Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  I raise a brow at him. “Like Mom?”

  “Just like Mom, kiddo,” he says quietly with a smile. “He’s not a bad guy, Hails; Dalton, I mean. It takes a man to tell me what he told me earlier tonight, you know. It takes a real man to stand up to a girl’s father and tell it straight, I’ll say that much.”

  We stop at the far end of the field, and Dad kicks his foot against the base of the goal post. “So you still sure there’s nothing there?”

  I shake my head. “There can’t be, Dad.”

  “Because you think there can’t be or because people tell you there can’t?”

  I roll my eyes. “Dad, it’s scandalous.”

  He shrugs. “You know how scandalized Harper, Texas was when the daughter of the richest guy in town fell for the wide receiver from the wrong side of the tracks?” Dad grins and shakes his head. “People get over scandals, honey. Because most of the time, they ain’t nearly as interesting as people think they are.”

  “Dad, you and Heather are getting married. I think that makes it more than slightly scandalous.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.” He shrugs, “Well, we could call off the wedding.”

  “Dad!”

  “Kidding,” he says with a wink. “I guess I could legally relinquish parenting rights if that’d help. You’re almost nineteen anyways.”

  I make a pout. “You want to not be my dad?”

  He laughs and throws an arm over my shoulders. “Honey I’m always gonna be your Dad.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “What you do when people tell you you’re going to lose or that you can’t win or that the other team is bigger and faster, or that it’s impossible.” He grins as he gives me a look. “You prove them wrong, kiddo.”

  I frown and look down, kicking at the turf under my feet.

  This is real.

  “How?”

  “You win.” Dad looks me in the eye, his hand on my shoulder. “I’d like to think I raised you to be a fine young woman, Hails. And if I didn’t trust your intuition, or have faith that you could make good decisions, I’m not sure what kinda father that’d make me.”

  He pulls me in for a hug, and I wrap my arms around him.

  “Dalton- he’s a project, for sure. But if it’s worth it, it’s worth it.”

  “People will talk,” I mumble into his chest.

  “Let ‘em,” he shrugs. “People will always talk.” He pulls back to look me in the eye, “Look you’re an adult, kiddo, you don’t need my blessing.” He laughs, “He sure as hell does, but you don’t.”

  I laugh as I hug my dad again fiercely.

  “But you’ve got it anyways. Both of you do.”

  45

  Dalton

  “Don’t even think about walking out that door until we talk about this, mister.”

  Fuck.

  I pause, bagel in my mouth and one foot out the patio door off the kitchen. So much for sneaking into the house for a quick breakfast and a getaway.

  I turn to the sounds of my mom’s voice, a Hall and Oates record drifting in from the living room.

  She’s leaning against the doorway to the kitchen with Coach’s goofy ass cat in her arms. And when she arches a brow at me, it’s almost like furry little Beasley does it at the same damn time.

  “I thought that cat didn’t like anyone but Jim.”

  Mom shrugs, “Seem’s Mr. Beasley has good taste.”

  I grin, “So does Coach, mama.”

  She nods and gives a quick smile. “Good one, but it’s not going to get you out of this conversation.”

  I drop the grin. “Guess you saw the news, huh? Look, mama, I-”

  “Dalton.” Mom stops me with a raised brow and a shake of her head, “I’m your mother, Dalton - I didn’t have to read about that in a silly magazine.”

  “You haven’t read it?”

  She laughs, “Sweetheart, there are seven-hundred emails in my inbox about it right now. Of course I’ve read it.”

  I groan, hanging my head and wishing with everything to be literally anywhere else having literally any other conversation in the world. Because twenty-four hours after losing the girl and having the collective shit hit the fan, talking about it is basically the last thing I want to do.

  “But Dalton, I could see that coming a mile away.”

  I jerk my head up. “What?” I frown, shaking my head. “Jesus, how?”

  “Because you’re your father’s son, that’s how. He was a wild man for a while there himself you know.”

