The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs Book 2)

by Kate Stewart

  “Tell me, son, tell me you didn’t keep this from me for six years.”

  “Mom, I made a huge mistake.” Pamela cuts his explanation and glares over at me.

  “Tell me you didn’t know I existed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say as Troy grips his mother’s shoulders in an attempt to reel her back toward him.

  “Mom, I lied to Clarissa. This is my fault. Put this on me. All of this is my fault.”

  “I have a six-year-old grandchild, and no one told me?!”

  “Mom, please, keep your voice down. He doesn’t know. We haven’t told him yet.”

  Her eyes bulge. “You haven’t told him in six years!”

  “Damn it, Mom! Stop it!” Troy snaps. “I’m going to need you to get it together, or you need to leave. Either hear me out or go.”

  She looks over to Troy, furious. “You don’t talk to me like that!”

  “I will when it’s serious. And I take this as seriously as you did. Now listen to me. I screwed up. I’m trying to be a better father. I’m trying at a relationship with him, and I can’t have you bulldozing in and—”

  “Bulldozing? I didn’t even know he existed,” she says just before tears spill down her cheeks. Troy’s eyes close, and I can feel the crack inside him. I’m witnessing first-hand the damage I caused with my grudge. I want so much to blame Troy’s lie, but this heartbreak right here, it’s on me.

  “Mrs. Jenner, I kept him away.” She looks over to me. “Troy lied the night Dante was conceived, and I kept him away. I’m partly to blame.”

  “You kept my son away from his child? Why? Why would you do that?”

  My voice is pathetic when I find it. “Because at the time, I was a new teacher, and he was a student in another school.”

  She turns to Troy. “You lied about being a student?”

  Troy nods.

  “So you could bed her?”

  Biting his lips, Troy nods again. “I didn’t think—”

  “Jesus, Troy. No, no, you didn’t think. And now I have a six-year-old baby who doesn’t know his grandmother. I didn’t raise you this way!”

  “Mom, please stop. Please. I swear I was going to tell you.”

  “You’ve had years to tell me.”

  “I kept him away,” I admit freely feeling the shift of her hurt shaping into fury. “I’m just as much to blame.”

  “And I will blame you,” she says curtly, “but right now, I’m dealing with my son.” She turns to him spewing anger and hurt. “How could you? How could you lie to me for so long? That baby is partly mine too, is he not? I raised his father.”

  “Mom, I just met him three months ago.”

  Her eyes bulge. “How so?”

  “Me,” I say with lead in my voice. “That’s me.”

  “You kept him away from his child for six years?”

  Guilt riddles me as Troy tries to reason with her.

  “Mom, look. We can’t erase what’s happened, but we’re all doing so well now. You of all people know how hard it is to raise a child. She was just protecting him.”

  She glares at me. “No one needs protection from you, Troy. That’s unforgivable.” She takes a menacing step toward me. “And just who in the hell do you think you are?”

  “His mother, Mrs. Jenner, but I feel ter—”

  “Call me Pam, we’re family after all, right?” she snaps. “I can’t, I can’t believe this. Why?”

  When neither Troy nor I speak, she breaks down. “I’ll never get that time back. You realize that, don’t you?” She looks between us as her tears fall rapidly. “I’ll never get that back,” she cries as Troy tries to pull her into his arms. “How could you?” She says, crumbling as she pushes him away and then looks to me. “How could you?” My tears fall along with hers as Troy finally pulls her in.

  All I can do is watch her cry.

  Troy

  My mother drives away and I look over to where Clarissa stands on her porch, a cup of coffee in hand. It’s been one of the worst fucking hours of my life, and I’ve never seen Clarissa so upset. Enduring my mother’s wrath, she went back and forth between begging for forgiveness and defending her decisions. I hate myself, I resent her, I hate the whole fucked up situation. For the first time since I came into their lives, I feel like I need some distance. We stare at each other for long moments, both spent from hammering out our mistakes. I’m unsure of what she’s thinking as she looks at me and I have no idea where we stand, or if we have any footing at all.

