“We’re back with the story on NFL tight end, Jacob Eckhart,” a woman says from where she’s stiffly perched in a chair. She stares somberly at the camera as though she was reporting a death, and for a second my heart drops into my stomach like a lead weight. “As you can see from the pictures about to be shown, he has yet again returned to his wild partying ways despite the fact that his six-year-old nephew is now in his care. Even more disturbing is the multiple reports that say young Ryan Eckhart was in the apartment during tonight’s riotous event. This is a level of debauchery that, unfortunately, is not surprising of someone labeled, The Hartbreak Kid.”
Numb, I sink down onto the couch and watch the photos of a crazy party scroll across the screen. Unless Jake’s hair has grown two inches since I last saw him, the footage is old, but the reporter doesn’t mention that.
The footage changes to the outside of a fancy skyrise apartment Uptown. A string of athletes and model-types shield their faces as they stumble out of the building into waiting limos. The time and date stamps is just hours ago.
The woman continued speaking. “This party occurred mere hours after Eckhart had an altercation with his nephew in front of multiple people at a soccer field in Central Park in which the child was observed shouting that Eckhart was not a fit guardian.”
The woman continues but her words don’t register anymore, as a video of Jake and Ryan yelling at each other flood the screen. Desperate to get away from the sight, I grab the remote, shaking, and change the channel. However, channel after channel that I click through is playing the same story. They probably have been for hours.
Ryan and Jake had a fight?
It must’ve happened right after I left.
Their already fragile relationship was probably under an even worse amount of pressure now. I grab my phone off the table, but the screen is blank. He hasn't tried to contact me to let me know that something happened.
Maybe he was too busy hosting his huge wild party, I think bitterly.
I swallow hard, staring back at the television.
“There are reports that most of Eckhart’s NFL team was in attendance at his penthouse this evening and that there was lewd behavior and sexual acts during the party,” the woman is saying.
Lewd behavior? Sex?
Is Jake hooking up with other women?
I have no right to be suddenly jealous, but sick envy fills me so fast that I almost feel nauseous. Eric’s words ring in the back of my mind. The Hartbreak Kid . . . A player.
Eric tried to warn me, but I’d been so sure that I’d seen good in Jake’s eyes. I know he loves his nephew . . . but maybe he just loves being a partying philanderer more?
Eric was right, but I’d been so quick to dismiss his concerns because I'm usually good at reading peoples’ characters, but perhaps I’m wrong this time. Judging by the photos, I definitely am.
Was that why Jake was so insistent on me looking after Ryan? So he could plan wild parties like this one?
I'm disgusted that I allowed myself to be played in such a way. The way Jake spoke so genuinely about his sister and wanting to be a better man, and the way he looked into my eyes . . . It was as though he respected me and was trying to be sincere.
I know it’s ridiculous, but I really thought that he and I were building toward . . . something.
Something that could’ve been real.
When our hands brushed, my heart raced and my pulse quickened and my entire body felt warm and fuzzy, like a summer day. I’d never felt like that with anyone before. Of course it would happen with a man trying to take advantage of me.
I snap the television off, muttering angrily under my breath. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s being used.
Growing up, I had to look after myself. I learned the hard way that some people have bad intentions. That was a lesson I thought I’d learned, but clearly, I’ve forgotten it.
But if Jake Eckhart thinks he can treat me like another jersey-chasing fangirl, he has another thing coming.
Chapter 9
Jake
“Are you listening, Eckhart?” Coach asks, his arms folding over his chest. He stares at me intently, disappointment etched onto his face. “You could be in serious trouble right now. Your sponsors are spooked. I’ve even heard mention of cutting contracts after the latest media scandal.”
Coach paces behind the desk in his office, arms still folded. His cheeks are red. I silently watch him, knowing that my teammates are already on the field doing their last training exercises of the evening. I wish I was with them. I really need to blow off some of this steam, but I also know how important it is that I take this situation seriously.
I feel like a boiling tea kettle, a piercing whistling echoing between my ears that no one else can hear.
I’d explained last night’s situation to my coach, but that didn't change the way my fans and my sponsors were perceiving things. To them I look like a delinquent who throws raging parties while my little nephew is in the apartment with me.
The media has totally blown things out of proportion. The party wasn’t exactly raging. It was just a bunch of my teammates and some girls having a few drinks. But no matter which way I try to spin the situation, it looks bad. And there’s no one to blame but myself.
I still can’t believe how badly I’ve messed up. If the league or team owners decide to get involved, I could lose everything . . . including Ryan.
If only I’d followed my first instinct and called Stacy the moment Ryan and I got in that fight . . . It’s been a few days since I last saw Stacy. We didn’t have plans beyond Ryan’s soccer practices and they’re only twice a week. But waiting to see Stacy until Tuesday felt like an eternity.
I have to see her before then—if she’ll even talk to me once she catches wind of this media nightmare.
All I want is to hear her voice. I want her to take my hand, holding my calloused fingers in her soft ones, and say in that beautiful, soothing voice of hers that everything is going to be alright.
