Not Just a Player

by Lana Baker

  “Poynter Elementary,” he says. “Or something.”

  My ears prick up. I’ve heard that name before, several times. That’s where Sam goes. “Oh, I’m not so sure. I think Darla has something planned this evening.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Since when? Since I asked you if you wanted to help out with some kids?”

  I think about it. I’ve been told to stay away from her, not the kid. And I’m pretty sure Coach isn’t going to have his spies hanging around at Kidspace. No, he reserves that for club nights and probably Rose’s home too. Too bad he didn’t splurge on sending somebody to Vegas—he might have saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life.

  The kid mightn’t even be there anyway.

  “Yeah sure, man. Count me in.”

  There may have been hundreds of kids, but that didn’t stop Sam from spotting me immediately and rushing through the crowd to my side. For a little guy, he sure has the balls to push those bigger kids out of his way.

  “Jake!” he yells, grinning up at me with eyes that are painfully familiar.

  “Hey, little dude.” I smile. It’s genuine. I like this kid and I’ve missed him. That’s a surprise. “How’ve you been?”

  He holds out his hand and does the secret handshake we worked out when I lived with him and his mom.

  “I miss you, Jake. My game is suffering.”

  I resist the urge to laugh—I know what it’s like to be a kid of that age and think you’re all grown up. But it’s hard—the things he says are funny as fuck.

  “Sorry, man. I’m sure your mom explained.”

  “Yeah,” he shrugs, looking around to make sure no one is listening. “I get it. There were developments and the agreement had to change.”

  I can’t believe this guy. Rose was right. He might only be eight but he’s got the tact and maturity of a kid twice his age. Hell, even I’m not that smart.

  “Yeah,” I nod. “Something like that. How is your mom?”

  He rolls his eyes. “She’s okay. She’s always sick these days.”

  “Oh?” My heart races. “What’s wrong?”

  He shakes his head and grins up at me goofily. “It’s nothing serious, Jake. She just keeps barfing. A lot.” He makes a face. “She tries to pretend she’s not, but I know.”

  “You sure she’s okay, kid?”

  He nods. “Yeah. She’s not worried or anything.”

  I stare at him. He’s a good kid. There’s so much I want to ask him, but I don’t want to complicate his life. I had a childhood. It was football football football in the backyard of our suburban home. This little guy? He hasn’t had it so easy. And I don’t want to confuse him by asking him questions about his mom. Especially because I know the consequences of that. All the same, I don’t like to hear she isn’t feeling well.

  “You look after her, okay?”

  He nods gravely. “I always have.”

  “You tell her…” I stop. Tell her what? Even if I could think of the words I wanted to say to her, they wouldn’t be suitable to tell her through her eight-year-old boy. “Tell her you’ve got a good throw.”

  He grins. “I will.”

  I watch him run away to join the others where Denny is lining them up for the first drill. Hell, even his run reminds me of the way she moves.

  I’ve got it bad, I know.

  “You getting broody, Jake?” Dale asks as we change before practice.

  I roll my eyes at the suggestion. “Hell no. Denny asked me to help out last night. Why aren’t you whooping his ass about being broody, huh? He’s the one who organized it.”

  Dale glances at our quarterback and raises his eyebrow. “Why’d you think?”

  “I can beat your ass just as good as Denny over there.”

  “Relax, Thorne. You’re getting married. He’s playing the field. That’s the only reason I’m yanking your chain. What’s got into you?”

  I tense. Practice is the only thing that takes my mind off my hellish living situation and now Dale goes and brings it up. Even if I could get Rose out of my mind, there’s no way on earth I’m having a kid with Darla. I don’t want my kids to have her scheming manipulative blood. But I can’t tell that to the guys.

  “I’m too young.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re twenty-six.”

  “Yeah,” Stevie chimes in. “I was barely in my twenties when we had our first boy.”

  “See.” Dale slaps a huge arm around my back. “It’s about time you got moving.”

  “What? Dude, I don’t see you with a brood.”

  “I’m not getting married,” Dale shrugs. “You are.”

  “So?”

  “You’ll see. Marriage. Kids. It’s what happens.” Stevie buries his head in his hands. “What am I talking about? I should be telling you not to do it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He groans. “Crystal is pregnant again. I don’t think I can handle three more months.”

  We all roll our eyes. It’s impossible not to see how much Stevie adores Crystal and his boys.

  He shakes his head. “I’m serious, y’all. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Yeah sure. You love it. Admit it, man. You’re whipped.”

  He sighs. “It’s different this time. Crystal is convinced we’re having a girl. Man, she’s been like the antichrist. When she’s not throwing up every hour of the day, she’s demanding I rub her feet or make her sugar sandwiches.”

  “You did knock her up, man,” I say, slapping him on the back.

  He glares at me. “Just you wait, Thorne. Just you wait. When Darla gets pregnant, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Trust me—it’s not. Unless she’s invented some kind of device capable of busting through solid walls, then she’s not getting pregnant. It’s not like she hasn’t broached the topic—she suggested it last week as I was rushing through the house to the guesthouse. She’s taken to greeting me at the door and throwing her arms around me. It’s all for the tabloids’ benefit. And she knows I can’t do a thing about it thanks to the little band of photographers camped outside our house twenty-four seven.

