Quarterback Baby Daddy (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)

by Claire Adams

  I let go and stepped aside. "Alright, fine, go check the websites, but I bet I can predict what you are going to find," I said. I poured myself a cup of coffee while she settled in front of my computer.

  "You want the good news or the bad news?" Clarity asked.

  "Bad news first. Always," I sighed.

  Clarity waved me over to the computer. "Well, the article is gone from both your department website and the student newspaper website."

  "So there's good news?"

  She squeezed the hand I laid on her shoulder. "There's a social media storm. All the students are in an uproar about something being removed from the student newspaper website. There's a mounting protest about corruption and censorship."

  I brushed aside her soft, red curls and kissed the side of her neck. "I'd say that's the best news I've heard all day, but I think this might be better." I left a trail of warm kisses down to wear the large tee-shirt collar hung loosely over her shoulder.

  "Thank god the Landsman students are getting involved," Clarity said, doing her best to resist my lips. "Maybe they can take it from here, and we can skip town for a few days."

  I melted behind her. In one simple comment, Clarity had just voiced the hope I hadn't allowed myself. She wanted to spend more time with me, just me. It wasn't the excitement of the exposé or the convenience of hiding out at my apartment: Clarity was actually interested in me.

  I knelt on the floor beside the desk chair and slipped an arm around her waist. "I've been thinking about your road trip idea—"

  A heavy-handed knock on my apartment door interrupted us.

  "Should we pretend we're not home?" Clarity whispered. Her eyes took on a mischievous emerald glint. "Or pretend we didn't hear. We can sneak back to bed and try to be quiet."

  Clarity's lips were irresistible, and I drank in a delicious kiss before the loud rapping sounded again. This time my phone rang in conjunction with the knocking, and voices in the hallway heard it too.

  "Why do you look so worried?" Clarity caught my face in between both her smooth hands.

  I thought about the man on the phone, but didn't want to panic her. "It's nothing. We expected all of this." I picked up my phone and showed her the caller ID. “It's the president of the college, I'd better answer," I said.

  Clarity zipped her fingers across her lips and promised to be quiet, so I put the phone on speaker and answered it.

  "Professor Bauer, I'm assuming you know exactly what this call is about," the president began.

  "Seems you have a student uprising on your hands," I said. "They seem to be upset about proof of administrative corruption, oh, and this whole censoring the student newspaper thing."

  The president's voice turned icy. "This is a courtesy call, Bauer. Campus security guards have been sent to pick you up. I thought it would look better for you and for Landsman if the police didn't pick you up this morning. The guards will discreetly escort you to the police station."

  Clarity's mouth dropped open, and she flapped her hands in panic, but I waved her quiet. "What if discreetly doesn't work for me?" I asked.

  "You need to start making some serious career choices here, Bauer," the president said. "I'm trying to help you."

  "You should be helping Dean Dunkirk," I pointed out.

  The president ignored me. "The head of our campus security assures me they are outside your door at this moment. They know you are at home. Do yourself a favor and let them take you into the station. It won't be so quiet if the police need to come."

  "I've got nothing to hide," I said. "In fact, I think you are the one that should reconsider. This makes it seem like Landsman College has something to hide."

  "This has nothing to do with Landsman College," the president snapped. "You are being charged with libel by a private citizen."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clarity

  I bit my tongue again, and it hurt. Ford tried for the third time to explain to the president of Landsman College that our article was the truth.

  "Libel charges are never going to stick because there is actual evidence to back up our claims. Did you even read the article, sir?" Ford asked.

  "I am not in the business of reading every conspiracy theory that comes along," the president said. "I'm sure you think you are showing your students the essence of some journalistic ideal, but attacking a donor with unsubstantiated claims is not the lesson they should learn."

  "No," Ford snapped, "the students are learning how power corrupts and corrupted power uses censorship as a weapon."

