by Celia Loren
"Allyson, what the fuck?" I yell, storming back into my bedroom. Allyson lays naked on my bed, her head on my pillow and her blonde hair a mess. She looks up blearily at me.
"Not so loud," she complains. She showed up last night at my house absolutely out of her mind on coke so she must be nursing a pretty wicked hangover. Not that I care at all how she's feeling right now.
"Why did my agent call me to congratulate me on my engagement!" I fume, yanking the sheet off her.
"I'm sorry, okay? I was going to tell you last night, but I was afraid you'd be mad."
"Damn straight I'm mad! What the hell were you thinking? We're not engaged! We're not even exclusive!"
"Stop yelling, okay? My manager and publicist were freaking out because sponsors were threatening to back out of my tour this summer because of the whole DUI thing, and they needed a positive story to make it go away. So I maybe told them that you popped the question. Everyone loves a love story," she says, with a pleading smile.
"No. Absolutely not." I pick up her cell phone, bedazzled with a silver cross on it, from the bedside table and toss it to her. "Call your publicist and fix it."
Her eyes well up with tears. "Please, Hunter, if this tour doesn't do well, my career could be over. There are so many other girls just trying to take my spot, you have no idea of the pressure!"
"I know pressure. I have three hundred pound linebackers trying to take me out every week. And I have never made up an engagement."
"That's because you're so good, and honest, and kind," she says, tears spilling down her cheeks as she tries to butter me up. She slides over to me, making sure her naked breasts are well displayed.
"You're asking me to lie. To everyone."
"Only for a little! Just to take the heat off this DUI story. Two months, tops."
"Two months?!"
"One month. And then I'll put out a story about how amazing you are but you just care too much about the game to focus on a relationship right now. People will love that. We'll both look great. This could help you with endorsements and stuff!"
"I'm doing just fine."
She bursts into tears anew. "Please, Hunter, I'm begging you. I know this has always been a casual thing but I can tell you're a decent man. Please, please…" she trails off into sobs.
Shit. I can feel myself wanting to help her, and I can already see what a pain in the ass this is going to be.
"One month exactly," I tell her firmly.
"Oh, thank you!" she says, springing up and wrapping her arms around my neck.
"Wait," I tell her, holding up my hand. "I'm not promising to be exclusive. We are in no way in a real relationship."
"Right, totally! But for it to work, for there to be any point to this, you have to be really secretive when you sleep with other women. Otherwise, the press will just call you a cheater and that will be bad publicity for you."
"Good point. And when you put out your press release about the break up, I better come off positively glowing."
"Of course! Don't worry about that." She squeals and claps her hands together. "I'll take care of a ring, and maybe I'll even get some of my girlfriends to go to a bridal salon with me. That would make for some great paparazzi photos."
I roll my eyes. "Jesus."
"And in the meantime, if there's absolutely anything I can do for you, just let me know. And I do mean anything."
"You were pretty much up for anything before," I tell her with a raised eyebrow.
Her full lips curl up into a smile. "You haven't seen anything yet," she says, reaching for the zipper of my jeans.
Chapter 27
Britt
I watch Max play in the corner of the room with a set of multi-colored blocks. My father sits next to me on the couch. He's regained control of his right side, though he says he still feels some numbness now and then and he tires easily.
"Aunt Paula is really supportive of me moving back here," I tell him, keeping my voice low.
"Well, of course," my dad replies.
"Not of course, dad," I tell him gently. "She helped me raise Max, and now I'm leaving. Max will really miss her, and she'll miss him."
"Hm," my dad grunts shortly.
"I think you should give her another chance. You're giving me one, and I really don't know what I would have done without her help. She was...she was like a mom to me. I don't know what you think she's doing out in Oregon, but I promise that she's really a good, kind person, not some drug-crazed hippie or something."
There's a long pause. "I'll think about it," my father says. A car door closes out front and I hear footfalls on the steps.
"You expecting someone?" I ask.
