Jacob

by Christina Benjamin

  Maybe it’s more than panic attacks. Maybe this unbearable pressure has finally broken me. Or maybe it’s just that Stacy is so wildly different from the other women I regularly interact with. Either way, I can’t think of a clever thing to say to her to save my life.

  Great, my game is dead.

  “So how was football?” Stacy asks after the silence lingers on a bit too long.

  “Good,” I answer, fighting against my unusual shyness. This should be where I lay on the charm and try to seduce Stacy back into my bed after Ryan goes to sleep, but it’s like my mind isn’t working right, like I'm wading through sludge and slime instead of the usual smoothness with which I approach women I'm interested in.

  “That’s good,” Stacy answers breezily, not perturbed by my stiff candor in the slightest. “Did you, like, punt the ball to the hiker or something?”

  One of my eyebrows twitches in amusement. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

  She laughs, a sound sweeter than any melody I’ve ever heard. “You got me. I’m not really into sports.”

  I let the insulting comment slide because her dimples are doing something disturbing to my knees. I clear my throat. “How was Ryan for you this afternoon?”

  “Oh, he was a dream. He got his homework done while we were passing time before practice. I told him he couldn’t play unless he finished.”

  “He was excited about trying out soccer then?”

  Stacy looks up at me and grins, her white teeth glimmering in the sunlight that’s banishing any hint of the earlier rain. “Super excited.”

  My heart feels warm, both because this beautiful woman is smiling at me and because I feel like finally I'm doing something right for Ryan.

  “I'm glad you told me about this, Stacy. I hope it makes a difference for him. When I started playing football, it changed my whole outlook on life.”

  “It’ll help him too,” she answers gently. “Just give him time. Especially if you try to keep making it to his practices.” She adds with the least subtle side-eye I’ve ever experienced.

  “I want to. My sister always came to my home games, every single one.” My heart drops as that familiar loneliness creeps in. “I still have her chair reserved like she’s going to use it someday.”

  Even now, while fans are cheering my name and women are pulling me in a thousand different directions and I'm forcing a smile, I still look toward those seats like Jenny is going to be perched there, beaming and wearing my jersey.

  Stacy pins me with those comforting hazel eyes. “She raised you after your parents passed?”

  I nod. “Jenny was barely more than a kid herself when she took on the role, but our parents weren’t really part of the picture even when they were alive. I owe Jenny so much. Everything, actually. Without her guidance, I would’ve wound up in trouble. I didn’t exactly run with a good crowd.”

  Stacy puts a hand gently on my arm. “She’s still here. Jenny may not be in that stadium seat anymore, but she hasn’t stopped looking out for you and Ryan. She’ll show you she’s here in her own little ways. A sun shower when you need it most or a cool breeze or a lucky penny.”

  God. Jenny would’ve loved Stacy.

  I smile at her, choking up at her words, and then pretend the sun is the reason I’m squinting so hard that I have to look away for a moment.

  I’m quiet the rest of the game while Stacy cheers for Ryan and claps her hands together as the little boy kicks the ball as hard as he can. The ball doesn’t go anywhere near the goal, but he seems proud of his efforts anyway, so I join in the cheering. It stings to know that Jenny is missing all of this.

  My heart throbs in my chest but I bite back a grunt of pain. Ryan is looking and I don’t want him to see how badly I'm missing his mother.

  He’s smiling so much, his little brow sweaty and his eyes dancing. I know exactly how he’s feeling, this is just how my first couple of football practices went.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever measure up to Jenny,” I say abruptly, startled by my stark honesty.

  Something about Stacy makes me want to be real and I’m not sure if I like it. I’m used to playing the role of The Hartbreak Kid, deflecting personal questions with a joke or something.

  “You’re here,” Stacy answers. “Even the tiniest step in the right direction is powerful.”

  My head, having dropped toward my chest, swivels to her. She smiles up at me, but as our eyes lock, the smile slowly fades.

