12. Austin
TWELVE
AUSTIN
“Thanks again, man,” I say, shaking Maddox’s hand. “You made Rhys’ day for sure. The other kids really loved having you as an honorary assistant coach, too. Better than a washed-up has-been.”
He huffs a laugh. “Come on, Cap. You’re not just a washed-up has-been.
You’re a Pro Bowl-winning, future Hall of Famer washed-up has-been.
Big difference.” I scowl in his direction, and he winks like the facetious little shit he is.
I know it’s all in good fun, though. To be honest, I love that we have the type of relationship where we can joke around with one another.
My biggest fear after being injured was that I’d lose football entirely.
I had no choice but to come to grips with the fact that I’d no longer be able to compete, but the thought of giving up the camaraderie—the brotherhood of the sport—killed me.
After losing my parents, then being publicly broken by Bianca, I was desperate for a family, even if it came in the form of a bunch of strangers who just happened to be drafted to the same team as me.
I couldn’t ask for a better, more loyal group than I got here in Cleveland.
They could’ve kicked my ass to the curb the day my career ended.
Instead, they rallied together to make me feel like I had a place with the Renegades.
They’ve given me the first real home I’ve had in a long damn time, and I don’t think I’ll ever truly be able to thank them for that.
“You know I could still fold your skinny ass in half like a lawn chair, right, Dane?” I reply, smirking. I’m definitely full of shit, since he’s put on damn near thirty pounds of solid muscle since the day he became our starting quarterback, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop fucking with him.
“Maybe so,” he says with a shrug, mindlessly flipping a football between his palms. “You’d have to catch me first, though. We all know you run like you have bricks strapped to your feet.”
“And we all know speed doesn’t matter when you’re tripping over yourself on a five-step drop. I thought your girl showed you how to fix that.”
His gaze narrows, the vein in his forehead popping out just enough to let me know that I won this particular roast. “That happened one time because my cleat was untied, jackass. My drop and my girl are perfection, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I laugh. “I know.” Movement in my periphery catches my attention, and I look up to see Livvy crossing the field with Stella not too far behind.
Emmett and Jett had to get fitted for new receiving gloves in the equipment room, so I’m not surprised that my former nurse is still hanging around.
Wherever one of the Hayeses is, you can bet your ass that the other is somewhere close.
They spent way too many years apart not to soak up every second they can now.
“Good game, Coach Mad Dog,” Liv says as she approaches, her blue eyes twinkling when they lock onto her fiancé. He turns, a wide grin stretching across his face right before he pulls her into him.
“I learned from the best, baby,” he replies, dipping down and pressing a quick peck to her lips.
It seems like just yesterday she was sneaking around and coaching him privately behind her father’s back.
Now he’s a Super Bowl champion, and she’s just accepted the offensive coordinator position at Kent State.
They’re the league’s fiercest power couple, for sure.
Livvy loops her arms around Maddox’s neck, pressing up to her toes for another kiss.
As it often does with the couples in this group, the gesture turns into a full-on make-out session right in the middle of the field, leaving Stella and me to our own devices.
She smirks—knowing damn well that if Emmett were here, they’d be doing the same thing—before turning toward me.
“You don’t have a way for me to get up to the offices, do you?
” she asks. “Lennon must have dropped her stuffed bunny rabbit, and I wanted to make sure it made it safely to Paris’ desk, so she doesn’t forget to bring it home on Monday.
” She holds up the familiar toy—the same one Paris had to run to the car for during last week’s practice while her baby wailed loudly.
She apologized afterward for the distraction, telling me that this particular bunny is a bit of a necessity.
Of course, I told her it was no big deal, but I imagine it won’t be long before she gets a repeat performance at home when they realize they’ve left the toy behind.
“I’ll take it,” I tell her, the wheels in my head turning.
I have Paris’ home address from our team paperwork, but I don’t know if it would be right to stop by after I leave here to drop the bunny off.
That information isn’t for personal use, but it’s only Saturday and the building is about to be locked.
So, unless I deliver it myself, she’ll have a very upset little girl on her hands with no one to help her through it.