  I’ve just broken my mother’s heart and fractured her trust.

  And maybe if I’d have come clean with Mom sooner, I’d have a place in my son’s life. Mom would have fought for me. That’s the one thing I can’t stop thinking about. I may have taken advantage that night. But did Clarissa take advantage of the fact that I was young and naïve enough to go along with her selfish declaration that I didn’t get to be his father? Or was she so tainted by my lie that she genuinely believed I had no place in his world? I can feel the distance growing between us as she stands there with tears drying on her cheeks. It’s then I feel the wall resurrect between us. But this time, I’m not sure who’s constructing it, and instead of consoling her, I throw my sledgehammer down and walk away.

  Troy

  Dante, ball, work.

  Priorities.

  I exhale the rest as I grip the bar in my hands and push off.

  Three games left.

  With any luck, we’ll get to the playoffs and snag a bowl game.

  I push off again, wrestling with the weight of my load.

  Finish the season, get an invite to the NFL Combine, prove my worth, get drawn in the draft.

  Priorities.

  No more distractions. No more stalking, obsessing, daydreaming, or fucking pining.

  I can’t handle any more indecision when it comes to Clarissa. Instead, I’ve pushed harder than ever, taken a full second off my dash time, and used the gym as my punching bag. I’m not sure what I want anymore, but I am an athlete, and that’s the only thing that’s getting me through.

  Lance spots me as I do another set of reps.

  “What’s good, man? How’s the BM situation?”

  “Everything’s coming out smooth,” I grit out.

  “I’m not asking about the integrity of your daily shit, Jenner.”

  “Keep my count, man. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That bad?” He lifts the bar as I finish my set.

  I down the contents of my water bottle and wipe my mouth. “Too much water under the bridge.”

  “She still giving you hell?”

  No, she’s gone quiet, and I have nothing to say. We’re on opposite sides of the field, our son pulling us together on the fifty. My resentment is winning for the moment after each conversation with my mother.

  “Nope, she’s…whatever. It doesn’t matter. I could be a fucking saint sporting a halo, and she still wouldn’t have it.”

  Kevin takes that moment to add his two cents. “She’s got a rich side piece who wears penny loafers.”

  I reach over to where he’s pressing next to me and jab him in the sack. He damn near drops the bar on his chest, but Lance catches it.

  “Fuck, man! What the hell…” Kevin sputters, cupping his sack.

  I give him a pointed look, “Keep that hot air in your head.”

  “Easy, man,” Lance chuckles, positioning himself on his back to start his lift as Kevin hovers over him.

  “We aren’t talking about this. I’m over it.” I lift some bells to start my curls.

  “Yeah, you’re over it, all right. That’s why you’re swatting away potentials like they’re flies,” Kevin spits sarcastically, turning towards Lance. “He’s not hitting on shit.”

  “I’ve had eight years to run that game,” I say honestly. “It’s getting old.”

  But there’s more to it. The truth is that I had a glimpse of what I wanted, and that vision is disappearing by the day.

  Lance
and Kevin share a grin that grates on me.

  “I’m not delusional, all right? It’s just time I move on from the one and done game. I’ve got more going on.”

  “Yeah, long dark red hair, thick ass, perfect lips, and moody. Can’t say that turns me off. Can I get her number?”

  I glare over at Kevin as I speed up my reps.

  “You hit me with those bells, dickhead, and you’re getting what you give.”

  This makes Lance chuckle. “Ease up, man.”

  I look between them both, “If you two are so worried about my dick, feel free to give it a t—”

  “Jenner! My office, now,” Coach barks from the door.

  Lance and I share a look, and I shrug, tossing my bells on the mat. Kevin whistles Darth Vader’s theme song, and I flip him the bird before making my way to the coach’s office.