"Former player of mine. Needs some advice."
I jump up, then turn to fluff the couch pillows behind me as though that's what I intended to do. "Oh? Who's that?"
"Hunter Phillips. Plays for the Titans now," he says. I step toward the door, wondering if I should open it as I hear movement just outside it, but then the knob turns and the door starts to open. I guess Hunter and my father really are on close terms, if he just walks in like that.
I stand frozen in the middle of the room. The door opens as if in slow motion and my heart races. Hunter walks in, nearly filling up the doorframe as he passes through, and I have to force myself to breathe so that I don't topple right over. Has he gotten taller? Can't be. His shoulders…they're wider. He's even more muscular than he was before. He stops and stares at me, looking dumbfounded.
"I didn't know you were here," he blurts out.
"Yes. Hello," I reply dumbly.
"I mean, Coach mentioned his daughter was coming to town but I didn't realize you were already here," he clarifies, blinking, and then looking down at the floor for a moment.
"I'm here," I reply, trying to take in every detail of his face. His eyes are exactly the same. His cheekbones are a bit more defined, and his light brown stubble is longer than he let it get in college. He looks up at me with his sharp brown eyes, and it's my turn to look down at the floor.
"I'm Hunter," he says, walking toward me and extending his hand. I take it, and feel the same knee-weakening heat I felt four years ago. "I don't know if you remember, but we had dinner here once."
"That's right," my father says. "I forgot you'd met. That time is a bit of a blur for me." I know he's talking about the time around when I left, and there's an awkward pause.
The sound of a dropping block from the corner breaks the silence. My head swivels to my son. Our son. Oh, boy. This is not going according to plan.
Max is gaping up at Hunter, his little hand outstretched as he clearly just dropped his toy upon realizing his favorite football player is standing just steps away from him. I grin at him, my overwhelming feelings at seeing Hunter taking a slight breather.
"This is my son, Max. He's a big fan," I tell Hunter, who is staring at him with an odd expression on his face.
"Hunter?" Max says, taking a small step forward. "From football?" The expression on Hunter's face is replaced by a smile. Max has that effect on people.
"Yeah, from football," Hunter says, walking across the room and kneeling in front of Max, though he still towers over him.
"Wow," Max says, his eyes bugging out of his head. He reaches forward and places his hands on Hunter's legs. Toddlers don't really understand boundaries. "You really good. Best."
"Thanks, Max. Do you like to play football, too?"
"Yeah," Max replies, nodding his little head emphatically. I glance between the two of them. Father and son, interacting so naturally. I take a deep breath to keep a grip on my emotions. They don't look so similar that anyone could tell, right?
"Well, I need to go talk to your grandpa, okay Max?"
"You play later?" Max asks.
"I think Hunter might be busy, honey," I jump in, not wanting Hunter to feel like he's obligated. "You don't have to," I tell him.
"Maybe that's best," Hunter says, his expression becoming more guarded again. He stands up.
&
nbsp; "I'll take Max out back so you two can talk," I tell them. Max begins to sniffle in protest, so I hurriedly scoop him up. I know that once he sees his toys in the backward he'll get distracted and his mood will pass.
I wish mine would so easily. At least all that Max wants from me is to toss the little foam football back and forth with him. He doesn't have the hand eye coordination to catch yet, but he has a strong arm, and he gives catching his best shot, opening his arms wide and closing them at just the wrong time.
I need to put Hunter behind me. He's engaged now, and I'm no homewrecker.
Chapter 28
Hunter
I watch them from the window in the dining room. Coach said he needed to take a nap, and I know I should just leave. I know I should, but here I am, staring at Britt and her son as she tosses a ball back and forth with him. A combination of resentment and longing stirs up inside me. She left me high and dry with no explanation except that she needed to see more of the world, and now it turns out all she did was go to Oregon and get knocked up. It's not that I want her anymore, it's just that I never had any real closure. My feet take me to the back door, and I walk outside.
