll never leave us alone. We don’t want that, do we?”
“Hell no.” I grab her again and pull her into me, my arms tight around her waist as I kiss her soundly. So soundly she blinks up at me, her expression dazed when I finally pull my lips away from hers. “You’re sneaky. You know that?”
“I know. That’s why you married me.”
Chapter Six
Drew
A year later and my wife really is as famous as me. She’s been featured in magazines, the paparazzi stalk her, and it’s … it’s f**king ridiculous. Only during football season, though, when she’s more visible and attending the games. We tend to go into hiding during the off-season, go back home to spend time with Owen and our friends, spend time with each other. We go on vacations, short getaways. I never get enough alone time with her, though.
Is it selfish of me to admit I’m glad Owen’s in college now? He graduated high school last summer and despite Fable wishing he would apply to Stanford, he didn’t. The kid finally got on track, but he doesn’t follow everything his sister wants him to do. He’s completely focused, doing well both at football and in his classes, and he earned a football scholarship and is attending the same university that I did.
When I told him he didn’t need a scholarship and that I could pay for his schooling, he protested.
I want to do this on my own. I want to earn this. Let me.
No way could I protest that. More like I’d been proud. I felt like Fable and I actually did something right—and that something was raise Owen.
He’s much more independent; he has his own car, which I gave him as a graduation gift, and he’s still working at The District. Doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, though, and I told him that was a good thing. He doesn’t need a girl tying him down yet. He needs to focus on himself. Stay young. Be free.
Something I really didn’t do during my high school or college years. I had too much to hide, too much to be ashamed of. It shaded my entire high school experience. I was popular despite how withdrawn I was, but people only cared that I was some sort of football star. And the only thing I could really focus on and enjoy was football. It helped me forget.
Sometimes, it still does.
With Owen’s newfound independence comes Fable’s ability to loosen the motherly strings she has tied around him. She’s moved into the house near Santa Clara during football season and comes to my games. Finally we’re together again, so we can have some much needed alone time. She’s even started traveling with the team a few times, to out-of-town games.
And always, always the media is trailing after us, wanting more photos, more interviews, more, more, more. She’s been on the cover of magazines, mostly the gossipy ones but occasionally others, including a fashion magazine. She was interviewed for a two-page spread in People and on TV. Barbara Walters actually chose the two of us as part of her ten most fascinating people last year.
Freaking unbelievable.
It’s because Fable’s so damn gorgeous yet mysterious. She says a bunch of stuff without ever really saying anything at all. I thought I was a private person, but she puts the P in private, she’s so close-lipped. I’ll give myself some credit, though, and put us on equal footing for being so—ha—fascinating, considering the Niners almost made it to the Super Bowl during my first year as their quarterback. Me, the rookie nobody had any real faith in, almost took the team all the way, but we lost in the final game before the Super Bowl. That sucked. More than anything, that f**king hurt.
I have another chance, though. In fact, I have lots of them, what with many seasons ahead of me considering my multiyear contract. We came out strong at the beginning of this season and we’re still going for it. We’re back and we mean business. The team is on my side now; last year’s season confirmed it.
Plus, f**k it, I’m a nice guy. I’m not an egotistical ass. First, Fable would never let me act like that. And second, I’m not stupid. I need my team. Football is a team sport, for Christ’s sake. I’d be an idiot to shit all over my teammates and then expect them to be devoted to me and play well.
I’m waiting for Fable now in our hotel room. While I went to practice, she went and explored Boston with one of the other players’ wives. That’s another thing—my wife is out making friends, getting to know the other wives, becoming more social. She’s really opened up. She’s more confident, easier to laugh, easier to talk to someone she doesn’t know. Again, she’s a private person, but she’s become adept at putting on a public persona. She shows the world what they want to see.
But deep down, she’s still the sweet, fiercely protective girl I fell in love with. She’s still my Fable. My story. My life.
An idea comes to me, one so outrageous, so over the top, I know we have to do it. Fable will think I’m crazy but I don’t care. I’m excited just thinking about it.
