The Playbook (a Secret Baby Sports Romance) (16 page)

S
he wanted to listen
. I wasn’t surprised at all, but it did feel nice that someone actually wanted to listen to me, to hear about my past. After all these years no one had ever taken the time to ask me if everything was okay at home—not my teachers, nor my friends’ parents, no one. So, why couldn’t it be the mother of my child? I smiled a little then, taking in the word. Lucia was to be a mom, and I was going to be a fucking dad. I thought this day would be years down the line. I never thought of myself settling down or even bringing a kid into the world, but the moment she’d told me, my heart had decided this was what I wanted. The news couldn’t have come at a better time. Was I ready? Hell no. The thought of having someone who would look up to me, who would push me to do my damn best for them, that made my boots quiver with fear, but it still meant more than anything.

I looked down at the beer in my hand, bringing my thoughts back to the present. Lucia cleared her throat then took a sip of her water. She was beautiful and patient, and I didn’t deserve her… “You want the Cliff Notes? Or the full version?”

She joined me on the sofa then and slipped a warm comforting hand into mine. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

“God, where do I even start?” I said, mainly to myself. Was there even a beginning to the story that had become my miserable life? I supposed there was, but perhaps I was too young to realize it at the time.

I took a breath a let it all pour out. “My mom died in a car accident when I was five. I overheard the officers telling my father that she hadn’t felt a thing, that it was quick. But I wasn’t sure I believed them. The horrified looks on their faces as they stood on the doorstop told the five-year-old me that they were lying. Thinking back about it now, they probably always did that—to lessen the grief for those loved ones they had to visit. What made it worse, though, was I was supposed to be in that car with her.”

“How so?”

“She’d come to collect me from a friend’s house, but she hadn’t turned up on time—three guesses as to why. She’d probably responded in a tone my father hadn’t liked or forgotten to buy enough beer. It would’ve been something inane, but regardless, he would’ve beaten her for it.

“I’d waited for a little while, the time passing without my realizing it as I played with my friend. But it wasn’t like Mom to forget. We had a routine, you see; she’d pick me up every Wednesday from Charlie’s and just the two of us, we’d go run some errands—sneaking in a stop at the Double Scoop for ice cream. My dad never knew anything about it. It was our little secret, and he just thought we’d gone shopping. So when it started to get dark, and Charlie’s mom started to put their dinner out, I got worried. It wasn’t far from our own house, so I just walked home. I think we must’ve missed each other on the street. When I got home, Dad was passed out on the couch, his arm and bloodied fist dangling off the side, almost lifeless. And Mom was nowhere to be found. I checked everywhere, but the only thing I found was a small pool of still wet blood with a few drips trailing away from it in the kitchen.”

Lucia squeezed my hand, and I suddenly realized I was crying. I sniffed the tears away and continued.

“As I got older and ran the memories back over and over in my mind, I started to piece things together, my theory being he’d hit her so hard that she must’ve bumped her head. I dunno, maybe he gave her concussion or something, and when she got in the car to come get me… well, yeah, she obviously wouldn’t have been in any state to drive. Of course, I couldn’t prove any of this—it was too late, anyway. Far too late. I wondered many times why she stayed, why she didn’t leave him. If we’d left just one day earlier, she’d still be alive.”

I took a deep breath, finding a shard of hurt still twisting within me, a dagger piercing my heart. I barely remembered my mom, but the pain never went away.

“Before my grandma died, she made sure that I knew what kind of man my father was and how much her daughter had suffered at his hands—like I didn’t already know. He’d turned his attention to me, you see. ‘He will get his someday,’ she wheezed, still smoking a cigarette even though the cancer had eaten its way through her lungs. ‘You just be patient and wait, Jacob. Don’t show him any piece of you that is scared, or he will take full advantage of it. Suck it up and be a man, and as soon as you can, you leave, ’cause they’ll make you go back with him. You hear me?’

