by B. B. Hamel
I had assumed Avery was the same, and I immediately regretted making that assumption. I had known Avery was different the second I met her, but I’d gotten so used to treating people as if they wanted something from me that I had instantly assumed the same about her.
But this, I couldn’t have expected this.
I’d worn a condom. I knew I had put one on; I always put one on. I wasn’t fucking stupid.
Still, just looking at her, I knew she was telling the truth. Maybe there were people out in the world who would fake being pregnant just to get a handout from an athlete, but not Avery. I could see the genuine fear in her face, hear it in her voice. She wasn’t asking for anything, but seemed like she genuinely just wanted me to know.
“Gibson?” she asked nervously.
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Yeah, sorry. So, uh, what do we do?”
“Nothing, I guess,” she said. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Okay,” I said. “Sure. I understand.”
“Shit,” she said, laughing a little. “This is so awkward.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah. No kidding. This is a first for me.”
“Yeah, same. Never had to tell a stranger that I’m pregnant with his baby before.”
“Oh, I do that all the time,” I said. “I’m just not used to hearing it.”
“Of course. I’m sure you tell people that all the time.”
“Comes with being an athlete, I guess. I’m just constantly telling people that I’m pregnant.” She laughed softly and I sighed. “Look, let’s not make this our last conversation. I’m not just going to abandon you or something.”
“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know that, but that baby is part mine, too. I don’t abandon my responsibilities. Look, why don’t we meet up tomorrow? Same time, same place? We’ll talk about it more, I guess.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay. That could be good.”
“I should get going. I have class early tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you here tomorrow, same time. And call if you need anything.”
“Sure. I have your number now.”
I stared at her for a second. Avery looked so small and scared and awkward. I wished I could pick her up and fix this shit, but I knew I couldn’t. The best I could do was not be a low-life asshole.
I waved to her as we parted ways. I headed back toward my apartment, my heart racing in my chest.
I had a lot of experience with low-life assholes. I grew up in a poor part of Texas to two drunk pieces of shit. My grandmother on my mom’s side practically raised me, though there was only so much an old woman could do. My parents were too drunk most of the time to do much of anything, so I had to learn to take care of myself.
That was how I found football, actually. I joined a league when I was young, mostly just to give me something to do on nights when my parents were drunk and my father felt like beating the piss out of my mother. Football got me out of the house and probably saved my life.
I knew what it meant to grow up with a deadbeat father. I was lucky I had found football, but I knew a lot of guys who weren’t so lucky. It was like a fucking epidemic of shitty parents where I came from, and most people fell through the cracks.
I couldn’t do that to my own flesh and blood. Sure, having a fucking baby was going to really make becoming a professional player a problem, but I had no other choice.
I headed back toward the apartment, my head buzzing, spinning, dizzy with questions. A few hours ago, my biggest worry was whether or not I was going to get through tutoring alive, and now suddenly I had a baby on the fucking way.
I slowly walked up the front walk of our apartment building and went inside. I slowly made my way up the stairs, not fucking sure what I was going to do.
I didn’t know shit about babies. I knew they were about the size of a football when they were first born, and that was basically it. I didn’t know how to feed one, change one, nothing. I’d never even held a damn baby before.
Now I was going to be a father. Unfortunately, I didn’t have many good fatherly role models in my life, except for maybe Coach Taylor.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I took a sharp breath. It hit me suddenly: babies were fucking expensive. If I was going to help with this kid, I needed some money. I couldn’t let Avery handle this burden on her own.
But I hadn’t been lying to her when I had said I had no money. College football players, especially guys playing at my level, were heavily scrutinized by the NCAA. We weren’t allowed to be compensated for our play, which meant I couldn’t take so much as a souvenir hat from anyone. I couldn’t sell autographs or appear in commercials. All of my expenses were taken care of by MD, including all my meals and my housing. If I wanted something, I just asked for it. But I couldn’t exactly ask them for a few thousand dollars to help take care of a baby.
No, I needed my own money for that, but I had no clue how I could possibly do it. The only thing I was good at was playing a fucking game, and I couldn’t even get paid for that, not yet at least.
As far as I could tell, I was pretty fucked. It wasn’t like I could take a part-time job or some shit, not without my coaches flipping shit and the media having a field day.
I stood outside the apartment door, anger wheeling through me. I was trapped by my own fucking success with nowhere to turn. I had to find a way to make some money to help this girl, to be a better father than my own piece-of-shit father was. But I couldn’t do it, not in my current position.
I slowly opened the door and then shut it behind me. Hynes looked up from the couch.
“’Sup, man?” he said.
“I got a girl pregnant,” I blurted out.
He stared at me and then burst out laughing. “Nice one,” he said.
“Hynes, man, I’m being serious. Remember that girl from the party in the summer? That alumni thing?”
