by Celia Loren
"Well, yes and no," Hunter replies, his deep voice sounding unsure. "I'm coming over tonight. For dinner."
"What? At my house?" I ask, feeling like he's saying something that can't possibly be true.
"Yeah...he invited me, and I accepted, and then he told me that you'd be there. Obviously he just said his daughter…"
"Right," I reply, my mind swimming.
"But by that point I couldn’t back out. It happened really quickly. He just called me a half hour ago. Maybe you can say you have to study or something?" he suggests hopefully.
"I can't. I'm already here," I groan.
"So this is really happening," Hunter says.
"Yep. We are really about to have dinner together. At my childhood house. With my dad."
"Sorry, babe. Maybe it won't be too bad," he says.
"Right," I reply doubtfully.
After my shower, I head downstairs with my hair still damp. My dad's in the kitchen making lasagna, and I head over to stir the ground beef.
"I wanted this to just be us tonight, but I invited one of my players over," my dad says as he chops oregano.
"Oh?" I reply casually.
"Hunter Phillips, the quarterback. He's getting so much attention from NFL scouts now that I want to make sure he's still got his head on straight. His parents are in his ear, and I want to make sure he takes a breath and gets some solid advice."
"Well, I'm sure you'll give him that."
"I hope so. He was practically raised from birth to be a star quarterback. His parents gave him all the right training and pushed him to the limit, but never gave him any real values."
"That's too bad," I reply. Hunter's told me about his parents himself, but it's interesting to hear my dad talk about them. I know Hunter grew up idolizing them, but lately he's been questioning them more and more, coming around closer to what seems to be my father's impression of them.
"Lately, though, he seems different. He's a real leader out on the field now. Taking younger players under his wing, always displaying a positive attitude for others to follow."
I have to bite my lip to stop from beaming with pride. That's the Hunter I've come to know…and love.
Chapter 20
Hunter
I pull up to the simple red brick house. I'm almost certain Coach could afford something flashier, but that's not his way. I run my hand nervously through my hair and make sure my button down shirt is tucked into my khakis. I feel like I'm a private, presenting myself for inspection to the general.
As I step out of the car, I look around, imagining Britt growing up here. I wonder if she played in the front yard...maybe there were other kids in the neighborhood that would stop by. I have to ask her. I find myself needing to know every little detail about her past as though it's a new little nugget to savor.
I walk up the front steps and stop. I can see through the front windows back to the kitchen. Britt is stirring something over the stove, and has a wide smile across her face. Her hair's wet, and she wears a plain white t-shirt. I could stand out here forever and just watch the way she moves.
A shadow moves behind her and I start. It's Coach, setting something in the sink. I can't be acting like a love struck teenager in front of him tonight. He might be supportive of me now, but I can only imagine how quickly the tide would turn if he found out what I've been doing with his daughter. He'd probably put my head on a stake outside the field as a warning to all the other players.
I stride up the last couple steps, take a deep breath, and knock. "I'll get it!" I can just hear Britt call out from inside. I hear her light footsteps, and then a moment later the door swings open.
"Hunter, it's nice to meet you," she says, extending her hand. "I've seen you play. I'm Britt, Coach McKay's daughter." She's all formality, but she can't resist a quick wink at the end. I almost smile, but then I see Coach walking in from the kitchen.
"Nice to meet you too, Britt," I reply. I feel electricity as our palms touch. That attraction to her hasn't changed from day one. I pull my hand back as Coach puts an arm around her shoulders.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Hunter," Coach says. "With the away game next week, and the holidays coming up, I wasn't sure we'd have another chance to talk."
"No problem at all," I assure him. "I'm happy to have a home-cooked meal."
"Well, I made double what I usually do. I've seen you eat."
I feel slightly dumbfounded as Britt moves behind me to close the door and Coach motions me inside. Did Coach just joke around with me? I didn't know he was even capable of doing such a thing.