"Yay!" Max exclaims as he sees me. I clap my hands together.
"Right here, buddy!" He grins and throws the ball as hard as he can. I have to reach up to grab it. "You've got a cannon!"
"Cannon!" Max repeats happily.
"That means you have a strong arm," Britt fills him in.
"Yeah!" Max agrees, and holds out his arms for the ball. I toss it back lightly, but he seems like he hasn't gotten the hang of catching yet.
"Maybe he's not a receiver," Britt says with a smile. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She still looks exactly the same. Maybe her hips are a little wider. Her hair is a bit shorter, just below her shoulders, and some of the curl seems to have straightened out. Those raspberry lips are the same though, and the blue eyes are just as arresting.
"Your dad says you were in Oregon?"
Britt nods. "With my aunt. My mom's sister."
"Oregon is where you had to go?" I ask, a slight hint of bitterness tinging my voice.
Britt pauses, looking upset. "I...yes," she finally says. "I never got a chance to say in person...I am sorry for leaving like that, Hunter. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I hope you believe that."
"It was years ago. Water under the bridge," I say with a shrug even as my chest hurts with that familiar pain that stayed for months after she left.
"Good," she replies. "And congratulations."
"Thanks," I reply automatically. "Wait, for what?"
"Your engagement. She has a beautiful voice," Britt says, catching the ball that Max just threw at her.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, she does," I reply. Sometimes Allyson plays her songs after we've fucked. It's not my kind of music, but she does have a killer voice. "Thanks."
"Have you set a date?"
"Not yet," I reply. It would probably be safe for me to set Britt straight, it's not like she has media connections, but there is something satisfying about the woman who broke my heart thinking I'm engaged to a hot celebrity. I know it's kind of fucked up, but I'm not a perfect person.
Max runs for a ball that got behind him and trips. Suddenly an ear-splitting wail fills the air. Britt runs toward him, and I follow.
"You okay, honey?" Britt asks, turning him over. There's a bleeding cut on his little knee from a rock in the grass. "Ouch!" She scoops him up and cradles him in her arms. I feel a strange sense of panic at the sound of his cries. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Not knowing what else to do, I follow her into the house. She takes him into the kitchen and sets him on the counter, then keeping one hand on his shoulder, she reaches into a cabinet above the sink for a box of Band-Aids and some disinfectant. I bounce from foot to foot, feeling useless.
"Anything I can do?" I offer.
"Grab me a paper towel. Maybe put a little water on it," she says with a smile. How is she so calm? I dampen a paper towel and hand it to her. She gently cleans the blood off his shin, and then dabs the wound itself. "Another one?" I hand her a dry paper towel and she puts the disinfectant on it, then gently touches the cut with it. "Almost done, Max," she tells him soothingly. She opens the Band-Aid, and in one smooth motions, fixes it over his cut. "There, see?" she says, pointing to it. He glances down but doesn't stop crying. "He likes the ones with Spiderman on it, but my dad doesn't have those," she tells me.
She leans forward and picks Max up, rubbing his back with her palm. His sniffles lessen, but don't completely subside.
"Max, you want to play catch some more?" I ask. He shakes his head no, and rubs his dripping nose with his hand. "You want to...come see a game?" That gets his attention.
"Football game?" he asks, his voice trembling.
"Yeah, a football game that I'm playing in. Have you ever seen a football game in person?" He shakes his head no, his tears finally letting up. "You haven't? Well, if your mom says it's okay, you can come on Sunday. We have a home game; I'll get you box seats," I add to Britt.
"Mama? Please?" Max asks his mother.
"How could I say no?" she asks, smiling a little ruefully. "Thanks," she adds in a whisper. We stand there for a moment, and I feel the heat of her body as she stands just six inches away. There's so much I want to ask her, so much more to say. Maybe too much. I don't know where to start.
"He's a good kid," I finally say. She smiles, and I feel like I'm back in college again.
