Wild Rugged Daddy - A Single Daddy Mountain Man Romance

by Sienna Parks

  A glimmer of hope flickers in my stomach, and it terrifies me. I quash it as quickly as it appears. I saw the look in Trav’s eyes at the stadium—hatred. Maybe in another world, if it was just him, he could see his way to forgiving me. But, Eli being affected by my actions is where he draws the line and rightly so. My penance is how much more it makes me love him. Seeing him with his son sparks something inside me that I never realized I wanted.

  My relationships up until now have been superficial at best. Good sex, a few laughs, and when they started looking for me to settle down into the cookie-cutter role of wife and mother, I ran in the opposite direction.

  Virtues and flaws are frequently intertwined. I’ve always been an all-or-nothing kind of girl, and it gets me into trouble more often than not. But, the flip side of that is fierce if you want me in your corner. I’ll fight until my dying breath for anything you ask of me.

  If Travis had told me the truth and asked for my loyalty, I would have given it without hesitation. Rejected and desperate, I chose to help someone else who needed me, and in doing so, I helped myself. The trouble is, sometimes you get what you wanted and you realize it’s not as important as the power you gave it.

  I spend a couple of hours with my mom and dad before tearful goodbyes and promises of being reunited soon. I hate leaving them behind, but the best way to help them is to take this job.

  On the way home, I use the last of my sway with my boss to call in a favor. Reluctantly, he does as I ask, calling me back an hour later with Travis’s phone number.

  “You owe me for this. Do you know how many favors I owe now? It wasn’t easy, but here’s his number.” I scribble it on a crumpled old receipt from my purse, my heart pounding at the prospect of what I’m about to do.

  “Thanks, Norm. You’ll be the first person I call when I’m ready to come back. Thanks for the opportunity.”

  “Look after yourself, Jules. Goodbye.” A buzz of anticipation radiates through every cell in my body—a warmth of nerves akin to downing a shot of tequila.

  It’s now or never.

  “Hello. Who am I speaking to?” His voice is smooth like butter.

  “Travis? Is that you?” He knows it’s me. I can feel it in every beat of silence that passes between us. “Please, don’t hang up.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “I called in a lot of favors with my old boss.”

  “I’ll be sure to get whoever is responsible fired.”

  “Can you meet me for coffee?”

  “Why would I do that? We’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

  “I’m leaving LA. You won’t ever need to see me again. No press conference embarrassments or half-naked photo ops. Please, I’m not above begging. Give me half an hour, and then I’m out of your life forever.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. I leave on the red-eye.”

  “Where?”

  “I know a quiet place we can go without you being seen.” I give him the address and ask him to meet me there at 7:00 p.m.

  “I’ll think about it.” It’s more than I expected and without another word, he hangs up. He may not show up, but I’ll be there waiting and hoping until the moment I need to leave for the airport.

  I rush home to rifle through my suitcases for something nicer to wear. Sweats are comfortable for traveling, but I don’t want that to be Trav’s lasting memory of me.

  I arrive at the café thirty minutes early to find a quiet spot in the back. With a large coffee in hand, I wait, my heart in my mouth every time the bell above the entrance rings. An hour comes and goes, 7:30 p.m., 8:00 p.m.—minutes turning to hours as it gets closer to my flight time.

  Somewhere deep down, I thought he’d come. I know so much has passed between us since he arrived on my doorstep, but he felt enough to leave Montana and come back here. He told me he loved me that night. I was clinging to a shred of hope that he still felt something.

  I brought the original version of my article for him in a conspicuous brown envelope. It may anger him further, but it tells a bigger story. Not something the paper was interested in, but it would give him an insight as to my intentions when I wrote it. Norm butchered it, cherry-picking whatever salacious details he thought would sell. He did his job, and it worked. I can’t blame him for that. I should never have handed it over in the first place.

  When time’s up, and I can’t wait any longer, I pull a pen from my bag. I print the return address as my parents’ and google a mailing address for the Rams.

  F.A.O TRAVIS THORBURN

  I’ll send it when I get to New York. He may never see it, but I have to try. My dad was right—if you don’t put in the work, you don’t deserve the spoils.

  Tears spill onto my cheeks as I step outside dragging my suitcases behind me to hail a cab. I didn’t think our story would end this way. My heart is heavier than it’s ever been. When a cab pulls up, the driver helps me load the cases in the trunk. I take one last look at the café as the driver closes the door and jumps in the front seat.

  “Where to?”

  “LAX.” As he pulls back into the traffic, something catches my eye—a shadow in the alley beside the café.

  It’s Travis. Hands in his pockets—his eyes are fixed on me.

  “Stop the car!” I start slamming the Perspex divide. “Please, stop!” When it’s safe to pull over, he stops the car and turns to look at me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need two minutes. Can you wait?”

  “Yeah. It’ll cost you extra, though. Meter will be running.”

  “Fine!” I scramble out of the back seat and sprint as fast as my legs will take me back to where he stood watching me from afar.

  “Travis?”

  He’s gone.

  I burst through into the café almost knocking the bell off the wall. I frantically scan the room, but I don’t see him. Back out on the street, I look in every direction. I can’t find him in the crowd.