"I'll finish up if you two want to talk," Britt offers.
"Thanks," her dad replies. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Britt walk back into the kitchen as her father points me toward a couch. The kitchen is open to the living room but the couch is facing forward so I can't see Britt. It's probably a good thing, so I won't be distracted by her curves during my conversation with her father.
Coach sits in an armchair. I can tell by the way he settles back into it that this is his usual spot.
"Tell me about which agencies have made you offers," he begins. Now that we're focused on football, I feel more confident. I launch into a description. There's a lot to tell him...every agency has a different feel, a different way of dealing with its clients, and a different way of seeing who I am both as a player and a product. I find myself talking for a long time. All of my friends on the team love to contribute their two cents, my parents are incensed that I'm not just blindly taking their advice, and when I'm with Britt, I just want to forget about all of this stuff and just be with her, so it's a relief to lay everything out for Coach.
He listens silently, nodding every now and then, and then leans forward slightly when I finish. "I think your choice here is really between two agencies," he says. I feel instantly lighter. I've been wanting someone to really break it down for me. "Davenport and Associates and Ginsberg Daniels. Davenport has more of a boutique feel. It's smaller, and their clients get more individual attention. But they're newer, and some companies have long-standing relationships with Ginsberg Daniels, so you might not have the opportunity to immediately get such lucrative endorsements. But with Ginsberg Daniel's size, they might be able to give you less attention and time."
"Ginsberg Daniels has seemed really attentive so far," I tell him.
"They're all going to be like that in the beginning," he tells me. "Everyone is going to come to you and tell you how amazing they think you are. But don't forget that every one of those people wants a piece of you. Every single one. You're the one out on the field risking your health every day, and never forget that. They work for you, not the other way around. Don't be fooled by the pomp and circumstance. They're all showing you their best sides right now, but there are other sides. A lot of players wind up being taken advantage of. They sign without reading everything, or they give too much money away to their relatives, or they party too much and blow their signing bonus and then bam! Next game, they tear their ACL." I wince instinctively. "I'm not trying to scare you...well, maybe I am," he acknowledges.
"I do like the guy I've been talking to at Davenport," I acknowledge. "Ginsberg Daniels is flashier, but sometimes I do get the feeling that they're blowing smoke. I mean, I haven't even been to the Combine yet."
Coach nods. "Well, you don't have to make a decision now, but I like where your head's at. Don't let anything sidetrack you."
"I won't. This is everything I've ever wanted, and I don't intend to screw it up," I promise him.
I realize it's been quiet behind me in the kitchen as Britt tries to overhear our conversation. "Dinner's ready!" she suddenly calls, breezing past us on the way to the dining room with cutlery in hand.
Chapter 21
Britt
We sit down together at the table, my father at the head, and Hunter directly across from me. I try not to make direct eye contact with him, because I know how my cheeks tend to flush. Hunter raises his hand
to reach for his fork, and I reach my foot under the table and give his leg a gentle tap. He looks up in surprise, and I nod toward my father, who is closing his eyes to say Grace. Hunter smiles at me gratefully, and we all close our eyes and bow our heads.
"Bless us, oh Lord, for the bounty we are…" my father begins. As he speaks, his words so familiar to me, I feel my stomach lurch. My eyes snap open, and I frown. Hunter and my father haven't noticed, and I take a deep breath through my nose to try to quell my sudden nausea, and close my eyes again.
When he finishes, we all say "Amen," and my father cuts the lasagna with a spatula and serves us each a big helping. My father and Hunter start talking about the defense they'll be facing next week, and I push my food around my plate with my fork.
"Something wrong, Britt? I thought lasagna was your favorite." My head snaps up and I find my father looking at me worriedly.
"It is, I love it. I think I might just be coming down with something, actually. Could you excuse me?" I get up from the table and head to the first floor bathroom under the staircase. As soon as I shut the door behind me, my nausea overpowers me, and I lurch toward the toilet. I make it just in time, and take a deep breath as my vomiting subsides.