  We stand there, gazing into one another’s eyes, the cheers and the shouts of the parents forgotten, the sun’s heat on our heads warming me through.

  This woman is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Even with all those Hartbreakers grabbing my jersey after my games, begging me to take them home, nothing compares to the feeling I have standing next to Stacy. She stands out above the rest—and I have an unquenchable desire to find out why.

  Her mouth is slightly open, lips pink and supple and so kissable I can almost taste them. I bet she tastes just like strawberries, sweet and plump and ripe.

  I wish I knew what she was thinking. I can’t even begin to tell. Her eyes churn but she doesn’t say anything, she only slowly drifts toward me, our faces moving closer and closer like magnets are pulling our lips together.

  Is she dreaming about how I taste right now, too?

  “Stacy,” I whisper, inhaling the scent of her perfume. My body turns toward her so that I can face her more fully.

  She’s so flipping short there’s no way her lips can meet mine unless I scoop her into my arms—an enticing thought that’s running through my mind on a loop.

  My heart is beating like a jackhammer against my ribs as I make the decision to act on my desires. But before I can pull Stacy into my arms, another arm suddenly loops around mine and jerks me away. With a startled yelp, I've whirled around so my back is to the brunette teacher. It happened so fast I think I have whiplash.

  “Jake Eckhart!” squeals a blonde woman with sunglasses. “I knew it was you!” She rips off her sweater to reveal a Hartbreaker shirt. “You have to sign this for me!” she screams, gesturing to a spot just above her breasts despite the fact that her husband is right beside her.

  I cast a desperate look over at Stacy, who’s turned her attention back to Ryan though her jaw is clenched slightly tighter.

  Even though I want to pull away from the fanatical woman and wrap my arms around Stacy, I allow myself to get dragged further and further away into the swarm of gathering fans.

  Chapter 6

  Stacy

  I sink into the pink folding lawn chair I lugged along to Ryan’s next soccer practice, glancing at my watch one more time when I think the six-year-old isn’t looking.

  Ryan’s Thursday practice only has about thirty minutes left in it and Jake still hasn’t shown up. I keep glancing toward the row of cars in the lot expecting to see his ridiculously flashy BMW. I’d been hoping the football star would show a little more initiative in taking his nephew to his soccer practices, but so far, I’ve been just as let down as Ryan.

  Then again, maybe my expectations are a tad too high. It’s only been a few days since Ryan’s first practice on Tuesday. Maybe Jake just needs more time to rearrange his schedule.

  I don’t want to become his crutch, but how am I supposed to say no after the talk we had regarding Jake’s sister and how hard he’s striving to do the best he can for Ryan in her memory?

  Jake bared his soul to me, revealing that there’s an actual human being under that flashy football façade. It doesn’t help that that smile of his is dangerous . . . and he knows it.

  He’s an endorsement’s dream. Since I met the football star, I’ve been noticing Jake’s face everywhere. His smile lights up cereal boxes and football advertisements all over the world.

  He’s on my mind more than he should be, but it’s impossible not to think of him when I see his face on the buses that roll around the city every day.

  I’ve been try
ing not to see him as a celebrity or a famous athlete, but it’s a little more difficult now that I have shirtless photos of him clogging up my brain.

  So, I Googled him . . . I’m only human.

  Someone jostles my lawn chair, almost toppling it over. I frown up at the person, expecting some sort of apology, but the woman doesn’t even seem to notice me. She opens up a compact, applying yet another layer of bright red gloss.

  I roll my eyes and shift my chair over.

  This practice seems more crowded than the last one, though the number of children on the field has stayed the same. It’s weird, but maybe some of the kids just have extra family in town or there could be another event going on somewhere nearby in the park.

  I try to push the crowd from my mind and focus on Ryan. Like me, I catch him occasionally looking toward the parking lot in the hopes of spotting his uncle. When I catch Ryan looking dismayed, I try to cheer extra loud for him to keep his mind on the game. I can tell by his increasingly sour expression that he’s not happy that Jake is so late.

