Authors: Prescott Lane
“Mason, damn you! Distracting me after my hot start.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Mason.”
“Emory Mason,” she said to herself, trying her new name on for size. He eyed a solid and lined up for a shot. “Emory Claire Mason.” She cocked her head to think it over.
Mason pocketed the solid and moved onto the next ball. “Don’t even think about keeping your name.”
“Relax, it’s just strange for me to be Mrs. Mason when everyone calls you Mason.”
“As long as we’re clear,” he said, lining up for another shot.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved him off. “I like the way Emory Mason sounds.”
“Me too,” he said, blistering a ball into the side pocket. “Remember the pool table in the hotel a few months ago?”
“Yeah,” she said, slowly licking her lips.
He lined up for another shot. “Don’t try to distract me, Emory Mason.”
“You brought it up.”
A few patrons came over with Panthers jerseys and hats, and Mason shook their hands and signed. They quickly left, sensing Mason was in a surprisingly difficult match against a diminutive woman. Mason took a sip of beer and laced his hands with chalk. “Now, house or wedding? I have news about both.”
“What have you done now?”
“House or wedding?” He lined up for a solid in the corner pocket, but determined he needed the bridge. He reached for it against the wall, then lined it up on the table, carefully angling his pool stick, needing to bank the cue ball and somehow swerve it around a stripe to hit the solid. He pulled back his stick.
“House,” Emory said, just before he released.
Mason whiffed on the shot, grazing the cue ball and scooting it only a few inches. “Emory Mason!”
“What did I do?” She removed the bridge and lined up her shot, quickly banging a stripe into the corner pocket. Before Mason could take a sip of his drink, she banged two more home.
Mason took a deep breath, sensing he was in big trouble. “OK, so you know that big room above the garage that we talked about making my workout space?”
“Yep.” She added chalk to her stick and paced around the table, stalking her next ball.
“I talked to the contractor today and asked him to reconfigure it a little so that I can have my workout space, but there’d also be room for a dance studio for you.”
“That is so thoughtful of you,” she said, pecking him on the lips, but quickly turning her attention back to the table. She lined up her next stripe, pushing the stick gently to roll the cue ball slowly to cut the stripe, making a right angle perfectly into the side pocket.
Mason downed his beer. “I know sometimes you just need to dance, and I wanted you to have a place to do that.”
“Perfect,” she said, lining up another ball. “Now what about the wedding? You know I want something small and intimate.”
On their Texas trip, Kathleen had suggested, as only she could, that Mason’s career with the Panthers likely would benefit if they had a huge wedding in Charlotte. It would garner publicity and establish more ties for Mason in the community, all of which could help with a long term deal. Kathleen even offered to design the large wedding, which she admitted would help her business -- both back in Texas and markets along the East Coast -- since the press would cover every detail. Mason shut all of that down quickly, but in the back of Emory’s mind, she wondered whether his mother somehow had convinced him otherwise.
Mason watched, as she struck the next stripe into the corner pocket. “I don’t want a big production. We are getting married for us, not for our families, not the city of Charlotte, not the Panthers. Right?”
“Of course,” Mason said.
She missed an easy shot in the corner. “Piss.”
“Thanks for letting me play,” he joked, walking around the table. “I just want to do this the right way, Em. To give you the wedding you want.”
“The wedding is a few hours one day. It’s not that important to me. The marriage is what is important to me.”
The wedding, of course, was important to her. Indeed, she wanted the wedding to be at St. Peter’s or some other Catholic church, but figured it wasn’t possible since Mason had been married before. She was disappointed about that but didn’t want to let on.
It would only make him feel bad.
“Me too,” he said, lining up a solid in the side pocket. “But what’s also important is that we stand before God when we take our vows.” He slammed the solid home. “So I’m having my marriage to Alexis annulled.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Steven is handling it. He’s like my personal family lawyer now. He’s pushing hard to get it done quickly.” Mason eyed his next shot. “And apparently being the Panthers quarterback is helping move things along.”
“This is so perfect. But I do need you to do something else for me?”
“Name it.” Mason lined up the cue ball.
“Well, you know the way you proposed to me?” He nodded, smiling. “Well, I loved it, and it was perfect, but. . . .”
“Spit it out, babe.” He nailed a solid into the side pocket.
“Well, everyone keeps asking me how you proposed, and I don’t really want to say we were naked, so we need to come up with a PG version, OK?”
“Whatever, guys don’t talk about that stuff anyway.” He banked a solid into the corner.
“OK, good. I told Wesley, but I don’t really want to tell Olivia because then she would tell Steven and your mom, and then Olivia and your mom would blab to everyone.”
“Makes sense,” he said, lining up another shot. “Now stop all your blabbing. I’m kicking your ass.”
Emory’s phone rang, as Mason gripped the stick. “Now you’re having people call to distract me?” Emory smirked and took a few steps away to answer, Mason going on with his shot.
“Hey, Wesley.”
“Are you alone?” he asked cryptically.
“No. Why?”
“Step into another room for some privacy.”
“I’m at Gus’ Bar with Mason. Hang on.” She looked at Mason and indicated she needed a moment, then walked nervously to a row of empty barstools. “OK, what’s wrong?”
