Hunter (Campus Kings): A Football Secret Baby Novel (10 page)

Chapter 22

Hunter

 I stretch out on the practice field, leaning down to
touch my toes. Even though we had an away game this weekend, I still feel
limber and ready to go. Not just my body, but my mind, too. Everything feels
clear and focused. Britt's been sick all week so I haven't been able to see
her, and I can't wait to tell her. I think she's been being overly careful
about not getting me sick, but she knows how important the game is to me right
now.

 Adam and I fist-bump as he walks by and sits down on
the grass next to me. I glance up at the big clock on the back of the building.
Almost time for practice, and no sign of Coach. Could he be running late for
the first time in his life?

A loud crash causes everyone on the field to glance back
toward the building. I look around in confusion for a second, and then realize
that the sound is coming from his office. Some of the other seniors and I walk
a little closer, and through the window in Coach's office where he can look out
onto the practice field, we see him picking things up off his desk and throwing
them against the wall. He looks red-faced and furious. I glance at Adam warily.
He shakes his head, neither of us aware of anything that could have caused this
kind of reaction.

I jog back to my duffel bag that I left on the bench. I
better check in with Britt. If anything, she might be able to talk her dad down
from this kind of state. I'm about to call her when I see I have a new email
from her, sent just five minutes ago. I smile and open it.

Hunter,

I'm so sorry to have to do this over email. You certainly
deserve better. I'm leaving. Maybe it's best that you don't know where I'm
going, but know that I'll be safe and taken care of. The last few months with
you have been the best of my life, but I need to be alone for a while. I've
grown up and lived in a ten square mile box for my whole life, and I need to
get out and see the world before I settle down. I would say that I hope you
understand, but I know that's asking too much, and forgiveness is out of the
question.

The world has just begun to see
what you are capable of. Keep going. Don't let anything stand in your way.

Britt

What is this bullshit? My face clouds and I call her.
Straight to voicemail. I call her again. Again.

Adam's hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I shrug him off.

She didn't leave. Impossible.

I feel a great chasm in the earth open at my feet. I want to
jump in.

I'll find her, that's it. I'll find her and bring her back
here.

Did she really love me? She can't. If she loved me like I
love her, she never would have left like this.

It was all a lie.

A crash and splintering glass. I look up to Coach's office
and see his computer lying on the grass outside it. He tossed it clean through
his window.

He glowers from inside the wreckage of his office, and I see
my own feelings mirrored on his face.

Britt's gone. She's really gone.

Chapter 23

Britt

4 years later…

Paula hands Max off to me with a smile. He turned three a
few months ago, but he's big for his age and it's a struggle to hold him up as
he squirms to get a better look at the shiny studs in my ears. 

"Gentle," I remind him, as he tries to grab my
earrings with his chubby fingers. "How was he?" I ask her.

"His usual rambunctious self," she answers with a
deep belly laugh, her silver and gold bangles merrily chiming on her wrist.
Paula's been an absolute life saver to me. I reached out to her out of the blue
four years ago, and she accepted me, and then Max, into her life without
question or judgement. Without her, I never would have been able to finish my
degree while caring for Max. Danielle was right, I did have to choose between
English and Psychology, a double major being a bit too taxing for a single
mother even with Aunt Paula's support. So I chose Psychology, and on a modified
schedule and working through the summer, I was able to graduate
summa cum
laude
from Portland State last spring.

"How was work?" Paula asks, grabbing a glass of
water from the fridge.

"Fine," I reply. I've worked at a coffee
shop/bookstore downtown ever since I arrived here. I'm beginning to chafe at
the edges a bit, but the owners have been flexible, allowing me to work around
classes or Max's daycare. "Oh! I caught another couple having sex in the
back corner."

Paula giggles. "What did you do?"

"Oh, I just let them finish and then when they walked
back out I told them they'd better at least buy something. They were so
embarrassed they just grabbed five copies of
The Corrections
and handed
me a credit card."

"Speaking of...how are things with Dan?" Paula
asks.

"Mama! Down!" Max demands, and I set him on the
floor. He's off and running, and I turn to watch him in the living room.

"Don't kill me...I broke things off," I tell her.

