Chapter 29
T he thump, thump, thump of my heart only intensifies as the afternoon progresses.
I don’t have access to my phone, so I don’t know what the hell is going on.
Wynter left the field in a rush and while I want to race after her, I not only can’t for myself, but I know she’d be angry if I did. So I’m stuck. And it sucks.
The second we’re done on the field, I run to my locker, pull out my phone, and read her text.
Ice queen: I received a call from Mason’s daycare. He has a fever and threw up. I’m on my way to get him. He’s fine and I’m on it. Call me when you’re on your way home. Love you.
Dammit. That was three hours ago.
I don’t even bother changing or de-sweating.
Who cares? I wasn’t doing much on the field anyway.
Instead, I tell my quarterback coach that I have a family emergency and leave.
After the shouting I heard between Joe and Wynter earlier today, I’m not even sure what to do or think anymore.
My team demands my allegiance, but so does my family, and I’m stuck somewhere in between that.
I dial up Wynter in my car the moment I put it in drive. She picks up on the third ring and I can hear Mason crying in the background.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s going on? Is he okay?”
“Yes. Fallon is here and looked him over. She thinks it’s a virus. Likely something he picked up in daycare, which of course fills me with guilt.”
“Stop it. You work, and so do I. Though maybe when we’re out in the open, we’ll discuss getting a nanny for him.”
“Maybe,” she says and then comforts Mason. “Shh. It’s okay.”
“I’m on my way home. Do you need me to pick anything up?”
“Actually, if you could stop at the pharmacy and get some acetaminophen, that would be great. Dye-free if they have it. I have ibuprofen here, but Fallon suggested alternating that with acetaminophen for his fever.”
“I’m not quite sure what all that means, but I’m on it. Anything else?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“Well, if you do, text me. I love you both.”
I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “We love you too.”
She disconnects the call, and I drive home, restless and edgy.
It’s been a strange day. I took some reps on the field.
Light throwing. Nothing too much, and definitely no contact.
But I could feel it. The way my arm responded.
How well I threw the ball. How accurate I was.
I could feel it all coming back, and the buzz of playing hit me hard.
Leo has been doing well despite a few rookie hiccups, and I have no illusions he’s Coach’s favorite son at the moment.
The team has won two of our first three games, which is great for the team but bad for me.
I will be ready to hit the field again in the next few weeks, and I’m not sure how that will shake out. Coach hasn’t said a word about it.
I park in my spot in the garage and then walk up through the building to the front. There’s a pharmacy three blocks down, but when I exit my building, there are a few paparazzi lingering around, which I don’t understand at this point.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was feeding them something to keep them interested in me all this time.
“Asher!” they yell in unison, immediately running over to me and getting right up in my face. “Have you heard from Saline since you walked out on her at the restaurant? Rumor has it she’s now dating Derek Sandibal of the Yankees. Any comments on that?”
I give the customary smile and wave and start off, keeping my head tucked down as I hot-foot it down the sidewalk.
“How do you feel about Leo Dodd leading the team?” one continues, persistent as hell. “Do you think there’s room for both of you on the Rebels? Care to comment on LA’s interest in you?”
LA? That’s news to me.
Then again, these guys throw shit around hoping something will stick and make me react.
They give up the chase after half a block, and by the time I make it to the pharmacy, I’m positive I’m alone.
Only I’m in a pharmacy looking for children’s medicine with zero disguise on.
I’m not even wearing a hat. And it gets worse from there when I reach the children’s cold medicine aisle and find about ten thousand different options.
Brand name, off-brand name, store brand, grape, cherry, bubble gum.
I stare at the shelves of boxes and start to panic myself into a sweat. So I do what any brilliant man in my position would do. I phone a friend.
“What’s going on, brother?”
“Callan, I need my second favorite doctor to help me out.”
“You call me your second favorite and expect my help after that?”
“My lady love fixed my shoulder, dude. Sorry, but you’ve been demoted. For real though, Mason has a fever, and I guess Fallon told Wynter that he needs acetaminophen in addition to ibuprofen?”
