11. Ryan
ELEVEN
Ryan
Holy fuck. It’s go time.
You can do this, Devlin. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Put on your game face and tell your kid you’re his dad.
After giving June a quick nod, I’m striding across the room and sit on the floor in front of Oliver. My heart is racing a hundred miles a minute, and beads of sweat are already dripping down the back of my neck. The bottom of my stomach drops out, and all words and coherent thoughts vacate my brain.
This is nothing like football. No preparation that can make this easier.
Can a three-year-old be scarred for life? Asking for a friend. One of us might need therapy after this. Probably me.
“You’ll always have a place to stay here.” Not sure why that’s the first thing out of my mouth, but it is. I’m already screwing this whole thing up, but in my defense, I’ve never had to tell a kid I’m his dad before. I don’t know what the etiquette is here. I should have looked to see if there was some kind of book about this—a “telling your kid you exist for dummies”–type thing.
Oliver tilts his head, his gaze moving around the room, and when his eyes come back to mine, his little nose scrunches. “Why?”
Oh, good, I’m confusing him. This is going so well.
Deep breath in. Exhale. Deep breath in. “I’m your dad, Oli. I hope that’s okay.”
And if it’s not, please keep it to yourself. Fuck me. I’m really winning today. At least the room looks amazing.
He stares at me for a few beats, then looks at the T. rex I gave him this morning and back at me. “Really?”
“Yes?” Oli’s face gives nothing away, and I have no idea whether that’s a good question or a bad one. Just like I have no idea why I answer with another question.
“Where hab you been?”
“I . . . uh . . .” Where the fuck have I been?
“Your dad was away with work for a while, but he’s back now.” I’m not sure when June came over here, but she’s kneeling beside me, clearly here to save my ass.
The look Oliver gives me is heart-wrenching, and when his bottom lip quivers, I almost lose it right here. This kid can have anything he wants. My penthouse, all the money in my bank account, a kidney. No questions asked. “Are you going to leabe again?”
Shit. Fuck. His gaze shifts to the floor between us, and I move closer, putting a light hand on his forearm. “No, Oli. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You promise?” His bright-blue eyes are full of hope, and he hugs the stuffed dinosaur close to his chest.
Of course that’s when I remember my job—my job that requires me to travel almost every week. Our last preseason game is tomorrow in New Orleans, which means I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning and not coming back until Monday. I can’t promise him I’ll never leave while I’m packing my bags. “I do travel for work sometimes, but it’s usually only for a day or two, and I promise I’ll always come back. You can call me whenever you want, and when I’m playing, you can watch me on TV.”
It doesn’t seem like the time to mention that my contract is up at the end of the season. I know my mom said not to focus on problems I don’t have, but I can’t just ignore the ticking clock hanging over my head. Nashville is my home, and I want to stay, but in pro sports, it doesn’t always matter what I want.
I was lucky enough to get a contract here in the first place, and I’ve busted my ass for the team, but at the end of the day, we haven’t gotten to the playoffs in years. We’re not the worst team in the league, but we’re not good enough to be the best. My stats don’t mean shit if I can’t lead the team to victory.
What this means for me come March when my contract is up and I become a free agent ... I don’t know.
“Your daddy plays football. Remember when we first saw him in his uniform?” June glances at me but is quick to look away, a light-pink blush spreading across her cheeks.
Hmm. Interesting.
Also, nope. I’m supposed to be pushing her out of my head, not wishing she could come to a game and watch me play.
Maybe having her move in here wasn’t such a good idea. Especially since I don’t have a room set up for her yet.
Yeah . . . I’m in trouble.
I haven’t been with a woman in about four years—since the night I found her in that sparkly wedding dress—and ten minutes in my house and she’s already chipping away at my resolve.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never been able to stop thinking about her. Maybe because she was the one to walk away from me, leaving me wanting more. Maybe because it’s been so long since I’ve lost myself in someone else. I don’t fucking know, but I need to figure it out before my focus goes down the garbage, and then I’m guaranteed a one-way ticket out of here come March when the free agency period starts.
