A Daddy for Mother's Day_A Secret Baby Romance Page 17

  She was still in high school when all this happened. I can really see how she’s so fucking protective of him. But still, she should have fucking told me. She kept Lucy’s promise. Lucy hoped I’d be a star football player.

  Some fucking job I’m doing of that.

  Yeah, I make headlines. But none of them have been positive. I stole a fucking yacht just before the start of the season and got myself traded, for fuck’s sake.

  And now I know I’m Liam’s role model, despite him having no idea I’m his father, and he’s seeing me do all of this bullshit.

  Why does this have to be so hard?

  Why do women have to lie to get what they want? Izzie used me for my house, my luxury, playing me like a fucking fool.

  I really thought she was different. I thought I was forming something really important and really special with this woman. But I’ve certainly been corrected now.

  I suppose I’m glad I found this out—and not ten years from now, when she’s asking for my paycheck for her own selfish needs.

  It must be really great to be so manipulative. You can get literally whatever you want from whoever you want if you play all the cards right.

  It’s too bad for her I found the ace up her sleeve. I knew I was letting her get too close. I knew I shouldn’t have been so generous.

  But there was so large a part of me that wanted her that I couldn’t help it. I’ve done so much, just letting her into my life.

  I shared everything I possibly could with her. My home, my time, my tub, my—forget it.

  She could have had something unforgettable with me. Why would she do this to me? I could have given her and Liam the world if she just asked.

  All I needed was her complete honesty, and she refused to give me that based on an eight-year-old pact between her and Lucy. It hurts that she held someone who’s passed away in a higher regard than Liam’s only other true living parent.

  I feel like I’ve been left in the dust. It’s low. Really low.

  But I know now what I need to do. I have to move forward, letting the chips fall where they may.

  I can’t let this get the best of me. If Lucy didn’t want me in Liam’s life, I’ll fucking honor her wish. He’s a great kid, and he’s never needed a dad to be that.

  What sense is there in me trying to insert myself into his life permanently?

  I’ll leave Izzie and Liam alone, just like they want. This is for the best. Lucy thought so, Izzie thinks so, and now I think so, too.

  I just can’t let this be the thing that ruins my career. I can’t let Izzie distract me from what I do best. I can’t let her take away the only real consistency I’ve had in my life.

  I’m a fucking good quarterback, and I deserve all of what I have around me—fame, fortune, everything.

  I’ll be damned if that all comes crashing down on Izzie or Liam. I didn’t even know them. We can all go back to not existing in each other’s personal lives.

  She doesn’t need me, he doesn’t need me, and I certainly don’t need them running around and tearing down the only thing I’ve ever been able to truly count on: football.

  In fact, I’m gonna go do some drills by myself. I’m fucking pumped and ready to take it out on something. What better than the field?

  I march up my stairs, toss my bag over my shoulder, and head out to my car. The drive to the stadium is quiet, aside from the wind whipping around me while my car top is down.

  Letting the air blow through my hair is more liberating than I thought it would be. I could honestly just drive around all day.

  But I’m fucking determined. I’m going to train hard today, just me and the field.

  And nothing can stop me.

  Not Izzie, not Liam.

  No one.

  Chapter 31

  Izzie

  Work is especially awkward today. I do my best to avoid Brady when I pass him on his way to the locker room, but I’m about as effective at being invisible as Liam is when he’s playing hide-and-seek.

  When he sees me, Brady stops in his tracks and gawks. I mouth a half-hearted ‘Hey’, and he nods at me stiffly. As we stand there in silence, he looks behind his shoulder and then up ahead of me, like he’s waiting for someone else to show up. It seems like he’s forming a question in his mind, but whatever it is, he doesn’t say it out loud.

  “Excuse me,” he finally says, and I step out of the way to let him pass, watching his beautiful rear end disappearing into the locker room. I’m going to miss that body of his.

  Once he’s out of sight, I slump down on a bench and take a deep breath. No matter how much it bothers me to see him here, he’s just one person on the team, and I need to be professional. When the other players start to trickle in, I ask them how they’re feeling and what they need.

  It’s what I do.

  If only Brady knows what it truly means to take care of another person. Liam might not be my son, but I’m the only parent he’s had for the last eight years.

  He needs a grown-up he can trust. What kind of guardian would I be if I didn’t stop to make sure he felt comfortable with Brady before I offered him visitation rights?

  What if he hadn’t been comfortable, and Brady had demanded full custody? What if Liam had decided he loved his father and then Brady rejected him?

  I’m trying not to dwell on what could have been, but I feel justified in my actions—and yet I don’t have anyone in my life who can tell me that they know I’m doing my best and that they believe in me. It’s like I have to be my own coach right now. Go, Team Izzie!

  And speaking of coaches, Coach McGoy has entered the building and is heading right toward me. I don’t know how much he’s heard about what’s been going on with Brady and me, but I can’t let him know how much I’m hurting.

