CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RILEY

Since I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon and I don’t feel like explaining why I’m not on vacation to anyone at work, I stay holed up in my apartment. With the bags of groceries Walker had delivered, it means I don’t have to leave all week if I don’t want to.

I’m touched by the gesture, especially since he ordered all the foods I love. Berries and bananas, fresh vegetables, and protein. He even ordered a box of Cheerios and two gallons of milk. I chuckled at first. There’s no way I can drink two gallons by myself.

I understand the message though. After what he witnessed yesterday, I’m sure he’s worried I’m not taking care of myself, thus hurting the baby. Even though my appetite is gone, I make myself a bowl of cereal and slice a banana on top.

Normally, I’d rather read over watching television, but I don’t have the mental capacity to focus on the words, so I turn on the TV for a day of staring mindlessly while I binge watch reality shows.

The local news is covering an upcoming event, and I make a note to contact them for more coverage for the 5K this fall.

“Curtis. We hear you have breaking news in the world of sports. We’ve got good news coming to Boston, don’t we?” Monica, the news anchor, leads as the camera cuts to Curtis Pennington, the local sports reporter.

“We sure do, Monica.” The camera zooms to Pennington and I absently shovel cereal into my mouth. “Boston Revolutions’ GM Shawn Saunders reported this morning that they signed San Francisco's star running back, Walker Bankes, onto their roster.”

I drop my spoon in my bowl and don’t even care about the milk that splashes on my lap. The camera cuts to a press conference with Walker, Saunders, and the Revolutions’ head coach, Danny Hayes.

The room is filled with reporters, and the sound of cameras clicking, and constant chatter fills the air until Walker leans into the microphone. “Thank you for such a warm welcome. I’m thrilled to be here in Boston.”

My heart races in my chest and I feel my cheeks warm. He looks good. So good. His warm smile fills the screen and he plays with the bill of his Boston Revolutions’ baseball hat.

“Miami and Dallas were offering you twice what Boston is paying you. What made you decide to low ball it?” a reporter asks.

I cover my mouth with my hand and try to slow my breathing before my heart beats out of my chest. Was this why he came to the city so many times over the past two months? To negotiate? But why would he settle for less money?

“It would be insulting to the millions of hard-working Americans to complain about the salary I’ll be earning. I chose to be here. I want to be here. Money shouldn’t always be the end goal.”

More cameras click and reporters ask about his teammates in San Francisco, if he left on good terms, and who he’d like to see join him in Boston. I don’t realize I have tears in my eyes until the television blurs in front of me.

I wipe my eyes and take advantage of having Walker on the screen in front of me, studying all his features. Those stormy eyes and the slight wave in the front of his hair that is past due for a haircut.

“You have family in New England. Is that why you decided to settle for less money? To be closer to home?”

Walker keeps his charming smile fixed on the reporter who asked the question, but I can tell by his slow blink and the way his throat moves as he swallows that he doesn’t like answering questions about his family.

Hell, he didn’t even talk to me about them. Not that it would surprise me now. He hates me. Despises me. And I can’t blame him.

I wait at the edge of my seat for his response. In reality, it’s only seconds, but in my mind, and I’m sure in his, it takes forever for him to speak.

“Boston is a beautiful city, and the Revolutions are a respected team. It’s my honor to play for coach Danny and Shawn Saunders. I hope to make them and all the Revolutions fans proud of number thirty-three.” He winks to the camera, touches the tip of his cap and walks away from the podium.

When the news cuts back to the sports anchor, I turn off the television. Walker is here to stay. All the times he came to Boston, it was to meet with the team. I’m sure of it. I understand why he kept his career a secret. I can’t imagine how many women throw themselves at him purely for how handsome and sexy he is.

Add in his status as an NFL player and the millions that he earns, and that equals gold diggers and fake women and men who want to befriend him for the wrong reasons.

I don’t blame him for keeping his identity a secret, and it explains some of the looks he gets when we’re in public. From the women, it’s a no brainer. He’s beautiful. From the men, they must have recognized him.

Since Boston isn’t in the same division as San Francisco, we don’t hear as much about their players.

I can’t help but wonder if his decision to play here is partly because of me. Yeah, right. I don’t mean that much to him. If I did, he wouldn’t have treated me so coldly yesterday. Not that I blame him for that either. He thinks I purposely got pregnant. I couldn’t deny it completely. The thought entered my mind.

Jackson and Kendall pushed the idea, and I liked it. Not that I can blame them either. No one else was in the room with Walker and me when we had sex. But I was honest with Walker. I didn’t lie about not being protected, even if I thought about it for a hot minute.

Whatever happened in the past, we need to move forward.

Walker living in Boston will make it easier and harder. He still hasn’t responded to my texts I sent yesterday, and Jackson’s visit last night didn’t do much to fix the rift between Walker and me.

Jackson said his father will be fine with it all, but I could tell he was holding back. Sebastian Bankes doesn’t strike me as a man who will let the monstrosity that happened this past weekend slide. To him, his pride was damaged. Embarrassed in front of three hundred business associates.

I could count on one hand how many people I knew, and other than Walker, they were standing up front with us. Jackson will still need to marry before his birthday at the end of September, if collecting his inheritance is important to him.

