I spend the rest of the morning cleaning up the apartment. I take Fia to the gym in her carrier and almost complete an entire hour of weights. Our first game is on Sunday against our biggest rival, the California Turkeys. (Really the Thunderbirds, but we hate them, so yeah. Turkeys.)
Now I’m driving home to shower, change, and eat before tonight’s practice. I try not to think about Marli and the fact I haven’t heard any news about her death. It doesn’t mean the police aren’t investigating, but I’d feel better if I knew where things stood. Have they ID’d her? Linked her to Tony?
There’s nothing to do but wait now, and that includes waiting for Lara, who, in the midst of all this insanity, makes me feel happy. I just hope she’s ready soon to take things to the next level. Not sure how much more buildup I can take.
By Sunday morning, I’m about to explode. Lara’s stayed over the last few nights, and her warm soft body next to mine is torture. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wanted to kiss her, touch her, make love to her. I haven’t jerked off this much since I was sixteen. But all this is worth it because I know she’s working through stuff, and she’s doing it for us—me and Fia.
As for all the other things in my life, there haven’t been any real developments other than Larry the lawyer released a press statement, making it clear that any news outlets reporting false information about me will be held liable and that we plan to make a big announcement in a few days. I’m guessing he means the paternity test.
I have to call and let him know I didn’t go in for the blood work appointment. I just won’t be able to tell him why. Linking this baby to Marli, and possibly Tony (I hope not), puts Fia at risk. Puts me and Lara at risk, too.
Then there’s Flip. He’s left two messages over the last few days, asking what the hell is going on. He’s obviously seen all the news about Fia. I haven’t called him back because I don’t know what to tell him. He knows me. And like Lara, he knows when I’m lying. The last thing Flip needs right now is to be worrying about me and adding to his stress.
Still, I have to come up with something because I plan to drive out to see him tomorrow, right after class. It’s my only window because I’m going to have one hell of a busy week between college, football, time at the Ranch, and Fia. Thankfully, one of our coworkers at the Ranch recommended a woman who runs an affordable daycare in her home. Lara checked all the references and stopped by to meet the lady. Thumbs up.
I don’t know what I would do without Lara. I feel like she’s the piece of my life that’s always been missing, and her fearlessness inspires me. She’s watched Fia the last three nights, and I already see them bonding, which seems to be healing old wounds. Meanwhile, people’s kindness is healing mine. Coach and his wife stopped by to check on us and offer support. Even Hector says he’ll let Lara bring Fia into work during the day if necessary.
Everyone who matters is behind me, which makes it easier to accept that others aren’t. For example, I ran into Nina yesterday as I was heading out. She took one look at me and Fia and rolled her eyes. I can’t believe I didn’t see through her earlier. She was never my friend. Just another person who wanted to use me.
As for Mike, he hasn’t been around—new girlfriend of the week—and he keeps to himself at practice. Igor is his usual self, kind of in his own world, unaffected by any drama.
On the more positive side, the public is still making donations for Fia, which means not everyone is stupid enough to believe what they hear. And I’m smart enough to be grateful for them. I plan to open a college savings account for Fia with the money so at least I know her future is taken care of no matter what happens to me.
Look at me daddying like a pro.
In the space of one week, I went from being a single man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, to being a dad who feels like he has a world full of people lifting him up. One little person and one special woman, in particular, get the bulk of the credit.
I plan to carry that positivity into tonight’s game. I’m in the starting lineup, and this time, I’m not going to drop the ball. Literally, of course.
“I’m going to kick ass tonight. Isn’t that right, princess?” I look over at Fia, who’s in her carrier on the floor, fascinated by a new purple pacifier I just bought her. Had to make a run to the grocery store to get a few supplies. Lara went back to her place to do some light cleaning since Fia and I are heading over for a late Sunday breakfast. Pancakes. I need to carb up for the game. Then Lara’s taking Fia the rest of the day and bringing her to watch me play.
My phone rings, and I answer, thinking it might be Lara checking in, but I don’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Who the fuck is this?” says a deep scratchy voice.