  All he wants is to feel seen by his uncle, and Jake is dropping the ball.

  Even though I know Jake is doing the best he can, it’s different from the perspective of children, especially a child trying to heal from such a devastating loss. It doesn’t help that Jake is still trying to heal from the loss as well. I really think he needs to seek out some professional help in the form of a grief counselor. But I’m already overstepping by taking Ryan to soccer after school. How much more should I really involve myself?

  The bottom line is my heart hurts for both of them.

  When I got home after the last soccer practice, I settled down in front of my computer to look up exactly who Jacob Eckhart was. The results that flooded page after page astounded me. Not only is he a talented, celebrated NFL tight end—but he’s also quite the business mogul. He’s invested in numerous sports brands in the biz, creating a bank account equal to Chloe’s billionaire boyfriend.

  Jake’s a smart guy. He’s created a financial portfolio that will support him long after his career as a lustrous football player ends. It’s pretty impressive and shows a forethought I wouldn’t have expected from Jake. He even donates to charities.

  Apparently, he’s not your average athlete.

  But I already know that thanks to the almost nude photo of him I glimpsed on an old cover of Sports Illustrated. 6’6’, 268 pounds, with bronze muscles for days . . . there’s absolutely nothing average about the tight end.

  To be honest, I’d never heard of a tight end before, but after watching Jake walk away last practice, a title has never been more fitting.

  I can only imagine how good his ‘tight end’ looks in uniform.

  My cheeks burn as I try to pull my stubborn mind out of the gutter.

  Lock it up, Stacy. You’re watching kids play soccer for heaven’s sake!

  I manage to focus on the game for a while, but inevitably, my mind drifts back to Jake. It’s remarkable to me that even though he has obviously deep pockets and a huge reputation in the athletic world, he’s actually pretty down to earth, or at least that seems to be the case whenever we’re talking one-on-one.

  But I’ve seen the way his expression changes when he’s pulled away by his football groupies. He instantly becomes that smooth-talking, slick Hartbreak Kid with a golden tongue. Jake knew just how to use it too, making the ladies practically swoon after him.

  I imagine it’s a lot of pressure to live up to a reputation like his, especially when Jake has Ryan depending on him now.

  No wonder he seems to be floundering juggling his new parenting role. That’s why it’s so important to have parent-teacher conferences. If Principal Walton let the teachers create personal relationships with the parents, I would have known what was going on in Ryan’s home.

  Navigating the social hierarchy is part of what makes working in the prestigious prep school system so difficult, but I just have to keep striving to be the best teacher I can be—even if that means breaking the rules sometimes.

  The morning after the first soccer practice I took Ryan to, I sat at my desk biting my nails and waiting for the principal to storm in and chastise me. But so far I’ve been lucky. He must not have caught wind of me helping out Jake after school, or else he would’ve said something about it. No harm, no foul. And besides, this is the last soccer practice I’ll have to pinch hit for.

  When I hear the squeal of tires, I look over to find Jake climbing out of his car. He’s sweaty and wearing a blue, dirt-stained jersey with white numbers across his broad chest. His hair is plastered to his forehead as he shields the sun off his cheeks.

  Like a tsunami, half the people who’ve been loitering around the children’s playing field surge toward him. They all seem to pull cameras out of nowhere, calling his name, flashes popping in his face until he’s almost tripping in surprise.

  Paparazzi.

  It’s my first time seeing them in the real world and not on the television screen. Between the paparazzi and the fans screeching Jake’s name, all attention has been stolen away from the kids on the field. I force myself to turn back toward them, finding Ryan standing on the outskirts of the soccer field.

  While the other children regroup to continue playing their game, Ryan simply stares at the spot where Jake has been swallowed whole by the cluster of adoring fans and paparazzi looking to make a few bucks off a candid shot of Jake in his practice jersey.

  To their credit, that practice jersey does suit Jake undeniably well, clinging to his bulging muscles and showing off the strength of his body. It’s enough to make a girl’s head spin. But I tamp down on my desires, refocus on the game and call out for Ryan, clapping my hands.