I hope Taylor is able to break free from his toxic work environment. He’s incredibly intelligent, and from what I’ve seen, an amazing lawyer. He doesn’t need to work for a firm who isn’t accepting of others. He should be with the man he loves, not a company that doesn’t treat him right.

The small confines of my apartment are making me claustrophobic.

I pick up my bowl and wipe the spilled milk with a paper towel, then change into leggings and sneakers and go for a walk.

The city air clears my mind to a certain degree. I still have no idea what my future holds. If Walker will ever talk to me again, if I can keep Boston Strong afloat, if Jackson and Taylor will marry. And most importantly, the future of the child that grows in my belly.

I walk for an hour, and when I’m back at my apartment, I make an appointment with my OBGYN. They can’t see me for another week, but that will put me at the eleven-week mark, which is close to when they typically see patients anyway.

Stepping into my shower, I wonder if Walker will want to come with me. Or if he’s moved to Boston full time yet. Preseason training camps start in July, which means he could be back in San Francisco until then.

After I dry off and change into comfortable clothes, I sit on my couch with my laptop and work on marketing and fundraising for the 5K. The fifty thousand dollars by the anonymous donor has made planning for the event and the future for many children much easier.

Jackson adamantly denied donating the money. When I think back to the date of the deposit and what I was doing that day, my cheeks burn. I’d just told Walker about the stress of finding funding and donors, and we had sex on my conference table. We didn’t use protection, and we both were spent not only from the orgasms but from the meaning behind it.

Having unprotected sex meant there was a level of trust and respect between us. Trust and respect that I’ve since lost. At the time, it was a tipping point for our relationship. I realized I was in too deep and needed to pull back, and Walker became more...everything.

He’d texted me regularly from California. Our flirting intensified. The length of our calls increased. I fell so damn hard, and then realized I was leading us down a path of destruction and had to pull back.

I’d ignored his calls and texts to give us the space we needed. And that backfired as well. He’d made it clear through his actions and roundabout words that he cared for me. Now that I’ve learned he's financially able, there’s no doubt he’s the anonymous donor of fifty thousand dollars.

My chest tightens. Walker is so sweet. So kind. He isn’t generous for the recognition or for the accolades. I Google him and read about all the charities he donates to, but more importantly, the time he gives.

All involve children. Parentless children. He may have two living, breathing, wealthy parents, but they’re dead to him. Their fault, not his, I realize now. The time he’s volunteered in his nine years in the NFL is spent with children in foster care or in single family homes where the parent isn’t available emotionally or literally because of financial reasons.

It’s similar to how I’ve given back, only, my charity goes to those who can’t afford the extra training support to move them ahead in athletics. Those from wealthy, supportive families have an unfair advantage.

You could say Walker is one of those. His family sent him to one of the best prep schools on the east coast, which helped him get into a division 1 college and eventually the NFL, but he never had the parent support.

I read more articles about Walker Bankes, and they all say more of the same. A quiet, respected leader in every organization he’s played for. His teammates look up to him, but there’s little coverage of his social life.

No women hanging off his arm. No social media pictures of him partying at bars after a big playoff win. No women at charity events. No mention of a family, but no hedging about them being the assholes they are. Just nothing.

The media attention is positive and focused on his charities. That’s rare to find. Granted, since Walker doesn’t have any social media accounts of his own, it’s hard to pin anything on him other than hearsay.

I find one article that attempted to dig into his family history. All it says is that he’s the son of Sebastian Bankes, a fortune 500 CEO, and brother of Jackson Bankes, CFO of Bankes Inc.. Lydia is praised for her philanthropy. There’s no dirt on his parents or brother, thankfully. There are no interviews with his family, who I assume have declined all offers.

At least they’re not bad mouthing their son.

Walker is the best of them. I mean, Jackson is awesome too. This little baby of mine is so fortunate to have an uncle and a father of their caliber. Not necessarily financially, but of high moral character.

I close my laptop, heat up a bowl of soup, and make a grilled cheese sandwich. I stare at my phone while I eat, contemplating if I should reach out to him again. Even though it’s futile and I’ll ignore the advice I don’t want to take, I message the girls in a group chat and ask their opinions.

KENDALL: Yeah. You should tell him about the appointment. Don’t ask him if he can make it. Just inform.

ROWAN: Agreed, but you should let him know you’d like him to come.

KENDALL: Walker coming is what got her into this mess.

ROWAN: *eye roll*

I snort and text them back.

ME: I love you guys.

KENDALL: Uh oh. She’s sentimental. Pregnancy hormones?

I read through my work emails for another hour then make something to eat. When I’m done delaying the inevitable, I text Walker.

ME: I have a doctor’s appointment next Monday at ten. I can give you the address and name of my doctor if you want.

Less than a minute after I hit send, he replies.

OH GOD: Sure.

I don’t ask him what he means by that. If he doesn’t mind having the information or if he plans on coming. Instead of asking and sounding desperate, I send him the information and wait for a reply.

He doesn’t respond right away.

There’s nothing from him an hour later.

When I climb into bed and plug in my phone, there’s still nothing from him.

And four days later, when I park outside the women’s clinic and he still hasn’t replied, the last thing I expect is to find him in the waiting room.