A Daddy for Mother's Day_A Secret Baby Romance

by Natalie Knight

  “Well, that might take a while, you see, because…”

  “Let me rephrase that. Stop what you’re doing and come to my office. NOW!”

  “I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.” I hang up before he can throw in anything else.

  * * *

  When I finally arrive in his office, Coach is snoozing in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk and the lights off.

  With the help of the morning sunshine filtering through Coach’s half-closed blinds, I can see that he’s wearing fuzzy bedroom slippers instead of the recommended footwear of our official sponsors.

  It only gets worse from there. His hair is messy, his shirt is untucked, and even more than usual, he looks like hell.

  The chair in front of his desk squeaks a bit when I sit down, and he startles.

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “Brady! Where the hell have you…?”

  Coach feels around his desk for a light switch. Finding the chain attached to the light bulb on his desk lamp, he pulls it down hard, illuminating our side of the room.

  “Here I am,” I announce. “What can I do for you?”

  Coach leans in and rests his elbows on the desk, folding his hands just under his chin.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “Not really.”

  “Let me enlighten you, then.”

  I notice his Texas drawl is even more painfully slow when he’s about to deliver a lecture.

  “After a quiet evening of enjoying a fine whiskey, finishing a puzzle, and going to bed early, I awoke at the ass-crack of dawn to our PR manger alerting me that one of my so-called professional athletes was involved in an ‘incident’ that required my attention. Do you know which athlete I’m talking about?”

  I don’t like the way he’s dangling this accusation in front of me like he expects me to reach out and grab it. If I were still on the East Coast, my coach would just yell at me and get it over with.

  “No. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “In last night’s social media storm, we discovered multiple photos of you”—he sticks his hand out and puts down one finger for each item on the list—“one, drinking in a bar past curfew; two, not following your diet; three, fraternizing with your nutritionist; and four, acting like a jackass.”

  When he’s done, his middle finger is the last one standing.

  “So…what does that mean?”

  “It means you violated your morality clause on four different counts, and if you don’t give me one good reason not to fire you in the next five seconds, you’ll be out of here like three-alarm chili shooting out of my asshole.”

  “Can I be queso instead? I’m more of a spicy cheese guy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Coach is not amused. And he shouldn’t be, because I can’t deny anything he’s just said. Sure, I could lie and say the incriminating pictures belong to some other exceptionally fit and ruggedly handsome football player, but I have yet to see anyone in this town who looks like me.

  Did I mention how muscular and good-looking I am?

  I know I have Izzie’s nutrition advice to thank for that. It pains me to think of leaving her now after everything that’s happened, so I sincerely hope I can talk my way out of this.

  “Look, coach,” I begin. “I don’t know what to say. Yes, I went to a bar. Yes, Miss Williams was there. Yes, things got rowdy. But I didn’t start the fight.”

  “So, you admit you got in a fight then?”

  The twinkle in coach’s eye lets me know I’m in for it now.

  I slump my shoulders and bow my head in desperation. Maybe if I’d joined the speech and debate team in high school instead of playing football, I’d know how to retract that statement and defend myself more gracefully.

  But the football player in me knows that the only way out of a situation like this is to barrel my way through it with my helmet down, my jockstrap on tight, and my retainer in place.

  So I grit my teeth and get ready to charge.

  “That’s right,” I tell him. “I fought. Some idiot couldn’t keep his hands away from Miss Williams. I thought it would be too much to ask the bartender to get involved, and in that situation, it would’ve taken way too long to wait for the cops. I wasn’t about to let him treat one of our teammates that way.” I pause, take a deep breath, and prepare to deliver the best defense of my career. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

  Coach chuckles. “Oh, I know.”

  “What do you mean you know?”

  This guy is really hard to understand sometimes.

  “Let me break it down for you.”

  Coach stands up, grabs a dry erase marker, and heads over to the whiteboard on the wall opposite his desk.

  He flips the switch on the wall, pops the cap off the marker, and begins to draw little circles on the board. Inside, he adds my initials, Izzie’s initials, and the numbers of several of my teammates. Around us, he draws several X's.

  Finally, he draws an arrow from one circle to mine.

  “So, you see, my number four said he saw you and Izzie talking to the culprit here”—he circles the X next to Izzie—“and that you asked him several times to leave her alone.”

  From there, Coach McGoy gives me the rest of the play-by-play, using arrows to indicate who did what and where.

  “Number twenty-six saw the other guy take the first swing. He said you ducked and tried to lead Izzie out of the fray.”

  “But he wouldn’t let me.”

  “That’s what number eight said. According to him, the other guy was so pumped up at this point that he was bumping into everyone and everything, which is how the whole bar got turned upside down.”

  “That’s true. By the time I jumped in, it was a matter of self-defense.”

  Satisfied with his drawing, coach returns to his chair and pulls a stack of papers out of his desk. “You’re an idiot, a drunkard, and a pretty boy, but you’re a damn good football player. And it turns out you’re a loyal teammate, too.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for the final verdict. He’s pointed out several of my flaws, but there were some compliments in there, too. I think.