The door suddenly swings open, interrupting my thoughts, and in walks Fable, carrying what looks like about fifty shopping bags on either arm. She huffs out a loud breath and I go to her, help her by taking some of the bags so I can set them on the bed.
“What the hell, did you buy all of Boston?” I ask incredulously, noting the store names scrawled across the bags. Expensive places, most of them. I guess she’s gotten over her fear of spending too much money.
Not that I’m protesting. I want her to have fun and buy whatever the hell she wants, whenever she wants it. She’s worth it.
With a laugh she dumps the remaining bags on the bed and then collapses on top of it, her arms thrown out wide, the bags starting to tumble over and fall on her. Her laughter grows and I grab the bags, dumping them on the floor so they’re not spilling all over her. “I had the best time. We went all over the place and had lunch. Amanda is so sweet, and so is Bryce.”
I frown and settle on the bed beside her, making the mattress dip so she slides toward me. “Who’s Bryce?”
“Her baby. Oh, Drew.” She sits up, her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing from the cold air outside. She looks excited, full of hope. “He’s so sweet and cute. Just a little doll. And so good-natured. He hardly cried at all and we were out shopping for hours.”
Uneasiness slips over me. “Right. I, uh, forgot Thomas has a new baby.” Jay Thomas is a great guy, but hell, he’s thirty years old. I still have a ways to go before I hit that age. I’m not ready for kids.
Am I?
No. I’m definitely not. Not yet.
For the longest time I could hardly take care of myself. How can I take on the responsibility of a baby? Yeah, I’ve helped raise Owen, but that’s different. He came into my life when he was fourteen. He could already pretty much take care of himself. And he’s not my child. Once you have a baby, it’s yours whether you like it or not. Completely dependent on you for the next eighteen-plus years.
A shiver moves through me at the thought.
“Yes, he’s adorable.” She sits up and takes my hand, her shoulder bumping against mine as she stares into my eyes. “Being with Amanda and Bryce made me realize something.”
“What?” I ask, my voice weak. I know exactly what she’s going to say. I’m not ready to hear it, though. I’m not ready for any of this.
“I want to try for a baby,” she says softly. “We should try now, don’t you think? If I get pregnant quick, I’d have the baby in the summer when you’re home and then I wouldn’t have to worry about you being away for a game or whatever when I go into labor. Now is the perfect time. The best time. I know we’re young and all, but we’ve been together for so long. I think the next natural step is having a baby. Don’t you? Don’t you want a baby boy that can carry on the name, or a baby girl you could spoil rotten?”
“Uh …”
“Amanda is young. She’s only twenty-five. But she loves being a mommy. She says Bryce is the best baby and besides, she has a nanny who can help out when she needs it,” Fable continues.
“You want a nanny?” I scratch the back of my neck, my brain overloaded with images of babies and nannies and diapers and crying and strollers and …
Shit.
“I don’t really think so,” she says with a frown, as if she was seriously contemplating it. “I probably don’t need one. I can handle taking care of the baby, especially since I don’t work.”
“You wouldn’t be able to travel with me as much,” I point out.
Her frown deepens. “True. But we’d adjust. And after we adjust, I’m sure I could travel with you and the baby. It would be fun, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” I shrug. “You know, we wouldn’t have each other all to ourselves anymore, and I’d miss that. I think you would too. Our lives would completely change. There’d be someone else we’d always have to consider.”
“We always have someone else to consider. Owen,” she reminds me.
“That’s different. He’s on his own now and he knows we’ll help him no matter what.” I wave a hand, getting up off the bed so I can start pacing in front of her. Back and forth, back and forth in front of the bed, my mind racing, panic slipping through my veins. “A baby needs constant care, Fable. It would be dependent on us. More like the baby would be dependent on you, because I won’t be around much. Are you ready for that?”
“Absolutely,” she says with utter conviction. “I can’t wait to have our baby, Drew. I want to have lots of babies with you.”
Lots of babies. Those three words send fear clawing up my throat. I stop my pacing and rest my hands on my h*ps as I stare at her, looking hopeful and puzzled as she sits on the edge of the bed.
