Once Upon A Half-Time 1(83)

“You’re a father. It’s not funny.”

“The guys are just ribbing ya.” He flicked a condom at my chest. “You move pretty damn quick. Marrying the girl. Having the family. But think of it this way—the public, media, and league love a family man.”

“You know that’s not how it went down.” I wouldn’t tell him twice. “Back the fuck off.”

“Okay.” He raised his hands. “Sorry. Kids are great. Don’t worry.”

“I know how to take care of a kid.”

“I’m sure you do.” He batted aside a mound of condoms to find the ball buried in the bottom of my locker. “Just a word of advice. When she hands you the baby…” He tucked the ball close to his ribs. “Hold it tight. Drop this one, and you’ll get more than a coach’s boot up your ass.”

Not sure why I did it.

Not sure what the fuck possessed me.

Not sure why I took it out on him.

I said nothing. Just tensed. Aimed.

And I punched Jack Carson right in the goddamned nose.

He fell backwards, stumbling into the lockers. The team shouted, but Jack didn’t take a second to check to see if he was bleeding.

He was.

He launched at me, firing back with a solid upper-cut that only just grazed me. I avoided the hit, but Jack was nothing if not scrappy. I had no idea how many bar fights he’d led, but I was lucky he didn’t have a beer bottle to break.

He threw me to the ground, but I tackled him around the waist and forced him to the floor. He struck me. My eye. The pain blinded me, but I threw a punch.

It missed his head, and I slammed the fucking carpet.

Good thing they had concrete beneath. What kind of asshole broke his fingers on a rug?

The team shouted, laughed, and cheered. Only one person managed to grab me before I punched a sure-fire concussion into our starting quarterback.

Cole hauled me off Jack. He flipped me like a damn towel and cast me off-balance. I didn’t recover in time. He pitched me into the showers and dumped me on the floor. The cold water was a shock.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cole growled, low. “Control yourself, rookie. I’m supposed to be the goddamned animal!”

I breathed heavily, surging to my feet. Cole struck me in the chest, dropping me to the floor. I stayed there, facing the prospect of either my own humiliation or The Beast breaking my neck.

Coach Thompson burst into the locker room. He checked on his highest paid player then came to spit on me, soaking wet and broken in the damn shower.

“Goddamn it, rookie.” He hissed. “Don’t give me a fucking reason to cut you. You pull this bullshit again, and you’re outta here.”

“Yeah.” I rocketed to my feet. “I’m sure I’ll be packing my bags soon enough.”

The locker room was silent as I emerged—dripping, bleeding, cold.

Jack ignored me, touching his nose. Probably broken.

“Fuck…” He surveyed the damage in the mirror. “I promised Leah I wouldn’t get in any fights this year.”

He wouldn’t have to worry about it.

I wouldn’t fuck with him anymore, the one man on the team who had yet to give up on me. I wouldn’t have a chance once the team cut me.

Regular season started in a week, and when it did?

I doubted I’d be an Ironfield Rivet.





21





Elle





I waited alone in Coach Thompson’s office.

My camera rested in my lap. Was it possible it felt heavier? A couple hundred stolen pictures might have a given it a little extra heft. Or maybe that was my conscience weighing me down.

Peter and the coach made me wait. It was probably some psychological game, but it let me pick through my fraying thoughts.

I clutched my messenger bag, but, like a kid who had to touch the stove to make sure it was hot, I poured over the contents once more.

Not that I didn’t believe it, and not that I hadn’t expected it, but the note from my father was just as cruel, cold, and calculated as ever.

His law office was in Atwood. I’d made an appointment. Wanted to see him. Thought that maybe since I had accidentally started a family, it might have been nice to visit my old one.

Wrongo.

The receptionist presented me with a manila envelope. Inside was my marriage license—a formal little thing for such a haphazard mistake. White stock paper. Scrawling calligraphy.

A post-it from my dad stuck on top.

Elle—as long as this marriage is valid, you are not welcomed in my home. Tristian Marina

He hadn’t even signed the note as Dad.

I expected nothing else, but it still hurt. And that was fine. It was the final lesson I needed.

The man who signed that note wasn’t my family, but I had a real one now. My own little world—a growing baby in my tummy and a man who would love him without any conditions.