Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats)

by Jeanette Murray

  “Oh, no. No, sweetie, it’s not Stanley at all. He was an unexpected bonus in the bargain. It’s just that right now, Clay wants to focus on learning how to raise a son. He didn’t get to start at ground zero like I did.” Standing to walk toward her teenager, she cupped his face with her hand. “And he’s seen the awesome results, so he wants to replicate them. It’ll take time. Maybe, someday…”

  “Yeah.” He shuffled his feet and stepped back from her touch. Not out of embarrassment, she knew. Just a need for space. “Can I head to Dillon’s room and hang there for a while? We were going to go swimming later.”

  “The pool closes at eleven, and you’ve got a nine a.m. game tomorrow morning. I think ten should do it.” When he groaned and rolled his eyes, she smiled slightly. Everything would go back to normal eventually.

  Except normal suddenly meant the absence of Clay and Stanley. Normal…didn’t seem so wonderful.

  Clay listened to yet another binder fall behind him and closed his eyes.

  “Uh, you want me to get him?” Josh Leeman asked tentatively. “He’s right there. I could—”

  “No,” Clay interrupted. “He’s currently quiet. Or at least his mouth is quiet. If he wants to pull down every book and binder off that shelf, let him.”

  Trey just smiled and kept his head bent, staring at the playlist Clay had handed each of them with potential add-ons. “Mellie busy today?”

  “He’s still recovering from a bug, and he doesn’t want anyone but me.” Or Kristen. “And he’s my nephew. I can take care of him.”

  “Didn’t mean otherwise,” Trey said mildly, not the least intimidated by Clay’s foul mood. “The whole parent thing looks good on you. It’s cool, seeing everyone start going this direction. Stephen’s got that baby girl, which looks hilarious when he holds her because of how damn big he is.”

  “Emilio’s wife is pregnant again,” Josh put in. “Third one for him.”

  “Huh. Maybe she and Cassie can share tips on battling morning sickness. It’s kicking Cassie’s ass. Hey, how effective is this play here? Looks similar to something we’ve tried before, but it’s got extra bells and whistles.”

  Josh’s binder dropped to the desk. Clay just sank back in his chair.

  “Hello?” Trey glanced up, looking at each of them. “What?”

  “Cassie’s pregnant?” Josh asked.

  “Yup.” Trey’s knowing smile split wider into a big shit-eating grin. “We’re not telling many people just yet. Something about the second trimester safety or whatever. Cassie’s researching the hell out of it and calling Mags so much I think Stephen is about ready to throw her phone out the window. But it’s good. Great, actually.”

  “And your father-in-law knows?” Clay asked.

  “He does.”

  Ken hadn’t said a word. He was clearly keeping his daughter’s secret locked up tight like a drum. Impressive. “Well, congratulations.”

  “Yeah, congrats. That’s awesome.” Josh got a stricken look on his face. “Does this mean Carri’s going to start getting ideas?”

  Trey laughed and thumped his backup on the shoulder. “Probably, man. Probably. You’ll be fine. So far, fatherhood has consisted of holding Cassie’s hair back while she pukes and not questioning a single thing she asks for to eat. Just easing in.”

  Clay snorted, then looked back to find Stanley sitting on the floor, the page of a book in his hands, completely removed from the book itself. Thank God it was an old one he wouldn’t be using again anytime soon. Let the kid play.

  “You didn’t get that luxury. Sorry,” Trey said suddenly, his voice low with regret. “Didn’t mean to rub that in or anything.”

  “It’s fine. The shock…well, not much I can do about that. But Stanley and I are doing okay.”

  “How’s Kristen? Do you guys need anything? We can bring over takeout or maybe babysit.” Trey nodded again. “We could always use the real-world experience with a real baby. We’ve taken Tanya whenever we can rip her out of Stephen’s arms, but still, an older kid would be great too.”

  “I appreciate it. But Kristen and I…” He lifted a shoulder, then reached down as Stanley tapped on his leg and hoisted the child into his lap. “We’re on a break.”