“I’m not ready,” I blurt out, then clamp my lips shut, bracing myself for her reaction.
“What do you mean, you’re not ready?” She sounds genuinely confused.
“For babies. I love you, Fable, but my life is finally on track. I’m on top of my game—literally—I’m married to the best woman ever, and I’m still freaking young. I’m not ready for us to have a child yet.”
“No one’s ever really ready,” she starts, then drops her head so she can stare at her hands, which are clutched in her lap. “It scares me, too, you know. I’m the one who has to be pregnant, who has to carry and then deliver the baby.” A visible shiver runs through her.
My fear over having a baby switches to the fear of Fable pregnant and all the complications that could arise. Yeah. Never even thought of that. “We don’t need to have … any children, right?”
She stares at me, her eyes narrow, her mouth in a grim line. Great. I’m worried sick about her and I just pissed her off. “You don’t get it,” she mutters as she stands and storms off toward the bathroom. “All I want is a little piece of you, Drew. I want to create a family with you. You’re my husband; we’ve been together for a long time. It’s the natural progression, right?”
Hell. This is the last thing I want.
“Well, yeah.” The guy smiles easily—I think his name is Joe? John?—and takes a step toward Fable. I throw out an arm, shielding her from him, but she gently pushes it away with a little snort. As if I’m ridiculous wanting to protect her. “Everyone wants to know more about Drew Callahan’s new wife.”
“I find that hard to believe. Wouldn’t you rather talk to Drew? He’s the famous football player.” She waves a hand in my direction.
“And you’re the famous football player’s beautiful and soon-to-be-equally-famous wife. The public is looking for any hint, any little bit of information they can get about you.” He smiles, full of easygoing charm. It’s a façade, I’m sure. The guy is as sharp as can be and as hungry as a starving tiger looking for prey. He’s eyeing Fable like she’s his next meal. “You should give me an exclusive. I’d love to talk to you. Find out more about you, about Drew and your relationship.”
She glances at me and I send her a stern glare, hoping she can read into the look I’m giving her that I don’t want her to do this. I’m sure she doesn’t want to either.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
I can’t f**king believe she just said that. “Give us a minute,” I tell the reporter, grabbing her arm and steering her away from him so he can’t overhear us. “Are you crazy?” I ask the moment we’re far enough away from him.
“What?” She extracts her arm from my grip, looking at me like I’m nuts. “I don’t see the big deal in talking to him.”
“He’s just trying to dig up information.” I slam my lips together. There’s a lot of information I don’t want anyone to ever find out about me and she knows this. She has her own secrets to hide. Letting a reporter in is like an open invitation for him to dig and dig and dig until he finds the real juicy dirt.
We’ve got a ton of it, too. Our past could fill up an entire book. Maybe two.
“I know. So instead of us hiding from the media all the time, we’re going to tell them only what we want them to hear.” She smiles, so brilliantly I feel like I’ve just been momentarily blinded. “Right?”
Ah. My girl is … so damn smart. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I know.” Her smile turns smug. “We give them a little bit of info and they’re happy. If we look like we’re hiding, then they’ll think we are. And then they’ll never leave us alone. We don’t want that, do we?”
“Hell no.” I grab her again and pull her into me, my arms tight around her waist as I kiss her soundly. So soundly she blinks up at me, her expression dazed when I finally pull my lips away from hers. “You’re sneaky. You know that?”
“I know. That’s why you married me.”
Chapter Six
Drew
A year later and my wife really is as famous as me. She’s been featured in magazines, the paparazzi stalk her, and it’s … it’s f**king ridiculous. Only during football season, though, when she’s more visible and attending the games. We tend to go into hiding during the off-season, go back home to spend time with Owen and our friends, spend time with each other. We go on vacations, short getaways. I never get enough alone time with her, though.
Is it selfish of me to admit I’m glad Owen’s in college now? He graduated high school last summer and despite Fable wishing he would apply to Stanford, he didn’t. The kid finally got on track, but he doesn’t follow everything his sister wants him to do. He’s completely focused, doing well both at football and in his classes, and he earned a football scholarship and is attending the same university that I did.