  I grin. “Oh, is that what I am? A wild man?”

  “Dalton, what on Earth should I call you with all the shenanigans you’ve pulled over the last year?”

  “Fair point,” I mumble. Beasley yowls at me, and I glare back at him.

  “Growing up is hard, sweetie, I get that,” Mom says quietly, stroking the Maine Coon in her arms.

  “So that’s my similarity with Dad? Being a wild man?”

  Mom shakes her head and smiles, “Oh no, honey.”

  “Well why else am I like him then?”

  “Because it took a girl with a backbone to show him how to be a person of substance.”

  I raise a brow. “I’m guessing that’s you in this story?”

  “Lucky guess.” Mom sighs, “Hailey’s a strong girl, Dalton. Strong enough to stand up to you and that chip you carry around on your shoulder. You’d do well to hang onto that.”

  “Her or the chip?”

  Mom gives me a look and I shrug.

  “Yeah, well, too late,” I say darkly, scowling at a blank spot on the floor between us.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. It’s too late.” I tighten my jaw as I look up at her. “I screwed up, Mom, I lost her.”

  “Well that doesn’t sound like the Dalton I know.” She steps towards me and puts her hand on my cheek. “The Dalton Cole who’s my son and who I am fiercely proud of, doesn’t lose. He might get knocked down, but he learns. And if there’s one thing I know about him…” She looks me in the eye and smiles.

  “He sure as hell doesn’t quit.”

  The Hall and Oates record goes quiet, and the kitchen falls silent except for Beasley, who yowls again and paws at my chest.

  Mom smiles as she looks down at the fat cat in her arms. “You know I think Beasley here is becoming a bit of a family man.”

  “Coach got a good one, Mom.”

  She shrugs. “Oh, I know.”

  I crack up as I give her a hug, pecking her on the cheek. “Gotta get to class.”

  She nods, and I grab my bag and head for the door before I pause with my hand on the doorknob.

  “Hey, Mom?”

  “Yeah, hon?”

  “Thanks.”

  She nods. “No matter what happens, you’re my son Dalton, and I believe in you. Don’t ever forget that.”

  46

  Hailey

  “So…we gonna talk about that whole thing?”

  I drop the book to my lap and raise a brow at Roxie, lounging across my dorm room couch by the window.

  “About what?”

  Roxie rolls her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, I was thinking maybe about you swapping between dead silence or hysterical crying for the entire three hour drive back to school the other night?”

  I stare down into my textbook, avoiding her look.

  “He’s not going to disappear if you keep reading that thing you know,” Roxie says, nodding at the science book in my hand. “Oh, and spoiler alert, the ending is boring.”

  I raise a brow at her. “Since when do art history majors read books about photo-plankton cell structures?”

  “Oh, we definitely don’t but it’s a fucking book about photo-whatever cell structures, dude. I guarantee the ending is boring.”

  I grin and roll my eyes at her.

  “And anyways, you’re avoiding the subject at hand here.”

  “I am not,” I pout into my book.

  Roxie snorts. “O
h yeah? Talked to him since that night?”

  I’ve barely showed my face since that night. I’ve been to class exactly once since that night, and I could hardly get across campus without being assaulted by half the student body and about twenty different media outlets. Heather ended up granting me a sick leave to do homework from my room for the week while my professors emailed class notes.

  Heather - by the way - who didn’t judge, or give me any looks, or even get angry when I walked into her house with my dad that night after our talk on the field. Heather who instead just threw her arms around me and held me tight and only said “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “No, I haven’t talked to him.”

  “You should.”

  I groan. “No, I shouldn’t.”

  “God you’re stubborn.”

  She grins as I make a face at her.

  “Well what about you, lady-killer? How about you and Miss sorority-girl cheerleader?”

  Roxie frowns and looks down at her own classwork. “Still in the closet.”

