Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Decker had been paying attention, so it wasn't news that Jenkins was finding his rhythm while he was stuck watching from the outside. “Yeah, I know. But I still don't have a system in place for Birdie.”
“I get that, but you need to listen to me,” Zach said. “Your physical presence matters. Especially now. That offense takes its cues from you. Not from the playbook. From you.”
“I know.”
“You skip too much camp, you give that leadership to somebody else. Even if it’s temporary, the rhythm changes. The voice changes. And it’s a hell of a thing to get back.”
“I know. Believe me, I get the importance.” Decker could picture it too easily—Jenkins calling cadence, receivers adjusting to a different tempo. “But I have a daughter.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud.
His gaze shot to the driver—he couldn’t have word spreading—but the man was bopping his head to a country song on the radio. “She’s just lost her mom.” It was worse than that, though. After that, she'd been passed from one stranger to another.
Shit.
Fuck.
The reality of the situation kept deepening. Carving him wide open.
How do I leave this girl with yet another stranger?
She’s only three.
“I’m her father. I can’t walk out on her.”
“I get it,” Zach said. “That part’s brutal. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. There were years my kids saw the housekeeper more than they saw me. Camp, road trips, late film nights. It’s not a normal life. But it’s the life we chose.”
It’s not the life Birdie chose.
“But my kids turned out okay,” Zach continued. “Better than okay. Because they had a great home, great schools. Their mom was all in with them. And when I was home, I was home. I was all theirs.”
“The keyword there is mother. Birdie doesn't have that.” She only has me.
And he was married to football. It only worked if there was someone making a home. Someone to provide structure, continuity. Someone steady when he was on the road.
Birdie wouldn’t have that.
She’d have a nanny. And an absentee father.
The three-story inn rose taller than the other buildings on Main Street.
Two levels of balconies stretched across the front, all lined with rows of rockers.
Sure, the town had boardwalks, scheduled shoot-outs, and antler arches, but no other building held true history.
Outlaws, gold prospectors, fur traders, and countless others had touched the wood and brick.
Photos from across time hung on the walls, and treasured artifacts were kept in glass cases.
He couldn’t believe Jack had considered selling it.
“The good news is that she’s only three,” Zach said.
“She doesn’t care who’s feeding her or reading her books, as long as she’s got someone doing it.
She needs consistency. Structure. Someone who shows up when they say they will.
If you don’t like the idea of hiring someone, let her stay with your dad during the season. ”
“My dad already raised four kids,” Decker said. “I’m not handing him a fifth.”
“You think I don’t know the cost?” Zach paused. “I’ve paid it. But this isn’t normal, Deck. You’re one of maybe ten guys on the planet who get to do this at your level.”
Decker let that sink in.
“And that window?” Zach continued. “It’s short.”
Decker knew that. It’s what drove him to work so hard, adhere to his strict regimen.
“You get one chance at this. However long it lasts. And when it’s gone, it’s gone.”
This was exactly what Decker needed to hear.
“There are a lot of good quarterbacks. A handful of great ones. And maybe two or three in a generation who get to define an era.” Zach let it sink in. “You’re in that conversation.”
Decker’s purpose came flooding back. Confidence filled his lungs, sliding into his bloodstream until his body was humming with it.
As the driver came to a stop in front of the inn, Decker pulled out his credit card and swiped. “One of the nannies I interviewed has great recommendations,” he said. “I’ll talk to her again, introduce her to Birdie so we can move up the timeline.”
“Yes.” Zach sounded firm, pleased. “You’ve got this. Call me when you get into town. I’ll meet you on the field.”
“Will do.”
The line clicked off. Decker tucked his card back into his wallet and got out. Slowly, he headed for the front door.
He’d gotten too wrapped up in Willa and the seduction of staying longer. Zach’s perspective was just what he needed.
He pulled out his phone and sent a text to his manager.
Decker: That older woman, Anya? Let’s set up a video conference call with her and Birdie.
Noah: But you said she was going to “snuff out” the girl’s imagination?
Decker: That’s one of the things I’ll talk to her about. But she’s the best candidate.
Noah: She is. Timing’s in your favor, too. I’ll set it up.
When he entered the lobby, he found boxes stacked against the wall. Workers climbed the stairs with equipment and tools. A team measured the windows, and several guests waited to check in.
Willa might not have expected a response like this, but clearly, the whole town had a stake in the inn’s success.
Everyone had offered their services for free.
A woman—Knox Holliday—promised to loan costumes from Owl Hoot, the living museum on the other side of town.