When I told him he didn’t need a scholarship and that I could pay for his schooling, he protested.
I want to do this on my own. I want to earn this. Let me.
No way could I protest that. More like I’d been proud. I felt like Fable and I actually did something right—and that something was raise Owen.
He’s much more independent; he has his own car, which I gave him as a graduation gift, and he’s still working at The District. Doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, though, and I told him that was a good thing. He doesn’t need a girl tying him down yet. He needs to focus on himself. Stay young. Be free.
Something I really didn’t do during my high school or college years. I had too much to hide, too much to be ashamed of. It shaded my entire high school experience. I was popular despite how withdrawn I was, but people only cared that I was some sort of football star. And the only thing I could really focus on and enjoy was football. It helped me forget.
Sometimes, it still does.
With Owen’s newfound independence comes Fable’s ability to loosen the motherly strings she has tied around him. She’s moved into the house near Santa Clara during football season and comes to my games. Finally we’re together again, so we can have some much needed alone time. She’s even started traveling with the team a few times, to out-of-town games.
And always, always the media is trailing after us, wanting more photos, more interviews, more, more, more. She’s been on the cover of magazines, mostly the gossipy ones but occasionally others, including a fashion magazine. She was interviewed for a two-page spread in People and on TV. Barbara Walters actually chose the two of us as part of her ten most fascinating people last year.
Freaking unbelievable.
It’s because Fable’s so damn gorgeous yet mysterious. She says a bunch of stuff without ever really saying anything at all. I thought I was a private person, but she puts the P in private, she’s so close-lipped. I’ll give myself some credit, though, and put us on equal footing for being so—ha—fascinating, considering the Niners almost made it to the Super Bowl during my first year as their quarterback. Me, the rookie nobody had any real faith in, almost took the team all the way, but we lost in the final game before the Super Bowl. That sucked. More than anything, that f**king hurt.
I have another chance, though. In fact, I have lots of them, what with many seasons ahead of me considering my multiyear contract. We came out strong at the beginning of this season and we’re still going for it. We’re back and we mean business. The team is on my side now; last year’s season confirmed it.
Plus, f**k it, I’m a nice guy. I’m not an egotistical ass. First, Fable would never let me act like that. And second, I’m not stupid. I need my team. Football is a team sport, for Christ’s sake. I’d be an idiot to shit all over my teammates and then expect them to be devoted to me and play well.
I’m waiting for Fable now in our hotel room. While I went to practice, she went and explored Boston with one of the other players’ wives. That’s another thing—my wife is out making friends, getting to know the other wives, becoming more social. She’s really opened up. She’s more confident, easier to laugh, easier to talk to someone she doesn’t know. Again, she’s a private person, but she’s become adept at putting on a public persona. She shows the world what they want to see.
But deep down, she’s still the sweet, fiercely protective girl I fell in love with. She’s still my Fable. My story. My life.
An idea comes to me, one so outrageous, so over the top, I know we have to do it. Fable will think I’m crazy but I don’t care. I’m excited just thinking about it.
The door suddenly swings open, interrupting my thoughts, and in walks Fable, carrying what looks like about fifty shopping bags on either arm. She huffs out a loud breath and I go to her, help her by taking some of the bags so I can set them on the bed.
“What the hell, did you buy all of Boston?” I ask incredulously, noting the store names scrawled across the bags. Expensive places, most of them. I guess she’s gotten over her fear of spending too much money.
Not that I’m protesting. I want her to have fun and buy whatever the hell she wants, whenever she wants it. She’s worth it.
With a laugh she dumps the remaining bags on the bed and then collapses on top of it, her arms thrown out wide, the bags starting to tumble over and fall on her. Her laughter grows and I grab the bags, dumping them on the floor so they’re not spilling all over her. “I had the best time. We went all over the place and had lunch. Amanda is so sweet, and so is Bryce.”
I frown and settle on the bed beside her, making the mattress dip so she slides toward me. “Who’s Bryce?”
“Her baby. Oh, Drew.” She sits up, her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing from the cold air outside. She looks excited, full of hope. “He’s so sweet and cute. Just a little doll. And so good-natured. He hardly cried at all and we were out shopping for hours.”