  “Ross and Rachel break? Or a real one?” Josh shrugged when both Clay and Trey stared at him. “What? It was right there. I had to ask.”

  “A real break.” God, that hurt to say. “Just to get our balance. We’ve been hit by a lot in the past week. And we were still a little too new to handle it.”

  Josh merely nodded and glanced back down at the playbook in his hands. Trey, more confident in his position on the team, gave him a bullshit face but said nothing.

  “Well, if you need help with anything,” was all he said.

  Clay nodded, then bounced Stanley a little, satisfied to hear the boy laugh a little. He wrapped an arm around the boy’s torso and pulled him against his chest, making an X over a play.

  It felt like he was putting an X over his potential relationship with Kristen. And though he disliked the play, he erased the X and left it. For now.

  Funerals.

  Gray weather.

  Seemed fitting.

  Clay shrugged into his suit jacket beside his open car door while Stanley babbled in his car seat. Fortunately, the rain had stopped an hour ago, but the gravel and grass under Clay’s shoes gave a squishing sound that reminded him of wet Sunday afternoon turf under cleats. Somewhere he’d much rather be. Something he’d much rather be doing.

  From the car, he could see the gravesite where his sister would be buried. Her coffin sat perched above the pre-dug hole. A small awning covered the area in case of rain. He’d opted for the quick graveside service rather than a drawn-out church thing where nobody would attend anyway. With no other family, no local friends yet and all bridges burned behind her, Amanda simply had nobody to grieve for her in person. Clay hadn’t put the notice in the paper, nor had he told anyone from work. He and Stanley would have to do.

  But God, how he wanted Kristen. Not to lean on, not to depend on or be there for Stanley. Just…with him. Just as his partner. His someone to hold on to. He missed her like he would miss a limb that had been brutally cut off. Could almost feel the phantom pressure of her hand on his shoulder in silent support. Feel her lips on his neck in a show of gentle love.

  He reached into the car to get Stanley, tightening his grip on the little guy when he squirmed to be put down. “Not today, bud. You’d be a mess in a minute. Let’s just do it my way for now.”

  As if understanding the need for cooperation on today of all days, Stan quieted in his arms, laying his head on Clay’s shoulder. Then he whimpered softly.

  “Yeah, I know. I know.” Rubbing the young boy’s back, Clay made his way toward the gravesite, doing his best to step around potential sinkholes of damp and mud. When he reached the site, he nodded to the pastor. Clay wasn’t a religious man, and Amanda wasn’t all that spiritual either. Stanley was too young to understand what was happening. But it had seemed wrong to skip even this small sign of respect, having someone holy preside over her service.

  As he stepped under the tent, a fat drop of rain dropped from the edge and under the collar of his suit jacket. He fought back a shiver, then sighed when the sound of distant thunder made Stanley whimper louder and clutch his neck. With one hand, he soothed his nephew’s back. With the other, he held out a hand to shake the pastor. “Thanks for coming out. Sorry about the weather.”

  The older man nodded, his grip loose. “Appropriate for a sad, solemn day.”

  Clay returned the nod but thought his sister would have preferred a sunny afternoon for her last moments above ground. He resisted saying so.

  The pastor looked around, then back at Clay. “Are we all here?”

  The implied This is it? had Clay’s hackles rising. “Small family. New to town. We’re all here.”

  With another pause, the pastor stepped back and opened his Bible. Before the first word
left his lips, something at the edge of Clay’s vision made him say, “Wait.”

  A car rolled up to park behind his close to the gravesite. A car he recognized.

  Ken Jordan stepped out of the vehicle, straightening his dark suit jacket as he turned. With sunglasses covering his eyes, despite the gloomy day, the coach stood beside his car. Waiting.

  Clay debated a moment, then wondered if the other man didn’t know where to go. He took a step in that direction, then saw it wasn’t him the head coach was waiting for but the car that pulled up behind his. And the next. And the next.

  Rooted to the spot, Clay watched, dumbstruck, as coaches and administrative personnel, trainers and staff stepped out of vehicles. And then came the players.

  So many players. Their size alone was intimidating. Put them in dark suits and cover their faces with grim determination, and they were a sight to behold.