  After all, I’m not the one risking my life every night to wrestle a ball away from a bunch of angry beefcakes like Brady is. In many ways, things could be worse.

  “Izzie, may I speak to you for a moment?”

  Uh-oh. This can’t be good. “Um, sure. What’s up?”

  Coach lowers his voice. “Let’s go into my office.”

  I glance at the entrance to the locker room, where I can see the men trickling in and out.

  “Do you want me to finish making my rounds first? I still need to check in with a few of the players.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Like a naughty schoolgirl on her way to the principal’s office, I reluctantly follow Coach McGoy down the hall.

  Once we’re inside his office, he offers me a seat. Coach McGoy looks troubled, and the knot in my stomach is getting even tighter.

  “You know I think you’re an exceptional nutritionist, right?”

  “Thank you.” So why isn’t he smiling?

  “One of the best we’ve ever had.”

  “I appreciate the kind words.” Although a better way to show it would be to offer me a bonus or something.

  “But the thing is…”

  I’ve often heard the players complain about the way their coach delivers bad news, and now I can see what they mean.

  Coach is sweating now. He takes a tissue from his desk and mops off his forehead while I sit there, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

  “No matter how talented or qualified someone is, sometimes he—or she—isn’t the best, uh, fit for the team.”

  It’s time to rip off the Band-Aid, coach. “Are you trying to tell me I’m fired?”

  “I think ‘fired’ is too strong of a word. More like laid-off. We no longer need your services is what I’m trying to say.”

  “This is not about your professional skills,” he adds. He tries to smile, but I’m not buying it for one second.

  “So why are you fi—” I stop myself. “So why don’t you need me here anymore?”

  “Oh, boy.” Coach McGoy sighs. “It’s not you. It’s Brady. I was nervous about taking him on, but he’s proven to be an invaluable asset.”

  What, and I’
m not?

  “Our plays are better executed, we’re getting more wins, and the fans love him. His only problem is that damn morality clause. He’s managed to get his act together in a lot of ways, but when it comes to you, he…” Coach looks at me expectantly. “Well, you know.”

  “No, I don’t. Like you said, I’m good at what I do. Whatever Brady’s problems with me may be, they have nothing to do with my ability to perform my job. Or for him to perform his.”

  Coach seems to mull over what I’m saying, but I can tell by his deepening frown that the decision has already been made.

  “If you list me as a reference on your resume, I’ll be happy to give you a glowing recommendation,” he finally tells me. “There are plenty of teams who would love to have you.”

  Yeah, right. In other cities. Or other states.

  How will Liam react if we have to move? Texas is the only home he’s ever known.

  And where does that leave him and Brady? He’s really upset with me, I know, but Liam shouldn’t have to suffer as a result. Doesn’t he see that?

  “Check in with HR before you leave. They’re putting together a very generous severance package for you.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter. I gather my purse and sweater.

  When he stands up to show me the door, I shake his hand to show him—perhaps for the last time—that I can be a professional even in the face of wildly unprofessional behavior.

  Because I know this couldn’t have been Coach McGoy’s idea. It must have been Brady’s. How could he be so self-centered?

  I’m beginning to see why my sister never told him about Liam. Football means everything to him. He’s so obsessed with winning, he can’t even coexist with the guardian of his child—the one who feeds him and takes care of him—if it means throwing off his game even a little bit.

  I’m halfway out of the stadium when it occurs to me that I’ve never really sat down and enjoyed one of the games as a spectator. I’m not expected at home right away, so why not blow off some steam before I hit the job boards?

  I haven’t checked in with HR yet, so I can still use my badge to get in.

  Despite everything that’s happened, I’m a little excited when I settle in near the fifty-yard line. My buddy at the souvenir stand gave me one of those silly foam cowboy hats the fans like to wear, and it really does keep my ears warm.

  I’ve got a hotdog in one hand, a beer in the other, and I don’t even care that I’m setting a bad example for the players by eating junk food. That’s someone else’s problem now.

  When the country singer belts out the national anthem, I sing along. Why not?

  The game commences with a kickoff, and the players prepare to wrestle their way to the end zone. With the ball in his possession, Brady calls out the play to the teammate in front of him.

  I can’t quite hear what he’s saying—the crowd is cheering too loudly for that—but I imagine that he’s telling the other player to make better life choices than he is right now.

  Why does he have to look so confident and strong on the field? It’s making it really hard for me to stay mad at him.

  The other player bends forward and shoots the ball through his legs, delivering it swiftly and safely into Brady’s waiting hands. I’m envying the ball right now, because I know how it feels to be caught in those big, strong hands.

  Brady is winding his arm back, ready to throw the ball, when he looks out of the corner of his eye and sees me in the bleachers with my giant foam hat. His jaw drops, his eyes widen, and before he can finish his pass, a member of the opposing team knocks him down, sending the ball flying into the air and bouncing on the grass.

  The referee blows his whistle. Oh no. I try to sneak out of my seat and slink away before things get any worse, but there’s a line forming on the steps where the other spectators have gotten up to get another beer or go to the bathroom.