I sit back against the wall and take a piece of toilet paper to wipe my mouth. Do I know anyone else who's sick? Maybe something's going around the dorm. But besides the nausea, which has now subsided, I don't really feel that sick. Maybe a little tired, but between my classes and Hunter, I guess I've been stretched a little thin.
Hunter...
Something tugs at the back of my mind, something I feel like I should pay attention to. The nausea, the tiredness, my already sizable breasts feeling even bigger.
My eyes fly open in alarm. No. No, no, no. That can't be possible. I can't be pregnant. Hunter and I always use protection. Always. I even went to the Health Center after we started dating and went on the pill, just to be extra careful even though we still use condoms.
The woman at the Health Center said it was normal for my period to be irregular for the first few months of taking the pill, so I thought it didn't mean anything that I wasn't getting it. Hormones can make your body act crazy, right?
Hormones. Maybe that's all this is. If I'm on the pill, which tricks my body into making me think it's pregnant, then maybe I'm just having a reaction to the hormones. That has to be it. Hunter and I are always so careful.
I stand up. I feel a little dizzy, but otherwise alright. I wash my mouth out with some water, flush the toilet, and head back to the table.
"You feeling okay?" Hunter asks as I sit down. I hope my dad doesn't read too much into the concern in his voice.
"Fine now, thanks," I reply, picking up my fork and digging into the lasagna. "What were you guys talking about?"
When we finish dinner, we gather the plates and take them to the kitchen. Despite the fact that I'm not feeling one hundred percent, seeing Hunter help my father with the dishes is a sight that fills me with delight. He's so tall and has such wide shoulders, that he completely dwarfs the modest space. Afterward, we walk into the living room to sit down for a little, and then Hunter leans forward.
"Thanks for your hospitality, Coach, but I don't want to keep you too late," he says.
"I guess I should let you get home," my dad says, standing and shaking his hand. "Give me a call if you have any questions."
"Will do. Britt, pleasure to meet you," Hunter adds, turning to me. "If you live on campus, I'm happy to give you a ride home."
I glance at my dad, implicitly asking his permission. "If it wouldn't be any trouble," my dad replies.
"Not at all," Hunter says.
My father nods. "Alright then, thanks." We walk to the door and I give my dad a quick hug, my feeling of guilt peaking. I walk behind Hunter to his car, and he walks to the driver's side to open the door for me. Conscious that my dad could still see us, we don't even touch until we're turning the corner down the block, when Hunter finally reaches for my hand and holds it.
"I think it went well, right?" he asks.
"He really likes you," I tell him.
"I feel like I was meeting my girlfriend's dad for the first time, even though that's not the case at all," he says with a laugh. "Want to come over to my place?"
"I do, but I'm actually still not feeling great. I don't want to get you sick with your games being so important now," I tell him. Vanover is on track to win the NCAA championships this year, plus all the NFL scouts are watching Hunter closely, parsing through his actions on every play.
All too quickly, we're pulling up on the street behind my dorm. We both instinctively glance around to make sure no one can see us, but it's night and there are only a couple of people walking around. Hunter leans across the console and slips his hand onto my cheek.
"I'm sick!" I protest.
"I don't care," he murmurs, pressing his lips over mine. I melt immediately, my lips opening to his as his tongue softly slides over mine.
"You're gonna make this hard for me, aren't you?" I whisper.
"I love you," he says back. It takes a moment to register. I blink, and pull my head back an inch. A grin spreads across my face.
"You love me?" I repeat gleefully.
"Yes," he replies, a grin sliding across his All-American face.
"I love you, too," I reply, and wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his neck. Everything about him feels right to me. I lean back and kiss him again. "I'll come over tomorrow night after your practice, okay?"
"Okay," he replies. I step out of the car and am about to close the door when I lean back down. I have to say these new words once more.