When she says it, I can almost believe her, but it’s getting harder and harder to imagine crawling out of the hole I’ve dug for myself, especially if I have to do it without her.
You’ll see her tomorrow, I tell myself, knowing she already agreed to take Ryan to his practices this week. Even if she’s mad at me, like the rest of the world, she won’t turn her back on Ryan.
I’d still been trying to get the little guy to talk to me when I sent him off to school this morning, but he wasn’t interested. We haven't said more than a couple of words to each other since the night of the party.
After I shooed everyone out of my place, I’d taken a cold shower, chugged a big cup of black coffee, and then helped him get ready for bed. He didn't mention anything he may have heard while the party was going on, and I hadn't apologized for it even though I knew I should. I just wasn’t sure what to say to him.
The most painful byproduct of this entire mess is the wedge that’s been formed between me and Ryan. I never wanted that to happen, and now I'm not sure what to do to repair our relationship.
I just wish I could do something to make this situation easier on him. I feel like a failure in every sense of the word.
It’s been all I can do not to call Stacy and beg for advice. The only reason I haven’t is because I don't want to prove to her what she’s probably been thinking all along is correct—that I'm in way over my head.
I’m hoping that I can at least repair things between my nephew and me before I go to her for help.
Stacy is someone I don’t want to disappoint. She has such a calming, comforting presence, one that makes me feel safe and want to be my best self. No one’s ever made me feel that way. Except for Jenny, I suppose.
God, Jenny would be such a huge help right now.
She’d know just what to do, and even if she didn't, she’d sit down with me to figure it out. I’ve got no one to depend on like that right now. It’s just me and Ryan against the world.
I thought, for a second there, that Stacy would join the vanguard that was me and my nephew, taking up sword and shield against everybody else. There was just something about her that made me feel like I could depend on her. I probably still could, if I could work up the nerve to admit to her just how badly I’d screwed up.
Just the thought of that beautiful brunette teacher makes my heart throb. I miss hearing her voice.
It’s odd how easily Stacy has crawled under my skin. I haven’t known her long, but she’s already become a valued part of my and Ryan’s life.
With her, I can let my guard down, something I’m not usually capable of doing with anyone. Not since Jenny passed away.
Since my sister died, I feel like I’ve been floundering, trying to find something to cling to. It’s like I can’t feel the ground beneath me anymore. How am I supposed to keep Ryan afloat when I'm barely keeping my own head above water?
Life was so much easier with Jenny around to offer support or a guiding hand when I needed it. It was more fun, too, when I had a friend. Sharing all these burdens with someone would make everything so much simpler—as long as that someone was just like Stacy.
No . . . not just like Stacy. The person has to be Stacy or no one at all. There’s no substitute for her. It’s that exact moment that something in my heart clicks.
My fingers twitch toward my thigh looking for my phone. I know I won’t find it. I’m wearing my practice uniform and my phone’s in my locker. I want to call Stacy desperately, but I know I can’t lay all this on her.
First of all, that would be crazy.
I'm a total mess and she’s well aware of it. She wouldn’t let her heart near me with a ten-foot pole—and I can’t blame her.
Second of all, Ryan needs my complete and total focus.
Things are hard enough without romance thrown into the mix, and I know if I tell Stacy that I can’t eat or sleep or put on a damn pair of pants without thinking of her, she’ll tell me to get a grip and focus on becoming the insta-dad I'm meant to be for my nephew.
I just hope she hasn’t turned on a television or radio in the last few days or else she’s going to want nothing to do with me, which may be the best choice for her anyway. If she’s seen my supposed exploits, she’s going to be disgusted with me.
I can’t blame her. Even though I wasn’t chasing skirts or purposefully throwing parties, I still have a lot to figure out for myself when it comes to stepping into the role of fatherhood.
“Jake,” Coach sighs, walking around his desk and taking my shoulders in his hands. He stares at me, his stern face crumpled. “I'm doing everything I can for you, Eckhart. But I need you to pull yourself together. You’re going to lose everything if you can’t get a grip on yourself. Your teammates out there, they need you. They depend on you. Are you going to let them down?”
“No, Coach,” I assure him, but it still feels like no matter what I promise, I always fall short.
He gazes at me, looking as though he’s going to offer some sage advice I badly need, but then he changes his mind and nods. “Good. Stay away from the reporters. They’re going to be like a dog with a bone now, hunting you down and trying to get any story they can. Keep your head down and nose clean. Don’t make me bench you.”
Right now, getting benched is the least of my worries. “Yes, Coach,” I answer, trying to be the definition of the obedient football star.
Finally, a small smile cracks his face. “Good. Now get back to work. I might have to put you through extra practices just to keep you away from the paparazzi. Go join your team.”
Extra practices? That would put an even further strain on the relationship between Ryan and me. I almost want to say that I can’t do the extra sessions, but I'm not the only person on my team with a family. There are many fathers amongst my teammates who make sacrifices too.
But are they worth it?
Mulling this, I jog from the room back toward the field.