“She died a few days later and I found out that she had been right about not having anywhere else to go. I was a burden to him,” I said, clenching my hand tightly around the bottle. “A constant reminder of my mom and what he had done. And since she wasn’t around for him to beat on, he turned to me. I had my first black eye at six.”

“Oh my God,” Lucia breathed, “why didn’t anyone do anything about that?”

I gave her a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “Not for a snot-nosed kid from the wrong side of the tracks. No one gave a shit. They all had their own problems.” I didn’t want to look at Lucia. I didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes. “So when I was old enough, I signed up for anything that would keep me from having to go home.” I told her how I had no money of my own—what kid does? And I wasn’t able to get a job until my mid-teens, but my grandma’s words stuck in my head. I had to get out and away from him. Luckily I was still able to do a ton of things to keep out of his way—baseball, football, anything sports-related, really. I can still remember my first coach, Eric Danes, and how he had taken a shine to me, inviting me over to eat when he knew I hadn’t had a proper meal in days. His house had been so different from my own—even the atmosphere, you know, was lighter. There had been nights I wanted to be his son and live in his house.”

“What did your father think of your decisions?” she asked softly. I cleared my throat and took another swallow of beer. “He liked it, actually. He pushed me to excel at any and all sports. The only problem was when I didn’t do my ‘best’ or let him down. He was careful to hit me where no one else would notice. I’ve had cracked ribs more times than I care to admit.

“I played both baseball and football through middle school until I won the quarterback position on the varsity team in my first year of high school. My father got wind of it and forced me to concentrate on football, stating that my money chances were higher there. He was always talking about how I’d take care of him—how I’d pay him back once I made it big. It was like I owed him just for existing, for being unfortunate to have been spawned from him. He was ruthless and ten times worse than any of my coaches. There were many nights when he forced me to throw spiral after spiral though a tire he’d rigged up in our backyard. I had to do it so many times in a row before I was allowed to stop. And the numbers just kept climbing. First it would be ten times in a row, then twenty, then fifty. Sometimes, I could barely move my throwing arm the next morning as a result.

“When did the beatings stop?” Lucia asked.

I looked at her, her expression full of compassion. “They didn’t, not really. The frequency dropped when I was old enough and big enough to fight back, and that was around my junior year. I’d thrown an interception in an important game, causing it to be a lot closer than it should’ve been. And though we won, my father made sure I would never forget the mistake I’d made.”

“You worthless excuse for a son!” he raged, pushing me against the wall hard, his hand wrapped around my throat. I could see the whites of his eyes, his spittle raining down on my face as my head banged against the wall. “You almost blew our chance at greatness!”

“Our chance?” I asked, feeling the rage build up, swelling like an unstoppable storm. “There is no ‘our’! This has nothing to do with you!”

“You ass-wipe,” he said as I fought against the hand at my throat. “I have clothed and fed your miserable behind for years. You owe me, and don’t you EVER forget that.”

He released me then, laughing as I crumbled to the floor in a fit of coughs. “You’re a little piss-ant, weak as a twelve-year-old girl, but I will make you strong so you don’t throw like shit again. I’ll beat it into you if I have to.” He lifted his boot to kick me, but I got there first. My foot shot out, stopping him, pushing him on his ass across the living room floor.

“
Of course, it just pissed him off more, but I was able to escape and walked the three miles to my coach’s house, and he took me in without a word. I suspect he knew about the beatings all along but never said anything because I never did.

“He’d still come to my games though, and stand glaring at me the whole time. He never cheered—unless you counted him calling me every name under the sun, like he was on the opposing team. It was as if he was daring me to make a mistake. Maybe he wanted me to make one so I would somehow get kicked off the team and have to come crawling back to him. And though his acts of intimidation did get to me somewhat, I muddled through. When the college scholarships started to pour in, he backed off a little,” I continued, remembering those days well. I was so excited that I was finally going to get away from him for good, free to do whatever I pleased.”

“I can only imagine the relief you must’ve felt,” Lucia said as she tucked her feet under herself and snuggled in close to my side. Absently I stroked her hair as the words continued to fall out; the dam had broken.