  I’m stuck. I’ve thrown Brady off his game, and now all I can do is watch.

  Chapter 32

  Brady

  We made it! We’re going to the fucking Super Bowl!

  While showering, I come to the conclusion that the deciding play-off game wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

  I feel good. Nothing too sore.

  Most of the guys have left the locker room and filed out to visit their family and friends. Hoots and hollers continue to echo, muffled through the walls.

  The past few weeks have been uneventful as I focused all my energy into being in the best condition of my life.

  And I did it. No one can ever take this away from me.

  Football has given me so much through the years. The camaraderie and competition have molded me into my best self.

  I’m proud of what I’ve become.

  As I leave the locker room and head toward the exit, I walk into the team-gathering area, where friends and family have been waiting. Congratulations are happening all around me with hugs and kisses to my teammates.

  I see wives and girlfriends rushing to their significant others to give them congratulatory kisses while their kids hang off their legs, waiting for their turn.

  I don’t have anyone waiting for me, so I make a beeline for the exit, feeling somewhat awkward.

  Only getting about twenty feet, the chanting begins, “Brady...Brady...Brady...”

  Others pick up the words and join in.

  Laughing, I shake my head.

  Our coach walks up with the same serious, dour look he always has on his face.

  Clapping me on the back, he smiles for once as he swivels to face the other team members and their families.

  “Well, we did it.” Everyone quiets down as he starts to speak. “I think the one thing that we really got good at this year was unity. Yeah, we got Brady. And there’s no doubt he has a lot to do with this year’s success. But I feel like we’ve all gotten to know each other—our strengths and weaknesses—and moved forward to make the best of what we have working together.”

  There are more hoots and hollers.

  The last couple of players are joining their families in the room.

  Catcalls ring out periodically, and the talking drops off again.

  “The work isn’t over! Let’s make the most of this opportunity that we’ve been given and crush it!”

  The room roars as everyone starts clapping, whistling, and howling.

  Joining in, I can’t help feeling inspired.

  As the coach wanders off after shaking my hand, other players flit by for a high five or a fist bump.

  Even though I’m happy—ecstatic, actually—I don’t feel like staying and celebrating.

  A lot of the single guys are talking about meeting up later at a night club downtown to party it up.

  I feel so far removed from that part of my life. And the great thing is...I don’t even miss it. At all.

  If you had told me a year ago that I would be fine just going home after a game, I would have never believed you. But truth be told, the only thing I miss right now is Izzie and Liam.

  Watching all the groups of families around me is sobering.

  I’ve changed because of them.

  The morality clause forced me to slow down and be accountable for my actions, instead of acting like a spoiled child looking for attention.

  I grew up without my parents, constantly competing with my siblings for attention from people who didn’t give a shit about any of us.

  That same cycle just continued into adulthood—and now I’ve finally broken free.

  I don’t miss the meaningless hookups and constant partying.

  Between more sleep, less booze, and Izzie’s diet, I feel better than I have since high school. No more aches and pains.

  And I only wish I could tell her. I’m still kicking myself for flying off the handle at her. But I mean, how else was I supposed to react?

  Shit.

  I never thought I’d think this either, but because of the time I spent with Liam and Izzie, I can now see the appeal of hav
ing a family.

  Having that one person, that one constant...like how Izzie was to me. Someone that you could come home to and laugh with. Or tell them about the road rage you had and how you almost killed someone.

  The last few weeks at my place have seemed extremely quiet.

  Quiet and—as weird as it is to say—lonely. The only good thing, if I can even call it that anymore, is that I’ve had plenty of time to focus on the game.

  Constantly surrounded by fans, teammates, reporters, and paparazzi, I’m on my toes, sure. But when I go home, I don’t have anyone to share things with.

  As my teammates, surrounded by their families and friends, start drifting off and heading for the door, I move to the exit.

  It’s time for me to grow up and face some hard facts about my past behavior.

  I’ve spent a large chunk of my life choosing to act and do things not in my best interest. Never missing out on any immediate pleasure, I just flitted along, partying and centering my life loosely around women and alcohol.

  But it’s sacrificed my long-term self-respect. I’m embarrassed by the article in Sports Illustrated.

  I’m not that person anymore.

  Taking command of my mind and making decisions for my body and career’s best interest has been the most satisfying and fulfilling thing I’ve ever experienced.

  Sure, it took a little prodding and a morality clause in my contract, but I did it.

  So, the long-term effects of our choices either leave us with discipline or regret.

  I don’t want to regret anything else in my life.

  What’s that military saying? Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.

  So, I want someone special in my life. A significant other, lover, and confidant. But do I want to get married?

  The only person I would ever consider this with is Izzie. She’s perfect. I crave her back in my life like a drug.

  But with everything I’ve done in the past, how will she ever believe that I’m in it for the long haul?

  In the past, I didn’t make any serious decisions, not really. I just let whatever inspired me happen.