The sun is hot overhead, beads of sweat blooming instantly on the back of my neck. I wait for that same energetic high to swell up in me the way it always does when I hear the familiar whistles of assistant coaches and grunts of my teammates pushing their bodies to the limit, but nothing happens.
Even as my cleats sink into soft grass, the air thick with the scent of sweat, the only thing that makes my pulse quicken is the thought of seeing Stacy tomorrow.
Chapter 10
Stacy
I don’t know why I thought I’d hear from Jake.
It’s not like we have any reason to talk when Ryan’s not directly involved, but for some reason, after everything I saw on the television, I’d thought he would at least, I don’t know, reach out to me to explain what was going on.
Don’t I deserve that much at least?
I know he and I haven’t known one another long, but I'm helping him take care of Ryan and I'm also Ryan’s teacher. I deserve to be kept in the loop. At least that’s what I'm telling myself to try and ease the feeling of disappointment that Jake hasn’t reached out to me.
Even though I’ve never been particularly attached to my phone, I’ve started carrying it around and checking it almost compulsively just in the hope that Jake’s name pops up on the screen.
But days have passed, and I haven't heard a single peep from the unquestionably sexy tight end. No matter how irritated I get with him, I still can’t entirely forget the way his smile makes me feel or the way his laugh makes my knees go weak.
“Miss Davis?” Ryan’s little voice asks when all the other students have drifted from the room at the end of the day. “Are you ready?”
He’s hung back, pretending to take his time in packing his things while the other kids leave. Neither Jake nor I have told Ryan that it’s supposed to be a secret that I’m taking him to soccer, but the six-year-old doesn't seem keen on letting the other children know anyway.
It’s not cool, I suppose, to hang out with your teacher after school. Ouch.
I'm not going to lie, that stings a little, but it’s also convenient. It means I can tell Jake that Ryan would prefer someone else take over my soccer duties.
Ryan has been quieter than normal this week which doesn’t surprise me. I can’t imagine what must be going through his head, or how much he may know about the stuff on television. I decided to push all of that away and focus solely on brightening his day.
“I sure am!” I answer, plastering a big smile on my face that I hope is believable. I can’t tell whether the somber six-year-old is convinced or not.
It’s hard to read the little boy’s expressions. He seems to have two, one a slight smile and the other a distracted frown. I no longer reprimand him when he stares out the window in class, instead I gently try to coax him back to reality. Now that I understand the heavy weight that’s been placed on his small shoulders, it’s made me rethink the way I approach some of my students. No matter how much money they may have, you never know what’s going on in their home lives.
“So,” I say slowly as we walk out toward the parking lot. I peek around corners for Principal Walton’s beady little eyes, but he’s been distracted lately with an assembly coming up and he hasn’t had time to pester me. “How are things at home with your uncle?”
I’ve been brainstorming all weekend to come up with how to ask Ryan whether or not he’s aware of the social media storm whirling around his family. I can’t very well ask him directly, especially if by some miracle he isn’t aware of the situation. But judging by the sudden sagging of his shoulders, he’s more than aware. As usual though, he’s tightlipped.
It saddens my heart to see a little kid so guarded, and I hope that he and Jake can both come out the other side of this stronger, both individually and together. They deserve it after all they’ve been through.
“Uncle Jake is frustrated a lot but he doesn’t want me to see it,” Ryan says quietly.
“But you do see it, don’t you?”
“I see a lot of things.” Ryan is quiet for a
long moment. “Like how much attention he gets from other people.”
I can hear jealousy in the little boy’s voice and it’s not at all surprising.
I’ve seen it all over his face when he’s on the soccer field pining for Jake’s attention. Ryan wants his uncle all to himself. As understandable as that is for a little kid, it’s also not quite realistic. What they both need is balance. It’s a tough thing, especially when Ryan needs so much extra love in this difficult time in his life. Everything has changed so fast for him. He must feel like he’s been swept out into an ocean with no lifeboats in sight.
I'm glad to be able to spend some extra time with him and get to know who Ryan is beneath his carefully guarded shell.
I reach down and take his hand on instinct as we cross the road. For a moment I feel him stiffen, but then his tiny little fingers clamp down around mine. Something swells deep in my heart, like little flowers taking root, but I don’t quite understand what the feeling is. All I know is that I have to grip his small hand back just as tightly to let him know I won’t let go easily.
We make it to his Tuesday soccer practice just in time and soon he’s out on the field.
He’s less enthusiastic than he was last week, preferring to sit on the sidelines and pluck blades of grass from the field. I call and cheer and clap for him, but it does little to spur his interest. He has a lot on his mind, but he does at least try to kick the ball and participate every now and then. When he’s distracted, I check my watch.
Jake is even later than normal. At this rate, he’s going to miss the practice completely. But that may not be a bad thing considering the paparazzi presence. They’re lurking as close as security will allow, snapping pictures of Ryan when they can.
I sneak away from the field under the pretense of rushing off to the bathroom for a moment and dig out my cell so I can call Jake. I promised myself I wouldn’t be the one to reach out first, but this is a special case. It’s for Ryan.
Jacob Page 6
