HARDPRESSED (Ocean Falls Trilogy Book 1)

by Peyton Storm

  Trepidation gnawed at me for the entire ride, but it wasn’t until he made a right turn onto Crossport Drive that the true reality of the situation kicked me square in the gut. Nothing had changed about my old high school. Nothing, except for everything.

  The green and white sign stood proud, although aged and dated. ‘Home of the Calibers.’ I was consumed by memories of climbing to the top of that old sign after we had won state for the first time. I could still see her face, flushed from excitement and pride as the crowd surrounded her, cheering our victory. The way she looked at me back then...fuck. She would have done anything for me, anything at all.

  As we continued past the student parking, I noticed my old spot, our spot, was still in need of some touch-up paint. Instead of my beat-up Jeep, a shiny new SUV sat there now, likely owned by some pissed off rich kid. She had loved my old Jeep. Every Sunday morning, we would hit the beach at sunrise. She always had an iced coffee in hand and her favorite blanket draped around her shoulders. It was our time. There was no thought of finals or practice before and after school. There were no worries about broken curfew or pending college apps. It’s true, on the field was where I truly felt alive, but she was my pulse, my reason, my everything. Fuck, I needed Dax to wheel that big bastard around and get me the hell up out of there.

  That, of course, didn’t happen, and so instead, I forced a smile and played my role. I gave the fans what they wanted. Fans. I still had a hard time with the mere notion. I let that shit go to my head once before, and ultimately, it had cost me the one thing that mattered most. She was long gone, though, and I had to get my shit together. The National Football League was my only hope for a future, and maybe, just maybe, if I cleaned up my act a bit, I would get my chance.

  The morning flew by, and I had to admit, I was impressed by the new field and facility, though it was still in desperate need of a paint job. When I cut the ribbon, it took me back briefly, but I pushed that shit way the hell down. Dax had coached me on my speech, and the Q&A portion didn’t get too personal. All that was left was to sit at a table, sign autographs, and then a short photo opp with some local kids who had won a contest of some sort with meeting me as their grand prize. I figured I would sign a ball or two, pat them on the head, and then get the hell out of there and never look back.

  Little did I know, that bitch Karma had a different idea.

  Presley

  Mr. and Mrs. Parks were my favorite and most long term clients. They could Fox Trot with the best of them, and Mr. Parks, in particular, had a mean Salsa. They paid me well above my top rate and wouldn’t hear of it when I had tried to protest. I think I was their ‘weekend out’ when they let their hair down and so, forever the gentlemen, Mr. Parks paid top dollar to keep his Mrs. happy.

  Little did they know, I cherished that time just as much, if not more so, than they did. The Parks had what I could only wish for. I was young but not naïve. My happy ever after was nothing more than a long lost pipe dream, and while I wouldn’t give up what I had with my daughter, I sometimes wished I could give her more. Paisley looked up to me, and I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes if she learned the truth about her mama and how she came to be. She was far too young, but if I were honest with myself, it wasn’t a story I looked forward to sharing whether she was four or forty.

  Once the Parks left, I reached for my phone to take it out of airplane mode. I kept my playlist on my phone and had to avoid disruptions during classes and private lessons. The familiar chirping sound brought both joy and guilt. Paisley was still learning the tricks of video chatting and always held the phone a tad too close. She was grinning ear to ear, and before I could even say hello, she asked if Mr. Parks had brought her flowers from his garden, which, of course, he had. She would sit them in her window sill and pull back her curtains every morning to let the sun in before running off to preschool.

  “Hi, sweet girl!” I tried to interject, but she was going ninety to nothing about balloons, old men doing boring talks, and how Aunt Belle was getting her a snow cone.

  The community had gone all out, it seemed, for their ‘Hometown Hero’ and although it was petty of me, the idea made me want to yank every single curl right out of my head. I could just see the arrogant fucker puffing up his chest, looking down on the ‘little people.’ My daughter included.

  And there I was, cowering away. My little girl would soon meet her hero. I had to get over myself. The past was the past, dead and buried. I wouldn’t miss it.

  “How long before the meet and greet?” I asked. She started to answer but was distracted by what was possibly the biggest snow cone I had ever seen. Paisley squealed with delight, and soon I was greeted by Belle’s guilty expression.

  “What can I say, she gave me the eyes!” I knew all too well the look Belle was referring to. Paisley’s eyes were her key to the world and hell if she didn’t already know it.

  Belle went on to explain the events of the day. The new field had been dedicated and even named after him. The mayor was there, city council members, and of course, the heads of the athletics department. Speeches had been given, ribbons had been cut, and now it was more like a carnival had taken shape. Mock field goal contests were set up for dads to relive their senior year and impress their wives and kids. Pictures were offered with the school mascot, too. Apparently, there was a little something for everyone. They had another twenty minutes or so before they were to report to the tent set up on the far right of the home team end zone for the autograph and photo session with Tack. If I left the studio right that second and ignored any and all red traffic lights, maybe, just maybe…

  Chapter 3

  Greyson

  The day didn’t go so bad after all. I saw a couple of old teammates, coaches too. According to Dax, there were ten winners in total, all local youth. They’d get an autograph and a pic with me, I’d tell them to stay in school and call it a day. I had to give it to D, though. All the right sports media had representation on sight. Granted, the big networks were nowhere to be seen. Had I been tossed out for bar fighting in Vegas—again—then I sure as shit would have made the evening highlight reel. Funny how that shit worked.

