16. Noah

16

Alan calls, says he's in town and wants to stop by. Of course, I tell him yes because I'm a guy and I don't think about things, like how there are a hundred and one pregnancy magazines all over the living room or how the garbage is full, as is the sink because Peyton and I haven't moved from the movie room in a couple of days. She wanted to watch movies like Three Men and a Baby, and some others. I was happy to oblige her in every way possible.

Now, we're frantic. Peyton yells at me for moving slowly but honestly, I'm not sure what she wants me to clean. She thinks our house is dirty. It's not. Especially after I load the dishwasher and turn it on. I also gathered her magazines and put them in our bedroom. Sure, we haven't made the bed yet, but Alan is definitely not going in there.

"Babe," I say when she tries to brush past me. "Take a deep breath."

"It's perception, Noah. Alan's only ever been to our apartment. He's going to come in here and think we live like pigs."

"The apartment in Portland is clean because we're never home and have a maid. Here is where we live. This house looks lived in."

Peyton looks off to the side. "Should I hire a maid? I should. Shouldn't I? A professional would have this place clean in minutes compared to the hours it's going to take me. Yeah, that's what I'll do."

I have to wait for her to stop talking to and answering herself. "If we want to hire someone, we will. Tomorrow. Right now, Alan is coming over. Hopefully with good news."

"Right. I'm going to place an order for groceries because the refrigerator is empty. You know, because we don't go to the store."

"We're going to have to get better about some of this stuff, aren't we?" I run my hand through my hair and sigh.

Peyton frowns and places her hand over her stomach. "Yeah. We're going to have to be super adults."

"Shit," I mutter, and she starts laughing. "Not to mention we're going to have to watch our language."

"You"—Peyton jabs her finger into my chest and leaves it here—"have to watch your language. I'm perfect."

I grab her wrist and pull her roughly to me. "You like to say some pretty colorful things when we're?—"

"Noah Westbury if you finish that sentence, so help me?—"

"You'll what, babe? Spank me?"

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hand only to pause mid-swing when the doorbell chimes. As if on cue Stevie Nicks barks, and then she barks again having realized that she does in fact make that noise. It's been cute watching her develop her bark. The first time she did it, she looked around at us, unsure if that was her or us.

"We're going to have to train her not to bark."

"Yes and no. I want her to alert us when she's uncomfortable. Especially if someone's near the house or you and the baby. But I agree, she doesn't need to bark at every little thing."

"Go get the door before she thinks this is a game." Peyton kisses me and then goes to hold Stevie Nicks from running out the front door.

"Alan!" My agent stands there, looking around at the landscape, dressed in a three-piece suit and wearing aviators. I have a few choice things to say but bite my tongue. This guy is supposed to have my best interests at heart, but there are times when I wonder if he does or if he's only looking out for his commission.

We shake hands and I step aside to let him in. Long gone are the days of briefcases and satchels. Now everything is done on the phone or tablet, which he carries in his hand.

"Hey, Peyton," Alan says when she steps into the foyer, carrying our pup.

"Hi, Alan."

"Who's this?" he asks.

"Stevie Nicks," Peyton says.

"Hi, Stevie."

"Gotta add the Nicks part," I tell him. "We're doing the full name as one name."

Alan looks at me oddly, and I shrug. "We're keeping up with the trends, Alan."

He goes back to petting the dog for a bit.

"Is this, sit in the living room kind of business, or dining room table?" I ask Alan.

"Living room is fine," he says.

Peyton sets Stevie Nicks down and tells her not to jump. Alan asks some questions about her, which we answer on our way into the living room.

"Alan, can I get you anything?" Peyton offers.

"Water is fine. This won't take long."

His statement gives me pause. Why would he be in California if what he's about to say or show me won't take long? He could've called from his high rise in New York if that's the case. Still, we sit, and I say nothing until my wife is back in the room. Any decision I make, I make with her by my side. We are a team.

"Why are you here?" I ask as Peyton returns with three glasses of water. "Thanks, babe," I say when she hands me mine. When she sits down, she's next to me, with her hand on my thigh. It's comforting.

"I've been pounding the pavement, so to speak," he says. "There are four teams interested in you, who plan to make a run for you at the deadline. This means a mid-season switch, or you wait out your contract and see if the offers are still the same."

I cringe at words because it's unprecedented for a starting QB to leave mid-season. Every other position, yes, but not the leader on the field. And then it hits me.

"Have you spoken to the Pioneers?"

Alan shakes his head. "They're not returning my calls."

I glance at Peyton. She smiles softly, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I know she's worried. Hell, so am I.

"What are my options?"

Alan sits back and crosses his ankle over his knee. "Demand a trade, sit out until the deadline, or play your last year in Portland and hope for the best."

"The latter is a gamble." While we like to think we're invincible, our bodies are not. We take hit after hit and recover "enough." Never fully. Something always hurts, creaks, or aches to the point where you can't move.

"Peyton," Alan says her name to get her attention. "Have they said anything to you?"

She shakes her head. "I wouldn't ask either and if I did, I wouldn't expect them to be honest with me."

"What if I retire?"

Alan's mouth drops open. "Seriously?"

I shrug. "Why not?"

"Well, for one, you're at the top of the game."