  She just whispered it in my ear. “We should have a baby. It’d drive them wild.” As if a kid is just some accessory to parade in front of the media.

  “Yep, definitely not,” I add, shaking my head.

  “What, trouble in paradise?” Denny asks, looking concerned.

  I open my mouth to tell him the truth and stop at the last minute. It’s not worth fucking up my career over. “Nah. It’s all good.”

  “Just wait,” Stevie mouths.

  I just nod. I’ve got a lot of things on my mind, but that ain’t one of them. “Give our love to Crystal. Hope she feels better soon, man.”

  “So do I,” he sighs. “So do I.”

  ROSE

  “Hey kiddo,” I say from my position on the couch.

  He takes one look at me and shudders. I don’t blame him. I’ve never been particularly glamorous, but these past few weeks take the cake.

  I’m lying on the couch with a hot water bottle on my belly and a bucket beside me because I don’t have the energy to dash to the bathroom anymore. Take that, Victoria’s Secret Angels—there’s a new angel in town.

  Or something. I’m officially delirious from lack of adult company and conversation. I can’t keep anything down. This is ten times worse than when I was pregnant with Sam.

  It’s two weeks since the doctor confirmed my suspicions. I am, in fact, pregnant again. I have no idea how it happened. We always used protection. Remind me never to see 99% effective as bulletproof again. I debated contacting Kenny and seeing if this changes things, but I bottled out.

  First off, I’ve met the guy several times now. I’m not an idiot. He didn’t get where he is today because of his cozy caring nature. He’d probably just think I was looking for a payoff. There’s no way he’s gonna change his mind and let me see
Jake. Not when he and his fiancée are all over the papers.

  Seriously. It’s driving me crazy with jealousy. And it’s all my fault. Me and my stupid goddamn principles. I was the one who insisted that Jake go to the team and come clean. Oh boy, I’ve been regretting that one since I got the call from Kenny saying the deal had changed and we needed to talk immediately.

  And I just can’t risk pissing off management and walking away with nothing. Kenny made it clear that he’ll do anything to protect his team. If I rock up and tell Jake the truth, then I’ll be broke and Jake will lose his spot in the team.

  So it looks like I’m going it alone for the time being.

  Sam is rummaging in the refrigerator—I know because I hear multiple things go crashing to the ground at once.

  “What you looking for there, kid? I’ll get up and make dinner for you in a sec. Okay?”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m gonna go practice my throws.”

  “It’s late,” I say frowning. “Plus you’ve been practicing all evening.”

  “I know that, Mom,” he explains with the exaggerated patience kids use to explain things to their dumb mothers. “But I met Jake today. He told me I had a great throw. I can’t miss my chance to play in the big leagues. I need to practice.”

  My heart accelerates. “You did?” I say, as casually as I can. “Where did you see him?”

  “At Kidspace,” he says, slamming the refrigerator closed.

  I don’t chide him for that like I usually would. “What was he doing there?”

  “Uh, coaching?” Like it’s the stupidest question in the world.

  What was I expecting? That Jake had just shown up at my kid’s after-school football camp several weeks after I walked out of his life. To what? Declare his undying love for me? I roll my eyes at my own stupidity. That may be the stupid fantasy that keeps me awake at night, but it’s not what I want. I’m not going to trade anything for my kid’s wellbeing. My kids’ wellbeing.

  Oh hell I wish Van was back from her business trip. I know I’m not supposed to tell anybody for the first three months, but this is different. I feel like I’m gonna burst. I need to talk to somebody.

  All I can think of is Jake. The memories of him playing in the garden with Sam are burned into my mind. I play them back over and over, except now I’m picturing him with a tiny girl who’s like a little mirror image of him. I rub my belly.

  Like I say, it’s a stupid fantasy. I know what would happen if I went to visit Jake and told him the truth. The team would find out. I don’t doubt that. And everything would be ruined for the both of us.

  I glance over at the pile of trashy magazines on the table. It’s not like I have a chance with him anymore. I missed it. He looks genuinely happy with his wife. They’re pretending they just got engaged. I guess spending all that time together made him fall for her, in the same way as he seemed to fall for me.

  I take a deep breath.

  It hurts like hell seeing him shopping in LuxHome with her, his huge hand resting in the small of her back. I should probably stop buying the damn magazines, but I can’t help it. I have this compulsive need to check up on what they’re doing. And they’ve been doing a lot. It’s like they’re out together every night. She’s gone with him to every preseason game, clasping her obscenely expensive engagement ring to her mouth whenever there’s a camera lurking anywhere near her.

  I’ve got my money. I know I should be grateful. I am grateful.

  “Mom, is everything okay?” Sam looks at me suspiciously from the other side of the room.

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding furiously. “Of course. It’s just this… tummy bug is all.”

  “You seem… weird?”

  I need to stop this. It’s selfish of me to freak Sam out unnecessarily like this. “Come here, son.” I hold my arms out and he walks over slowly and huffily, suddenly too cool to hug his mom.