  “Shut the door.” I do as I’m told but remain standing, a little on edge. He’s a live wire, and in all my years playing with him, I’ve never seen him so strung out during a season. We all want an explanation, but all we can do is stand by as he continues his tirade. Plenty of coaches have bad field-side reps, but ours was never one of them, until this season. His ‘fuck all’ mentality seems to be his new norm, and we’re stuck dealing with it.

  “Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the chair opposite his desk. I take a seat as he sorts through a file before snapping it shut. Seeming satisfied, he glances up at me. “I’ve gotten a few calls.”

  Instantly, my back straightens. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have an agent?”

  “No. I’ve looked into it and gotten a few calls, but I’ve been—”

  His stare turns arctic. “What? You’ve been what? Is there something more pressing, Jenner?”

  “No,” I cup my neck. “I could use some advice.”

  “Here’s my advice. Get an agent. And do it soon. There are thousands of athletes who would kill for an invite to the Combine. Do you think you’re special?”

  “Hope so.” I want to swallow my fucking tongue after the look the remark gets me.

  “You need that invite, Jenner.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “And if that happens, you need to be ready. Do yourself a favor, do the research, and return the calls.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  He tips back in his chair, peering at me. “Don’t you want to know who’s interested?”

  “Honestly, I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Have it your way. We’re done here.”

  “Thanks.”

  I almost make it to the door, but stop when he speaks up behind me. “Any distraction, whatever it is, let it go. Ball and ball only from here on out until your name’s called. Season’s almost over, but you’re about to enter the hardest four months of your life. No excuses.”

  Erin’s Pork Chops and Yummy Rice

  Chemist, Oklahoma

  Makes 6 servings

  1 hour and 30 minutes

  1 Stick Margarine or Butter

  2 Cans Cream of Chicken Soup

  1 Can Cream of Mushroom Soup

  1 Can cream of Celery

  2 ½ Cans Water

  2 ½ Cans Minute Rice

  6 Boneless Pork Chops or Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts

  Melt butter in large baking dish. Mix soups and water together. Stir well. Add rice and stir. Pour ¾ of soup mixture into pan with butter. Lay pork chops or chicken and cover with the rest of soup mixture.

  Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour

  *May need up to 15 minutes extra cooking depending on meat.

  Clarissa

  “Mommy, it’s wiggling!” Dante calls from the bathroom from where he stands on his stool.

  “Don’t mess with it! You’ve got to let it happen naturally.”

  “It’s hanging! Come see!”

  “What did I tell you?”

  “It feels funny,” he giggles.

  “Baby, you need to leave it alone.” I worry my lip after checking my purse and debate on shooting a text. Troy’s been avoiding me since our run-in with his mother, using his time with Dante at his house between his away games, school, and work. I’ve not put up much of a fight because I have no idea where he stands, but there is now a jarring distance between us from where we were. I saw it that day, the minute Pamela drove away, his resentment apparent with the way he looked at me—a far cry from mere hours before.

  I’ve been iced out.

  His checks are still coming weekly without fail, but his absence is noticeable. He’s kept up his routine with Dante, never missing breakfast with his son. Though we stay friendly in his presence, it’s all small talk, both his interest and his eyes are anywhere but on me.

  This is precisely the type of thing I feared. Things got heavy, and he all but ran. We put on a united front for his mother, and for that, I owe him, but I haven’t had the chance to apologize. He repeatedly tried to take the blame for all of it, and it pained me to see him so helpless.

  And now, it’s as if any relationship we started has evaporated into thin air. Before there was an issue of us and the blowup, things were good. Better than good. We were functioning like a family. However, between that day and Troy’s new distance, I’m growing more confident that trying for anything beyond co-parenting would be a mistake. If only I could get that kiss out of my head. The longer he keeps me at arm’s length, the more I try to convince myself it was just a territorial play to win me. Maybe it isn’t me that Troy wanted. Maybe he just wasn’t comfortable with anyone else playing house with his son.

  Clarissa: Are you at work?

  Troy: No, I’m off tonight.

  Clarissa: How was your Thanksgiving?