  At the end of the line was a young boy and his dad. The kid didn’t speak much but seemed thrilled when I reached for the football he had tucked underneath his arm and even more thrilled when I reached for my signature purple Sharpie. His dad, however, wanted to chat me up about the pending draft. He basically gave me a play by play rundown as to why I wouldn’t even go first round, let alone first overall. Thank fuck he was finally ushered away, and I was done. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had gotten through it, and not a ghost in sight.

  I tossed back the last of my peanut M&Ms and started to roll my aching shoulders when a squeak of a voice caught my attention.

  “Mama says you don’t need but a handful.”

  So now I was going to get dietary advice from someone who barely stood eyebrow height to the table I was sitting at? Great. Until I sat forward, all I could really see was a mop of curls wrapped in pink ribbon. Under the massive amount of hair stood a tiny little girl. I wondered if this kid would even come up to my knees. And more importantly, what was she doing in my line to begin with? I had wondered if she was lost, but under all that pink and glitter, she wore my jersey. Cute, sure, but I wasn’t about to play babysitter.

  “Are you lost, little girl?” I asked while my eyes scanned the crowd for someone, anyone who appeared to be looking for their kid. Where was Dax when I needed him?

  “Nope! I won, and I’m your biggest fan!” she yelled.

  Right. My biggest fan could all but fit inside my pocket. Lovely. Again, where the fuck was Dax?! Two seconds later, I was in desperate need of some aspirin, a drink, or even a blow to the head; the high pitched shrieking coming from nearby was enough to make my eye twitch. A frazzled blonde bulldozed her way through the small crowd that had gathered outside o
f my tent. Thankfully the little girl recognized her and met her with a wide grin. Crisis averted. With her mom having finally arrived, I figured I was but one autograph away from putting that day and that place behind me. That was until I looked up only to come face to face with the same girl who was once my forever.

  I’ll never forget the crushing pain in my chest at the sight of her. It was all-consuming, crippling. The only sound I could distinguish was my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. There she stood, perfect. The anger stirred within me, overshadowed only by my yearning, my loss. She stood still, frozen in time. My perfect girl who wasn’t.

  Neither of us spoke a word as the world around us came to a screeching halt. Everything fell away, and for a split second, I entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe, she was there for me. That all the years of bitterness and hate hadn’t been enough to keep her away. That she had come to see me one more time. I would tell her to fuck off if only I could find my voice.

  I blinked once to make sure it wasn’t a dream—or a nightmare, as it was. Presley’s eyes always gave her away. So much emotion, life, and energy. Only at that moment, her steely expression revealed nothing. Absolutely nothing. What came next, however, revealed everything.

  “Mommy.”

  The little girl, my number one fan, lit up at the sight of her. That made two of us. She hadn’t changed, not one bit. Not since the day I walked away from her six years ago. My once gorgeous girl had turned into a stunning woman, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away as the little girl leaped into her arms. I tried telling myself that my imagination was running wild, playing tricks on me. My mind couldn’t keep up. It couldn’t process the pieces that were scrambling to come together.

  No.

  It took everything I had to keep the questions from tumbling from my mouth, but there were already too many clips of me losing my shit circulating. I couldn’t afford another.

  If I had any chance at all at keeping it together, I had to move it along. With an unsteady hand, I reached for the ball the little girl held out to me. I had to clear my throat before I asked, “And who do I make this out to?”

  “Paisley,” she replied.

  Paisley. Right. It was so Presley. She always did see the world in striking, vibrant, and sometimes chaotic color. I didn’t dare lift my eyes to Presley again, so instead, I looked directly at the little girl, Paisley, as I passed the ball back to her and somehow forced what I had hoped resembled a smile. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, after all.

  It was then that I looked at the girl. I mean, really looked at her. How had I not made the connection immediately? She was the spitting image of her mother. Her hair was a little darker but no less curly and from the looks of it, just as long. She had the same golden bronze skin tone, even the same chin. In fact, the only difference and what kept me from connecting it to begin with were her…eyes.

  Wait.

  No.

  I scrambled to do the mental math as my eyes shot up to Presley’s, whose then showed guilt, fear, and mostly hate. Before I could challenge her, dare her to tell me I was wrong, she grabbed Paisley by the hand and disappeared into the crowd. I wanted to call to her, demand that she face me, to fucking explain herself. But once again, her name caught in my throat. Never out loud.

  Presley

  I tried my damnedest to keep my voice light and cheerful as I all but dragged Paisley to the car. I could feel who I prayed was Belle hot on our heels. I didn’t dare turn around until after I dug the key fob from my pocket and unlocked the door. Belle was brimming with questions, but she knew not to voice them with Paisley within earshot.

  As Paisley told me all about her “best day ever,” I glanced into my rearview mirror to see her grinning from ear to ear and to see that Belle was right behind us. She would follow us home and want answers.