  The child doesn’t seem to hear me, his fingers crumpling into fists.

  He looks one way and then the other, then bends down to scoop up two huge handfuls of grass and dirt. Before I can react, he’s hurled the clumps of sod at an unlucky child who’s kicking the ball too close to him. The dirt flies into the unsuspecting kid’s eyes and he collapses with a dramatic wail while Ryan stares pointedly back at Jake, clearly hoping that the commotion will get his attention.

  Unfortunately, it only earns Ryan a strict scolding from the coach, and an order to take a seat on the sideline.

  Ryan collapses on the edge of the field, arms and legs folded, his tiny chin tucked to his chest. I walk over to him, ruffling his hair, but he pushes my hand away and refuses to look at me. I know all he wants is Jake. No. Actually, all Ryan wants is his mom back.

  It’s heartbreaking.

  “You know that wasn’t nice, right?” I ask gently.

  Ryan bites his lip and still refuses to speak. I know it’s not my place to parent him, so I don’t press the issue further. Instead, I settle down beside him so that Ryan knows he’s not alone and that I won’t abandon him just because he’s acting out.

  I tell myself that I'm doing this because I'm his teacher and I want our relationship to have some necessary trust, but in all honesty, it’s because all I want is to make him smile again. This poor kid has seen so much sadness in his short life. He deserves a break.

  I want to help Ryan and Jake find a balance in their lives so that uncle and nephew each have fulfillment in their lives as well as a deep bond, but that’s going to be hard with a public career like Jake’s demanding so much of his time.

  Jake has no firm line between when he’s working and when he’s not. I get it. If he doesn’t entertain the media and the people vying for his attention, they could turn on him and ruin his reputation as a fan favorite, but Ryan needs Jake more than the little boy can ever say.

  As Ryan and I watch the ball get kicked around the field, Jake finally makes his way to us. Ryan’s mood visibly lightens the second the football star approaches.

  “Hey, kiddo!” Jake calls. “Why are you sitting over here?”

  I say nothing, watching their interaction. Ryan catches my eye, having expected me to tell on him right away. He shr
ugs and bites his lip, probably contemplating lying, but that’s impossible with me sitting here.

  “I got into a fight with someone,” the boy finally says.

  “Oh, that’s not cool, little man! You’ll get kicked out of games for that when you make it pro,” Jake answers with a laugh.

  Ryan smirks and nods while Jake calls over to the coach. “You mind if he joins in for the last drill? He’ll be on his best behavior.”

  The coach nods and agrees, gesturing Ryan over. Ryan darts onto the field, looking back every now and then to make sure that Jake is paying attention.

  Jake lowers his voice, leaning over to me. “Listen, Stacy, I know this is last minute but is there any way you can keep taking Ryan to practice for another week? I tried some of those agencies you directed me to but no one is available yet.”

  I want to say no, but I can hardly leave Ryan and Jake to their own devices. They still need help. And how would Ryan get to practice if not for me?

  I groan and try not to roll my eyes. “Alright. But only another week. Got it?” I say firmly.

  Jake grins and nods. “Got it.”

  I whimper internally as the gorgeous man takes up the spot next to me. I can’t help but admire how sexy he looks in this practice jersey. I’ve never been the sort to fawn over athletes. I’ve always been more attracted to the academic types, but I have to admit, as I stare at Jake’s delicious muscles, I’m starting to see the appeal.

  I shake my head, reminding myself to focus. It’s not like a famous football star would ever be attracted to me anyway. I’m just a teacher.

  We stand there for a moment, watching Ryan play, and even as Jake’s shadow dwarfs me, I feel warm. Electricity pulses through my veins, making every hair on my body stand on edge.

  This isn’t good. I’ve got to put some boundaries between me and Jake. I wanted to pretend I’d imagined the magnetic surge of attraction I felt toward him at the last soccer practice. But today is proof that it’s all too real.