She planned on making new ones and, given that she was a couture wedding gown designer, Willa had been thrilled.
The lobby smelled of chocolate chip cookies, and he was pretty sure he’d never wanted sugar and butter as much as he did at that moment.
For just a second, he wondered what it would be like to grab a couple of those freshly baked cookies and stuff them into his mouth. To not keep such a strict regimen. Now that he’d spent time around someone who loved food so much, he could see his diet felt a little like punishment.
But then he thought about that record he was going to beat and knew it would never happen if he slacked off.
It’s not talent. It’s habit.
It’s the guy who wants it the most.
And I’m that guy.
He headed through the kitchen to the back stairs. He’d told his dad he’d be gone two hours at most, but with the meetings, it had been a lot longer. He needed to get up there and relieve him of babysitting duty.
But when he reached the landing, he saw an explosion of pink.
He stood there, taking it all in. Boone, Wyatt, Jude, and his dad wore pink plastic capes. Their hair was standing stiffly in all directions and cinched up in a crazy array of tiny pink clips. Jude even had them in his beard.
And Birdie sat in the center of them, painting his dad’s toenails.
His big, burly, inked, Harley-riding dad had pink barrettes and painted nails.
Yes, they’d all come together for Jude when he’d sought custody for Cody, but to see them wrapped around the finger of a three-year-old dressed in glitter and pink plastic heels had him reeling.
“Hey, man.” Boone spotted him first and gave a chin nod. “How’d the interviews go? You find anyone?”
“Maybe. I’ll have her meet Birdie first.” He gave his brother an assessing look. “You look pretty.”
Boone fluttered his eyelashes. “Thank you.”
“So, what’s going on exactly?” Decker asked.
“We’re at the beauty salon,” Wyatt said, as if it were obvious.
“I asked Eloise what to do with a toddler,” Boone said. “She nailed it.”
“You’re gonna get a lot of attention in the firehouse tonight,” Decker teased.
Boone grinned. “Right?”
“I have to get back to the clinic.” Wyatt ripped off the cape and gave Birdie a kiss on the cheek. “How much do I owe you?”
The girl slathered polish all over his dad’s toes. “Sixteen hunnert million.”
“That’s a little more than I expected,” Wyatt said. “But I’m a happy client, so that’s all that matters.” With a wave, his brother took off.
Decker sat next to Boone. “Thanks for helping out.”
“Of course,” he said. “We want to know your daughter.”
Daughter.
Damn.
Why wasn’t it sinking in?
Conceptually, sure, he got it. I’m responsible for her. But the reality of it… It was so much more than getting her fed and bathed. And every time he cracked open the door to what it really entailed—the emotional and psychological aspects—he slammed it shut.
It was overwhelming.
It was different for Jude. He’d been a bartender with no roots and no commitments, while Decker had fifty-three men in that locker room, a coaching staff, and a season riding on him.
Because if he was off, people paid for it. Games. Playoff chances. Jobs.
“What’s wrong?” Boone asked. “Why’d you get all weird?”
“I didn’t get weird.”
“You did. You looked like this.” Boone’s features pinched. “Like you’re trying to push out some logs.”
“Give me a break. I’ve got a lot on my plate.”
“You know what I think?” Boone reached for a barrette. “I think you’re jealous. I think you want to look pretty, too.” His brother tried to snap one in Decker’s hair.
Deftly, he ducked away, but Boone was relentless. Decker was hampered by the boot, so his brother got him in a chokehold. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Decker’s brothers knew better than to roughhouse with him.
“Oh, okay, fancy football player.” Boone got a good lock on his neck. “I work out, too. Now, hold still, Princess.”
Decker tucked his chin, caught Boone’s forearm with both hands, and shifted his weight onto his good leg. One sharp twist through his hips, and Boone lost his leverage.
Decker slipped free, smooth and fast, leaving Boone grabbing at air.
His younger brother staggered back. “That’s cheating.”
“Or is it physics?” Decker asked.
“Now, what have we here?” Willa stood before them, clothing draped over her arm. “Is this a beauty parlor? Can I have an appointment, too?”
“Yeah.” Birdie turned away from his dad’s foot. “I gone do your hairs.”
“I’d love that,” Willa said. “Thank you.”
“Hey,” his dad said. “Aren’t you going to finish me first?”
“All done.”
Willa set the clothes on the table and sat on the couch. As Birdie gathered her products, Willa tipped her head to his dad and brothers, mouthing, “Go.”