"But he was great!"

"He is great, for someone else. I just didn’t feel the
spark."

"And you never will, if you're always comparing men
to—"

"I know, I know."

"You should come on this yoga retreat with me!"
Paula enthuses.

"I'll think about it," I tell her. I glance at
Max. "Does he look at all like my mom?"

"Oh, yeah," Paula nods. "Around the mouth in
particular. But then again, so do you."

"He has Hunter's eyes." Paula wraps her arms
around my shoulders, but doesn't say anything. I watch Max pick up the TV
remote. He doesn't quite understand how to use it, but he's giving it his best
shot.

"Max, remember, you have to ask to use the TV," I
tell him.

"Football time!" he reminds me.

I smile. "I almost forgot. Today's Sunday, isn't
it?" I head into the living room and take the remote from him, clicking
through the channels until I find the Tennessee game. Max caught me watching
football one day and was immediately entranced. I can feel my heart constrict
at the expression on my young son's face every time he watches. His eyes light
up, and I can imagine that Hunter was the same way when he was little.

Max is especially excited when his favorite
player, Hunter Phillips, comes on the screen. He doesn't know that Hunter is
his father, and I have no idea when or how I'll tell him, but the starting
quarterback for the Tennessee Titans is the tops as far as he's concerned. And
it's not just Max. Hunter has been one of the best quarterbacks in the league
since he took over the starting position three years ago. The only thing that
could cement his status further would be winning the Super Bowl. The Titans
came close last year, but lost in the AFC championship.

I sit down next to Max, who leans
his sweet little head into my arm. He claps as the Titans offense takes the
field, and I zero in on Hunter's face as he calls an audible. He's so
commanding, so sure of himself. I've heard the announcers talk about how the
mentorship of Coach Lou McKay has been so important to him, and instrumental in
his play, but that's the extent of what I know.

My father has refused to speak to
me ever since I left for Oregon and my supposedly off-the-wall Aunt Paula. I
sent him an email and a letter telling him that I'd had a son, though omitting
the name of his father. I never heard back.

"Can I have, Mama?" Max
asks, pointing at the TV as it shows images of the fans wearing Titans gear.

"What, Max?"

"Blue shirt."

"Jersey. They call what the
players wear jerseys," I tell him.

"Jerseys," he repeats,
nodding thoughtfully. "Like Hunter wears."

The thought of my son in his
father's jersey is too much for me to bear. "We'll see, honey."

"For my birthday," Max
suggests, looking up at me pleadingly.

"That's not for a while,"
I tell him with a laugh. "Birthdays are only once a year, and yours is in
June."

"Mmph," he grunts
unhappily, though his mood turns quickly as Hunter completes a long pass.

"Here you go, darlings,"
Paula says, pushing a bowl of baby carrots toward us as she sits in the old
armchair next to the couch. "Thank god he wasn't a baseball player,"
she says, shaking her head at the screen. "They play so many more
games."

I smile at her. "Thanks for
putting up with it." Paula isn't exactly a football fan, but she knows Max
loves them, and I love to feel connected in some way to Hunter, so she doesn't
say anything when we put the games on.

"What did that say?"
Paula asks, sounding alarmed.

"What? Where?" I frown,
confused.

"At the bottom of the
screen," she murmurs. "I thought it said something about your
father."

"Really?" I ask,
squinting at the tiny type on the scrolling sports updates.

"Wait until it comes around
again," she says, shifting in her chair to sit closer. We sit in silence
for a minute as the scores of other games and an update on an injured player
scroll by. "There!" she points, then moves her hand to her mouth as
she gasps.

My stomach drops as I read what she
saw:
Vanover Coach Lou McKay missing home game due to stroke—still in
critical condition.

"Mama?" Max asks, tugging
at the sleeve of my t-shirt. He can feel how the energy in the room shifted,
and he's worried.

"It's okay, honey," I
tell him, pulling him onto my lap so that he can't see the tear that just
slipped down my cheek. "I have to call someone. What if he—"

"He's a strong man,"
Paula tells me. "Don't count him out just yet."