  “Brady, against my better judgment, I’m going to keep you on the team.” He pats the stack of papers in front of him. “The photos were posted from all different time zones, so I can argue that you may or may not have been out past curfew.”

  “I was.”

  “I appreciate the honesty. But with that violation out of the way, we can drop all the others as well, because in a crowded bar like that, everyone is standing too close to everyone else, and no one knows whose nachos are whose.”

  All my nachos are Izzie’s nachos. I want to tell him that, but I know I shouldn’t.

  He’s about to save me from yet another trade to another team in another city. There was a time when I thought I’d rather be anywhere but Texas. Now I’d give anything to stay.

  “Thanks, coach. I won’t let you down.”

  “You’d better not.”

  Chapter 24

  Izzie

  Dinner is delicious, but I just can’t eat.

  I’m dreading the conversation, but I need to just get it over with. The question is how I’m I supposed to break it to Liam again that we’re leaving.

  Brady and Liam are almost done, but I’ve done more pushing around my plate than consuming. I decide I need to spit it out.

  “Liam,” I make my voice forcefully cheerful. “Our house is done. I spoke with them this afternoon, and we’re good to go.”

  Filling my mouth with a big bite, I now wait for the fallout.

  “Aww, Mom!”

  That’s exactly what I was expecting from him: his face is sunken, his eyes already welling with tears. I can tell this is gonna be rough.

  “Aww, Mom.”

  Brady mimicking Liam’s expression and tone is super cute, and it admittedly helps level out the tension.

  I actually have to fight to keep from laughing
and making it worse.

  There’s a part of me that feels the same way as Liam. It’s been like a vacation staying here with Brady.

  Maybe it’s just because it’s been so long since I’ve had any kind of help with Liam or that I had access to so little luxury that I didn’t know it was out there.

  Now I feel superficial for saying it, but I’ll miss it.

  And just having someone else around, playing with Liam, helping him, is super relieving. Having that little bit of breathing room and time for myself has been amazing.

  I’m a little bummed, getting settled into the idea of going back to it being just the two of us.

  “I know. I know. I’m such a downer.”

  Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I sit up straight and reach out to lightly rest my hand on Liam’s arm. “But Brady has been so great to let us stay here as long as he has. I, for one, am very thankful.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about it.” Brady nudges Liam, who begins to look a little more hopeful. “What do you guys say to staying here through Halloween?”

  My gut reaction is to say no immediately.

  What’s the point of dragging this out?

  I’ve already spent hours agonizing over discussing it.

  I don’t want to have to go through this again. Halloween is going to turn into Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving will turn into Christmas.

  And at that point we just live here forever, and we can’t do that.

  But Brady isn’t done. “Come on, Izzie. It’s only a week away, and it would really mean a lot to me.”

  Oh, brother. I should’ve discussed this with Brady without Liam around.

  Liam is bouncing in his seat with excitement. “So, you’ll go trick-or-treating with me?”

  “For sure, dude! I love Halloween. I used to go with all my brothers and sisters, and we were like a pack. Beware to the houses without their lights on or that didn’t answer their door to give out candy. We used to stash away eggs during the course of the year so they were nice and rotten for Halloween.”

  Liam looks puzzled.

  “Trick or treat, right?” Brady explains.

  “Shut it!”

  I’m pointing my finger in Brady’s face threateningly. Liam doesn’t need to hear this.

  “Oh, so you agree?”

  That motherfucker. I could deck him right now.

  “Fine.”

  The celebration across the table at my words would be funny if it wasn’t at my expense.

  High-fives are exchanged, and then Liam hops up to come meet Brady with a chest bump.

  “What are you going to be?” Liam asks Brady.

  I won’t lie; his question has me perking up with interest.

  Brady doesn’t hesitate. “Something scary. What were you planning on being?”

  “A football player,” Liam answers.

  Liam is still standing next to Brady’s chair.

  “How about a dead football player? Or a zombie football player?”

  Liam is starting to bounce on the soles of his feet. “Yeah!”

  His excitement is really starting to ramp up, and his bouncing has turned into hopping.

  Swinging his gaze to me, Brady puts both his big arms on the table and rest his chins on his hands. “What are you gonna be?”

  “I honestly wasn’t planning on dressing up.”

  Brady scoffs in disbelief.

  “She hasn’t dressed up in a few years,” Liam explains. “I think the last time was when I was five, and she dressed up as a cat. She usually just takes me around and waits on the sidewalk.”

  Yeah, so? I’m an adult for Christ’s sake. That’s what most parents do.

  Liam acts like I’ve let him down in some way. He’s always been able to coordinate friends to go out with us, and I’ve chaperoned.

  It’s been hard enough making sure we have the money for Liam to have a decent costume before this job. Getting one for me, too?

  Well, I supposed I could have worked something out, but things are always so hectic.

  “Well, that is not going to work this year. We’re going to make this fun! And fun on Halloween is having a great costume.”

  Brady leans back in the chair and is speaking as if the matter is settled.

  “Awesome! This is going to be awesome.”