Oliver nods, picking up a few of the blocks and stacking them, one on top of the other. “I remember. That man gabe me a football.”
“That’s right, he did.” Fucking Silas. At least right now that damn football is buried under a pile of drywall and debris. “Next week I’ll—” My phone rings, completely derailing everything I was about to say, and I’ve got half a mind to ignore it completely, but as I pull it from my pocket, my agent’s name flashes on my screen. “I’m so sorry, I need to take this.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.” June keeps her eyes trained on the colorful blocks as she sits down on the floor by Oliver, putting some distance between us.
Her entire demeanor shifts. Her shoulders are rigid, her brows pinched, and the smile that stretched across her face tilts to a frown. Weird.
I don’t like it. I also don’t like that I don’t like it.
Maybe talking to Nick will get my head out of my ass. Now that I’ve got Oliver in my life, it’s him and football. Not only do I have something to prove to myself, my dad, and, hell, even Anders who doesn’t know I exist, but this year everything could be on the line. I need to fight to keep my spot on the team, not spend my time chasing around a woman I have no business being with.
June deserves a man who can commit to her, take care of her, and be everything she needs and more.
After Caitlin, I can’t be that man for anyone.
Never again.
She’s why I have one rule, the only rule I need—don’t fall in love. And while I’m nowhere close to that with June, she makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a very long time, and that scares the shit out of me.
I push up from the floor, ignoring the creaking in my knees and the urge to look back at June, and duck out into the hallway. “Hey, Nick.”
“Hey there, superstar.” He laughs, knowing good and well I hate it when he calls me that. “Cole, don’t run with the scissors. If you stab yourself in the face, your mom is going to be mad at me. No. Don’t look at me like that.” He lets out a small sigh. “Sorry, kids. I’d have called you back sooner, but you didn’t tell me about yours until late last night. Tsk tsk. I thought I trained you better than that.”
“Yeah, well, this has all been a little new for me. You’ll have to forgive me for not telling you before I told my own mother.”
He scoffs, and I have to hold the phone from my ear as his kid screeches in the background, quite possibly still running around with scissors. “Obvi I’m more important. She’s not going to protect your ass from the media circus about to head your way like I will. And I’ll do it with a smile.”
“I’m pretty sure saving my ass is in your job description.” Now it’s my turn to scoff, walking down the hallway toward my room. “What do you mean media?— ”
“She a groupie?”
“What? No.” My voice is raised, and I force myself to lower it to a harsh whisper, slipping into my room, leaving the door open just a crack. “She’s not like that.”
“Oh, she’s not, huh?” Nick chuckles, and I have the sudden urge to punch him in that smug smile I know he’s got plastered on his stupid face. “We can work with that. What does she do for a living? How does she feel about being in the public eye?”
I don’t think this is a good time to brag that I finally know her name. Not unless I want another lecture about responsibility.
“I’m not sure. She does yoga and has terrible taste in music. Does that help?”
“Yeah, her and every soccer mom in the country.” He sighs, muttering to himself, and I’m pretty sure he just told me to fuck off. “Maybe have a conversation with her, find some stuff out about this woman you’ve hitched your wagon to. Jesus Christ. You need to make sure she’s not a liability. How am I supposed to sell a happy family if you don’t even know what the mother of your child does for a living? For my own sake, I’m going to assume you know more than her bra size.”
“Her bra size is none of your business, and I don’t want you selling anything.” I peek around the door, making sure no young and impressionable ears have wandered this way. “Oliver and June aren’t news, and they need to be kept out of it the best you can.”
“No can do, buddy. What you want doesn’t matter. You’ve been in the game long enough to know the press can be ruthless when they want to be. They’re going to find out, so it’s better to stay ahead of it than end up chasing our asses for the rest of the season. Plus, with your contract renewal on the line, we want to make sure all press is good press. The fans love a family man, and we need the city behind you.”
“The fans love me.”
“They like you. We need to make them love you.”
He’s right. I hate it when he’s right. “What do you need from me?”
