Chapter 13
It’s difficult to throw spirals when your entire life is spiraling.
Nolan
I sit on the bench in the locker room and pull out my phone to message Terri.
How are you doing?
Apparently I’m in dire need of ginger ale and crackers.
Oops. I may have gone overboard. I had crates of ginger ale and boxes of crackers sent to her house and office.
I want to make sure you have what you need.
I’m fine.
I can practically hear her sigh through the phone. Terri’s determined to do this all on her own. She’s crazy if she thinks I won’t be part of the baby’s life. I refuse to be my dad. Ignoring his family for the glory of football.
But it’s going to take some convincing before Terri understands I’m staying.
I know you’re fine. I add a GIF of a fox wiggling his eyebrows.
Corny.
Seriously. How are you feeling?
I drum my fingers on my thigh as I wait for those three magical dots to appear to indicate she’s writing a reply. They don’t appear. Maybe I should call. I don’t want to pressure her, but I need to make sure she’s okay. That they’re okay.
I’m okay. A little nauseous but the crackers helped.
I grin.
And it kills you to admit I helped.
You don’t have to help. I can do this on my own. I don’t want to be an obligation.
I growl. When is she going to get it through her stubborn head? I’m not leaving her alone. I’m not abandoning her. This is my kid, too. I refuse to be my father.
You’re not an obligation.
When she doesn’t reply, I continue.
You’re carrying my baby. It’s my privilege to be a part of your life.
But what happens when the season begins? When you’re too busy with football for poopy diapers and late night feedings?
My stomach rolls. My dad was never there for poopy diapers or late night feedings. Ruth called me Dad before she realized I was her brother. I’m not going to be him.
We’ll figure it out.
You keep saying we’ll figure it out but where’s your plan?
I’m working on it.
I need to get back to work, and you should be training.
Have a good day, sweetheart. If you need anything, call me. If I’m not available, call Coach Knox.
I’m not calling your coach because I’m throwing up.
Shit. You’re throwing up. I’m on my way.
I jump to my feet and rush toward the door. My cleats clomp against the concrete floor but I don’t care. Terri needs me. I’m not abandoning her. My phone buzzes in my hand.
Calm down. It was a hypothetical.
I screech to a halt. My heart thudding in my chest.
Don’t scare me like that again.
Sorry. And now I really do need to get back to work.
Have a good day. I’ll see you later.
I flop down on the bench and inhale deep breaths until my pulse returns to normal. Terri’s okay. The baby’s okay. There’s no need to stress.
But I hate not being in control. I hate not being near her. Not being able to see for myself that she’s okay. That she’s not lying about how she’s feeling.
Texting will have to do for now. I need to stay here. I finished my quarterback practice with Coach Wilson, but offensive line practice starts in thirty minutes.
I do the one thing I can to help. I open my reading app and start reading one of the books on pregnancy I downloaded. I want to be prepared to help Terri in any way I can.
“Whatcha reading?”
At Tanner’s question, I quickly shut the app.
“Nothing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Nothing? You were totally concentrated. You didn’t even notice us enter the locker room.” He motions to Gage, Brock, and Corbin, who are studying my face.
“It’s quarterback stuff,” I lie.
Corbin grunts.
“Whatever,” Brock grumbles. “You need to suit up. Practice starts in five minutes.”
“Yes, Mr. Grumpy! Right away, Mr. Grumpy!”
Corbin shoves Tanner away before Brock can attack him. Typical practice day.
Gage sits down next to me. “Everything okay?”
My eyes narrow on him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Knox benched you last training.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter.
He raises his palms in the air. “Just checking on you.”
“I’m fine.” Such a lie. Between my shoulder not healing as fast as it should and Terri being pregnant with my baby, I’m nowhere near fine. I shove those thoughts away. It’s time for football.
We jog onto the field beneath the blazing July sun. Sweat immediately gathers beneath my pads. Coach Knox barks out orders while the offense splits into position groups.
I force my focus onto football. Footwork. Timing. Reads. Repetition.
Not Terri. Not babies. Not poopy diapers. Definitely not tiny babies wearing miniature Steel City Seals onesies.
Hell. I’m already thinking about onesies.
“Allen!” Coach Wilson snaps. “Wake up.”
“I’m awake.” Focus, I remind myself. I need to focus.
“Good. Then throw.”
Corbin jogs twenty yards downfield while Tanner and Gage continue chirping at each other near the sideline. I plant my feet and fire.
The ball wobbles in the air. My stomach drops. Quarterbacks aren’t supposed to throw wobblers. Not franchise quarterbacks. The pass dies before it reaches Corbin and he has to slow down to haul it in against his chest.
Silence fills the air.
Tanner blinks. “Did our quarterback throw a worm burner?”
“I slipped,” I lie. I resist the need to roll my shoulder. To flex the muscle in a desperate effort to relieve the pain.
Coach Wilson folds his arms over his chest. “Try again.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I roll my shoulders before accepting the next snap.
This time I overcompensate, and the pass sails high over Tanner’s fingertips.
“Oh shit,” Gage mutters.
Now the field’s gone completely quiet. It’s not the normal practice quiet either. It’s the awkward kind. The kind where everyone’s pretending not to stare while absolutely staring. And where are they staring?
At me. Because quarterbacks don’t miss this way. Not quarterbacks of my caliber.
Coach Wilson narrows his eyes. “Again.”
I grit my teeth and motion for Brock to run the next route.
My shoulder aches as I rear back and throw. The ball wobbles. Wobbles. Jesus Christ. It dies halfway through the route before Brock awkwardly scoops it out of the air.
Nobody says anything for a beat.
Then Tanner whistles low. “Well… that was horrifying.”
“I’m fine,” I snap.
“Didn’t say you weren’t,” Tanner says carefully, which makes it worse. Because the goofball is never careful unless something’s seriously wrong.
Coach Knox blows the whistle. “Bring it in.”
The offense gathers around him while I avoid eye contact with everyone.
Knox clears his throat and I lift my gaze to meet his. He’s studying me. “What’s going on?”
I resist the urge to squirm. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Brock growls.
“It’s not my shoulder,” I bite out automatically.
Knox’s eyes sharpen immediately. Fantastic. Way to sound guilty as hell. I might as well hire a skywriter while I’m at it.
Gage rubs a hand over his jaw. “This about Terri?”
Tanner gasps dramatically. “Our fearless leader has been defeated by feelings.”
I growl. “Shut up.”
Corbin grunts. “You’ve been distracted all week.”
“I’m not distracted.”
“You almost tackled a tackling dummy yesterday,” Gage says.
Heat blazes over my neck. “That dummy came out of nowhere.”
Tanner clutches his chest. “He’s gone. Our quarterback’s gone. Somebody get this man a romance novel and a weighted blanket.”
Despite myself, I bark out a laugh. The tension eases slightly.
Knox doesn’t smile. “Funny. But we’ve got a problem.”
My stomach tightens. Because he’s right. And for the first time all summer, I’m starting to wonder if football is slipping away from me faster than I can stop it.
Panic slams into me. I’m not letting my Super Bowl dreams die. Nothing will stop me. Not an injured shoulder. Not a little baby. Nothing.