The Play Maker (The Sideline Series Book 1)

by L. M. Carr

  Grinning, I reply, “I hope not.”

  The seconds it takes for Julian to read the letter feel like an eternity. Slowly, he drags his eyes upward and stares at me.

  “Is this for real?” he breathes out.

  A small smile appears on my face.

  “You quit your job?”

  I nod.

  With each slow blink, he seems to process the information. “You quit your job for me?”

  I tilt my head. “Well, actually, I quit my job for me. I realized how much I miss you when I’m on the road.

  “But you love your job.”

  “I love you more,” I choke out.

  Engulfed in his arms, Julian hugs me tightly. “This means the world to me, Addison.”

  I massage the nape of his neck and pull back to look at him. “You are my world.”

  “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “Well, I did,” I confirm, kissing his lips softly. “Besides, I’ve been having some pretty awful bouts of morning sickness lately,” I say nonchalantly.

  Shock widens his gaze. “What? Morning sickness?

  I shrug. “Yeah. I’m kind of pregnant.”

  He laughs in disbelief, but the serious look in my eyes halts him.

  “You’re serious?”

  I step back and grab my bag, pulling out the plastic stick in the Ziplock bag, along with the tiny outfit made of soft cotton, handing them over. “As serious as these two blue lines and this onesie.”

  Julian drops to his knees, untucks my shirt and places his hands on my hips. He buries his lips against my abdomen. My fingers glide through his hair and I push back on his head, forcing him to look at me.

  “Are you okay?”

  Tearful blue eyes gaze up at me as he smiles. “I’m so much more than okay.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Two weeks later…

  Naomi drops the fork and screeches. “Are you kidding me? I’m going to be an auntie?”

  I set down the glass of sparkling water, smile and nod, patting the small bump hidden beneath yoga pants.

  “Have you told Julian? I know he was pretty upset when you came to me about Asher before going to him.”

  “He couldn’t be more excited. He’s always wanted kids.”

  “How? When? Give me the details!” She can hardly contain her excitement.

  “We had sex. Probably in our bed. I’m due in June.” My smile grows with each response.

  “I don’t even know what to say!”

  “You can say yes to being my baby’s godmother.”

  My best friend, the hard-nosed, tough attorney, turns to mush, eyes tearing, nodding profusely.

  “What about Mallory?” she eventually asks.

  I tilt my head. “What about her?”

  “Why didn’t you ask her to be godmother?”

  “Because if this baby turns out to be a girl, I’m going to need your help raising her to become a strong, fearless, independent woman. Besides, Mallory can be godmother to the next one.”

  Naomi laughs, then stands beside the white linen-covered table, clicks her heels together and salutes. “Auntie Nay-Nay reporting for duty.”

  I look around the restaurant, seeing some of the patrons looking at her and smirking. Grasping her arm, I pull her back to her chair. “Oh, my god. Sit down. You’re so embarrassing.”

  She smirks. “Speaking of embarrassing…” Her smile fades. “I talked to Santino. Did Asher’s attorney really make an offer to settle this out of court?”

  I place a bite of food into my mouth and nod, my eyes filling with determination. “He’s out of his mind. This isn’t about money.”

  “So you’re going to trial?”

  “No question about it. Julian was adamant.”

  “But you’ll be out to here.” Naomi places her hand about a foot from her stomach

  “Good. There will be more of me for Asher to deal with. Not to mention the hormones.”

  She snorts. “Nolan is happy you’ve decided to go after Alonzo, too.”

  I inhale. “I thought long and hard about it. I can’t do anything about what he did to those girls when he was young, but I can do something about the choices he made as an adult. He broke the law, and he needs to be held accountable.”

  “And you’re okay with those images going public?”

  I lower my gaze and swallow. “Not entirely, but if I want to take a stand against this kind of harassment, I have to be.”

  Our conversation is interrupted by a ping from Naomi’s phone. When she looks at the screen, the happy look on her face lets me know it’s a text from Nolan.

  Naomi’s fingers fly across the screen as she enunciates each word. “No. You. Will. Not.”

  “Oh no. What’s he up to now?” I ask, wondering what her laid-back boyfriend is doing.

  “Look!” She turns her phone in my direction and shows me the image of Nolan wearing a Green Bay Packers jersey and a Cheesehead hat. “He’s from Wisconsin. That’s his only excuse for this behavior.”

  I laugh. “Julian and Rence are going to give him such a hard time tomorrow. They might even take away the seats on the fifty and make him sit in the nose-bleed section.”

  “Screw that! I’m not sitting up there. I’m going wherever you go!”

  “Cool! I’m on the sidelines.”

  §

  The following afternoon, Naomi, Nolan, Mallory and I head over to the stadium.

  “Rence is really excited about the baby,” Mallory states as we enter the building.

  “I know. He keeps referring to himself as ‘Funcle Rence’.” I laugh, then add, “He’s going to be a great dad someday.”

  A wave of sadness spreads over her face.

  I frown. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Smiling tightly, Mallory shakes her head. “He’s not sure he ever wants to have kids.”

  This is news to me. “Really? When we were in California, he kept talking about his ‘game changer’.”