He frowned. “Yeah, I remember her. Cute as fuck but pretty quiet. Not your normal type. Same girl that stopped by here.”
“Man, she came to see me tonight. She’s pregnant.”
“Quit fuckin’ around.”
“I’m not joking. She’s fucking pregnant.”
Hynes just stared at me for a second before standing up. “Shit, man. Let’s get you a fucking drink.”
I followed him into the kitchen. He set us both up with a glass of whisky and held his up for a toast.
“To fatherhood,” he said.
“Fuck you,” I answered.
We clinked glasses and then drank.
4
Avery
The next morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Gibson had reacted.
He was so arrogant, such an asshole. I hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that, but he pissed me off so easily. The guy acted like he could say and do whatever he wanted just because he was some famous athlete or whatever.
Yeah, sure, he was gorgeous. Sure, he could throw a football harder and more accurately than anyone else in the country, but whatever. When it came down to it, none of that really mattered.
Truth was, I didn’t know what I wanted from him. I didn’t want money from him, didn’t want to marry him or something stupid like that, and wasn’t even sure if I wanted him in my life. Gibson was the father whether I liked it or not, and regardless of what I wanted from him or how he felt about it, he needed to know. That was all I had been thinking when I’d told him.
I had hoped it would have gone a little more smoothly, but it was too late for that. At least he had seemed like he wanted to see me again.
I got out of bed, dressed, and went into the kitchen. Harper had made coffee already and was sitting on the couch, reading a textbook.
“Morning,” I said to her.
“Morning. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I said, and poured myself a mug.
Harper frowned at me. “Can you
drink coffee?”
“Shit,” I said. “I don’t know.”
“We need to make you a doctor’s appointment.”
“I don’t have a doctor out here, and I definitely am not using the one at home. My parents know him too well.”
“You can use the student health service, you know.”
“Okay, yeah. I can do that.”
Harper sighed. “I’ll make an appointment for you.” She got out her laptop and typed something real fast. “Also, you can probably drink one cup of coffee per day, but no more.”
“Are you sure?”
She shrugged. “Would Google lie?”
“Yes.” I sipped my coffee. “Yes, it would, but I need this right now. I’ll stop drinking it later.”
“Fair enough.” Harper went back to typing. “You never told me how it went last night.”
I sighed and sat down on a chair next to the couch cross-legged. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “He seemed really surprised.”
“No kidding. Yesterday he was the king of the campus. Now he’s your baby daddy.”
“Oh god, don’t say that.”
“What, baby daddy?”
I cringed. “Yes. Please, stop.”
“Sorry, but it’s true. He didn’t, like, freak out and run away, did he?”
“No. He actually seemed to take it well, I guess. Maybe. I couldn’t tell. But he did want to meet up again.”
“That’s a good sign.” She typed some more and then looked up. “Email to the health people sent. I’ll let you know when your appointment is.”
“Thanks. I’m nervous to see him again. I just don’t know what I want from him.”
“Doesn’t matter what you want though, does it? He’s the father to this baby, and if you’re keeping it, he better help out.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I leaned back and sighed. “He’s just such an asshole. I barely know him and he already drives me crazy.”
“You’re not going to marry the guy, are you?”
“No. No way. That’s not on the table.”
“Then don’t stress about it right now. You’ll work it out.”
I nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Harper smiled at me. “And listen. When are you telling your parents?”
“Never,” I said, and stood up.
“You have to tell them soon,” she called after me as I retreated into my bedroom, not wanting to have that conversation. “They need to know. They can help!”
I shut my door and clenched my jaw.
My parents weren’t going to help. Or maybe they would, but it would come with some incredibly powerful guilt and judgmental conversations.
The problem was, my parents were incredibly devout Catholics. The idea that I’d have sex before marriage was an abomination to them. I couldn’t imagine telling them that I got pregnant, let along slept with a guy. They’d try to make me marry him or something, maybe something worse. Right now, I couldn’t handle that sort of stress and pressure.
No, right now I had to handle this on my own. I had Harper, who was being a huge help already, but basically that was it. I had to get through this myself.
I had no other choice.
A few hours later I was in the library, trying to study.
I was a biology major, and I wanted to go into sports medicine or maybe some kind of research one day. There was good money in sports medicine, but research was my real passion. I was amazed by the human body, and especially by the extreme limits of what humans were physically capable of. I wanted to get involved in more studies that looked specifically at athletes, but those tended to be super competitive at a school like MD.
As I turned the pages of my book, bored but determined to get some studying done, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen, already deciding I was going to ignore it, but I paused at the message.
It was from Gibson. “What are you doing right now?”
I frowned, picked up my phone, and typed a reply. “I’m in the library studying. Pretty boring.”