“Yeah, I couldn’t wait. I took the offer that was as far away from home as possible, and for a kid who had never tasted any freedom whatsoever, my first year was nearly a disaster. Had it not been for the coaching staff riding my ass to bring up my grades, I would have flunked out. But in my third year, I broke nearly every record the school had,” I said, remembering the winning feeling, the high that could not be broken. “Scouts were showing up left and right to watch me play, and the bets were already starting to be laid as to where I would end up. I was getting all the sex I wanted, too, night after night.” Realizing what had just slipped out, I sheepishly looked up at Lucia. “Sorry, babe.”

She gave me a warm smile, her hand straying to her stomach. “I don’t mind your past; it’s made you who you are today. You’ve been through a lot—a lot more than any kid should have to go through, and really, the only thing that matters now is our, I mean your future.” I swallowed hard, my eyes drifting to her well-placed hand. Hell yeah, that was all that mattered now. I was going to be the best fucking father any child could ever have. But it wasn’t just that. The woman who was listening to me, I would crawl a thousand miles to get her forgiveness. I would never feel worthy enough to be with her. She deserved a hell of a lot better than me.

“In one respect, I thought you were a typical jock, but on the other hand you were also a bit of a mystery, if I’m being honest. I’m so glad you told me about what happened with you and your dad. It makes me feel closer to you.”

“Me, too. I feel lighter somehow.” I threaded my fingers through hers and wondered what I’d done to meet someone like her.

“So what happened next, you know, after all the sex?” she asked, gently teasing me.

“Oh, you want to hear more?”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay then. After that, with all the scouts sniffing around, the coach told me that I could go into the draft. He didn’t want me to, but hell, that was my dream, the thing I had been working toward all my life. I met with an agent and dropped out of the school the next day.”

Looking back, I was an idiot to do so. Another year and I would have graduated with a degree in public relations, something that I could have used when or if my football career tanked. It’s the one mistake all college athletes make, thinking they are invincible enough to play for twenty or so years. “Anyway,” I continued, shaking off that mood, “when the draft came, I went in the first round. You probably know some of this. But the money, hell, it was more than I could have ever imagined. After all my struggles growing up, barely having enough to eat ’cause it all went to feeding my father’s beer and whiskey habit, I saw it as an opportunity to make my own way in life without the shadow of my father hanging over me. I spent and wasted far too much, but it was worth it. And the first few games, I rocked it. But then the phone calls started, and the visits. He was in my head all the damn time, making me lose focus. And then…”

“Then something happened?” she asked, and my mood darkened immediately. I sighed and dropped my head, wishing I could go back to that one game that changed my damn life forever.

“Maddox! Suit up! You’re going in!”

Pumped, I grabbed my helmet and slammed it onto my head, trotting out onto the field to the roar of the crowd. The game that was going to push us into the playoffs hung in the balance, the team down by a touchdown with less than a minute left on the clock. I’d been benched for throwing an interception a week earlier, but now was my time to bring the glory back. If I could pull this off, we were going to be in the playoffs, which meant a bonus was coming my way.

I huddled with the offense and rattled off the play call, clapping my hands to break the huddle before positioning myself behind the center. It was an easy route, a fake to my running back before an easy throw downfield to my open receiver. I had done it a thousand times before. I did a hard count and backed up, faking the handoff and setting up my throw before I saw an opening right down the middle, a near straight path to the goal line.

I was going to win this game.

I took off, my breath harsh in my own ears as I tucked the football under one arm and headed for the open pocket, the goal line in my sights. But then out the corner of my eye I spotted him.

Somehow there he was, after all the years without a word. My father had somehow managed to get himself on the sidelines. It wasn’t an illusion, he was really there. I still don’t know to this day how he did it, or how he got around security, but it didn’t matter; the damage was done. In that moment, as he stood there with his arms across his chest staring me down, watching my every move, every single beating came rushing back. Trapped within a playing reel of my memories, I was distracted, so much so I almost stopped running. And that moment when I slowed down—did a double-take—was all it took to ruin everything.