by Sarina Bowen
Maybe there’s a child out there somewhere who doesn’t have even that much. A child who’s in an even worse situation.
A child who needs me.
“Here you go.” She hands back my notebook. “My name is Clara, by the way.”
“Thank you, Clara. I’m Bess.”
“I also wrote down my phone number. If you need to talk it through, you call me some night after eight, okay? I’m happy to tell you what I learned.”
“Really?” My voice cracks. “I’d like to do that.”
She smiles at me. “It’s a difficult, wonderful experience. Think it over.”
“There’s no doubt that I will.”
When her husband comes back with room keys a few minutes later, I watch him pick the sleeping boy up off his mother’s lap and tuck him against his chest.
Something clicks into place inside me. Something big.
I pull out a notebook, flip to the first clean page, and start scribbling.
Thirty-Three
Room 412
Tank
“Oh God,” Georgia Trevi says, staring at her phone. “I can’t believe he did that.”
I’m shoving a chip covered in queso into my mouth, so it’s Trevi who has to ask, “What’s the matter, honey?” He looks over her shoulder. “Bart Palacio doesn’t have anything better to do than yap on Twitter?”
“He says: Actually, we won that game. With better referees, and no bad penalty calls, it was 1-0 in our favor.” She groans. “He’s the Donald Trump of hockey.”
“Don’t waste another minute on him,” I say. “He’s not worth it.”
“Tank has a point, baby,” Leo agrees. “Come play darts with me. Looks like Heidi just beat Castro.”
Of course she did.
I shove another chip into my mouth and scan the party. There are throngs of jubilant hockey players and a few wives and girlfriends. But I don’t spot any shockingly red hair anywhere, and I don’t have any messages from Bess on my phone.
That’s strange. I didn’t dream her, did I?
“Hey!” Anton Bayer claps a hand onto my shoulder. “You’re just the man I was looking for.”
“How’s that?”
“I got a song I need to sing for you.”
“A song?” That’s a frightening idea. The man is wearing a guitar, though, so I guess he’s serious. “What did I do to deserve this honor?”
“You beat Dallas, man!” Castro says. “We live for this. You took Palacio down in front of the whole fucking world.”
“Baby Bayer likes to write songs to show his appreciation,” O’Doul explains. “Just roll with it.”
“Okay?” I glance around one more time, hoping to spot Bess, but she’s nowhere in view.
Anton starts strumming an intro. And since I lived in Dallas all those years, I know the song immediately. It’s Deep In the Heart of Texas. But when he starts to sing, I realize he’s changed all the lyrics. “The stars at night are not very bright!”
Right on cue, Castro, Trevi, O’Doul and some others let out the series of four fast claps that come with this iconic song.
“Deep in this parrrrrt of Texas,” sings Anton.
I groan, and everyone else cracks up.
“The locker room has a strange perfume…” Clap clap clap clap. “Deep in this part of Texas.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” I chuckle.
But he keeps on singing.
“They skate too slow and their slapshots blow…” Clap clap clap clap. “Deep in this part of Texas.”
The rhyming gets—if possible—even more dubious. Anton rhymes “moron” with “score on” and “hockey with cocky.”
He’s a big goofball. I’m loving it. But then the last line knocks me for a loop.
“They’re a bunch of twits who traded Tankiewicz…” Clap clap clap clap. “Deep in this parrrrrt of Texas!” He lets out a whoop. “Welcome to Brooklyn, man! Except for the excellent cheese dip, you’re better off with us.”
Everyone cheers. I feel my face getting red, because somewhere over the last couple of difficult years I forgot how to take a compliment. “Thank you, Anton,” I manage to say, even though my throat is tight. “Who knew you were so multitalented? My only other gig is modeling underwear. Some night when we’ve had more tequila I’ll demonstrate.”
“YES!” Heidi Jo shrieks while every hockey player yells “Noooo” at the same time.
“That was awesome,” Becca says, grinning from ear to ear. She puts a hand on my arm. “It’s official, Tank. You’re one of us now. How come you don’t have a margarita?”
“I was just about to take care of that,” I assure her. “But first I was wondering if you saw Bess tonight?”
“Oh yes! She flew down to Dallas on the jet with us. We had a two hour meeting about my secret project. Then, after the game, she helped me set up this room.” Becca glances around. “Check the lobby? She said something about having to return a call.”
“Good tip. Thanks.”
First I stop by the bar and ask for two margaritas, which are served in heavy glasses. Then I carry both drinks toward the lobby, scanning the generous space for my favorite girl. I’ve almost given up when I step around a large potted plant and spot her on a sofa, hunched over, scribbling away in a notebook. I walk over to her, but she doesn’t look up. Whatever she’s doing, it’s deeply engrossing.
“Bess? Honey? Is something wrong?”
Her chin snaps up, and her eyes widen. “Tank! Hi!” She closes the notebook so fast it makes a slapping sound. Then she leaps to her feet and promptly winces. “Surprise!”
I laugh. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No! I’m just having a small wardrobe malfunction.” She clears her throat. “Never mind that. Congratulations! I’m so excited about your win. You have no idea.”