“What did I tell you about the scissors?” He pauses and the line goes quiet for about ten seconds—ten seconds until all I can hear is maniacal laughter. Guess I should get him a couple of pairs of safety scissors for his birthday. “Sorry about that. But no, nothing yet, superstar. Well, you know, maybe get to know June a little bit since we’re going to need her and your son on our side. Let me think on some things and I’ll text you.”
“Looking forward to it.” I grunt, heading back down the hall toward Oliver’s room.
“I’m sure you are.” He chuckles. “Later, hater.”
“Yeah, screw you too,” I murmur, but it’s too late. He’s already hung up.
I’m sure he’ll have plenty of ideas, just like I’m sure I won’t like any of them. Just like I’m sure one of them will be cataloging my life—our life—on social media.
Damn it.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love playing football, I really do, but I don’t always love being in the limelight. I’m truly grateful for my fans and am always happy to sign things and take pictures when I’m spotted out in public, but I like to keep my private life private. Which is why I don’t have my own online accounts.
Fuck.
He’s totally going to want me to set one up .
My dad loved this part of things. He thrived in the spotlight. He and his fake-ass persona were always front and center during postgame interviews. He did cameos for reality shows and curated his perfect life and his perfect family online. It was fake, all of it, and maybe that’s why I’ve always shied away from sharing the personal parts.
I don’t want to be like him in any way. Nope. Not happening.
It’s bad enough I get photographed with any woman who stands within a five-foot radius of me. Most of the time it’s a random stranger who happens to be in close proximity, but even then the comments under those pictures are ruthless. Those women get torn down, and I keep my label as a playboy.
I don’t like the idea of something like that happening to June, and yeah, I know I can’t control how other people react, but I don’t have to like it.
Still, if Nick thinks it’s going to boost my chances of a contract renewal, I’ll do it.
“Everything okay?” June glances up at me as I walk into Oliver’s room. She’s still on the floor, although now she’s putting the blocks away while Oliver is lying half inside the tent, his legs up in the air, waving back and forth.
“Yeah, my agent can be a real ...” He can be a real dick. That’s what I want to say, but I don’t think I want to be the one to teach that word to my three-year-old son. Especially on day one. “Well, you know.”
June chuckles, tossing the last block back in the container, which oddly enough is also a large block. “I don’t, actually. I have no idea what being a big-time football player is like.”
“I’m not going to lie, most of the time it’s pretty cool.” I sit down next to her, careful not to sit too close, and as I try to cross my legs, my thighs cramp up, so I extend them instead. I might have overdone it this morning on my run.
“But?” She nudges me, her brows raised.
“But there’s a lot of stuff that comes with it.” I sigh, momentarily debating how much to tell her. We’re practically strangers—not biblically, of course, but we have a son, and we’re in this together. It’s best if I lay all my cards on the table. Our relationship may not have started with lies, but omissions. I won’t let it continue that way. “Your life doesn’t always get to stay private. Travel can be tough for the guys with families. It’s a mental strain. It wears your body down.” Her eyes roam across my chest, and damn if I wouldn’t love to know what she’s thinking. I might even blush. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade it for the world, and I absolutely love the game, but there are times when I wish I could be a normal person.”
“Like the night we met?”
Her words are casual, but that night ... that night meant so much to me. Too much. It was the night that ended all my one-night stands. The night where I realized no woman from my future, or my past, would ever compare, and while I was ready to throw out my rule book to get to know her, it would have been a mistake.
My wounds were too fresh. My trauma too real.
I’d spent so much time burying my emotions that meeting June that night had blindsided me.
She’d made me feel again.
She’d let me breathe.
She’d made me care.
After Caitlin ... after what happened to her, I wasn’t ready. Fuck, I’m still don’t think I am, but I’m determined to be there for my son. And June ... I can’t be there for her. She’s dangerous. I’ve been broken for years, but I’m afraid if I let June get too close, if I truly let her in, she’ll have the power to absolutely decimate me.
I’m better off alone.