  The pastor took a step back before stuttering out, “Are we waiting for them?”

  “Yeah.” Clay’s heart kicked. “We’re waiting for them.”

  As the party slowly made their way single file like ants toward a picnic, Clay’s grip on Stanley’s tightened. The boy saw people coming and clapped joyously, vocalizing his pleasure at the addition of new faces.

  “I feel ya, Stan. I feel ya.”

  When Ken stopped beside Clay, the head coach gave him a small smile. “Couldn’t let one of our own sit unprotected in the pocket. We’re a team. We thrive together. We grieve together.”

  “None of you even met her,” he said, voice hoarse.

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ve met you. We know you. You’re a part of our family. And this boy’s a Bobcat now too.”

  Clay blinked rapidly to avoid the tears building up. Clearing his throat, he tried to speak, but the words caught. So he simply shook his head.

  Ken understood and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  As the Bobcats players and staff continued to walk toward the small tent that wouldn’t hold even a quarter of them, Clay kept his eyes peeled for a beautiful blonde with a smile that warmed him. But when the last of the players and their spouses filed past the tent, he knew she hadn’t been a part of the group.

  “She’s not here,” Ken said under his breath. “I know you’re watching for her. Didn’t want you to spend the whole service waiting. She isn’t coming.”

  And with that, it felt as if the final say had been spoken on their chances for a future. The X he’d so carefully erased only days earlier seemed to be redrawn…in permanent marker this time.

  The pastor began speaking, but Clay couldn’t hear a word. It was the annoying gnat in his ear, when all he wanted to do was concentrate on Stanley. His sister was gone, and none of the pomp and circumstance would change it. None of this would bring his nephew’s mother back.

  But for Stanley, and for those that showed up because they cared, he stood quietly. One hand under Stanley’s legs, the other rubbing his nephew’s back, when what he really wanted to do was cover his own ears and tune out the world.

  Before long, someone nudged him. He blinked and looked down at Trey, who stood to the other side of him. Around Trey’s shoulder, Cassie held out a white rose.

  “For Amanda,” she whispered, gesturing for him to take it.

  He started to reach, then realized he couldn’t. Not with his hands full of toddler. Trey held out his hands expectantly, and when Clay shifted, his quarterback took possession of the boy, who seemed to have no problem with another man holding him. Trey cradled the kid as carefully and skillfully as he did carrying a football. And from the way Cassie’s face softened at the sight of her husband, Clay knew she was thinking about their own baby soon to come being held in his father’s arms in the same, secure way.

  Clay took the rose, stepped forward and laid it on the closed coffin. Then he pressed both palms to the chilled, varnished wood and bowed his head.

  Amanda, God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you won’t be here to see Stanley grow up. I’ll do my best. I swear, I’ll do my best. And I’ll never stop talking about you with him. He won’t forget you.

  Stepping back, he was surprised—relieved, really—to find his eyes dry and clear. His family—the family of Bobcats—bowed their heads as the minister spoke the final prayer and then stayed behind afterward to shake his hand or give shoulder thumps. Matthew Peterson surprised him with a hug that lifted him two inches off the ground and elicited a few chuckles.

  “You’re all right, Coach,” he said, patting him on both shoulders. When Matt nodded, the long dreads bobbed around his biceps. “You’ll be all right.”

  “Thanks, Peterson.”

  The crowd began to thin, and Clay looked around to where Trey had taken his nephew off to. He found the small crowd of players and their significant others grouped a few yards off, entertaining Stanley, who was now being held by Josiah Walker, the Bobcats’ best running back.

  “He’s a strong one,” the man said in his Southern drawl. “Feel this grip.”

  Trey held out one hand, surprise registering on his face as Stanley grabbed and pulled. “Wow, nice one, little man. Look at this finger size.” He held up his hand flat, and Stanley mimicked the pose, his tiny hand pressed to Trey’s. “I definitely think we’ve got another QB here.”

  “Please. Look how tall he is. How wide his shoulders are. He’s a lineman in the making,” Stephen Harrison argued, shifting his own infant daughter to the other arm to chuck Stanley under the chin.