"I love you."
"I love you," he says. I shut the door and wave as he pulls away. I'm walking on air as I head into the dorm, and practically dance out of the elevator and down to my door. Danielle looks up as I enter.
"He loves me! We said it!" I shout.
Danielle jumps up and we both start squealing. "I knew it! I knew it!" she crows and leans in to give me a hug.
"Wait, I might be sick!" I warn her.
"Really? What's wrong?"
"I think it's just my birth control, like the hormones, but I threw up earlier."
"That's weird. Anything else?"
"Well, I haven't gotten my period, but that's normal right?"
Her eyebrows raise. "Normal?"
"On birth control, it's normal to miss a couple, right?" I say, feeling a little nervous.
"You mean spotting, or none at all?"
"None at all."
Danielle sits down at her desk chair. "So you're nauseous, and how many periods have you missed?"
"Two," I admit. "But I know what you're thinking, and I can't be pregnant. Before I was on birth control, we used condoms."
"Did they slip ever? Or maybe he pulled out once? Or they were expired?"
"Well, I mean, the very first time we had sex I only had this really old condom from high school, but…" I trail off, reading the concern etched on her face. I sit down on my bed.
"It's okay, don't panic," she says. "We can go to the pharmacy tomorrow."
"No. Tonight. I have to know," I whisper. "I can't be pregnant, Danielle." I rest my head in my hands. "Hunter is going to the NFL, my dad would—"
"Wait. Wait. It's too soon for that talk. Come on. I'll go with you," she says, grabbing her coat.
* * *
In the dorm bathroom, we stare down at the little blue plus sign on the pregnancy kit. I turn and vomit into the toilet. Not from nausea, but because I've never been so panicked in my life.
"You have options," Danielle says quietly.
"It might seem that way, but I don't," I reply.
"Of course you do," she insists.
"No," I shake my head, and slide down the stall door until I'm seated on the cold blue tile. "The truth is, I already know I want to keep him."
"Him?"
"Oh. I don't know. It just came out that way." I hide my face in
my hands.
"You're sure?" Danielle asks, sitting down next to me. "I don't want to pressure you either way, but if you do…terminate, your life could go back to normal."
"But it wouldn't be normal. I'd have to hide it from my dad, because he'd never forgive me, and I've already lied to him enough. Besides, this…baby," I finally say, the words both terrifying and exhilarating, "belongs to Hunter and me. I can already feel myself loving it."
"Okay, then," Danielle says, accepting what I've said, and proving again what a great friend she is. "So you and Hunter will—" she stops as I shake my head.
"No. I can't tell him. He'll insist on marrying me and coming clean to my dad, and my dad will pull his support completely. He'll torpedo Hunter's NFL chances."
"But maybe—"
"Hunter would always resent me," I tell her. "I can't have that. This baby and me would be like a millstone around his neck."
"So what, you're like a sacrificial lamb?" Danielle says, her brow furrowing. "You're the smartest person I know. You can't just throw your future away. You still get to have a dream, too."
"You're right," I tell her. "So how can I do both? I'm genuinely asking."
Danielle takes a deep breath. "Transfer schools. With your grades, you could go anywhere. Do you have anyone who could help you out? A grandmother, a cousin? You're going to need support."
"My aunt," I realize. "My mom's sister. She lives in Oregon. She was always too much of a bohemian for my dad so he never much kept in touch with her, but she always sends me notes and wants to be in touch more."
"Good. We'll call her. Maybe she'll let you stay with her for a bit, and then you could reapply to a school out in Oregon. You could get a part-time job and still graduate. Maybe you'll have to choose just one major, but lots of women do that."
"Lots of single mothers," I correct her.
"It will be hard, but if anyone could do it, it's you, Britt. Promise me you'll still graduate, okay?" Danielle asks, taking my hand.
"I promise," I tell her, squeezing her hand hard. I begin to sob.