Uneasiness slips over me. “Right. I, uh, forgot Thomas has a new baby.” Jay Thomas is a great guy, but hell, he’s thirty years old. I still have a ways to go before I hit that age. I’m not ready for kids.
Am I?
No. I’m definitely not. Not yet.
For the longest time I could hardly take care of myself. How can I take on the responsibility of a baby? Yeah, I’ve helped raise Owen, but that’s different. He came into my life when he was fourteen. He could already pretty much take care of himself. And he’s not my child. Once you have a baby, it’s yours whether you like it or not. Completely dependent on you for the next eighteen-plus years.
A shiver moves through me at the thought.
“Yes, he’s adorable.” She sits up and takes my hand, her shoulder bumping against mine as she stares into my eyes. “Being with Amanda and Bryce made me realize something.”
“What?” I ask, my voice weak. I know exactly what she’s going to say. I’m not ready to hear it, though. I’m not ready for any of this.
“I want to try for a baby,” she says softly. “We should try now, don’t you think? If I get pregnant quick, I’d have the baby in the summer when you’re home and then I wouldn’t have to worry about you being away for a game or whatever when I go into labor. Now is the perfect time. The best time. I know we’re young and all, but we’ve been together for so long. I think the next natural step is having a baby. Don’t you? Don’t you want a baby boy that can carry on the name, or a baby girl you could spoil rotten?”
“Uh …”
“Amanda is young. She’s only twenty-five. But she loves being a mommy. She says Bryce is the best baby and besides, she has a nanny who can help out when she needs it,” Fable continues.
“You want a nanny?” I scratch the back of my neck, my brain overloaded with images of babies and nannies and diapers and crying and strollers and …
Shit.
“I don’t really think so,” she says with a frown, as if she was seriously contemplating it. “I probably don’t need one. I can handle taking care of the baby, especially since I don’t work.”
“You wouldn’t be able to travel with me as much,” I point out.
Her frown deepens. “True. But we’d adjust. And after we adjust, I’m sure I could travel with you and the baby. It would be fun, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” I shrug. “You know, we wouldn’t have each other all to ourselves anymore, and I’d miss that. I think you would too. Our lives would completely change. There’d be someone else we’d always have to consider.”
“We always have someone else to consider. Owen,” she reminds me.
“That’s different. He’s on his own now and he knows we’ll help him no matter what.” I wave a hand, getting up off the bed so I can start pacing in front of her. Back and forth, back and forth in front of the bed, my mind racing, panic slipping through my veins. “A baby needs constant care, Fable. It would be dependent on us. More like the baby would be dependent on you, because I won’t be around much. Are you ready for that?”
“Absolutely,” she says with utter conviction. “I can’t wait to have our baby, Drew. I want to have lots of babies with you.”
Lots of babies. Those three words send fear clawing up my throat. I stop my pacing and rest my hands on my h*ps as I stare at her, looking hopeful and puzzled as she sits on the edge of the bed.
“I’m not ready,” I blurt out, then clamp my lips shut, bracing myself for her reaction.
“What do you mean, you’re not ready?” She sounds genuinely confused.
“For babies. I love you, Fable, but my life is finally on track. I’m on top of my game—literally—I’m married to the best woman ever, and I’m still freaking young. I’m not ready for us to have a child yet.”
“No one’s ever really ready,” she starts, then drops her head so she can stare at her hands, which are clutched in her lap. “It scares me, too, you know. I’m the one who has to be pregnant, who has to carry and then deliver the baby.” A visible shiver runs through her.
My fear over having a baby switches to the fear of Fable pregnant and all the complications that could arise. Yeah. Never even thought of that. “We don’t need to have … any children, right?”
She stares at me, her eyes narrow, her mouth in a grim line. Great. I’m worried sick about her and I just pissed her off. “You don’t get it,” she mutters as she stands and storms off toward the bathroom. “All I want is a little piece of you, Drew. I want to create a family with you. You’re my husband; we’ve been together for a long time. It’s the natural progression, right?”
