Chapter 52 Desiree Dixon

Picking Out Paintings

“What do you think about this one?” my mom asks, flashing her phone at me to show me a painting she wants to buy me for the baby’s room once I figure out what house I want to buy. We’re standing in her kitchen, and I tilt my head as I study the painting.

I think part of the reason why I can’t find a place is because I keep thinking about what the future holds. I can’t move into a house where I can’t picture Asher, me, and our baby, but there are so many uncertainties right now.

It’s easier to stay with my parents for now.

Truth be told, the painting she’s showing me is a little gaudy. We have completely different styles, I guess, and I’m trying to figure out a diplomatic way of saying that when I see an incoming call on her phone. “Oh, Dad’s calling.”

Her brows push together as she looks at me with a bit of worry. “He should be at practice. Why would he be calling me?”

She scrambles to pick up the call. “Bill?”

I hear his voice as plain as day through her phone in the silence of the house.

“Are you with Desiree?” he asks.

Her eyes edge to me. “Yes. Why?”

“Ask her about Asher Nash,” he says, and his voice may be a bit tinny and muffled through the wrong side of the phone speaker, but I can still hear the anger in his voice.

Oh, shit.

He knows.

How does he know?

And why on earth would Asher tell him the truth without me there?

“I need to get to practice,” he says, and the anger is still there through the gruffness.

“Wait! What’s going on, Bill?” my mom asks.

“Just ask her.” He ends the call, and she slowly lowers the phone as I close my eyes and brace myself.

“He said to ask you about Ash—” she begins, but I shake my head a little and cut her off.

“He’s the father,” I say quietly.

Her jaw drops. “The…”

“Father,” I finish, resting a protective hand over my stomach that’s starting to feel bloated but not quite showing yet. “And I have no idea how or why dad found out, but it seems as though he did.”

“Oh, Desi,” she says, and she pulls me into a hug as I start to cry.

“I wanted to wait until the end of the season,” I blubber. “I didn’t want to distract Dad with this news, and I don’t want him to be hard on Asher because of it.”

“He won’t be. He’s fair and impartial,” she assures me, and yes, while I would typically agree with that, he’s also never been in a situation like this before.

I can’t imagine he’s going to remain that way knowing a man he trusted was the one who was sneaking around banging his daughter.

I don’t say that to my mom, obviously.

“What is this with him?” she asks. “If you want to talk about it.”

I wander over to the kitchen table and pull out one of the chairs as I blow out a breath and sit. “I hated keeping it from you, but I hope you can see now why I had to.”

“Of course I do. You could’ve told me. I wouldn’t have said anything to Dad,” she gently scolds as she slides into the chair next to me and sets her hand over mine.

“I know, but I didn’t want to put you in that position.” I sigh. “I think I’m in love with him, Mom.”

Her lips tip up as her eyes soften. “And Asher?”

“He’s said the words to me. I was too scared to say them back. It’s…well, it’s a long story.”

“Start at the beginning,” she suggests.

And so I do.

I tell her about the charity ball and how I ended up in the seat that was supposed to be for his date, and how we didn’t see each other for months after that. I leave out the hot sex, but I tell her about how he tried to stay away out of respect for my dad, but we couldn’t fight against our connection. I tell her about how we got closer and closer until one day he walked away and left me devastated, but then he came back the same day I found out I was having his baby, and he vowed to be here for both of us. “And that’s when he told me he loves me. We agreed we’d see each other in secret until the end of the season.”

“I can see why you’d be scared, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that you shouldn’t let the moment pass you by.” Her voice is soft.

“What made you learn that?” I ask more out of curiosity than out of nosiness. I lean my elbows on the table despite the manners ingrained in me since birth.

She sighs softly. “It wasn’t always easy with your dad. He asked for my number when I was in the stands. You know that part of the story. But he wasn’t a commitment kind of guy, and I think that’s why he was scared for you to be with a football player. He thinks they’re all like him, but even he changed his life around when he found the woman he was meant to be with.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “And I have no doubt that Asher will do the same for you. Asher came back to you all on his own. Your dad…” She shakes her head a little as she trails off. “Well, let’s say he wasn’t as smart back then as he is now.” She winks at me. “And I take all the credit for being the one to fix that.”

I laugh. “What happened?”

“Oh, he ran scared, and I had to exercise extreme patience with him. I very nearly gave up and walked away. But it all worked out in the end.”

“What fixed it?”

She clears her throat. “Another man proposed to me.”

My jaw drops. “Who?”

She laughs. “Jerry O’Callahan.”

“Jerry O’Callahan?” I breathe as I repeat the name of the Director of Operations for Berkshire.

“My parents loved him. They wanted me to end up with him. He came from old money, and he was a businessman. But he didn’t give me butterflies the way your dad did. I wasn’t in love with him, and I very nearly accepted his proposal. But eventually your dad got off his butt and figured out he was about to lose me to another man.”

“And that’s how you learned not to let the moment pass you by?”

She presses her lips together and nods. “Basically, yes. Or…your dad learned it, anyway.” She lifts a shoulder. “And now look where we are. Thirty years later, and it’s been a pretty darn good run for us so far.”

I consider that. They’re ten years shy of Asher’s parents’ length of marriage. Where will they be in another decade?

They’re still as in love now as they ever were. I can’t imagine a future where they decide to part ways, and I don’t think Asher would’ve been able to say the same a decade ago about his own parents.

But our parents’ paths aren’t our paths. This is our story to write, and I think my mom is right.

Even though I’m a little confused and hurt that Asher told my dad without me there, I still trust that there’s some explanation as to why. And I trust that as soon as he’s able to, he’ll clue me in on what that is.

In the meantime, I’ll look for paintings with my mom that I can hang up in my baby’s bedroom.