She’s looking at me now, innocence written all over her face, and I know she’s not being coy. Aside from making Oliver, that night probably wasn’t a big deal for her.
I need to take a page from her book, make it seem like the past isn’t so ingrained in my present. So I take a deep breath and give her a charming smile. “Exactly like that. I was a normal guy, stopping off at a bar to have a drink. I wasn’t anything special. And you ... you weren’t into me because I’m on TV or I make millions or because you had banging an athlete on your bucket list.”
“Who said I was into you?” She smirks, her deep-brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe I did have banging an athlete on my bucket list. Good to know I can cross that one off.”
“Glad I could help out.” I huff a laugh, leaning back, planting my palms on the floor behind me. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”
“I work for my mom’s law firm part-time, which you may remember from Wednesday.”
“The pantsuit. I remember.”
“And I just opened my yoga studio a few weeks ago.”
“Wait.” I straighten, pulling the collar of my shirt away from my neck before I choke myself. “That place I met you at this morning was yours?”
She blushes again and her eyes fall to the ground. “I had a little help from my dad and sister getting it all set up.” Her voice is quiet, like this is a secret she’s not supposed to be sharing, and it doesn’t escape my notice her mom wasn’t on the list of people helping out. “It’s my dream job. I’ve been trying to build up my socials, get a following, and hopefully get it off the ground. My mom’s waiting for it to fail, but?—”
“We’re not going to let it fail,” I say quickly, and as her eyes widen, I clear my throat and try again. “I mean, I know you won’t let it fail. But I may be able to help. Well, we can maybe help each other. A mutual helping. Not that I’m saying you need help.”
“Whoa.” She holds her hands up, a slight smirk playing on her face. “How about you take a deep breath and tell me what you’re talking about?”
Good idea, because it seems like talking is not my strong suit today. “So my contract with Nashville is up at the end of this year, and it could go one of two ways. I could stay for another couple years or I could be traded anywhere in the country. Obviously, I’m going to be working my a—butt off to make sure I’m essential on the team and do my damnedest to win some games, and my agent is coming up with ideas to make sure the fans are behind me.”
“And where does this become a we?”
“Eventually the press will get wind of you and Oliver—I can’t help that. But maybe I can help mitigate the things that are going to be thrown our way. You said you’re already doing the social media stuff, and having a football player making cameos in your videos should help build your following. And in return you could help me set up an Instagram and give me permission to post pictures of all of us.”
“What does that mean?” Her brows scrunch together as she studies me. “Are you wanting to use us to get a contract renewal? Is that what this is?”
“Oh God. No, no, no, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” I lean toward her, my heart rate picking up, and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I just ... I was thinking if we introduced you and Oliver to the world, they wouldn’t go ballistic when they found out. It could help protect the two of you a little bit and let the fans get to know me.”
She drops my hand, scooting back, looking at me like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “And you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”
Whoa.
“No, nothing like that. Friend and co-parent. I’m sorry I brought it up. It was clearly a bad idea.”
I blow out a breath, shaking my head, and start to stand, but June stops me, placing a light hand on my forearm. “It’s not a terrible idea. I guess I didn’t realize you were really famous. Wow.”
“I know it’s not ideal, and I can’t predict how the fans and the media will handle the fact I have a son. It may roll over fairly quickly, but you never know. We could have gossip reporters hanging out for months.”
She nods, her hand slipping away. “Setting up your account is easy, and it’s only natural to post about your life. A lot of people do it, maybe some too much. But, you know, if you’re going to do videos with me, you’re going to have to actually do yoga. You can’t just stand there in the background looking creepy.”
“It’s no problem. I’m a professional athlete.” I can bend over and touch my toes. Okay, I can bend over. It’s just stretching, right? If a soccer mom with three kids can do it, I shouldn’t have any issues .
This time when she smirks, there’s a bit of an evil glint in her eyes, like she’s planning out several different ways to torture me. “We’ll see. Might help your game too.”
I doubt that, but I’m not going to argue, especially if she’s willing to help me out. I just hope this whole thing doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.