Deciding to keep the plan to myself, I take the stuffed animal from Stella’s hand and shove it into my duffel bag.
I make quick work of putting away the rest of the kids’ gear, then I’m in my truck, headed toward Paris’ house.
My palms are clammy as they grip the wheel, nerves flowing through me as I consider what’s about to happen.
Maybe she’ll be grateful that I stopped by, or maybe she’ll be mad that I took her personal information when I shouldn’t have.
I’d text Memphis for some direction, but he’s currently in the middle of a game against the Boston Tide, so it’ll be hours before he’d even be able to reply.
I go back and forth the entire way there, at war with myself about what this will look like.
But I never turn around, continuing along the route until I’m pulling into the driveway of a quaint two-story home just outside the city.
It’s cute with its blue shutters and matching door, two white Adirondack chairs positioned perfectly on the open porch.
It’s definitely big enough for a family of four, and the neighborhood seems safe and secure.
The mower sitting in the middle of the half-mowed lawn has me wondering if it’s broken down, or if she just had to split the job into two parts, not that it’s any of my business.
I’m here to deliver a bunny, not grill her about the landscaping situation at the home I showed up at uninvited.
Grabbing the toy in question from my front seat, I kill the engine, wiping my palms on my sweatpants before hopping out.
I exhale a nervous breath, hoping that she isn’t horrified to find me on her property as I make my way toward the door.
Before I even get to the steps, I can hear Lennon’s piercing wails, and suddenly, I’m glad I trusted my instincts.
The poor thing sounds downright pissed from where I’m standing, even with the windows closed.
Hurrying to the door, I ring the bell, listening intently as what sounds like a herd of elephants approaches.
Something heavy slams into the thick wood, followed by a loud Ouch!
in one little voice and a taunting laugh in another.
I wait patiently for several seconds until Rhys’ boisterous yell bleeds through the cracks.
“Mom! It’s Coach Baker! Can I let him in?”
“It’s who?” she replies, her tone about three octaves higher than normal, even muffled by the door.
Lennon shrieks, her ear-splitting cry drowning out the rest of their conversation until the knob twists and I come face-to-face with absolute chaos.
Rowan is wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, one sock on and the other foot bare.
Rhys is still in head-to-toe football gear, minus his cleats that I know were caked in dirt when he left the field today.
Both boys are wielding foam swords, which explains the shoving and shouting I heard as I approached the house.
Baby Lennon is dressed in a pink onesie with white polka dots, her bottom lip pushed into a pitiful pout as tears roll down her chubby cheeks.
Paris has traded her denim shorts and tank top for a pair of cotton ones and an oversized tee, the collar stretched and hanging off one shoulder.
Her dark hair is piled into a messy bun on the top of her head, the makeup she was wearing earlier wiped away to reveal the most natural beauty I’ve ever seen.
“Hi,” she says, her chest rising and falling like she can’t catch her breath. She looks utterly defeated, and I doubt they’ve even been here for an hour. Lennon’s eyes are heavy, and I have a feeling she’s fighting sleep that she probably needs.
“Hi. Sorry if it’s weird for me to drop by unannounced,” I say with a smile.
“But you forgot this little guy, and I figured he might be missed.” I hold the stuffed bunny up, watching as Paris sighs in relief, the tension in her shoulders relaxing.
I extend it toward the baby, and she takes it, immediately cuddling into her mother’s body and letting her eyes fall closed.
I can’t help but chuckle at how fast she falls asleep, her little nose twitching before tiny snores fill the space between us.
“Thank you,” Paris mutters, her expression full of gratitude.
I can tell she’s overwhelmed, and without even knowing how to go about it, I already want to help.
She’s here all by herself with three kids, her brother is in and out of town for work, and from our conversation the other day, I know that her ex-husband doesn’t pitch in.
She shouldn’t have to bear the weight of things on her own, especially when I’m right here, willing to do whatever she needs.
“We’re gonna make a blanket fort and watch superhero movies!” Rhys says excitedly, capturing my attention. “Mom’s ordering pizza and a giant cookie for us, if you want to stay!”
“Rhys,” Paris scolds gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Coach Baker probably has plans tonight. I’m sure he doesn’t want t—”