“You called me,” I say.
“No shit. Because this is the last number my wife called.”
Tony Rigatoni. This has to be him. My stomach tightens, and my heart rate spikes. I have to keep my cool. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. She probably dialed me by accident.”
“You talked to her for ten seconds. I got the phone right here.”
So Tony has her cell, the cell with the five thousand messages I left her. I can only hope Marli deleted them. Otherwise, we’re fucked.
“I don’t know, man,” I say. “I get spam calls all the time. They go into my voicemail. Sorry I can’t help you.” I’m about to hang up because that’s what any person would do if a stranger called asking about his wife.
“I’m gonna find you,” he growls, “and when I do, I’m gonna get the truth outta ya.”
“Look, I don’t know you. I don’t know your wife, so—”
“I gotta pair of pliers that say otherwise.”
Wow. Straight to the chase. At least he didn’t threaten me with a cheese grater. Then I’d know he means business.
“Pliers won’t change my answer. Good luck with your wife.”
“She’s dead. And you’re next.”
The call ends, and then, yes, I feel my shit start to unwind. I’m about to lose it. Stay calm, Dean. I need a clear head because clearly, I need a new plan. I have no doubt this psycho is going to track me down using my phone number. And if the rumors are true about Tony, he’s the sort of man who has the connections to do it quickly.
It’s time to fight. And I’m suddenly not regretting growing up where I did. That hellhole taught me to push back, to defend myself and my brother, to not back down when someone wants to take everything from you. Maybe that’s why I love football—it makes sense to me. It’s an orchestrated battle, symbolic of what I’ve lived through to get to where I am.
But this Tony isn’t playing a game, and neither am I.
I dig out Larry’s card from my wallet.
“I’ll go along with this, Dean, but I’m not a fan of your plan,” Larry says, seated behind his big fancy desk. Today, instead of a suit, he’s wearing my team’s red and black jersey and a matching baseball cap. Glad he’s a fan. Also glad he was willing to meet on such short notice. I called earlier, expecting to talk through this on the phone, but he happened to be in his office and told me to come over.
Despite the fact it’s a Sunday, and the place is void of people, his law office isn’t the grim, stale atmosphere I expected. There’s a play area for kids near reception, and the common areas are filled with colorful art, bright lighting, and plants. I’m guessing by the numbers of desks and private offices, he must have an army working for him. Either way, the prestigious appearance immediately boosts my confidence. Larry must know what he’s doing to have a practice like this.
And I bet he’s expensive. I owe Hector and Coach for hiring him.
“I don’t see a better plan,” I say, rocking Fia in my arms while standing. She’s been a gas bag the last thirty minutes, almost like her bowels know something bad is going down. “If I go to the police first, they’ll want to play this out their way—maybe block me from going public or arrest me for withholding information. This is the only way to get the entire truth out. On my terms.”
“It’s a gamble,” Larry says.
I’ve told him everything—attorney-client privilege—so I agree with his concerns. The risk is real. But I refuse to allow that piece of garbage to get away with killing Fia’s mother. And I’m not about to live looking over my shoulder the rest of my life. It’s time to take a stand.
“Tony Rigatoni is planning to come after me,” I say. “My way will make him hit pause because if anything happens, the world will know it was him.” My plan will force Tony to wait, and that will buy the authorities time to hunt him down. “I just need to run this by Lara and make sure she’s okay with it. Then I need you on standby since I’m fairly sure the police will want to talk to me and Lara.”
“I’ll call the detective the moment this goes public. Better if we’re proactive and offer your cooperation.”
I like that Larry is looking out for me. “Thanks.”
“You got it. But I want you to stick to the script, Dean.”
“What script?”
“I’m going to tell you exactly what to say so you don’t incriminate yourself.”
I like that plan. And I like that I’m fighting back—against Tony, against the press, and against anyone who thinks I’m not a good father. “Lay it on me, Larry. But make it quick. Fia’s naptime is overdue.”
He smiles, flashing a very perfect set of white teeth. Probably veneers. “Let’s do this.”