  “Have you talked to her?” I say in an obnoxiously sing-song voice. “You know, you should talk to h-”

  “Oh shut up.” Roxie grins and flips me off. “And I don’t sound like that.”

  “Sorry, dude, I meant to say you should talk to her. Dude.”

  She nods at my little display. “Oh, much better.”

  The room sinks back into silence for a minute before she drops her notes again and breaks it.

  “Well we’re a sorry duo, huh?”

  I nod glumly.

  “So do I need to have him murdered or what?”

  I snort. “Are you telling me you ‘know’ people?”

  She grins. “Do I know people? No, but I may or may not have grown up bow-hunting.”

  I raise a brow at her. “Seriously?”

  “Dead serious. Dude, I was all-state at the high school competition level. Coming out as a lesbian to your dad in rural Virginia means you’re basically officially a boy, by the way.” She shrugs, “So Dad started teaching me how to hunt.”

  “That’s…”

  “Weird?”

  I grin. “A little.”

  “Yeah, no, that’s a lot weird, but I’m saying the option is there.”

  “I have a hard time picturing you bow-hunting.”

  She shrugs. “Well, say the word and I’ll put one in QB so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

  I laugh. “Let me think about it, okay?”

  She winks at me and starts to turn back to her notes, before she stops. “So…”

  I drop my book again and look up at my friend. “Yes?”

  “So it was more than sex, wasn’t it?”

  I can feel my face burning red as I look down. “I thought we weren’t talking about it.”

  “No, you weren’t talking about it. I’m still very intrigued by the chaotic nature of your social life.”

  I groan. “Well the answer is ‘I don’t know’, okay?”

  “But the sex was at least good, right?”

  My cheeks burn even hotter as I pointedly stare into the book in my lap, not reading a word. I mean, what do I even say to that? The sex was phenomenal? Mind blowing? So good I can’t fathom a single thing or feeling on Earth being as good as that?

  Roxie grins. “Yeah, that’s a yes if I ever heard one. Well, at least the real thing stood up to rumor.” She raises a brow at me.

  “What?”

  “I mean, how is the real thing compared to rumor?”

  The red blooms from my face across my neck and down to my chest, and I groan as I throw a pillow at her. “Nosy much? Besides, I thought you weren’t into that.”

  Roxie laughs as she dodges the pillow. “What, dick? Good lord, no, I’m not.” She winks at me. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not curious. You know, for science or whatever.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “For science, huh?”

  She grins, “Hey, you’re the biology nerd here, I bet you even took field notes.”

  I groan. “Oh my God, stop. And anyways, my lips are sealed on that particular matter.”

  “Yup, that’s another yes.”

  She laughs again as I turn away, blushing furiously.

  “Okay, okay, I’m done. No more jokes.”

  She’s still looking at me when I glance back up, only it’s not jokey this time.

  “It was more than that wasn’t it? Sex, I mean.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know… no?” I shrug. “Yeah, no, it was just sex.”

  Bullshit.

  But it’s like this block I can’t get past. If I can say it was just this “thing” - if it was just me “experimenting” and “living the college life” then it won’t hurt.

  I’ve been saying this to myself for a week. It’s still not working.

  Roxie sighs. “Hails, what did I tell you when we first met?”

  “Probably something hugely personal about your own sex life?”

  “Besides that.”

  I shake my head.

  “I told you, you were going to have to get better at that.”

  “At what?” I frown.

  “Lying.”

  I roll my eyes “Rox-”

  “Yeah, you are. Hails, I haven’t known you that long, but I know you enough to know you’re not that girl, even if you were trying to be.”

  I scowl. “What girl?”

  “The girl that hooks up with a guy like Dalton ‘just because’ or ‘just to get a piece’. It’s not you.”

  I chew at my bottom lip, saying nothing.

  “So it was more.”

  “I don’t know.”

  She gives me a look. “You don’t know or you don’t want to admit to yourself that it was?”

  “He told me he loved me.”