“A reporter just called. Wanted me to comment on your engagement.”
“Just say no comment.” A bartender offered her a drink, and she shooed him away. “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s not just that. The reporter knew things. He knew about your relationship with Mason in college and that you’d gotten back together. He said he had pictures of you wearing an engagement ring.”
“So what? That’s all pretty easy to find out.”
“Yeah, but then he wanted to know about your dance career.”
“So?”
“And your injury and hospitalization.”
“Oh my God!” All the color left her face, and her heart raced, the room starting to spin. “How did he know about that?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked back at the pool table, ensuring Mason was still a safe distance away. “Did he know about the baby?”
“I don’t think so, but I don’t know how hard it would be for him to find out.”
“Shit!” Emory dropped her head in her hands.
This bar apparently is the place for life-changing news
.
She looked across the bar to the counter where Mason bumped into her months ago.
“He went on and on about how the public loves a good love story and how you and Mason fit the bill. College sweethearts torn apart and reunited years later. In the NFL, no less.”
She looked at her engagement ring, shining through her fear. “I have to tell him.”
He’s never going to forgive me.
“Yeah, you do. It’s time. I’ll be here if you need me.”
Emory hung up the phone and turned nervously to Mason, now hitting her balls. The game was over
.
It was indeed
.
Her body tensed with worry, she didn’t want to lose what she’d just found. She prayed to God, asking Him and her mother for strength and guidance. She walked cautiously towards the pool table, each step more difficult than the last. She reached him, her face pale and drawn. “We need to go.”
“Why? You don’t want a rematch?”
“Not now,” she said firmly. “We need to go.”
He put down his pool stick. “What’s going on? Something happen on the phone?”
“I can’t get into it here.”
“Please tell me what’s going on.”
“Not here.” Emory held back the urge to vomit. “We need to go.”
“OK,” he said, quickly returning his stick to the shelf. “Tell me in the car?”
* * *
They drove in silence. Mason prodded for information, but Emory refused -- worried and in no mood to talk. She knew she’d eventually have to talk, but not in his car. Looking out the window, watching cars and lights race by, she needed quiet and space to expose herself. She’d hoped to put the past behind her -- behind them -- but that was no longer possible. She couldn’t let him find out in the newspaper
.
I flipped out over his contract!
Emory cursed inquisitive reporters, digging into her buried past.
They arrived back at the condo and walked towards his front door his arm around her, Mason feeling she was unsteady and weak. She walked inside and ran to the guest bathroom off the foyer and vomited.
What has her so scared?
Emory came out of the bathroom, as frail as he’d ever seen her. He wiped her mouth and patted her face with a towel, offering her a small sip of water. He walked her to the sofa in the living room and helped her sit down, placing the towel on the coffee table, keeping it close in case another round struck.
“What is going on, baby?”
Not that word
.
She hid her face in her hands.
“What is it?”
Emory looked up at him, scared, trembling, wiping a tear from her cheek. “There’s something I need to tell you.” She pulled her knees to her chest and rolled herself into a tight, little ball.
“Whatever it is, Em, we’ll deal with it.” He wrapped a blanket around her. “We’ll be fine.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She took a deep breath. “I need to tell you about my nightmare.” With everything else going on, Mason hadn’t given much thought to her bad dreams. He actually hadn’t thought about them in weeks. But seeing the look on her face, he prepared himself for the worst. “A reporter called Wesley today, asking a lot of questions about our relationship.”
“You and Wesley?”
“No. Me and you.” She paused to gather herself. “Now and in college.”
“I figured that might happen now that we’re engaged.” Mason rubbed her leg. “Reporters might start speculating that I left you for Alexis, which is not true. But these things usually blow over quickly.”
Emory shook her head. “I’m not worried about that.”
“Then what?”
“He was asking about medical records.”
“Mine? So?”
“No, mine,” she said.
“Yours?” Mason raised his brow. “Why was he asking about yours?”
Emory took a moment for a sip of water, then grabbed his hand. “Six years ago,” she began, but then stopped, shaking her head.
Am I really going to do this, risk everything
?
“When we broke up, I. . . .”
“What is it?” Mason braced himself to be blindsided, this time by a petite ballerina.
“I. . . .” She buried her head in her hands, then looked up through tears. “I was pregnant.”
Mason laughed out loud. “What? No really, what’s going on?” But Emory wasn’t laughing. She was serious and scared. He leaned back on the sofa, stunned, trying to wrap his mind around what he’d just heard, and slipped his hand from hers.
“I was twelve weeks pregnant,” Emory said, her voice cracking, searching Mason’s eyes for some reaction -- anything -- other than disbelief.
Mason ran his fingers through his hair. “Weren’t you on the pill?”
This isn’t happening.
“Yes, and I learned it doesn’t always work.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know that day -- that day in the weight room.” Emory reached for his hand, but he stood up, her eyes following him. “I found out a few days later.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“I tried!”
“What?” Mason cried, feeling his entire world crumbling around him. “You knew where to find me! Or call me!”
“You were with Alexis!”
“You could have told me you were pregnant! Jesus Christ, Em! You at least could’ve told me over the last few months!”
She put her head down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to tell you, but something always got in the way -- your arm, Alexis. . . .”