  The bastard had at least kept his cool in front of Paisley. It would have broken my heart to see her image of him shattered like mine had been all those years ago. I feared my feet would fail me as I approached the table and caught my first glimpse of the two of them together.

  For the most part, Greyson looked the same, but his once boyish features had taken on a harsher edge. His eyes looked tired, weak. I figured it was jetlag. He still wore his hair shaggy with no rhyme or reason, and he had a shadow of a beard likely due to oversleeping. Even so, he was still perfect, the bastard.

  My mind raced as I tried to figure out what to do next. I could see it on his face the second he put it all together. The question then became what, if anything, was he going to do about it? And then there was Belle. I owed her an explanation, and I wasn’t sure how my best friend would take it. Of one thing I was certain: none of it was Paisley’s fault, and I’d be damned if I would allow the fallout to touch her in any way.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have let her go, but how could I rob her for a mistake that I made? For what I chose to do, or not do, about it. I glanced at her in the rearview once more, and I knew. I knew that whatever wrath may come my way, it would still be worth it. Her lids were heavy, but the smile and simple look of contentment said it all. Paisley was happy, and she had met her hero.

  We’d been a football family since I was Paisley’s age. It wasn’t until Greyson and I fell apart that I created distance. Still, whether she was with her dad or Pop-Pop, the tradition continued. She loved everything about football weekend, but there was one player in particular that stood out, one that she always found herself cheering for, one that at one point, could have been her father.

  By the time we pulled into the driveway, Paisley had lost the fight. She was fast asleep and had her newly autographed football clutched tight against her tiny chest. Belle pulled in behind us, and when I went to lift Peanut out of her car seat, Belle ran up ahead with my keys in hand to open the front door.

  Along the way, Paisley opened her eyes, grinned, and asked for a grilled cheese sandwich before her bath. Once inside, she bolted down the hallway and into her bedroom to find the perfect spot to properly display her new prized possession. I could feel Belle’s eyes on me as I made my way around the kitchen, gathering the bread and pulling the butter and sliced cheese from the fridge. For a split second, I started to reach for the root beer too. Damn it. Angry at myself, I slammed the door shut, and Belle finally spoke up.

  “Spill, girlie.”

  Her tone was playful, but she was obviously testing the waters. I had never shared that part of my past with her, and so she had no idea what it was she was asking of me. Would I lose her, too? Her image started to blur before me as my lids brimmed with tears. I tried to speak, to give her something, anything, but what could I possibly say?

  She crossed the kitchen and wrapped both arms around my shoulders. She was consoling, yet understandably confused. “Presley, oh my God, I’m so sorry. I thought I was just going to get some juicy gossip. I didn’t know. I...tell me, is it really that bad? You can tell me anything, you know?”

  “Mama!”

  Paisley’s call saved me from having to tell my story. Belle didn’t push. Instead, she gave me another encouraging squeeze and said, “I got this, go. Three grilled cheese sandwiches coming up!”

  God love her. I nodded, somehow managed to collect myself, and headed down the hall to see what was so urgent. My Paisley took great pride in her little bedroom. For such a young child, I had no problem with her keeping it tidy. She loved to display any and everything that meant something to her. She had a small table tucked into the far corner of her room closest to her window. On it sat the vase of fresh flowers Mr. Parks had sent home with me earlier in the day. When she felt they needed a bit more sun, she’d move them to her window and back again. She also had a picture of us together at the pumpkin patch last fall, and now her football as well. Her eyes sparkled as she angled it just right.

  The excitement of the day had started to take its toll. She was all but climbing the walls one minute, then do
zing off the next. We hurried through our late dinner so that I could give her a quick bath and put her to bed. She was so tired that she barely fussed. Normally, it was a battle because she was a big girl and could do it all by herself.

  The day had taken a lot out of me as well. More than I had realized. My lids too became heavy as I crawled into bed to read her a story.

  Chapter 4

  Greyson

  I didn’t say much of anything on the way back to the hotel. I needed time with my thoughts and a bottle, or two, of Jack. Dax was wired and wanted to catch the fight on HBO, but I cited a migraine, and so after he ordered me a bite to eat from room service, as well as some aspirin, he left me to my self-destruction.

  The meal sat untouched as I broke the seal and tossed the bottle back. I paced the room as my emotions boiled over. Why the hell did I keep doing the math in my head, like the result would ever change? I knew she hated me, I fucking knew it. And yeah, maybe I did deserve something but this? How could she?

  Flashbacks. Fuck, the flashbacks crowded my mind, and no matter how much I drank, I couldn’t drown them out. I craved numbness, but I needed answers. She owed me that much, and in my drunken haze, I did the one thing I hadn’t been able to do in six fucking years. I looked her up.

  Her address was easy to find; the perks of living in a small town. The room spun when I jumped to my feet and reached for the truck keys Dax had left behind. I missed the turn at least twice before I finally pulled into her driveway. She had company. I took another pull from the bottle as I stumbled out of the truck, and had to squint to double-check the house number. It was small, one bedroom, two tops. It was outdated yet tidy and clean.