“This is for you.” I hand her a margarita. When I get one of my hands back, I use it to pull her a little closer and kiss the top of her head. “Thank you, baby. I didn’t know you were coming to Texas. But I sure am happy to see you.”
“It was a sneak attack,” she says with a small sigh. “But then I had an epiphany and a big idea, and I have some things to discuss with you.”
“Everything okay?” I ask, suddenly worried.
“Everything is great.” She beams at me. “Cheers!” She touches her margarita glass to mine. “To big wins and important victories.”
We drink. “Now tell me your epiphany.”
“What about the party?” She points toward the bar. “Did you see the napkins?”
“The napkins are first rate. But you’re more fun than any party, honey. Any day of the week.”
Bess blinks. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day.”
“I haven’t seen you all day.” I put an arm around her shoulder. “Do you have a suitcase?”
“It’s checked with the bellman.”
“All right.” I steer her toward the desk. “Honestly, you shouldn’t miss this queso. We just won a game because of this dip. So let’s see what I can do…” I stop in front of the concierge’s desk. “Excuse me, could you send up the lady’s suitcase to my room? And I’d love to order some room service as well.”
“Certainly.” The young man grabs a pad and a pen. “Do you know what you want?”
“The queso dip and an order of those fish tacos. And anything the lady wants. It’s going to room four-twelve.”
“Right away sir.”
God bless the Ritz.
Bess hands over her claim ticket and finalizes our room service order. I tip the concierge and then steer Bess toward the elevators. “You hitched a ride with Nate and Becca? That’s fun.”
“It was,” she agrees. “And hot damn, that game was incredible. You don’t know how happy it made me to see you come out on top.”
“Yeah?” I put my hand on her ass as the elevator doors open. “I’ll give you another demonstration of coming out on top. How long do you think room
service will take?”
I don’t let her answer the question. I lean over—mindful of the drinks we’re holding—and kiss her. Finally. This is already one of the best nights of my life, and it’s about to get better. She smiles against my mouth and wraps me in a one-armed hug.
She’s strangely quiet, though. I plan to get to the bottom of that in a moment.
Ding. The elevator announces its arrival on the fourth floor. “Come with me,” I say, taking her hand. “I got big plans for you.” I lead her to my room and usher her inside.
She walks over to one of the chairs, kicks off her shoes, and sits cross-legged. Then she sips her drink and watches me remove my suit jacket.
“You look like a girl with a lot on her mind,” I say, taking off my tie next.
“That’s true,” she says quietly. “In a good way, though. Do you ever feel like things are sliding into place for you?”
“Sliding into place? The first thing that comes to mind is a dirty joke,” I admit.
She gives me a slow smile. “I love you. Do you know that?”
“Yes.” I pause in the middle of unbuttoning my shirt. “I do know that. And I’m really fucking happy to see you.”
“I’d hoped you would be.”
I chuck my shirt onto my open suitcase. “So come over here and kiss me.” I sit down on the bed and crook my finger.
Bess takes another sip of her margarita. Then she sets it down and walks over to stand in front of me. She puts both hands on my shoulders and leans down to softly kiss the corner of my eye. And then my cheekbone.
Goosebumps rise on my arms as she gently makes her way down to my lips. The kisses are the sweet kind you only get when someone loves you so much that they don’t even know where to start.
And I feel electric—not with lust, exactly. Not yet. But with something even better: certainty. This woman is mine, and I’m hers. We found each other twice, I guess. This time I’ve got more miles on me, but hopefully I’m also wiser.
When you’ve got something great, you can’t let it go. Bess and I are going to work out, or I’ll die trying.
Her kisses get deeper, and I wrap my arms around her soft, warm body and pull her down on the bed. I roll, until we’re side by side, our kisses becoming more urgent.
I suddenly remember that she’d said something about an epiphany, so I pull back and hug her. “Talk to me. What’s sliding into place for you? In a non-dirty way, I mean. ’Cause we’ll get to that a little later.”
She runs a hand through my hair. “Mark, last time I told you all my big plans, it didn’t go so well. But I think this time it could be different.”
“Don’t be afraid.” I hug her more tightly. “I’m not going to freak out again. Promise. Even if you say you want to try to get pregnant. I’ll man up and figure out how we can do that.”
“No,” she says quickly. “That’s not what I’m here to say.”
“But it’s day fourteen.”
She goes absolutely still in my arms. “You counted?”
“I can’t shut it off, honey. I mean—I’ll try. But it will always be in the back of my mind. That little what if.”
“I thought about it, too. I’m not going to lie. But then I realized I didn’t want to do that to us. We’re more than that. I love us too much to be all about the babymaking.”
My heart is in jeopardy of exploding. I roll on top of her and give her another kiss. “We can still have all the sex, though, right?”
“All of it,” she whispers. “I bought condoms.”
“What?”
“Condoms. For later. So we wouldn’t even have to think those thoughts.”
I laugh suddenly. “Okay. I’m down with it.”