  “I need to go practice.”

  “I know,” I say, squeezing him to me and frowning at the feel of hard hair gel against my cheek. When did that start? “I just wanted you to know that I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. Okay? We are A-OK.”

  “Yup,” he says, pushing away. “I know. Can I go now?”

  “Yeah, go on,” I whisper. His life is going to change a hell of a lot in the next six months so why not let him enjoy the calm before the storm?

  I edge gingerly off the couch as soon as the door closes and grab the pile of glossy paper. I throw them in the trash before I can think any more about it. About him. I’m not some starry-eyed teenager. I have responsibilities. No more stupid fantasies.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jake

  “Oh. Holy. Shit.”

  I bolt straight up and stare into the darkness. I’d been lying in bed, half asleep and thinking of nothing in particular. Well, daydreaming about Rose if I’m honest. They may have given me no choice but to live with Darla, but they can’t tell me who to think about right before I go to sleep.

  It started off as it usually does, picturing her in that sun dress that magnifies every curve of her body. On anyone else it would look ordinary as fuck. Innocent even. Not on Rose.

  But then I kept remembering Stevie’s words. And picturing Sam. I usually fall asleep easily, but tonight it was different. I couldn’t stop thinking, but I didn’t know what it was about. All I knew was I was getting a tension headache.

  It’s all clear now.

  At least it seems that way at two in the morning.

  She’s sick all the time, her kid said. So is Stevie’s pregnant wife.

  Why wouldn’t she have told me?

  I lie back against the pillows and grind my teeth. So much for figuring out what was bothering me and going back to sleep. That’s not happening anytime soon.

  I run my fingers through my hair and try to think this through. Am I imagining it? Couldn’t she just have eaten something?

  But I know that’s not it. I’ve had food poisoning. It doesn’t last for several weeks.

  Was the kid exaggerating? It doesn’t sound like Sam. He’s chill as anything—he wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t serious.

  I stare up at the dark ceiling and try to figure out what to do. Coach Fox seem to know everything I do before I even do it—is it so crazy to think he’s got somebody watching me? Normally I’d throw caution to the wind and ignore that possibility, but I can’t afford to do that now. I need some way to get to her; to talk to her without Coach getting wind of it and ruining her. Ruining both of us.

  Denny started giving me crap this morning about how tired I looked, but as soon as he saw my reaction he stopped. I rush forward when I see him leaving the field even though I know I should stretch some more before I cool down. There’s nothing unusual about me wanting to talk to him—he’s my best friend. We talk all the time.

  “Hey, man.”

  “Hey. Gotten over your period yet?”

  I laugh despite the ball of worry in my stomach. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “That’s all good. So long as you pull out all the stops on game day.”

  “Course I will. Don’t I always?”

  He slaps me on the back. “Not so sure about that, Thorne.”

  We fall into pace. I glance around as subtly as I can. Everything seems normal. Coach is nowhere to be seen, probably in the office watching back the video footage of the session.

  “Hey, Denny?”

  “What is it?”

  I sigh. This is risky, but I’ve been thinking about it all night. I need to get a message to her. I need to. If I’m right, then she’s probably going through hell right now. She told me what happened with Sam’s dad—I won’t let her go through it alone a second time, no matter how complicated this is.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Just so long as it’s nothing kinky.”

  I shudder. “Come on, man. It’s nothing like that. When are you coaching those kids again?”

  �
��Next week.”

  “Same school?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, we rotate. Which you’d know if you came along regularly. What’s the favor?”

  I slow to a stop and stare at him. “It’s complicated. But I need to get a message to one of the kids from the school we coached at Kidspace.”

  “Just go see him. Honestly, man, those kids idolize us. It’d make their week if you showed up again.”

  “No,” I say, wondering how much I can tell him. It’s not that I don’t trust him—I wouldn’t be bringing it up at all if I didn’t. I just don’t want to draw him into this shitstorm. “It’s not that simple. It’s…”

  “Everything’s complicated with you, Jake. I know that. Just tell me.”

  I look around. Everybody else has left the field. And just like that, I find myself telling the whole sorry tale to Denny. The guy is my best friend—it’s not like Coach will find it strange that we’re talking to each other. Just to make sure, I throw in a laugh every now and then, just so anyone watching will think we’ve having a normal conversation about Denny’s hookup from last night.

  When I finish, Denny doesn’t even look all that surprised. “Yeah, I can get a message to the kid. Why don’t you just call her up, though? Why go through the kid?”

  I shake my head. “You promise you won’t tell this to anyone?”

  He nods. I already made him promise before I told him anything, but it’s worth repeating.

  “Okay. Well. I don’t trust Coach Fox not to have somebody listening in.” I stop and wait, scrutinizing his face for his reaction. “I don’t know where she lives now and if I start asking questions Coach is gonna know. The only way I can think of getting a message to her is through her kid.”

  This is basically blasphemy. You don’t talk shit about your teammates and you don’t talk shit about the head coach. It’s frowned upon. Nobody does it, not even the most motor-mouthed rookies after their first couple of weeks on the team.