When I Need You (Need You #4)

“She didn’t know you were working on that move?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to do it just for you.”

I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat. I kissed the crown of his sweaty head. I glanced up to see everyone in my family—and Rowan’s family—watching me.

Let them stare. This is you proving you give a damn about someone besides yourself and something beyond football.

Then I didn’t see anything else as my beautiful Rowan walked toward me, a soft smile on her face. She pressed her palm against my chest and rubbed Calder’s back. “You okay, sweet boy?”

“Uh-huh.”

I said, “I’m good too.”

When she said, “You sure? You want me to take him?” Calder burrowed deeper into me.

“Nope.”

“You got waylaid for a while with the media. Is everything all right?”

“We’ll see how it shakes out tomorrow.”

“Come on, everyone is waiting to talk to the man of the hour.” She gently nudged me toward our assorted family members.

“Hear that, Calder? Everyone is talking about that fancy-ass dance move you did.”

He giggled. “No. They’re talkin’ about you, silly. And you’re not s’posed to say the A-word, remember?”

“My bad.”

For the next half an hour as I talked with the Lund Collective, as well as the Michaels family, Calder refused to let go of me. With all the noise around us, it surprised me to look down and see Calder’s mouth slack and soft snores drifting out as he drooled on my shoulder. I grinned at Rowan. “Like mother, like son, huh?”

She whispered, “I drool on you for another reason entirely, Lund.”

“But you conk out just like this after I wear you out,” I murmured back.

She rested her head on my arm. “Can we go home now? I missed you.”

I kissed her temple. “Let’s say our good-byes.”

Rowan’s parents were staying in the Cities another day, so we made plans for a late dinner. And the Lund Collective insisted on changing the normal Sunday brunch time to an early-evening meal so I could come with Rowan and Calder.

We walked outside with my parents and Martin. The humidity had dissipated, leaving it a beautiful, balmy night.

Martin and Dad were laughing sort of hysterically about something that I didn’t want to know about. Rowan was readjusting Calder’s car seat. Leaving me with my mom.

She brushed my hair out of my face. I was twenty-eight years old and she still fussed at me. “Is this a bruise?” she demanded in Swedish when she noticed the spot on my cheekbone.

“Yeah. I got smacked kinda hard in practice today.”

“I always hated that part of football.”

“Getting pounded into the dirt isn’t my favorite part either.” Such a lie. I loved that.

“No, I meant the marks you’ve been getting since you were boy of ten.” She ran the back of her finger over the spot. “Bumps, bruises, even broken bones. You loved the game so much that I had to hide my tears from you over every bump, bruise and broken bone. I had to pretend I didn’t hurt to watch you training and playing when you were in pain. I had to suck it up and be proud, smiling mama on the outside when you caught the ball but took a hit hard enough to rattle your brain. I had to cheer when I watch you block and save a play but I see blood on your uniform and you limping off the field. I see you work harder and harder to become better, faster, stronger. I watch you become more football machine than man. I watch and I wait and I hope in silence for the day to come when there’s no more bumps, no more bruises, no more blood, no more broken bones . . . no more hurting for you, even knowing, as your mama, that when that end day does come, it will hurt you more than any bone-rattling, jaw-cracking body slam you’ve ever felt.”

I stared at her in utter shock. It was more than she had ever said about me playing football, not about my football career. It never occurred to me how much courage both she and my dad had to let me walk onto that field every time, knowing I’d be hurt every time.

“I will be good mama, supportive mama until that day comes, Jensen. I feel pride for all you have done. But know, in your heart, as I know in mine, that it is not all you can do.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I’m told . . . hate the game, dude, not the player.”

“Mom.”

“Fine, I say nothing before because I get in trouble when being meddlesome botherer in your life. “

I snorted.

“But I’m telling you now mostly because I love you.” She straightened my collar. “And maybe you’re ready to hear it.” She smiled softly at Calder. “He is sweet boy.”

“Yeah. He is.”

“Too bad you don’t want more than friends with his mother, yah?”

“You’re always going to rub that in, aren’t you?”

She smiled cockily and for the first time I realized I’d gotten that cocky damn smile from her. She patted my cheek. “Still my sweet, strong boy, Jensen Bernard Lund. You will make sweet, strong father. And you will make lots more sweet, strong boys for me to be meddlesome botherer with.” She kissed my cheek and then Calder’s before she turned and walked away, yelling at my father to get the head out.

I started to correct her: You mean . . . head out? Or get the lead out? But . . . nah.

Rowan moved in beside me. “Do I even want to know what your mother’s flurry of Swedish was about?”

“Nope. But it’s all good. I promise.”

Martin wandered over and lifted Calder out of my arms.

I wasn’t nearly as startled by that as Calder was. He blinked sleepily at his uncle and then at Rowan. “Mommy?”

“Hey, little dude,” Martin said. “Guess what? You and me are havin’ a sleepover in Jensen’s apartment. I already spread your sleeping bag out on that big couch, I got Lilo and Stitch and The Secret Life of Pets cued up in the Blu-ray. I got us cheese popcorn, red licorice and grape soda. It’s gonna be party in the USA, man.”

“But . . . I wanted to read Harry Potter tonight,” Calder said to me.

“Tomorrow night we’ll read as many chapters as you want. I promise.”

He turned his teary eyes to his mother. “But, Mommy, I thought I was gonna be with you . . .”

I expected her to give in.

But she didn’t. “Uncle Martin has been planning this surprise for you for two days. I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin it.”

He looked at Martin skeptically.

“We’ve got some serious chillin’ in front of the TV to do and . . .” Martin whispered something in his ear.

Calder grinned. “Super Mario Brothers!”

“Gotta learn the life of a gamer sometime, amirite? Tell your mommy and Jens good night.”

After a round of hugs and kisses, we watched as Martin strapped him into the car seat and drove away.

“God, I love that kid.”

Rowan stepped in front of me and twined her arms around my neck. “I can’t tell you what it means to me to hear you say that.” Then she pulled my head down and fastened her mouth to mine in a wet, dirty kiss. She murmured, “How fast you think you can get us home?”

Turned out when properly motivated, my Hummer could give my ZR1 a run for its money.





Twenty-four


ROWAN