  Troy: It was like being dragged around a field of razor blades by my balls. Yours?

  Clarissa: Far more uneventful. Do you think she’ll come around?

  Troy: One day, she wants to spend some time with him soon.

  Clarissa: That would be fine.

  Troy: I’ll set it up. So, what’s up?

  Clarissa: Do you have any singles?

  Troy: Singles?

  Clarissa: Dolla dolla bills yo. (Dollar eyes emoji)

  Troy: What do you have in mind? (Devil emoji.)

  Clarissa: Chillout, perv. Your son’s about to lose his first tooth.

  Troy: Yeah, I’ve got a few.

  Clarissa: Great. I won’t have to write an IOU.

  Troy: Which tooth?

  Clarissa: One up front.

  Troy: Shit. I hope it comes back.

  Clarissa: That’s usually how it works.

  Troy: I mean, comes back straight. I had crooked teeth.

  Clarissa: Really? Your teeth are perfect.

  Troy: Yeah, after four years of braces.

  Clarissa: Ha. Can’t picture that. So, can I come get the money?

  Troy: How about I play tooth fairy tonight?

  Clarissa: How will you play it? I was thinking a stick of gum and a few dollars

  Troy: That’s it?

  Clarissa: Yeah. He’s got a mouthful to lose, and we aren’t going overboard for losing teeth.

  Troy: He’s our kid. We can spoil him if we want.

  Clarissa: Fine, Daddy Warbucks, can I run over and grab the cash or not?

  Troy: You call me daddy again, and I’ll make it rain.

  Clarissa: Har har.

  Troy: I’ll bring it over later. Just let me know when he’s out.

  Clarissa: Okay, thanks.

  The flirtatious text exchange makes me hopeful, and I can’t help but spend a few minutes on myself. Troy’s seen me in every imaginable state, but some part of me wants the ‘what if’ connection back. I let my hair down and tame it with a little beach wave spray before covering my arms with lotion. Half an hour later, I have Dante tucked in, his tooth waiting underneath his pillow for the Tooth Fairy, who pokes his head in shortly after a light knock on the door.

  This particular fairy is covered in sweat, his muscular frame showcased by the
long-sleeved tee clinging to him and sweatpants. His thick copper blond hair peeks out of his toboggan framing his face, outlining his square jaw. The sight of him knocks a little breath from me as I greet him.

  “Hey,” I say, tightening my robe. I can feel the late fall chill coming off his skin. “You’ve been running?”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of what I do.”

  When he finally lifts his eyes to mine, that kiss is all I think about, but in his posture, I feel the agitation he’s still harboring. I don’t know how to make this right, but I can sense his need to do the same.

  “Troy, I wanted to tell you—”

  “I was thinking—”

  We share a smile, and he lifts his chin.

  “You go fir—”

  “What were—”

  This gets a laugh from us both.

  “Want some water?” I offer.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  He follows me into the kitchen. “You smell incredible.”

  “Thanks.”

  He leans against my counter, crossing his arms. “Going anywhere?”

  My phone rattles on the counter, and both our eyes drop as Brett’s name lights up the screen. My eyes flick to Troy’s, whose voice cools when he speaks.

  “Don’t not answer on my account.”

  “I can call him back.”

  “Answer it.”

  “I said, I’ll call him back.”

  He shrugs, indifferent.

  Maybe he regrets his declaration now that things got heavy, and a part of me hates him for it. I was doing just fine before he forced his way into my daydreams with his intoxicating kiss and words. His perfect words.

  And I believed him, and for a moment, I took them seriously. And everything about his demeanor now tells me I’m a fool. But that’s what words are, a fool’s gold.

  Pretty promises make liars out of men and suckers out of the women who believe them. It was the kiss I believed most, and now that feels like a lifetime ago.

  The man in my kitchen is not the man who kissed me. He’s jaded by my lack of belief in him, which I understand all too well. I’m not jaded by the first guy I kissed, or the man who took my virginity, nor the short line of boyfriends that followed.