Scandalous (The Missarali Storks #2)

Chapter 1 Evan

The flash of the camera is bright, blinding. It stuns me momentarily, and I twist my cap around so it’s facing the right way in an attempt to shield myself from the press’s wave of frenzied questions, as if the bill is some kind of divider between us.

I haven’t missed being back here, sitting up on this stage in the stadium conference room with waves of reporters staring up at us with dollar signs in their eyes.

With it being the first press conference of the football season for the Missarali Storks here in Montana, they’re excited.

Wild. Like animals.

Security has to remind them to settle down, and after a few minutes, one younger reporter stands with a microphone in his hands, blazing eyes boring into my own.

“Evan, yet another woman has come out claiming to be the mother of your son. What do you have to say about this? Is there any truth in her statement?”

God, I wish I could knock the glasses right off his smug face.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I exhale, but at this point, questions like this no longer bother me.

All feelings towards them have faded, resulting in ignoring the reports and statements made by these women and pretending they don’t even happen.

A new one emerges at least every few weeks, and I’m mentally drained by how some people are so desperate for attention that they’d involve a child in their fictional drama.

“This is the first conference of the season, and that’s the first thing you ask me?” I hike an eyebrow up and stare at the reporter.

“Yes, it is. Care to elaborate on it?”

Oh, man, this guy has guts.

The silence that follows from me tells him I won’t be answering his ridiculous question.

The mother of my son is nobody’s concern but my own. However, the media refuse to accept that and are making every effort to involve themselves.

I had high hopes for this season. It’s my last, and since we won the Super Bowl last year, I thought I’d be treated with at least a smidge more respect.

But still, the mystery of my son’s biological mother is at the forefront of these people’s minds, because, like they love to remind us, stories on football just don’t sell.

They want drama. Gossip. And it really fucking ruins this for not only me, but my team.

It’s the reason I don’t understand why Coach Darrell wants me up here representing the Storks. He says I’m one of the best players and should show my face, but I think we’ve both accepted that my presence at these conferences is taking away from my teammates’ success.

“Is that you denying it, Evan?” the reporter continues, even after the microphone has been snatched away from him by a member of security. “Is that you declaring publicly that this woman is lying?”

Shooting Coach Darrell a fed-up look, which he returns, I stand, fingers flexed against the white-clothed table. “I think I’m done here.”

Reporters snap shots of me and call my name as I leave, and as the door to the conference room closes behind me, a sense of relief spreads through my body.

This is the part of football that I hate—the fame.

It’s not why I do this, and if there were a way to play in the NFL and be faceless, I’d do it.

But that’s not reality. This is, and I can’t escape it.

Marching to the hangout room in the Missarali City Stadium, my son and Hazel, Coach’s wife, come into view as I push the door open, and the second Leo spots me, he waddles over with open arms.

“Hi, buddy.”

“Finished already?” Hazel stands, placing the book she was reading to my son down on the table. “You were in there for no longer than thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds too long,” is my response while I continue to squeeze my son. Hazel watches us, a tint of a smile on her lips, but I can tell by her face she’s disheartened.

Disheartened that yet another nanny fell through for me. That I had to walk out of another press conference. That even though I’m trying my best, it still isn’t good enough.

I’m sure she’s also seen the recent news report of the woman I’ve never met claiming to be Leo’s mother. The pity is written all over her face.

“Thank you for looking after him, Hazel, and I’m sorry.”

She simply shakes her head, offers me a small sigh, and pats my back. “You’re a good father, Evan. Don’t forget that.”

Dipping my chin in a nod, I clear my throat, unsure how to respond to that.

Sometimes, it really doesn’t feel like I am a good father, and another blow of guilt hits me in the chest as I gaze into my son’s eyes—the ones that are looking up at me like I’ve hung the fucking moon.

He’s too young to know any better right now, but as he gets older, his understanding of the situation we’re in will deepen, and I’m not sure how to explain to him that I chose to stay in the career I love, rather than moving to somewhere where nobody could ever bother us again.