  “Travis! Don’t go. Stay.” My pleas fall away in the busy street. He came. But, he left without letting me say goodbye.

  I stand for what feels like hours, my sense of loss crushing my chest so hard I can barely breathe. The cab driver leans long and hard on his horn reminding me I have a plane to catch. Tears stream down my face as I get back in the car and let emotion overwhelm me.

  There’s nothing left for me here.

  Manhattan is everything I thought it would be and more—the epicenter of the world. This has been the toughest move I’ve made, but I’m enjoying the city when I have time. It’s been a month since I left my home in a blaze of heartbreak.

  I think of Travis every day. He’s in the leaves of the trees in Central Park and the snowflakes that fall over Rockefeller Center. I still see his image in the magazine stands, but the day-to-day news here is based on local stories and celebrity sightings on Fifth Avenue.

  I have a small apartment in Brooklyn. The view is stunning, and the elevator works. There’s a doorman and security system to buzz visitors in. It’s a far cry from my life in LA. The job is great. My boss is open to ideas, and my assignments are a step up from what I was doing.

  I’ve made friends, but no matter what I do or where I go, I’m plagued by thoughts of Travis and Eli. So many times, I’ve picked up the phone, scrolled to his number, and talked myself out of calling. I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve typed a text message and stared at it for hours before deleting it and trying to distract myself with other things.

  One of the guys at my office asked me out for drinks, and after making my excuses last week, I agreed to go out tonight for one drink after work. He seems nice enough. I’ve been feeling sick to my stomach about it all day, but I can’t keep hoping for Travis to turn up on my doorstep. That ship has sailed, and if he were going to speak to me, he’d have done it by now.

  I mailed the article the day after I arrived. He’s had it for more than three weeks, and he has my number. I’m beginning to wo
nder if it was him I saw in the alley that night at the café. If he considered letting me say my piece, he thought better of it and stopped himself from making another mistake with me. Even in our worst moments, our chemistry was undeniable.

  Daniel appears at my desk at 5:00 p.m. sharp.

  “Hey, Juliet. Are you ready to go?”

  “Sure.” I grab my laptop and stuff it in my oversized handbag. My hands are shaking, betraying the confident exterior I’ve been fighting to hold onto since I touched down at JFK. “Where do you have in mind?”

  “There’s a great bar two blocks over, and they do nice food if you’re hungry.” Pushing for dinner already? My unease swells until I can feel it constricting my airway. I follow him out of the building, my silence lost in his incessant prattling.

  He was right about the bar. It’s nice. Nicer than any of the places I could afford in LA. It’s full of aspiring young professionals trying to relax after a grueling week in the heart of the beast.

  “What would you like to drink?” The noise in here is unbelievable forcing him to lean in, his lips ghosting a caress of my ear as he speaks. I instinctively take a step back.

  “Margarita, thanks.” I’m going to need some alcohol if I’m going to get through this evening. We find a couple of free barstools after twenty minutes of standing around shouting at each other to be heard. It’s marginally easier sitting side by side.

  “So, what brought you to New York?”

  “You haven’t heard the watercooler gossip about me yet?” He has the decency to look embarrassed by his attempts to get me talking.

  “If you mean the article you wrote, then yes, I’ve read it. I don’t see why it would make you move clear across the country, though, and I don’t pay attention to gossip. Newspapers must have been clamoring for you in LA.”

  “Well, New York’s the capital of the world, right? It trumps any paper in LA as a rung on the ladder.”

  “I get that. I’m originally from Minnesota, but the moment I graduated high school, I moved out here for college, and I’ve never looked back.” I sit back and observe as he continues telling me the merits of life in the Big Apple. He’s a handsome guy—career driven, well dressed, and the girls in the office swoon over him on a daily basis.

  “Do you want to order food?” I nod my head before downing my second cocktail of the night. The bartender shows us to a little table on the other side of the bar. This section has TVs strategically placed so you can see at least one from any table. The sports channels display various games—pick your poison—NFL, MLB, MBA, there’s something to watch. I stare at the screens, dumbstruck when Travis appears on one of them. The NFL pundits are discussing his decision to leave LA. I’m glued to the subtitles as a recent picture of Travis and Eli flashes up. They say he announced it last night. He asked to be left alone to raise his son.

  “Juliet… are you listening? What would you like to eat?” I turn to see the waitress staring me down with disdain while flashing her best smile for Daniel.

  “Whatever.” His eyes follow mine to the screen behind him.

  “Why does everyone care so much what he does? He’s a washed-up has-been if you ask me.”

  “No one asked you.” I can’t hide the annoyance in my voice.

  “Sorry. I know you two were… something, I guess. Obviously, wasn’t serious. You wouldn’t have sold him out like that if it was.” His smile is saccharine sweet, almost as distasteful as the smell of stale beer and sweat that surrounds us. I turn to the waitress.

  “Cancel my order. I just lost my appetite.” I stand from the table unable to force myself to spend another minute feigning interest in this guy. I make my way through the crowd, shoving shoulders and jostling a path for myself. The moment I step outside, a hand grips my arm.