Chapter 29
Britt
I glance in the rearview mirror at Max in his car seat. He's wearing Hunter's jersey. My dad didn't feel up to coming to the game, but he bought Max the jersey because he knew he'd love it, and he didn't know how much it would make my heart ache to see him in it.
I park in the lot, and soon I'm carrying Max against my hip as we rise up the special elevator to Hunter's box. I show my VIP tickets to the security guard, and he lets us in. There are a few other people milling around, drinking champagne and helping themselves to the buffet. I glance down toward the field. There are a few minutes left until kickoff, so I bring Max over to the food and put together a little plate of food for him.
I walk out and sit in the front row of the box's open air seats. It's Max's first game, so he should be able to smell the grass and feel the excitement in the air. He leans over, and I maintain a tight grip on him as he claps his hands together with happiness.
"Hey, I'm Rich Nielsen, Hunter Phillip's agent. I don't think I've seen you around before." A handsome man in his forties sits down next to me. I smile a little at the meaning implicit in his words. I guess Hunter gives a lot of women VIP tickets, though I bet none of them have brought a kid before.
"Britt McKay," I introduce myself, then, feeling like I owe him some explanation for why I'm here, add, "I'm Coach Lou McKay's daughter."
"I was so sorry to hear about the stroke. How is he?" Rich asks sympathetically.
"He's doing well, thanks. He'll only need a little more physical therapy and then he's back to normal."
"Any underlying cause?"
"They're not sure. My dad's not too worried, though. He says he could always get hit by a truck tomorrow anyway."
Rich smiles. "That squares with the Lou McKay I've heard about. Hunter says he's been of great help to him in getting over this hump."
"What hump?" I ask. "His numbers are great."
"Sorry, I figured you guys were close or something. He says he doesn't feel the same passion he used to. Says his teammates have started calling him the Machine because he plays with so little emotion."
"Huh. Well, I haven't seen him play up close since college, but he certainly had passion then."
"You went to college together?" Rich asks, his eyes sharpening slightly.
"Just for a little. I just knew him because he was on my dad's team," I explain. The teams take the field, cutting short our conversation.
"What's that?" Max says, pointing to t
he small group in the middle of the field.
"That's the coin toss. They do it to see who will get the ball first, the Titans or the Texans. There, see? Hunter won, so now he gets to throw the ball first."
"Yeah, Hunter!" Max cheers.
"This is Max, by the way," I tell Rich.
"Hey, Max," Rich says. "This your first game?"
"I see lots of games," Max replies.
"But that was on TV, Max," I remind him. "This is his first game in person. We just moved to town," I explain to Rich.
The game gets underway, and Hunter seems to be playing great from where I'm sitting. The second quarter has just started when a commotion at the door causes everyone to look around.
"I don't need a ticket!" a young woman's voice says from the front door. "I'm Hunter Phillips' fiancé!"
"Excuse me," Rich says, and heads for the door. I watch his back as the voices quiet, and soon the door opens and he escorts in a beautiful young woman: Allyson Anders. I recognize her from the picture on the magazine, and her voice has that same raspy musicality from her songs. She glares at me as she sees me watching her, but I see Rich whispering in her ear, and her expression softens slightly. I'm sure he was explaining that I'm not some woman Hunter's hooking up with, though I'm guessing the truth would upset her far more.
I lean forward to brush a kiss on the back of Max's head. He's blonde like his father, though a lighter shade that I'm guessing will darken over time. I suppose I'm lucky that he doesn't look overwhelmingly like his dad. He does have his father's eyes, but my mouth and nose, and the round cheeks of a toddler that will obscure his face shape for a while.
I turn my head as Allyson walks outside and sits two seats down from me. I give her a friendly smile. It didn't sound like she was being very polite to the security guard, but there could always be extenuating circumstances. And if Hunter is marrying her, then she must be a good person.
"I'm Britt, and this is my son Max," I say.
"Rich says you're family friends with Hunter or something?" she replies, arching a well-groomed eyebrow.