10. Austin
TEN
AUSTIN
“Thanks again for all your hard work, Baker,” Paul says with a proud smile stretched across his face.
“The children seem to be having a great time, we’ve gotten positive feedback from the parents, and we’ve already got a waiting list for next year.
So far, I’d say the Renegades Youth Football League is a success.
Is there anything else you need from us to make things run smoother? ”
My chest swells at his praise. When he asked me weeks ago to take this project on while we waited for my NFL coaching eligibility, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
At the time, I was looking at it solely from a professional perspective, excited to use it as an opportunity to show my competence.
But after actively coaching the kids and preparing them for their first game this coming Saturday, I’d be lying if I said I’m not enjoying it for what it really is.
Some of the boys and girls came in on the first day, shy and nervous to participate.
Many of them had never stepped onto a field at all, let alone thrown, caught, or carried a football.
Maybe I was just lucky enough to be given a group of athletic geniuses, but over the course of two short practices, they’ve gone from not even knowing the basics to running actual plays and working together as a team.
It’s been rewarding to be a part of, and to see how they help each other when it’s needed.
I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but coaching a bunch of kids I just met is the most fun I’ve had in my entire life.
Thinking about his question carefully, I shrug.
“Think it would be possible to use the locker rooms for this week’s game?
Normally, the children come in their uniforms, and I was planning on doing halftime under the bleachers where it’s shady, but I thought it would be cool for them to have the real experience of playing for the Renegades.
I don’t want to speak too soon, but a few of these players may be gracing the pages of your roster one day.
” One in particular comes to mind, causing a hint of a smile to tug at my lips.
If you’d have told me the day I met Rowan Bellamy that he’d be leading my team so effortlessly, I’m not sure I would’ve believed you.
Although he’s still pretty quiet and closed off outside of actual gameplay—which I’m hoping will change as he gets more comfortable, but I refuse to push—he’s all business the moment that whistle blows.
He easily has one of the tightest, most-accurate arms I’ve seen on a child his age, and he’s such a quick learner.
It took no time at all to make a few minor adjustments to his form, giving him a few extra yards on each pass.
I bet he’ll get a few more pointers this week when Livvy and Maddox drop by to watch them play.
I haven’t told Rhys yet because I wanted to be sure they could make it, but I plan on having a paper bag on hand for the little guy to hyperventilate into.
I chuckle at the mental image of the younger brother meeting his idol, brought back to the present as Paul chimes in.
“I think that can be arranged. It’s not like the team will be using them.
I’ll reach out to the community relations team and see if we can stock up on snacks, sports drinks, and a few other goodies.
We’ll give them the full NFL treatment.”
I nod. “Perfect. I can’t wait to see their faces.”
We go over a few minor details for our first week of games, then move on to Renegades business.
I’m not technically allowed to coach the guys yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t sit in the owner’s office and make a plan.
As of right now, I’m still thinking there’s a real possibility that I’ll be offered the offensive coordinator position, which has been a dream of mine since the day I hung up my cleats.
There was never a question in my mind that I’d still be a part of this team, despite the fact that I wasn’t able to play anymore.
I expected my journey to be a little bumpier, but I suppose I’ve been proving myself for years by showing up even when I didn’t need to.
A lot of guys enjoy the rest and relaxation that comes with retirement, but I found it to be incredibly lonely.
Maybe that’s because I don’t have a partner or family to share it with, but I felt like a caged animal, wandering aimlessly around my house, not knowing what to do with myself.
It wasn’t until I got into my truck and drove here to the practice facility that I felt calm again.
This team is my family, and wherever they are will always be home.
A call comes in for Paul, and our meeting ends as I quietly wave goodbye.
He’s a busy man, but I love how he manages to make time for everyone however he can.
I can’t help but admire the way he runs this team, truly caring about every player and staff member enough to learn the details of who they are.
