19. Austin
NINETEEN
AUSTIN
I blow my whistle loudly, motioning for the offense to bring it in.
We added an evening practice to the youth Renegades’ schedule this week, and thanks to Theo helping with the defensive players, I’m able to focus on the new passing plays we’re trying out.
Rowan has been improving more and more with every snap, which has opened up a lot more possibilities when it comes to how we move the ball.
And with Rhys and our other main target, Madelyn, getting more comfortable, we’ve been able to take some of the pressure off our running backs.
If you would’ve told me two months ago that these kids, so many of whom had never set foot on a field before our first day together, would be playing like they’ve been doing it their whole lives, I’m not sure I’d have believed you.
But they’re so smart—so determined to win—that it makes me want to give them every opportunity to do so.
Their hard work and dedication have blown me away, and on top of it all, we’re having a blast. Of course, we have our moments of frustration after a tough loss, just as every team does.
But at the end of the day, we’re creating the same type of family the Rock City Renegades are known for.
I’m proud to be their coach, and I can’t wait to see where this game takes them.
“Alright,” I say, scanning their sweaty little faces.
“That last one was good. I want to see if we can speed it up a little, though. So far, you haven’t dealt with many blitzing defenses, but they’ll come eventually.
We have to work on running those routes a bit faster, so we can get the ball out of Rowan’s hand before the pocket collapses.
Why don’t you all grab a drink and take a quick breather, then we’ll see if we can knock a few seconds off the play. ”
They all scatter, heading toward their parents in the stands, who are ready and waiting with water and sports drinks.
We supply refreshments, but I think they enjoy involving the people who mean the most to them, soaking in all the praise when they’re doing well, and looking for words of encouragement when they aren’t.
I remember getting pep talks from my dad when I was their age, and how they stuck with me throughout my time in the pros.
To this day, I hear his voice in my head when I’m struggling, so I always encourage those types of relationships with my players.
If it means giving them an extended break or two during practice, so be it.
Plus, I’ve got a special someone—or someones—I want to see myself.
Heading toward the grassy spot where the WAGs are posted up in support of me and their guys—who’ve really helped me out with the kids this summer—I watch as an adorable grin tugs at Paris’ lips.
She’s had quite the day, being called down to the daycare twice during work because Lennon was inconsolable.
Apparently, she’s cutting her molars, and it’s causing her a lot of discomfort.
I offered to pick up some pain reliever while Paris got her administrative tasks completed this afternoon, but by the sounds of it, those aren’t getting the job done.
Lennon has been crying on and off the whole time they’ve been here, and her mama looks absolutely defeated.
“Hey there, beautiful,” I quietly greet my girl, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.
She hasn’t been sleeping well for the last few nights, opting to crash on the floor in the nursery to make it easier on herself when the baby wakes up.
It’s killed me to let it happen and not step in to help, but I don’t want to cross any boundaries.
I know how important it is to her that she does things on her own, even though she’s building an amazing support network for times like these.
Not only does she have Memphis and his best friend, Oakley, but the Renegades and their significant others have been doing what they can, as well.
Theo and Finley dropped by the other night with a few home-cooked meals and games for the kids, which I know was a huge help.
I’m glad they’ve welcomed her into our little group, although I’m not at all surprised, since that’s what they do.
“Hi,” she replies, wincing when Lennon grips a chunk of her chocolate-brown hair in her tiny little fist and gives it a hearty yank.
She wails loudly, big, fat crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks and making my heart crack in my chest. I feel awful for both of them—for different reasons—and I hate that I can’t fix it.
“You need anything?” I ask Paris, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms. I’m all over her at work every chance I get, but it’s becoming harder and harder not to touch her when people are around.
I know we have to be careful, since she has children to worry about, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want the whole world to see how I feel about her. Maybe someday, they will.
She shakes her head, bouncing Lennon up and down on her hip to no avail.
She’s got her tiny feet kicking, making every one of her grievances known with one hand full of hair and the other squeezing the life out of what looks to be a teething toy.
She’s not chewing on it, though, so I reach down to the blanket on the ground, hoping her tried-and-true bestie will calm her down.
“How about this guy, Lenny?” I ask, pretending to make her stuffed bunny dance in front of her.
To everyone’s surprise, she stops crying, her watery eyes locking onto the plush animal in my hand.
I expect her to take it and pull it into a hug like she always does, but when she reaches out, her chubby little arms open as she leans toward me, all I can do is stare in disbelief. And I’m not the only one.
Paris’ gaze goes wide, her jaw dropping just enough to let me know that this isn’t something that happens regularly.
I mean, Lennon knows who I am, and I’ve been on the receiving end of a few adorable smiles, but I’ve never held her.
It’s not that I haven’t wanted to—the kid is as cute as a button—but I’d never force it.
“Len, no,” Paris mutters softly, taking a step back. “Austin has to coach. You can’t go with him right now.”
The baby looks at her for several seconds, like she’s trying to make sense of the words.
And when she does, her eyes welling with tears as her lower lip wobbles in a heartbreaking pout, I don’t even think twice.
Paris may be immune to that sad little face, but I’m sure as hell not. I can’t fucking handle it.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I say, handing Lennon the stuffed bunny before lifting her from her mama’s arms. She hugs it to her chest, looking up at me with a drooly smile. My heart swells at the thought of her wanting me to hold her. Out of all the people here, she’s choosing me.
Fuck.
I’ve won the Heisman Trophy and a Super Bowl.
I was drafted into the league third overall.
My name and face have been on billboards all over the city.
But none of those things hold a candle to the way I feel when this pure, sweet little angel curls her fingers around the fabric of my T-shirt and cuddles into me.
It’s a high like I’ve never known, and I can’t imagine there’s another feeling on earth quite like it.
At first, I’m almost afraid to move, scared that if I do, she’ll start crying again and the moment will be over. But I can’t ignore the unshakable instinct that’s telling me exactly what to do, and how to make this precious baby feel better after such a rough day.
I lift my gaze to Paris, who watches in wonder as I bring my free hand up and rub gentle circles on Lennon’s back.
Her head tilts to one side, her eyes sparkling with emotion as she takes us in.
I’d give anything to know what’s going through her head right now, but it feels like another shift is happening between us—a silent realization in the midst of all the chaos.
Theo blows his whistle in the distance, slicing through the moment as kids hustle back to mid-field. Our break is over, but the beauty on my arm is perfectly content right where she is, and I’m definitely not about to be the reason for her tears.
“What do you think, Coach Lenny?” I ask. “Should we get back to work?”
“To wuk,” she echoes as best as she can in her gentle little voice. I chuckle in response, my stomach doing flips when she lifts her head and flashes a toothy grin in her mother’s direction.
Paris sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, worry passing over her expression. “Are you sure? She’ll be fine over here.”
“Nah,” I reply. “I’ve got her. Go sit in the shade and relax for a bit.
Maybe you can read a few chapters of your book while you think of me.
” I waggle my brows suggestively, memories from our phone call flooding my mind.
I can tell she’s recalling it, too, her cheeks turning pink as she smiles shyly.
“I finished that one already, and thanked Stella profusely for the recommendation.”
I roll my eyes playfully. Of course Stella would be the one to put that particular story in her hands—with the quarterback and his friend’s sister.
The girl can’t help herself when it comes to meddling in my love life, although in this case, I’m really fucking glad she did.
As hot as that conversation was, it was also a turning point where Paris finally trusted me enough to really let go. The first of many, I hope.
Because I could definitely get used to all of this.