  "The truth of this is for the police to decide," the president said dryly. "I am merely trying to extend a courtesy to a former employee."

  "Oh, so there it is," Ford gave a humorless laugh, "your final stance is to ignore the truth, get rid of me, and sweep everything else under the rug. I suggest you read the article, sir. I also suggest you listen to your students, or there won't be much of a college left for you to make look good."

  "Again, Mr. Bauer. I am trying to help you. Security is there to make sure you are not taken away in handcuffs. If there's nothing else I can do or say—"

  "Oh, but there is," Ford snarled. "How about you send campus security to check for the men harassing Dean Dunkirk and his daughter."

  "What?" I whispered. A cold hand closed around my heart as I thought about my father. I had sent him a text the night before and assured him I was safe. It had never occurred to me that he might be in actual danger.

  Ford's stormy eyes flashed an apology at me before he continued. "Clarity Dunkirk received a threatening phone call this morning. A man claimed to be a professor, then immediately recanted the lie. He said he was waiting for Clarity on campus. Doesn't that sound like a student's safety is being jeopardized? Isn't that a better use of your security team's time?"

  "Someone called and threatened me?" I whispered. Fear made my voice catch, and it was louder than I intended.

  "Mr. Bauer, please tell me you do not have a student with you at your private residence. You are far outside the bounds of propriety," the president said.

  I snatched the phone from Ford before he could move. "I'd like to talk to you about propriety, sir," I snapped. "Suspending an administrator without properly reviewing the accusations seems to be a very large breach of propriety. As does compromising your students' rights to free speech by tampering with the student newspaper website."

  "Ms. Dunkirk, this is an inappropriate conversation at this time—"

  "You haven't even read the article. You obviously care more for the public relations look of Landsman College than the ideals it is trying to promote," I cried. "That is what is inappropriate."

  "My dear girl," the president said in soothing tones. "I understand how this can all be very confusing for you."

  Ford stood back and held up his hands. The president of Landsman College was on his own, and I was angry.

  "I refuse to let you condescend to me," I snapped. "I corroborated the evidence in the plagiarism case, and that paper was planted. The facts support it. If you were interested in anything other than your image, you would open an investigation yourself. Or should I ask my fellow students to do that for you?"

  There was a long stretch of silence, then the president took a deep breath. "It makes sense that Ford Bauer is using this opportunity to relive the career he ruined. It often happens with professors that come out of their vocations before they are ready. Perhaps this is my fault for welcoming him to our campus.

  "I am deeply sorry that he used you as well as Landsman College. Your father's misstep was the catalyst and in the confusion that I'm sure you felt, Mr. Bauer stepped in and directed your way of thinking. I wouldn't say 'brainwashed,' but he certainly has narrowed your scope of information and pointed you in the direction that most aided him."

  I set the phone down on the corner of the desk and stepped back in disgust. Ford mouthed 'I'm sorry' and reached out a hand to me. I was too angry to take it and clenched my fingers into a fist.

>   "I'm sorry to interrupt your practiced speech, sir," I snarled, "but you should really check your facts before continuing with this any further. Especially since you are being recorded."

  Both Ford and I heard the president's mouth snap shut.

  "Ford Bauer did not 'brainwash' me. I researched my father's case and found clear evidence of tampering as well as obvious attempts at blackmail and bribery. Until you speak directly to those issues, there is no other conversation we will be having." I jammed my hands on my hips and leaned closer to the phone to make sure that the president of Landsman College could hear me. "Except if you would like to explain your reasons for covering this up so quickly. Could it be that the high-level donor in question is a friend of yours? If we continued this conversation in your office, would we see generous gifts with his name attached?"

  Ford shook his head wildly and picked up the phone. He took it off speaker phone and held up a hand to stop me. "Sir, I think we can all agree this is getting out of hand. I'm sure there is some official protocol for discussing this situation, and we would be more than happy to oblige."

  "What are you saying? He's in Michael Tailor's pocket," I whispered.

