Once Upon A Half-Time 1(82)

“No.”

“Why?”

She didn’t deserve a reason. “Because five years ago you terminated your rights. You don’t get to see him. Go home. Stop calling my mother. Stop calling me.”

“People change, Lachlan.”

“You abandoned him.”

“Yes, I did.” Victoria shrugged. “But I was young and scared. I lost him, and I lost you.”

“You’re not getting either back.”

She dropped the smiles and pouts and cute little scrunches of her nose. Her eyes narrowed, and every muscle in her face hardened. There was the Victoria I remembered—not Barbie plastic, only barbed wire.

“I will be a part of his life.” Her voice burned with contempt. “I think you should respect that.”

“He doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know anything about what’s happened.”

“And don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“He’s only five years old!”

“He’s my son.”

Not even close. “Legally, he’s my mother’s son now.”

“Biologically—”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Then I’m getting a lawyer.”

I’d rip the damn fence apart. “That’s bullshit. You don’t want your son. You want custody. Child-support. You’re thinking in dollar signs, not his best interests.”

“I can’t believe you’d think something so low of me.”

“I can’t believe you’d think I’m that stupid.”

Victoria sighed. “You’ve changed, Lachlan.”

“Yeah. I hope I have. We’re done here.”

I didn’t let her speak. I stormed to the practice facility with an adrenaline rush that only twisted my head and ached in my muscles. It burned like acid and exhausted me as I ran my drills in the afternoon.

Not even a bottle of ice-cold water spilled over my head could clear that consuming, piercing, blinding rage.

Practice was shit. My play was shit. The coaches called me shit.

This wasn’t happening.

In three fucking months, I had gone from an absolute legend—a fucking gridiron god with every goddamned reporter, coach, and player eating out of my hand to…

I stalked into the locker room after the horrific practice. The TVs turned on, blasting Sports Nation.

My face greeted me.

And so did the headline.

Will The Rivets Cut Lachlan Reed?

Ainsley Ruport spear-headed the charge of course. The fucking asshole had no idea the shit that I was going through, the pressure on me, the expectations. He’d never even picked up a damn ball in his life. Yet he persuaded the entire country to believe that I was an overrated, bullshit hack of a player who deserved to get cut from my team.

I showered, but the water pricked me like rusted nails. I was frantic. Ragged. Emotionally blitzed. First Elle and her secrets, then Victoria and her threats? The only thing that made it worse was the echo of a whistle blowing in my ear, forcing me to redo drill-after-fucked-up-drill. The tension would split me in two.

Especially when I realized that the team had aluminum foiled my locker and probably all the contents inside.

Fantastic.

I sliced through the foil.

Mistake.

An avalanche of tiny packets cascaded from my locker.

Hundreds of condoms poured from the cubby, puddling around my feet.

The team howled.

I didn’t find the news of my unborn child quite so funny. Especially when I’d confided in the few members of the offense because I needed to explain why I was so fucking distracted.

At least Elle wasn’t in the locker room. She and the baby deserved better than this joke.

Caleb jumped onto the bench, calling to the team. “Condoms here! Get your condoms! Courtesy of Lachlan Reen who has no need for them anymore! We’ve got your fruit flavored! Your ribbed. Your long-lasting.” Caleb winked and tossed one to Jack. “Your Magnums.”

I backed away as white balloons floated out of my cubby. They’d scrawled a word in thick black sharpie over all six.

Oops!

This was fucked up, even for them. My child wasn’t a mistake.

Either of them.

Jack patted my shoulder. The fucker had ten seconds to remove his hand. I didn’t trust the blinding, white haze to my vision. It took a lot for me to lose my temper. But insulting Elle? Betraying my trust? Fucking around about the life we created?

That was enough to make me want blood.

“Always go with the Trojans,” Jack said. “Can’t trust some of these novelty ones. And this?” He held up a condom stapled to a print out of my headshot. “See, this one won’t work anymore.”

I kept my voice low. “It’s not funny, Jack.”

“It’s a joke, Daddy.”