I have enough money to retire and live the life I want—not that I need much money to live that life; I’ve never been a materialistic person—but leaving this all behind to go fish, visit museums, or whatever people do when they retire, irks me.

The sound of the door opening behind me causes me to turn, and I pull my cap off my head to adjust it backwards, into its more comfortable position.

Coach Darrell is looking at me from the doorway, a sad smile playing on his lips. He waves at my son before nodding me in the direction of his office, and after grabbing Leo’s things and thanking Hazel again, my son and I follow him.

“You nearly got eaten alive in there,” Darrell says as he unlocks his office door, taking a seat.

“We all knew it was going to happen.”

“Yeah, but I was kind of hoping they’d give it a rest this year, you know?” He laughs. “That’s wishful thinking, I guess. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You know it doesn’t bother me.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry about Hazel having to take care of Leo.”

At the mention of his wife, Coach Darrell’s head tilts, and his face softens.

“You know she loves Leo, West. We all do.” He smiles at my son, who’s busy playing with his race car by our feet.

“We’re here to help both of you. We’re a family here, and when one man is struggling, we don’t just sit back and watch.

” Humour takes over his face now. “Doesn’t mean I’m ecstatic when you tell me you’ve fired yet another nanny I’ve found for you, though. ”

My mouth tugs into a grateful smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my tired eyes. “I think I just need—”

Ping.

I immediately groan, the noise grating on me.

There’s no point in looking at my phone. I know what it is—another notification telling me that someone else has applied for the ad we posted, looking for a nanny for my son. Another application I’ll have to examine, only to turn my nose up at the applicant and move their form into the no folder.

It’s overflowing at this point.

Coach will then move them back into the yes folder without my knowledge, and they’ll proceed to the interview stage of the process.

This particular ad has been up for months. He refuses to let me take it down, but for good reason, since I go through nannies at the same rate the team does medical tape.

“You gonna take a look at that?” Coach Darrell quirks his brow at me from across the desk, his hands linked together at the back of his head as he reclines in his squeaky rolling chair.

I refuse to react to his teasing tone. “I’ve got a nanny booked for tomorrow’s training session. No need to panic.”

“Well, actually, there is a need to panic, Evan, because I never know whether you’ll show up to practice or not, because you couldn’t get someone to watch Leo. You were lucky Hazel was around today. Seriously, what’d this nanny do this time?”

“Brought her pet tarantula.”

Coach scrunches up his nose, a laugh falling from his mouth as he peers over at Leo. “I’m sure he would have loved that. Could adopt him one since the kid’s so interested in getting a pet. What would you call it, kid? Fluffy?”

I deadpan him, before following his gaze.

My son sits on the carpeted floor, the shiny red sports car in his tiny hand. He makes some kind of strange whooshing noise as he soars the piece of plastic through the air, clattering into the tower of bricks before him.

Watching my three-and-a-half-year-old lose himself in his own world of imagination reminds me, yet again, how time is flying.

It feels like just yesterday I was holding him in my arms in the delivery room.

He couldn’t say a word, just stared up at me with those wide grey eyes of his. The same ones I see in the mirror.

Being a single dad is tough. Some days are better than others, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I adore the little life we’ve created together. It might be full of stress and a major ballache sometimes, but it’s ours.

“I’ve hired the next nanny on the list you drafted. I’ve got it covered, don't worry.”

“Yeah, well, that nanny will be gone in a day, so I hope you have a backup, and a backup for your backup.” Darrell crosses one leg over the other, the corner of his lip twitching.

He’s trying to be nice, but I can tell the speed at which I churn through nannies aggravates him.

He’s reaching the end of his tether with me, but is trying not to show it, and for that, I’m appreciative.

“This season is going to be tough. We're under a lot of pressure, so I need you to be here for as many training camp sessions as possible. Just because you’re guaranteed to be on the roster and are one of our best players doesn’t mean you can slack, Evan.”

I’m contracted for one more year with the Missarali Storks, and have been a part of this team for four already, so I know the drill. “You don’t need to remind me, Darrell. I can handle it.”