He responded right away. “Where in the lib?”
“Second floor.”
I waited for his response, but there was nothing. After a minute, I assumed he just lost interested, so I went back to reading.
Bodies and body parts. I was reading about the musculature system and trying to decide what sort of project I wanted to embark on for my final project when someone loomed up behind me.
I turned around. Gibson grinned down at me.
“Hey there, momma,” he said.
“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “No way.”
“Got a second?”
“I guess.”
“Come on.” He turned and started walking away. I had to shut my book and get up fast to keep up with him.
He wound his way through the stacks. Finally we ended up in the back corner of the building, on the opposite end. He opened up a door and we stepped inside.
I was surprised by what I saw. It was a study room, but it was way nicer than anything I’d ever seen for regular students. The carpet was clean, there was a new television mounted on the wall, and there were even fresh snacks on the table.
“Where are we?” I asked him.
“This is the athletics study lounge,” he said. “Clearly it doesn’t get much use.”
“Oh my god. Are you kidding me? This is just for athletes?”
He grinned. “There are certain perks.”
“Of course there are. You people can throw balls real far, so of course you get the nicest study room on the entire campus.”
“Don’t be too bitter, momma.”
“Don’t call me that again. I swear I’ll walk away.”
“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands, but he was grinning at me, his eyes playful. “I’ll stop.”
I crossed my arms, annoyed. “What do you need, Gibson?”
“I just wanted to check in on you.”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “I know I don’t.”
“Really. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t even know what I want from you.”
“I get that.” He stepped closer to me. Gibson was wearing gym shorts and a tight black T-shirt, a backpack slung over his back. His face was rugged and his eyes were red, like he hadn’t slept well the night before. “I don’t know what I want from you, either.”
“Oh yeah? You seemed to know last night.”
He smirked at me. “Okay, maybe I do know. I could lock that door and show you, if you want.”
“Good idea. Let’s make this even more complicated.”
“Sometimes complicated can be pretty fun. I think we both know you want me to slide those jeans off that nice ass of yours and lick that pussy until you can’t stay quiet anymore.”
I bit my lip and looked away. He was so arrogant, so entitled. This room was further proof that Gibson Evans got whatever he wanted just because he was some football star.
But I couldn’t deny the thrill running through my spine and how soaking wet my panties were.
“It’s a library,” I said. “I think we’ll just stick to being polite and quiet right now.”
“Your loss. I bet we could break a lot of rules right now if you wanted to.”
“Look, you checked up on me, okay? I’m going back to studying now.”
“Wait,” he said, and took my arm. I looked up at him. “Hold on. I wanted to say something else.”
“What?” I asked, surprised at his touch.
“I don’t know what I want from you, either, but I do know what I want for that kid inside you.”
“Okay,” I said, even more surprised at his intensity.
“I’m going to be a better father than I ever had. So if you need something, you ask me. As for the kid, I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Gibson,” I said.
“Sure.” He let go of my arm. “I just needed you to know that. Whatever happens between us, that’s my kid.”
“I appreciate that.” I felt so uncomfortable, but I didn’t know why.
“Before you run off, I still want to see you tonight.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can do that. When and where?”
“Meet me at the same spot around seven.”
“Don’t you have tutoring?”
He shrugged, that grin slowly coming back. “I’ll skip it for you.”
“Thanks so much, but don’t get in trouble for me.”
“I’m already getting in trouble because of you. I might as well have a little fun with it.”
I sighed. “Bye, Gibson.”
“See you later then, momma.” He grinned at me.
I shook my head, frustrated, turned, and left, walking away fast. I felt hot and stuffy, and I needed to get out of that room.
The way he looked at me made me completely flustered. He talked to me like an arrogant asshole, but every once in a while he seemed to let his guard down, and there was something else behind that cocky grin.
I didn’t know what I wanted from him, but as I sat back down in my seat and opened up my textbook, I felt a little bit better.
He wanted to be there for this baby. In the end, that was all that really mattered.
I just wished he wasn’t such an asshole.
5
Gibson
The ball left my hand like an old friend. It spiraled through the air, tight and controlled. Drinkwater caught it as he broke left in his post route.
“Good throw,” Coach said. He tossed me another ball. “Again.”
Jamie Roy was up next. He ran the same route as Drinkwater, breaking left at the same spot, and caught the ball in stride. I could make that throw ninety-nine times out of a hundred, especially with no pressure.
But during a game, it was different. The pads felt heavier, the crowd was screaming, and big, muscle-bound idiots were barreling toward me, trying to smash me into the dirt. I had to make pinpoint-accurate throws while the whole fucking country watched and judged my every motion.
Which was why we did it over and over in practice. Coach was going to drill these throws into my skull to the point where I didn’t have to worry about the pressure on game day; my arm would just know what to do.