  Unaware this was supposed to be one of the worst days of his life, the young boy laughed and played with the attentive men, smiling charmingly when one of the ladies cooed and tickled.

  Coach Jordan walked up to stand beside him. “Hard for me to believe I’m gonna have one of those to hold in another seven months or so. My baby’s having a baby.”

  Clay smiled for a moment at the sentiment. “She’s nearly thirty. Not so much a baby.”

  “Wait until that one’s leaving for college, then tell me the same thing. Doesn’t matter how old they are. They’re yours, forever.”

  Clay stuffed his hands in his pockets, content to watch the small core of Bobcats fuss over his nephew a bit longer. “Thank you for organizing this. It…I didn’t think it would mean as much as it did.”

  “I’m glad we could be here to support you, but I’ll be honest. I didn’t organize a thing.”

  Clay glanced over briefly at the other man. “No?”

  “That was all Kristen. Found out when the service was, where, and got everyone to carpool. Filled out over two dozen Time-Off Request Forms for staff who wanted to come so they wouldn’t have to deal with it. All from the comfort of her hotel room while she was at Isaac’s tournament. And then said she’d stay back in the office and keep the place from burning to the ground while we were out here.”

  The woman never ceased to amaze him. “Damn,” he whispered.

  “If you’re wondering,” Ken said mildly, “that’s what is clearly defined as an open door. And Clay, I hope you don’t mind me telling you that if you don’t walk through that open door, I’m going to think you’re an idiot.”

  Clay’s smile grew until he couldn’t stop grinning. “Yes, sir.” Then he realized showing up at Kristen’s place of business—even if it was his place too—with a tag-along wouldn’t be the best impression.

  Actually, showing up at all while she was working would send the wrong message.

  “While I’ve got you,” Ken said, breaking into Clay’s thoughts, “Kristen gave me this to hand to you.” He held out a large envelope, clearly a card of some kind. The handwriting on it said Coach Barnes. And looked exactly like a teenage boy’s.

  Not from her. When he opened the card, he found a sweet sentiment and the entire thing signed by the baseball team. Isaac had added a lengthy message about missing him and Stanley. He wondered if Kristen had read her son’s message before delivering the card to Coach Jordan. If she’d approved it. If she agreed.

  “Thanks,” he said, shock
ed his voice had turned husky again with emotion. He hadn’t even coached those kids that long, and he’d missed them.

  “Mellie’s shopping for things for her dorm room with her mother today, in case you’re wondering. It was a prearranged trip her mother wouldn’t let her out of. But I’m pretty sure there’s a set of parents-to-be that would be happy to babysit if you needed some help this afternoon.” Ken tilted his head to where Trey and Cassie stood. The quarterback’s arms wrapped securely around his wife’s waist, anchoring her back to his front. His hands cupped her stomach protectively—seemingly without thought—as they made faces at Stanley.

  Clay felt his lips curve as he stuffed the card back in the envelope. “I might just need that. Thanks.”

  Chapter 23

  Kristen handed Isaac the bowl of popcorn and sat beside him on the couch. It was a nearly perfect recipe for a vegging-out night. Her sweatpants had paint stains, her socks were thick and a little big. The T-shirt she wore had been washed so many times the Bobcat graphic had cracked and faded to nearly nonexistent. And her hair, while clean, was up in a bun that could only kindly be described as messy. And not the cute, intentional Pinterest-worthy messy either. Straight up bird’s nest.

  In other words…the perfect setup for a night in with her son watching movies and soothing a broken heart with junk food and movie explosions.

  “Just tell me one last time why we couldn’t go to the funeral,” her son asked, voice aggrieved.

  “Because I didn’t want him to be distracted with us showing up out of the blue. That’s not fair to him. Pass the Twizzlers.”

  She’d made a piss-poor attempt to make up to her son the fact that she’d said no to going out to the funeral by agreeing to a movie night with his selection of movies and junk food instead of dinner. Transformers marathon and disgusting candy, for the win.

  Except he wasn’t quite having it.