  Ford shook his head again. "Then we will talk again after the full facts of the case come out." He hung up the phone and flinched when I stepped forward. "Don't be mad," Ford cried. "I just wanted the conversation to be over. There wasn't anything productive there for us."

  I threw my hands up in the air. "How can you tell what is and what isn't productive in the midst of all this chaos?"

  As if on cue, the security guards hammered on Ford's front door again. Ford couldn't keep the smile from his face.

  "What are you smiling about?" I cried. "How can you be so calm when they're here to take you to the police station?"

  Ford reached me in two steps and wrapped me in his arms. I felt his deep, rumbling chuckle before I heard it. "I'm sorry, Clarity, I know this is crazy, but all of this is good news."

  I pushed back and pinned him with a skeptical look. "Good news? The article's been erased, security is escorting you to the police, you're going to be sued for libel, and my father is still suspended. How is any of this good news?"

  He grinned down at me. "Why would any of this be happening unless what we wrote was the truth?"

  The full power of what he pointed out swept over me, and I was glad for his strong arms around my waist. I swayed into him and then leaned back with a tentative smile. "We never would have gotten this kind of response unless it was true. Now they're scrambling to cover it up. That's why the president called; he's looking for the best way to spin this."

  "Let's hope, for his sake, he doesn't go with the ‘Clarity Dunkirk was brainwashed’ angle. I'm not sure he could survive another conversation with you," Ford chuckled again.

  I hugged him tight and pretended I didn't hear the insistent knocking on the front door. "So, now what?"

  His hands traveled down to the hem of the loose-fitting Landsman shirt I was wearing. Ford tickled my bare thigh. "You might want to put some clothes on before I let security in," he said.

  I frowned but headed to the bedroom and gathered my clothes. It only took a few moments to tug on my jeans, slip on my bra and shirt, and rake my fingers through my hair. Ford was surprised I pulled myself together so quickly.

  He held out his hand and threaded his fingers through mine. "Ready?" he asked.

  I thought I was, but the trembling wave I had been holding back finally broke loose. Tears overflowed, and I collapsed into Ford's arms with a ragged sob. "This is all my fault. All of it. This whole big mess started because my father wanted to help me. How could I let it turn out this way?"

  "You're not in control, Clarity. You can't take the blame," Ford soothed me. "You're doing the best you can to help your father, and you are doing more than a lot of people would dare."

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and refused to let him go. "I'm not letting you answer the door. They can't break it down."

  Ford dropped a kiss on the top of my head. "Don't be mad at the campus security."

  A surge of anger propelled me out of Ford's arms. I paced around his small living room. The spilled wax from last night's candles plus our forgotten wine glasses still stood on the coffee table. We had been so hopeful, so happy.

  "I can't believe the bad guy is going to get away with it," I shrieked. "How can you stand it?"

  Ford caught me in his arms again. "We can only control our own actions and the information we present to others. Michael Tailor has to live with his own actions, and we can't force him to feel badly about his choices."

  "How about your choices? Our choices?" I asked. I gestured to the rumpled sofa and the evidence of our passionate night.

  "I don't regret a single thing," Ford said. His kiss sealed my lips, and I felt one layer of worry lift.

  "Please don't open the door," I pleaded.

  Ford slipped out of my hold and unlocked the door. He stood back and welcomed the Landsman College security guards inside. "Good morning, gentlemen. You'll have to give me a few more minutes to pull myself together. I understand we're heading to the police station."

  The head of security nodded, but none of the men in the doorway moved. Ford laughed when he realized my razor-sharp glare was the cause of their hesitation.

  "How do we know they're not in the pocket of rich donors too?" I snapped. "I'm sure more than one of them has looked the other way when certain students are caught bending the rules."

  "I'm not gonna lie," Ford said to the guards, "she might bite. But there's fresh coffee in the kitchen, and you are more than welcome to grab a cup. I'll only be a few moments."