"If that was the case, the Pioneers would be all over my shit, either signing me to a new contract or trying to trade me for top dollar. They're not. So, clearly, I'm past my prime."

"Ridiculous," Alan says. "These teams want you." He shows me his tablet and the four teams who have expressed interest in me.

I shake my head. "Two of them drafted QBs in the last two years. They want me as a back-up." I glance at Peyton, and she tries to smile again. Baseball looks pretty good right now. Either that or coaching with Nick. "I think retirement is at the forefront of my mind," I tell Alan. "But I'll let you know before the season starts for sure."

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

I nod and stand.

Alan stands and shakes my hand. "All right. I'll keep working though so when you come to your senses, we'll have an avenue."

"Thanks." I walk him to the door, hold it open as he steps out.

He turns. "You're young, Noah. Teams want you."

"Just not as someone to lead their team. I need to let that sink in for a bit, Alan. I'll be in touch." I shut the door and rest my head against it. Seconds later, Peyton's arms wrap around me from behind and she rests her head in the middle of my back. We stay like this for a bit, just being one with our thoughts. I have a feeling I know what she's thinking, just as she probably has my thoughts all figure out.

"I'm sorry, Noah."

I sigh heavily and grip her wrist and tug her hand, so I can turn and face her. "You're the analyst. What did I do wrong?"

"You know I would've told you," she says. I believe her, but still feel like something is missing.

"Do you think you missed something?" I know she didn't, but I ask anyway.

"Let's go watch a game film," she says as she tugs me toward our media room. I sit in the chair, waiting for a game to come on screen. She finally sits next to me, with the remote in her hand, and gives me a stack of papers. "These are your game notes," she says as she presses play.

On the screen is a condensed version of one of our games. It's whistle to whistle, no commentary, commercials, or delays. Just the teams and the officials.

Peyton lets it play for a moment and then stops it. She stands and goes to the screen. "Here, you miss stepped and you released the ball too early, causing Julius to reroute slightly. If you had hit him in stride, he had an easy shot to the end zone. With this play, it took you five more downs to score."

I look down and read her notes. They're verbatim to what she just said.

"Here, Julius didn't run the route correctly. You noticed and hit him in stride. However, Chase thought the throw was for him. He leapt and fumbled."

Again, her notes say the same exact thing.

"Okay, enough."

"Are you sure?"

"Come here."

She does and I pull her onto my lap. She straddles my thighs. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

Peyton runs her fingers through my hair. "Stop doubting yourself," she says. "Just because Logan doesn't want to sign you again, doesn't mean you're not one of the best quarterbacks out there. Logan's an idiot."

"He's your boss." I point out.

"He doesn't know the difference between a zone defense and man coverage. He thinks the defense just chases people around. I don't even know how he got hired."

"Maybe you should take his job."

She shakes her head. "It's not something I want. I'd be less involved and if I'm going to work, I want to be where the action is."

My hand slides under her shirt and up her back. I look into her eyes. "Is this okay?" I ask as my fingers play with the clasp of her bra. She nods and I slide the hooks loose, moving my hands quickly to pull her shirt over her head, along with her bra.

"Do they still hurt?" I press my lips to her breasts, mindful of the soreness she's talked about previously.

"Some, but that feels good." Peyton holds my head, keeping me near her chest. We haven't been intimate since . . . well shit I don't even know because I've made it a point to respect the changes her body is going through. I don't pretend to imagine or understand the emotions she's feeling right now. It's funny because I've never considered myself to be a patient man, but it seems I am.

Peyton grinds against my hard cock. I let out a strangled groan crossed with a hiss and bury my face between her tits. Her reaction is immediate and instinctive as she tilts her head back, a soft moan escaping from her parted lips. Her hands roam over me, tugging at my shirt until I give her enough space to take it off. Nails dig into my skin and then softly trace the contours of my back.

"I've missed us like this," I say into her flesh, reddened by my stubble. Her perfume fills my senses, a tantalizing mix of floral and all Peyton. Her fingers move from my back and into my hair, tugging harshly. She presses harder into me. The friction sends my mind reeling.

"Let's go to our room," I say against her flesh as I start to push us out of the chair.

"No, here. Now."

I am not one to tell my wife no and start maneuvering my joggers and boxers down until my cock springs free. Peyton grips my shaft, giving me a solid pump before sliding off my lap to take her shorts off.

For a moment, I stare at her. Taking her all in. I'm the only one, besides her, who can see the tiny bump starting to form. Every day, I've taken a photo of her, to mark the growth of our child. I reach for her, bringing her closer to me and place my lips on her belly. I don't know how I got so lucky, to be her husband and the father of her child. As cheesy as it sounds, she completes me.

"Babe," she whispers as her fingers brush through my hair. I pull away from kissing along her tan line and look at her. "I need you."

Peyton will never grasp the magnitude of what those words . . . hell, what any of the things she says to me mean. I sit back and bring her forward, again straddling me. She grabs a hold of my cock, strokes me a few times and then hovers over the tip. Painstakingly slowly, she takes me in. Inch by inch, until she lets out a contented sigh, and despite the disappointment I felt earlier with Alan, this feels right. Being home is where I'm meant to be.