Chapter 24

Hunter

They waited to tell me until I came off the field. I can't
blame them. They didn't want to mess with my head. I have security escort me to
my car as quickly as possible. I didn't even bother showering.

When I show up in the emergency room, they look at me in
awe, and don't even ask me to identify myself before telling me where Coach's room
is. There are certainly some perks to being a celebrity.

I slowly press open the door to his room. He's hooked up to
half a dozen machines, and it's painful to see such an intimidating man look so
pale and drawn under his white hospital sheets. I step back out as a doctor
approaches down the hallway, clearly alerted to my presence.

"He's stable now," he tells me. "He might
have to have a bit of physical therapy to regain full control over his right
side, but we're very optimistic."

"Well, he's a tough son of a bitch," I say with a
grim smile.

"I don't suppose—" he begins, sounding suddenly
shy.

"No problem," I tell him. I recognize that tone of
voice. It comes right before they ask for an autograph. He holds out a notepad
and I scrawl my name, then head back inside Coach's room.

I pull out a chair and sit next to him, studying the
machines as though I have any idea what they mean. I look down at him. His hair
is much grayer than when I first met him. When Britt left, it really took a
toll. On both of us.

In our grief, mine secret, his restrained, we grew closer.
He had a hole in his heart where his child used to be, and I was floundering. I
needed guidance, and he stepped up. We've leaned on each other ever since,
though I never came clean about my relationship with his daughter. It clearly
never mattered much to her, so why should I let it ruin my relationship with
her father?

I lean closer when I see his nose twitch. His left eye opens
and he stares at me. "You stink," he grunts.

I smile. "That's true, Coach. I was in a bit of a hurry
to get here."

"You talk to the doctors?"

"Yup. They said you'll be fine. Might need a little
physical therapy."

"All I remember is feeling strange in the pre-game
meeting," Coach tells me, closing his eyes again. "And I thought,
this is it. I'm done for." He takes a few deep breaths. "And I also
thought, why am I such a stubborn old fool?"

"You're not a—" I frown.

"I am. I should have reached out to my daughter
before." I grow silent. "I've never even met my grandson." I feel
like a bolt of lightning hits my chest. A grandson? I mean, I knew Britt would
move on, but I hadn't pictured her with a kid already, though I guess it's been
four years now.

"She's married?" I ask, my skin prickling.

"Don't think so," he tells me. "Just some guy
out there, I guess. I can't pretend I understand her choices, but then again,
it's not my place to judge."

"I've never heard you talk like this before."

"Well, a near death experience will do that to
you," he says. "I've gotta at least make peace. My phone in
here?" he opens his eyes, and stiffly moves his head around.

"What, now? You're going to call her now?" I ask,
feeling alarmed.

"Why not? Life's precious, it seems. Check my pants
pocket," he instructs me. I stand and head over to the neat pile of his
clothes on the chair in the corner. His phone is indeed in his pocket, and I
walk back over and hand it to him. He reaches up with his right hand, and
frowns. "Dial it for me, will you? My hand doesn't seem to be working
right."

"Ah, okay," I say, my heart beginning to pound in
my chest. I know Britt changed her number, but it seems she gave the new one to
her father.

"Search my emails. She always sent it to me, but I
never saved it." I nod, and search "Britt" in his inbox. The
screen fills up with messages from her, and I feel a pang of jealousy. She
never tried to get in touch with me. I click one open and scroll quickly
through, feeling like I'm intruding. There, at the bottom. I click the number
and it automatically calls. I quickly put the phone under Coach's ear.

"It's ringing. I'll check back in later," I tell
him quickly as I walk out the door. I can't be in the room when Coach is
talking to her, not that he'd want me to be.

I pull out my own phone and scroll through the contacts.
I'll get over this situation the same way I get over everything: women. Lots of
them. My fingers stop scrolling when they come to Allyson Anders.

She's a country music star and we've been hooking up on and
off for several months. I don't want to get into anything serious, and her
breasts are fake as hell, but I can't deny that she's absolutely insane in bed.
Like certifiable, in a fun way. If she's in town, she'd be the perfect person
to snap me out of this funk.

I dial her up. "Allyson," I say as she picks up.
"Meet me at my house in an hour?"