She strokes my cheekbone, looking up at me. “Now I need to ask you something. I had a conversation tonight that completely rearranged my thinking on the subject of kids. Mark, would you ever consider adoption?”
“Sure,” I say easily. “With you? Anything. That’s your epiphany?”
“Yes.” She rolls out from under me and sits up. “And not as a backup plan. At first I really wanted my own baby. Because my childhood was so…” She frowns.
“Harrowing?” I supply. “Horrific? You don’t tell me much, Bess. But I know you went through a lot.”
She flinches. “I hate talking about it.”
“You can if you ever want to.” I kiss her palm. “I’ll always listen.”
She weaves her fingers through mine. “See, I thought I needed to have my own baby as a way of fixing my childhood. As if all the things I did for my own child would make my parents’ neglect less real. God this sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“No, honey.” I pull her into a hug. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. Besides, I don’t think anyone can give an articulate answer to why they want kids. They just do. You don’t even need a reason.”
“Here’s the thing,” she says to my bare chest. “Being an unwanted child shaped my whole life. But now I have the chance to turn some small person into a wanted child. It would mean a lot to me to adopt. I think I could be a great mother to someone who had a rough start.”
“I think that’s beautiful.” I rock her gently, hoping she never wants me to let go. “I don’t know anything about how adoption works. I think it takes a really long time, honestly. But if you’re game, then I’m game. I’d be honored to take that journey with you.”
Bess presses her fingertips against the corners of her wet eyes. “Thank you.”
“I’m here for that.” I kiss the top of her head. “Tell me what you’ve learned. Let’s see that crazy notebook of yours. We’ll eat room service and google the fuck out of adoption.”
Bess’s smile is a little watery. “It’s a plan.”
There’s a knock at the door. I set Bess on her feet beside the bed. Then I get up to answer it, looking a little ridiculous in my trousers and nothing else.
A bellman rolls Bess’s suitcase in, and he’s followed by a room service delivery person. The scent of Tex-Mex makes me—if possible—even a little happier than I was before. “Where do I sign?” I take the bill from the server and add a generous tip.
“I’m so happy to see my suitcase,” Bess says after they leave. “Can I change into something more comfortable?”
“Of course. Especially if that’s a euphemism.” I turn around and finish removing my suit, hanging up the trousers and the jacket so I can wear them again before our next game.
When I turn around, I almost swallow my tongue. Bess is standing there in a flame-colored lace bra, and matching lace panties. “Holy fuck. Are you trying to kill me?”
“If I am, then it’s a murder-suicide,” she says. “Lace itches. Who knew?”
“Come here,” I growl. “I need a closer inspection.”
She gives me an uncharacteristically shy smile. “You don’t think I look ridiculous? Like I borrowed a lingerie model’s underwear?”
“Never,” I assure her. “Bess, take it from an underwear model—you’ve got the goods.”
“You charmer.” She laughs and comes closer to me.
“If those need to be taken off, I want to be the one doing the taking.”
“Do you, now?” She kisses my neck.
“You’d better believe it.” I run my hands down her smooth skin, and then show her just how it’s done.
Thirty-Four
I Did Not Get Out of Bed
Bess
When I wake up the next morning, I’m face down on the silky hotel sheets, my naked limbs tangled in the covers. I feel completely at peace, even before I’m conscious enough to remember why.
Oh, right. Tank is beside me. His presence comforts me on a deep level. When I’d finally fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning, it was with the bedrock certainty that we were on the same page about the future.
Apparently he’s awake, too. I hear typing.
I turn my sleepy face toward him and open my eyes. And, whoa, I will never get over that vi
ew. The hottie in bed with me has two days’ worth of stubble and a broad, muscular chest that I want to lay my head upon. But doing that would require moving from this comfortable spot.
“Bess, honey,” he says, putting a big hand on my head. “How much reading about international adoption did you do last night?”
Together, we’d gone over the various options. And—at first glance—it had seemed like an international adoption might be our best path.
“Not much.” I yawn. “Why? Are you doing some research?”
“Yeah.” He flashes a smile at me. “I woke up early and started thinking about it. Then I couldn’t get back to sleep, because I love this idea so much.”
My heart soars just hearing him say that.
“But did you know that all these countries require a couple to be married for two years before adopting?” He gives me a serious frown.
“I saw that. But it’s okay.” I yawn again. “We aren’t racing the clock anymore. It’s not about fertility. We have time.”
He strokes my hair. “I love your attitude about this. And I love you. We’re going to do this, aren’t we?”
“We’re doing this,” I agree. “And maybe the delay turns out to be a blessing. We’ll have time for us, and then time for a child who needs us.”
Tank’s hand goes still on my hair. Then he closes my laptop with a snap. “I have to run out for a few minutes.”
“What for?”
“Egg sandwiches,” he says. “And coffee.”
“Mmm.” I sigh. “That sounds so nice. Do you know I love you?”
His voice is low and super serious when he answers. “I do know that, honey. Don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Isn’t there a team brunch you’re supposed to go to?”
“That’s later. I’ll be back, okay? Wait for me.”
Wait for me. He has no idea how good it feels to be asked. “Always.”