  I say it quietly, and I don’t know how or why it comes coming tumbling out, but suddenly it’s just there.

  Roxie raises a brow. “Really?"

  “Yep.”

  “The Dalton Cole told you he loved you?”

  I nod. “Yeah, that night. Right before the reporter came over and ruined it all before I could say anything back.”

  Roxie whistles. “Holy shit, Hails.”

  “Yeah.”

  ‘I’ve never said it before.”

  ‘So why say it now?’

  ‘Because it’s true.’

  I squeeze my eyes shut on the memory that’s been replaying in my head all week. But it’s still there, behind my eyes, like it’s been every night when I try to fall asleep. And I hate that I’m dwelling on it like that, because it’s not like I can love Dalton Cole back, right?

  Why not?

  Because…

  My mind draws a blank. I’m waging a war of ideals inside my head before I realize I don’t even have an argument. I have nothing to say as to why I shouldn’t, at least nothing that sticks

  “Oh my God, you love him back, don’t you?”

  “What?” I jerk my head up and blink quickly. “No! No, of course not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of….reasons.”

  Roxie crosses her arms over her chest and gives me a look. “Elaborate.”

  “Roxie, come on.”

  “No, I’m not letting you off the hook here because you’re acting ridiculous. Now look, either you actually don’t love him back - which I don’t believe for a single second - or you do love him back and you won’t let yourself admit that.”

  I hang my head. “I don’t know, Rox.”

  “So what other reasons? That he’s been with other girls? Who the fuck cares? Has he been with anyone since you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, dude, that says something.”

  “What, that I’m a ball and chain for the great legendary Dalton Cole?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No, that he wants you, dummy.” She gives me a look. “What other shit reasons you got?”

  I groan and drop my head. Nothing, I’ve got nothing.

 
Because thinking of reasons why I wouldn’t or couldn’t love Dalton Cole is a fruitless exercise. Thinking of all the ways to say I don’t love him is a waste of time and a waste of breath.

  Because I do, and that’s what hurts the most.

  “People will talk,” I mumble weekly.

  “Fuck them.”

  I grin. “My dad said the same thing, actually.”

  “Well your dad’s a smart fucking guy.”

  Roxie comes over and sits on the bed next to me. “Look, I’m sorta bad at the whole Sex and City ‘hugs and advice’ shit, but…” she trails off as she shrugs and awkwardly puts her arms out.

  The tears come as I hug her fiercely.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Roxie,” I mumble into her shoulder.

  “None of us do, dude,” she chuckles as she strokes my hair. “None of us do.”

  “Hey Rox?”

  “Yeah?”

  I sniffle against her shirt and squeeze her harder. “You’re way better at the ‘hug and advice shit’ than you think you are.”

  She laughs, “Don’t you go telling a soul, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  47

  Dalton

  I’m lacing my pads up before the game against Alabama when there’s a slap on my back.

  “Hey, bro.”

  I grit my teeth; Evan.

  I’ve been avoiding any interaction with basically anyone since that night a week ago. I’ve done the bare minimum of communication during practice. I’ve yelled plays, I’ve called passes, and that’s fucking it.

  And I’ve been a Goddamn ghost on campus ever since that first night after the bomb went off. That first night was hell, too; that first night of knowing - really knowing - that I’d lost her.

  I didn’t go home that night after the Florida game. I grabbed a ride with the team bus, but didn’t say shit the whole way back. And once on campus, I just couldn’t do people. I couldn’t be around these guys and whatever sad “loss party” we were going to throw. And I sure as shit couldn’t go home to face whatever music was waiting for me there.

  But apparently, I have a dorm room on campus, and for the first time since getting to college, that’s where I slept.

  Alone, fucking pissed, and with a bottle of shit whiskey I begged off some half-drunk frat-boy on my walk across campus. A bare mattress, a heavy damn heart, and a mountain of regret weighing me down with every beat of my heart.