  She murmurs, repeating my words.

  I stop walking and reach for her arm. “Is everything okay with you guys?”

  She smiles and nods. “Yeah. Everything’s great between us.”

  §

  Over the next two months, Julian and I fall into an easy routine. His days continue to be long, and my belly continues to grow. Some days are easier than others, but I’ve recently started volunteering at a local women’s shelter and am considering taking an online course in counseling. It’ll give me something to do until our daughter arrives. While some might argue that I forfeited my career, I disagree. I’m doing what is best for me and my family. Plain and simple.

  When Rence got a major concussion two weeks ago, I was there to care for him when Mallory had to return to Chicago. After being forced to sit out during the playoffs, he’s excited to return this weekend. To say my brother was unhappy he had to sit out is a gigantic understatement. He’s been working hard and is determined to help his team win the Super Bowl and bring home the coveted Lombardi Trophy. It’s almost ironic that Houston is hosting the game this year.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Julian says, rolling over and wrapping his arms around me. I snuggle against his chest, despite the obstruction of my rounded belly. “How are my girls?”

  I smile and rub near my ribcage. “We’re good. She was kicking like crazy last night.”

  “Maybe she didn’t like her daddy poking around in her space.”

  I laugh. “Eww! You’re gross. I don’t know how you even find me attractive right now. I’m as big as a house.”

  Julian lowers himself, skimming his lips along my naked body until he reaches my belly button. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to you than I am right now. You’re carrying the child we made. She’s a part of both of us.”

  “I wonder who she’s going to look like. Will she have blue eyes like yours, or green like mine?”

  “Either way, she is going to be gorgeous, like her mother.”


  I caress his face and sigh. “You’re sweet.”

  Forty-five minutes later, after a quick round of intimacy and breakfast, Julian is showered and out the door, heading to the stadium for a long day of practice and meetings. Every decision and every play could make or break his team’s chance of being champions.

  When he arrives home that night, his nerves and agitation are on full display. Even his time buried deep in me does little to quell his stress.

  “Talk to me, Julian,” I command softly, running my fingers over his head as it rests against my breast.

  Julian hums as his hand caresses my belly.

  “You’ve done everything you can to prepare your guys for this.”

  “I know.”

  “Then what are you so worried about?”

  He lifts his hand, runs it over his face and groans. “Ah, it’s stupid.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m so grateful to have this opportunity to coach this amazing group of men, and I can’t believe we’re playing in the Super Bowl tomorrow. It’s the ultimate goal for a football player.”

  I wait, sensing he has more to say.

  “I guess part of me wishes I were playing in the game instead of coaching.”

  My eyes close and I swallow quietly. “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  “Sometimes I look at Rence and wonder what would’ve happened if he hadn’t hit me so fucking hard.” He laughs darkly. “I’m convinced he was trying to kill me.”

  I chuckle. “He probably was. You know he was always a little overprotective of me. I guess he went a little overboard that day.”

  “You think?”

  “He’s worked really hard to get back to where he used to be,” I note. “He was so mad about those penalties at the beginning of the season. His timing used to be impeccable.”

  Julian nods.

  “You think he’s ready for tomorrow?”

  After blowing out a puff of air, he clears his throat. “As ready as he’ll ever be.”

  Shifting his body, he reaches for the remote control on the nightstand and knocks over the magazine I was reading earlier.

  “What’s this?” he sings, picking up the copy of GQ.

  “Nothing!” I attempt to grab it, to no avail.

  He sighs. “Baby, how many did you buy this time?”

  “All of them,” I admit with a smile. “I couldn’t help myself. You look so damn good.”

  He flips through the pages until he finds the two-page spread of us. He sits comfortably on the couch, a football in his hand, while I stand behind him with my hand on his shoulder. It’s a beautiful image. We decided to go public with our story before the trial against Asher and charges against Richardson are revealed.

  “You’d better get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you.”

  He yawns and turns off the small lamp, then cuddles against my body.

  “Whatever happens tomorrow, I’m so thankful you’ll be with me.”

  I kiss the top of his head. “I will always be with you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Game Day

  Every football fan understands the excitement of the Super Bowl. How much work it takes to get there. How incredible it feels when your team wins. Maybe even the awful disappointment when you’re handed a loss.

  When I hugged my husband goodbye this morning, I stepped out of his hold and wished him good luck–not with words, but with my hands, just as his mother would have. I told him that no matter how the game ends, we are so very proud of him. I told him about my immeasurable love for him and our unborn child.

  His chin quivered as I held him. “I love you, Addison.”

  “And I love you. Now, go kick some ass!”

  He chuckled and kissed me goodbye.

  When Mallory and I arrive at the stadium, we meet up with some of the other players’ wives and girlfriends. Some have young children in tow, while others have rounded bellies, like mine.

  “Nice shirt,” I tease, motioning to Mallory’s jersey with Rence’s name and number on the back. “I was going to wear mine, too, but it wouldn’t fit over this.” I point to my belly.