  “Where are you going? I’m sorry. I figured you were over him. Am I wrong? You wrote the article.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tears threaten, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  “Come on. I get it. I’d sell my own grandmother for a story like that. We do what we have to.”

  “That’s not why I did it.” I wrestle free and start walking toward the closest subway station. “I needed the money.”

  “Okay.” His snide laugh gets under my skin. “Tell yourself whatever you need to. Makes no difference to me.”

  “It’s the truth. I needed the money for my parents.” Every time I speed up, he keeps pace.

  “They are the ones who are supposed to help you. Not the other way around. It’s fucked up that they expect you to look after them.”

  “They don’t.” Like a true reporter, he won’t let it go. Always another question.

  “Then why are you selling your soul to give them money?” The buildings close in around me. My body starts to overheat, the pressure of the past few months bearing down on me—his questions chipping away at me until I can’t stand it anymore.

  “My mom has Alzheimer’s! Okay? She needs treatment, and they can’t afford to keep paying it without help!” The tears flow freely as I say the words out loud for the first time. Just hearing them makes it more real.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Juliet. How old is she?”

  “Fifty. Early onset. We didn’t see it coming. I thought I had more time with her. She doesn’t even know who I am most of the time. My dad thought he had time, you know? That she would remember the life they’ve built.”

  “Tomorrow is never a certainty, I guess.” The words hit me. Why the hell am I wasting my time here? With him? In New York? There may not be time for me to make things right with Travis, but one thing is certain. If I don’t go after him, I’ll never have the chance.

  I wipe my eyes, grab Daniel, and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For making me realize what I need to do. I have to go.” I turn on my heels and run.

  “Wait! What are you talking about?”

  “Tell the paper I quit.” I don’t even look back, my eyes focused on where I’m going.

  “What the fuck? Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I’m done. I have somewhere I need to be, and it can’t wait another minute.”

  16

  TRAVIS

  It’s good to be back at the cabin. I’ve often wondered if this was home or a hideout. I guess it was both, I just didn’t see it. Eli is outside playing cowboy while I make a start on dinner. His laughter echoes through the trees filling my heart with joy and pride. He’s taken the past few months in his stride showing a strength I’ll never have.

  Being back in LA took its toll on me in more ways than one. I’d forgotten just how brutal the press can be. There wasn’t a moment that we spent outside the gates of our house that didn’t involve a photo op or a plea for interviews. I tried my best to accommodate them—to pull the focus from Angela’s parents and Elijah. I thought if I gave them what they wanted, it would subside. I haven’t played football in years, and sports, for the most part, is fickle. We’re taught from a young age to enjoy our time in the limelight because, for most athletes, they peak in high school. A small percentage go on to enjoy college scholarships and elaborate stadiums.

  Then, there’s a tiny majority of us who are lucky enough to have our day in the sun—the big leagues. I never expected that cutting my career short would have the opposite effect. ‘Travis Thorburn’ seems to have achieved cult status in my absence. How strange. If I’d known… it wouldn’t have changed my mind. I took a chance on Jules. If I hadn’t, I would have kept myself awake at night wondering.

  Now, I find myself unable to find sleep for a different reason. I miss her, and I hate myself for it. She betrayed my trust, but there’s a part of me that can’t help wanting her. I knew better than to walk into that café the night she left LA. If I had, I would’ve given in to anything she said, my body ruling my brain. I saw her sitting inside, worrying the empty coffee cup in her hands, her hair falli
ng over her face, and nervous energy coming off her in waves, each one hitting me harder than the last.

  I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t make myself walk more than ten feet from the door. As it got later and later, it got harder to leave. Knowing she was in there waiting for hours on the off-chance I’d arrive to hear her out, it left me more confused than ever.

  It didn’t get any easier when I got a call from the coach at the Rams a week later. Jules had mailed me a letter. It took four days of staring at the envelope before I could bear to open it. I don’t know what she would have said if I’d gone inside that night—I’m still not sure what she hoped to achieve by sending an unedited version of her article.

  It was an eye-opener. Her writing can tear you up in one sentence and warm your heart with eloquent tenderness in another. It’s clear she had genuine affection for me. This version was nowhere near the scathing exposé that was eventually published, but in the end, it amounted to the same thing—playing on my tragedy and vulnerabilities.

  I’ve almost called her a thousand times—the distraught look on her face as she got in that cab stuck in my mind. But, what would I say? I don’t have the words to articulate the way she’s made me feel. It’s better this way. A clean break. I tell myself it will get easier with time. If I can survive losing Angela, I can survive losing Jules.

  It’s different this time around. If you haven’t experienced it, you don’t realize heartbreak comes in many forms. When someone you’re in love with dies, it’s so… final. Knowing that you’ll never hear their voice again, watch them laugh, or see them grow old is devastating. It leaves you numb. If it wasn’t for Eli, I think I would’ve given up. It took years to feel even close to dealing with my loss.

  Jules is a different kind of heartbreak. We were deprived of having the chance to make those memories that make you believe in love. I was granted a taste before she ripped it out of my hands. Knowing she made the decision is like a dagger to my heart. I knew going after her would most likely result in giving up my anonymity, but I thought she was worth the risk.