  Ford saluted them and strolled towards his bedroom. I stomped after him and fought the urge to slam the bedroom door. "What are you doing?" I hissed. "Please tell me you're going to go out the window or something."

  "Why would I run when I'm not guilty?" Ford asked.

  "You offered them coffee!"

  Ford smiled. "Well, it is pretty early in the morning." He caught my pained look and relented. "I'm sorry, Clarity, I know this is upsetting. The men out there are only doing their jobs, and I can't take out my frustration on them."

  I pulled open the bedroom door a crack and eyed the security guards. They stood in the doorway with their arms crossed, looking around, but not moving. "What if they're here to plant evidence or something? I bet Michael Tailor's gotten to at least one of them."

  Ford distracted me by stripping off the robe he'd been wearing. He pulled on a clean pair of black dress pants and a crisp, blue button-down shirt. "Know thy enemy," Ford said. He nodded towards the door, "and they are not it."

  Ford opened his bedroom door and called to the security guards. "I suppose I shouldn't wear a belt, right? Any other jail house fashion recommendations? Shoes without laces?" Ford asked. "I'm not too sad about skipping the tie. Ties were never really my thing."

  One security guard smiled, then looked at his colleagues and immediately sobered his expression. Ford walked out of the bedroom and went to his desk. "Hope you don't mind if I send a few emails, quickly."

  "We're not the one the police are waiting for," the head of security said.

  "Exactly," Ford agreed. "And I'm telling you, I'm no expert barista, but I'm betting my coffee tastes a hell of a lot better than the coffee at the police station."

  The one security officer took a step towards the kitchen, but the head guard shook his head. "We're ready as soon as you are, Mr. Bauer."

  Ford leaned back in his desk chair and sighed contentedly. "Now that sounds good. The whole 'professor' title never really sat well on me."

  I left him carrying on his relaxed, one-way conversation with the security guards while I slipped into the bathroom. Despite Ford's reassurances, I couldn't follow his easy-going lead. My whole chest was so contracted, I felt like I couldn't get a full breath. It seemed like months since I had had a normal day.

  Everything was tangled together. M
eeting Ford, feeling that first electric spark, and then having to extinguish it because he turned out to be a professor had tied me in knots. Then the discovery of the falsified application forms in my father's office. And, now even when the truth was supposedly out in the world, my father was still suspended, and Ford was heading to jail.

  I leaned over the sink and gaped at the cold porcelain. Tears wouldn't come, but the grip of frustration and fear wouldn't let go. I fought my emotions for a moment, then gave up. I locked the bathroom door and yanked my phone from my pocket.

  "Clarity! I've been worried sick!" my father cried as soon as he answered.

  "Didn't you get my text message? Never mind, you didn't think to look. I'm so sorry, Dad, I should have called. I'm fine."

  My father took a deep breath. "Where are you? I just called Lexi and told her to keep you off campus. Please tell me you are holed up somewhere safe."

  "I guess that depends on what you mean by safe," I muttered.

  "What?" my father yelped.

  My breath hitched. "I thought we'd all be safe once the truth was out. We published the exposé article last night, but the blow-back is insane. I didn't think it all the way through; I didn't know this would happen. I'm so sorry."

  "Stop apologizing, Clarity," my father said. "You did the right thing, and I'm proud of you. Of course it caused an uproar. You have no idea. They called me in the middle of the night to find out what students have access to the student newspaper website. I told them I couldn't help them."

  I smiled. "That must have caused a whole other uproar."

  My father chuckled. "It’s not my fault they don't keep track of student activities without me. They ended up having to call and wake up the entire IT staff. Those poor Landsman employees had to jump online last night and figure out how to take it all down."

  "Have you been up to campus?" I asked. "From the looks of social media, the students are in an uproar."

  "I'm so glad," my father said. "The student newspaper is built on the right to free speech, and any tampering with it should cause an outrage."