“Is it just a fever or something else?”
I shake my head in frustration. Like I have real answers to these questions. Doesn’t he know I’m on the clock here? “I don’t know, man. She told me Fallon told her it’s likely a virus. He threw up before, but I don’t know about now. What do I do about the meds?”
“If his fever is high, then you might need to alternate the meds, so he gets better fever coverage.”
“Right. Whatever.” I roll my eyes at his doctor language. “But I’m in the pharmacy and there are about ten thousand options, and I don’t want to bother Wynter when she’s with Mason, and if I call Fallon, I look like a man who can’t handle the assignment.”
“True. Smart to call me. Never let them know all the ways we struggle. He’ll be a year old next week, so you want infant acetaminophen, not children’s.”
My eyes widen, and I take a step to the left where it looks like the infant stuff is. “I totally would have fucked that up. Next.”
“There really is no difference between brand and off-brand, but who are we kidding here? You’re obviously buying name brand, so go with that.”
“Truth. She mentioned dye-free. How can I tell if it is?”
“It’ll say it on the box. Dye-free means it won’t have artificial dyes in it. It’ll be a milky, semi-translucent whiteish color instead.” He starts cracking up. “Actually, it sort of looks like cum.”
My face scrunches up in disgust. “That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He’s laughing his ass off now. “I know, but it does. I will never look at that the same way again.”
“Me either. What do I do about flavor?”
“Kids usually do well with grape or berry flavor.”
I pick up a box of each, read over the packaging to make sure it says dye-free and infant formulation, and then tuck them under my arm. “Got ’em. Thanks, brother. I owe you one. Or maybe not for the cum comment. You do know I’m about to give this to my son, right?”
“Yeah. My bad. I shouldn’t have gone there. Text me later to tell me how he’s doing.”
“Will do. Later.”
I disconnect the call and slide my phone back into the pocket of my track pants.
Tugging the two boxes out from beneath my arm, I turn toward the register when I stop short.
Joe Cardone is standing at the end of the aisle, staring at me as if I’m a convicted felon.
He takes a few steps in my direction, and part of me is reveling in this.
A showdown with him away from the field.
“Coach,” I greet him.
“I suspected there was something between you and my daughter when you blew into my office today and looked like you were ready to tear me apart for upsetting her. Then when I saw you two talking on the field and later running off claiming a family emergency, I knew my hunch was right. What I didn’t know when I followed you home is that you’re the father of my grandson.
” His gaze pointedly drops to the two boxes in my hands, and he clearly overheard me on the phone with Callan.
I called Mason my son not even a minute ago.
“Since we’re showing our hands, you should know that I know about you too. Everything.”
He squints at me, wondering what I’m getting at, suggesting that there is more beyond him simply being Wynter’s father, which he just admitted to when he referred to Mason as his grandson. I was posturing, riding on my own hunch after my conversation with Gary that day by the pool.
But his expression tells me I’m dead on with that.
“What exactly is it that you think you know about me?”
All I offer him in return is a smirk.
“Tell me how you got to be the father because as far as I know, Wynter never stepped foot in Boston before she moved up here.”
“Honestly Joe, it’s none of your business, nor is my relationship with Wynter. You haven’t earned any details from her, so you sure as hell haven’t earned any from me.”
“She’s living with you?”
I shrug and watch as his nostrils flare and his jaw tics. It’s his tell. I may always lose at poker to Aurelia, but I’ve played football long enough to know how to read an opponent.
“She’s too good for you,” he barks.
I laugh because that’s about the least insulting thing this man could say to me. “I know.”
“She’s with you because of the kid. Not because she cares about you. Wynter hates football players.”
“The way I see it, Coach, she only hates one.”
He takes a step forward, trying to get into my personal space.
He’s a big guy. Tall and broad and, at one time, a hell of a quarterback.
Only I’ve got two inches and about thirty pounds of muscle on him.
I might be fucking up my career in all kinds of ways, but he needs to know he doesn’t intimidate me.