It’s a lot of work, but there isn’t a single person in this organization who doesn’t feel appreciated and valued.
I couldn’t be prouder to be a part of it.
Sneaking into the empty hallway, I immediately notice that Paris isn’t at her desk.
It’s not terribly unusual, since she doesn’t have a set lunch time, but I can’t say I wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again on my way out.
A guy can only bring so many cups of coffee before he starts to look like a stalker, which is why I figured I could use my meeting with Paul as an excuse to see how her day is going.
Much like a stalker would, but whatever.
I know I’m playing with fire by spending so much time around Paris.
She’s Memphis’ sister, and over a decade younger than me.
She’s juggling a full-time job, homeownership, and being a single mom to three amazing kids.
The last thing she needs is some old dude with commitment issues coming in and fucking all that up.
But whenever she’s around, I can’t ignore the way I’m pulled right into her orbit.
It happened in the hallway at Jett’s house a few nights ago, and it’s happening again right now as I peek around the corner in search of her.
At first, I think she’s taking a break, or maybe she ran down to the daycare to check on the kids.
But when I hear a loud bang followed by a pained hiss coming from the supply closet, I spring into action.
My protective instinct immediately kicks in, my feet hurriedly moving across the carpet in an attempt to get to her.
I’m pushing through the heavy door seconds later, and as soon as I take in the sight of Paris with her back against the shelving unit and a hand pressed to her forehead, I lose my goddamn mind.
“Paris,” I say, eating up the space between us in two giant steps. I’m cradling her cheeks a second later, barely able to hear her quiet gasp over the sound of my own heart beating between my ears. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
“I…” she replies, wincing in pain before she tries again. “I was trying to reach the printer paper on the top shelf but didn’t realize there was something else on top of it. Whatever it was hit me in the head. I’m fine though, Austin. Really.”
I look to the floor, where a very large, unopened box of staples lies, nudging it with my foot to see if it’s as heavy as it looks.
Sure enough, it’s like trying to move a goddamn brick, worrying me even further about the level of injury she’s sustained.
I’m shaking, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I attempt to remain calm, so I don’t scare her any more than she already is.
“Can I see it?” I ask, gently ghosting my thumbs along her cheeks.
Thankfully, she doesn’t fight me or downplay the situation, lowering her hand and exposing the angry red bump to me.
I want to panic, forgetting everything I’ve ever learned about staying collected in high-stress moments and tearing the entire shelving unit to shreds, so it can never hurt her again.
I’m fully aware of how ridiculous that is, and how it’ll solve nothing, but it’s where I’m at as I take in the decent-sized goose egg on her forehead.
“Am I bleeding?” she asks, her lower lip wobbling.
The sight of her big brown eyes swimming with tears reels me back in, reminding me that I need to be calm for her.
I can tell by the amount of swelling that it’s unlikely to be a serious injury, but I want to keep her talking just in case.
So far, she isn’t slurring or confused, and those are both good signs.
“You’re not bleeding. It’s just a bump,” I answer. “Can you tell me what day it is?”
She drops her chin as though it’s a silly question, rolling her eyes playfully. “I regret to inform you that it’s only Monday, which means we have four whole days of work before the weekend.”
I chuckle, tilting her head gently to get a better look.
“Speak for yourself, Baby Girl. Some of us are on the clock every Saturday.” The nickname slips from my lips so naturally, but I internally cringe because what the fuck, Austin?
That shit is what we like to call an inside thought, and here I am casually saying it out loud in a dimly lit supply closet.
Another tick in the stalker column.
“I’m a mom,” she tosses back, a half-smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.
“Days off aren’t even a thing for me. Especially not when I’m doing everything on my own.
” Her eyes go wide, realization settling in before she immediately speaks again.
“Not that I don’t love being a mom. I do.
I just get a little…overwhelmed sometimes.
” She shakes her head, cringing as her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.
“I’m sorry. You’re trying to help me, and I’m unloading all my problems onto you. This is embarrassing.”