  We walk to the broadcasting booth to visit my friends and former colleagues. It figures the network I recently resigned from is covering the game, which means I would’ve been able to watch the game from the sidelines. I probably still could, but I don’t want to be a distraction, and I know Julian would be worried about me in the midst of all those huge players.

  The pre-game show comes to an end just before the home team makes their appearance. The viewership is expected to surpass last year’s ninety-eight million because, for the first time in NFL history, the host team is also playing.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask Mallory, who accepts a drink from Naomi.

  She nods, taking a sip of water.

  Nolan chimes in confidently, “They’ve got this.”

  During the first half, both teams see-saw back and forth, each responding in kind when the other scores.

  By halftime, Rence looks exhausted and seems off his game. He’s gotten two penalties because he appears intent on getting to Alonzo Richie before anyone else does. I pace the suite to prevent myself from going down to the sidelines to talk to him. He’s been there for me multiple times. It’s the least I can do for him.

  “Maybe I should text Julian.”

  Mallory tosses me a look. “You can if you want…”

  My lips tighten. “You don’t think I should?”

  “No, I don’t,” she says, shaking her head.

  Naomi agrees. “Let him do his job, AJ.”

  My anxiety hits an all-time high as we enter the third quarter.

  The momentum shifts at the beginning of the fourth when we score two touchdowns and hold their offense, forcing them to punt.

  “Should you be jumping around like that?” Nolan asks me, a look of sheer panic on his face.

  I laugh. “You’re an idiot!”

  Our defense back on the field, I keep my eye on Rence, who dodges his counterpart and chases down Richie, wrapping his arms around his waist. As if experiencing déjà vu, I watch as he drives him to the ground, just as he did to Julian years ago. Multiple yellow flags fly, whistles are blown.

  Opposing players rush over to where Alonzo lies beneath Rence’s huge body, each working to yank my brother off their man. As the medical staff makes their way to the injured player and immediately signals for a cart, Rence jogs off the field to where Julian awaits.

  I cover my mouth with my hands as I stare intently at the heated discussion between the two men I love. Julian points his finger, then jabs it against Rence’s head. In response, Rence’s face hardens and he slaps the clipboard out of Julian’s hand.

  “Oh no… Stop, please,” I whisper.

  I desperately wish someone would intervene or that the camera would cut to something else, but it doesn’t. On the huge screens, for all to see, is the shoving match that ensues between coach and player.

  “I have to stop them,” I murmur and begin to rush from the room, Mallory and Naomi stepping into the doorway.

  “You can’t go down there,” Mallory insists.

  “Dammit!” I scream, spinning from them.

  Returning my attention to the field, I see Rence stomp away from Julian, sit on the bench and slam his helmet down onto the ground. He looks like a wild man.

  I turn to Mallory. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

  She licks her lips before speaking. “He’s under a lot of pressure. Cut him a little slack.”

  “Cut him slack? Did you see the way he just went after my husband?”

  Mallory sighs, but doesn’t answer.

  Both teams take the field once again. With the absence of Rence, the Cowboys manage to score. Julian clenches his fists and calls his defensive coordinator over.

  A minute later, they turn and look at Rence, who sits on the bench, his head in his hands. My brother looks defeated, and my husband looks regretful. I can’
t imagine it’s an easy decision to make your brother-in-law sit during one of the biggest games of his career.

  Our quarterback throws a perfect pass to the wide receiver, who sprints into the endzone. The entire stadium erupts. Some fans scream in happiness, while others yell about the blown coverage by their team.

  With only six seconds left in the game, we’re back on top by two. It’s up to our defense now. If the offense is allowed to get far enough down the field, they could kick a field goal.

  My heart beating wildly in my chest, the twenty-two men line up across from each other on the field. Just before their quarterback calls the play, Julian steps onto the field, motioning for a timeout.

  He walks over to Rence and squats down in front of him. My brother doesn’t raise his head but nods, indicating he’s listening.

  Time passes as the two men engage in some sort of a debate. I assume they’ve reached a compromise when Julian stands and picks up Rence’s helmet, handing it to him. When Rence looks up, a somber expression blankets his face.

  Jogging out onto the field, he looks up to our suite and points with his helmet before securing it on his head.

  The camera zooms in on Julian. Inhaling sharply, he stares straight ahead. He adjusts his headset on his head, then plants his feet shoulder width apart, crossing his arms over his chest. I can read his lips when they move.

  Just hold ‘em, Rence. Just hold ‘em.

  But that’s not the Hamilton way, is it? When you do something, do it to the best of your ability.

  Clapping his hands out of the huddle, each of his men run to their positions as he walks up behind the center. Then he changes the play, shouting, a few players scrambling into different positions. Rence remains in position, still and focused. When the ball is snapped, the tight end across from him keeps his head down and runs a route to the outside, waving his arm to signify that he’s open, but Rence knew exactly what was going to happen.

  When the quarterback cocks his arm back to throw, my brother is already in his face, tackling him to the ground, the ball popping loose. Crawling across the turf, Rence scoops up the ball, jumps to his feet, dashes the thirty yards and falls into the endzone just as the game clock expires. When he rises, he spikes the ball, then jumps into the air like a maniac, his arms waving around, his hands gripping his helmet in disbelief.