  Liam celebration is a little premature, as far as I’m concerned.

  “Wait. What are you planning on being again?”

  My question is directed at Brady—Mr. Organizer across the table.

  “I don’t know. Maybe since Liam is going to be a football player, and we’re going to make him a dead one, you should be a cheerleader, and we could make you a dead zombie one, too.”

  The wicked smile on his face is contemplative as he squints his eyes at me.

  Great. Now I’m going to be a cheerleader.

  “Yeah!”

  I’m pretty sure Liam will just agree with anything Brady says at this point.

  “But what does that leave for you? Are you going to be a dead football player, too?” I start giggling as I say, “Maybe you should be a zombie cheerleader, too!”

  Scoffing, Brady looks over the bowls on the table and dumps the end of the salad on his plate.

  “I can do better than that. Maybe I’ll be the Grim Reaper or some other kind of zombie guy. I don’t know yet.”

  So, he either hasn’t decided yet or doesn’t want to tell me.

  Whatever.

  “Liam, use some of that energy to clear the table.”

  His bouncing around is starting to drive me crazy.

  “So, are you in?”

  Brady’s determined to lock this down right now.

  What the hell. What can it hurt at this point?

  Another week, and it’s Halloween. It’s going to be hard no matter when.

  And not just for Liam, either. I’ve done a great deal of convincing myself this is all Liam, but I definitely am going to miss it here. This is one thing I can acknowledge.

  I like Brady. I like him a lot, and I’m attracted to him. As much as I hated him when we officially met, I’ve come to know him.

  And I see exactly what Lucy once saw.

  It’s going to be hard to go back to real life with a sunken heart.

  “Okay. I’m in.”

  Brady stands up and grabs Liam, tucking him under his arm like a football. He proceeds to run around the dining room table with them both cheering loudly.

  I just roll my eyes, acting how I feel like a mom should while two boys are goofing off.

  As they’re winding down, I stand. Grabbing a handful of dishes, I head into the kitchen to get a start loading the dishwasher.

  I’m torn.

  The longer I’m here, the more I consider breaking my promise to my sister and telling Brady that Liam is his.

  I never one hundred percent agreed with my sister’s decision. It seemed so extreme and final, especially now that I’ve seen all the good that can come of them spending time together. I can only see that bond growing stronger if he knew.

  I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.

  Personally, I really feel that the guy should at least get a choice.

  Yeah, there’s a lot of deadbeat dads out there. But how many dads are out there like Brady, totally unaware of the fact that they have fathered children?

  I want to believe that most men are good.

  I want to believe that Brady would be ecstatic to find out that Liam is his.

  I can’t help but wonder at this point who I’m protecting—Liam or myself?

  Liam because if I tell Brady and he doesn’t pan out as a father, he’ll be hurt. Or me, because if I tell Brady, how could he possibly forgive me for keeping this a secret for so long?

  Would he just reject us both at that point?

  Or just me?

  * * *

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry that?”

  It’s the second time Brady has offered to take and carry my ex
tremely full pillowcase.

  We’ve been out for two hours, and this neighborhood has been awesome for trick or treating.

  “It’s good. I’ve got it.” Brady is already carrying both his and Liam’s.

  Each bag is easily three quarters full and feels like it weighs a ton.

  People around here don’t mess around. We have full candy bars and bags of chips, but the thing that really makes the bags heavy are the cans of soda.

  Honestly, who does that? I can’t help but wonder if those houses forgot it was Halloween and just grabbed the soda to pass out because they had it around. I don’t know what we’re going to do with all this junk food.

  Liam’s zombie paint on his face has held up surprisingly well.

  Once committed, I really got into it this. Brady’s enthusiasm was infectious.

  Studying YouTube videos, Brady and I had spent a few hours before going out making Liam and I look like zombies. He’d picked all the materials up as a surprise a couple days ago.

  “How are you holding up, kiddo?”

  Throwing my arm around Liam, I encourage him to keep up.

  “I’m good. Just tired.”

  I can’t help but smile at his impressive makeup.

  “Do I still look as good as you?” Liam asks, giving me a cursory look before answering.

  “All good except for where it’s starting to peel back around your mouth.”

  “That’s from eating too much candy! You should have some, too. Here’s a candy bar. Maybe it’ll help you make it back.”

  Chuckling, I dig through my bag for something that interests me.

  Liam jumps ahead to walk by Brady on the sidewalk. I’ve fallen back a bit since another candy bar wasn’t too appealing.

  I’m working on opening up some starburst.

  Watching Liam and Brady from behind, I can’t help noticing their similarities. Liam is like a little shadow of Brady, valiantly copying everything he does.

  A shiver goes down my spine, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because my butt is hanging out in this cheerleader costume Brady got me, or if it’s a premonition of something to come.

  I just don’t know how much longer I can keep this secret.

  Chapter 25

  Izzie

  The house is quiet. Liam is asleep, and Brady is doing who-knows-what in the game area. If it wasn’t for Liam and their bonding moments in that room with their Pac-Man, I would become suspicious as to how much time he spends in there.