I shake my head, unwilling to drop my hands from her cheeks.
Instead, I continue skating the pads of my thumbs over the warm flesh, grateful that she’s not showing any signs that she wants me to stop.
I’d like to chalk it up to her being my friend’s younger sister, and wanting to comfort her, but I know that’s bullshit.
That doesn’t mean I want to unpack the real reason I like touching her this way, which is why I focus my attention back on her.
“You have no reason to be embarrassed. I know we just met, but I’ve been told I’m a very good listener, and I’m an even better secret keeper. ”
She exhales slowly, her shoulders lowering in defeat.
“It’s just a lot sometimes. I had this silly assumption that my ex-husband would step up for the kids once I let him off the hook.
I know he never really wanted the situation we got ourselves into, so I figured that when the pressure of being a full-time husband and father was lifted, he’d realize that he actually missed them.
At the very least, I thought he’d want to see them a couple of times a month, but it’s been crickets.
Even with my brother helping where he can, I don’t get a second to breathe.
” Guilt twists her expression, her eyes filling with tears.
“I feel like the worst mom in the world for all the ways I’m failing them. ”
“Hey,” I say, tilting her chin upward. Tears fall from her eyes, and I swipe them away, not giving a fuck how intimate the gesture is. It’s killing me to watch her cry, but it’s even worse to know that she thinks she’s a bad mom when she clearly loves her children more than anything in the world.
“You’re not failing them at all, okay? They’re kind, funny, smart, well-adjusted kids.
You’re doing a great job with them. You should be very proud.
” I steel my expression, but it’s playful.
“No more listening to that voice in the back of your head—the one that’s tricking you into thinking you’re not the most kick-ass mom in the world. Got it?”
She smiles sheepishly, dropping her chin but keeping her gaze locked onto mine. “Yes, Coach.”
“Good girl,” I say with a wink, making her cheeks heat again.
I catalogue that for…well, nothing noble, if I’m honest, bringing my attention back to the bump on her head.
If I don’t, I’ll end up holding her face in this goddamn supply closet until we get kicked out, and then I’ll have to internally scold myself all night for putting my hands where they had no business being.
Relief washes over me when I scan the injury again, noticing that it’s not swelling any further.
She’ll have a bruise tomorrow for sure, but I’m pretty confident that it won’t hinder her in any way.
“I think you’re going to be okay,” I say.
“Why don’t you get back to whatever you were doing, and I’ll run down and grab you an ice pack. You’ll be as good as new in no time.”
She shakes her head, her eyes going to the floor for a moment before finding mine. “You don’t have to do that, Austin. This isn’t the first time I’ve hurt myself, and it won’t be the last. I can get my own ice pack. I’m sure you’re busy.”
I huff a laugh. “Not at all. I was just planning on hitting the gym until the guys are done with practice. To be honest, I don’t know what to do with myself half the time, now that I’m not playing. Going down to the trainer’s office will keep me occupied in the meantime.”
She worries her plump lower lip with her teeth for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder if my offering to take care of her makes her uncomfortable.
She does everything for her kids twenty-four seven, but does she have anyone watching out for her?
I’m sure Memphis does when he can, but his baseball schedule can keep him away from home for days—sometimes even a full week—at a time.
If her ex-husband isn’t helping, does that mean her needs are falling by the wayside?
If so, that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s none of my business, but still, I don’t like it.
After several moments of contemplation, she finally relents. “Alright. I have to print some contracts for Mr. Grant, so I’ll work on that while you go downstairs. No rush, though. Really, I’m fine.”
“You got it, Baby Girl,” I reply with a grin.
This time, the moniker rolls off my tongue even easier than before, but fuck it.
We can be friends who have nicknames and hang out in barely lit closets for way longer than necessary because one of us is developing a weird protective streak over the other. People do it all the time. Right?
Shit.
I’m fucked.