Game Day Baby

by Seabrook, C. M.

  Game Day Baby

  C.M. Seabrook

  Frankie Love

  Edited by Teresa Banschbach

  Cover by More Than Words Graphic Design

  Copyright © and 2019 by C.M. Seabrook and Frankie Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Game Day Baby

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue I

  Epilogue II

  Also by C.M. & Frankie

  About Frankie

  About C.M.

  Game Day Baby

  I had it all planned out.

  I’d find a girl, marry her, get the white picket fence, and make a family.

  But then a baby is dropped off at my doorstep.

  My baby.

  Turns out I’m more than an NFL quarterback -- I’m a father.

  And my daughter’s mother is missing. Or she ran away.

  No one knows, not even her sister, Aria Ryan.

  Aria carries a gentle grace that doesn’t match her story.

  She has every reason to run -- her sister has made her life a living hell.

  But Aria is different. And I want her to stay.

  A baby changes everything and this game I’m playing isn’t won on the field.

  It’s dirty, it’s dangerous, and I’m in it to win it.

  Game Change Baby features Tatum Madden, from the Princeton Charming books!

  This time he isn’t letting the girl of his dreams get away. He’s fighting for more than a touchdown -- he’s fighting for his daughter’s life.

  Chapter One

  Tatum

  “Good practice today, Madden,” Coach says, smacking me on the back. “That leg looks like it’s healing up well.”

  I force a smile and sling my bag over my shoulder. The tear in my right hamstring has benched me for the last few weeks, and it’s killing me not to be on the field. Football is my life -- literally. Other than the game, I have nothing. Which is why I’ve been keeping these damn headaches to myself. The last thing I need is to give Coach another reason to keep me on the bench.

  “That means you plan on playing me this Sunday?” I ask, knowing I’m pushing it.

  Apparently, so does Coach because he just shakes his head. “I’m not risking you doing more permanent damage. I need you healthy for the playoffs.”

  I want to argue, but I know it’s pointless. The man is as stubborn as a bull, which is one of the reasons he makes such a great coach. That and his unshakable belief in the team and each of his players. He might not have any championship rings, but there was hope that this year he might lead the Chargers to our first Super Bowl win. That was until he lost me and our star linebacker, wide receiver, and defensive end all due to injuries -- and all in one week.

  The team is screwed if I don’t get myself healthy enough to get back on the field.

  A heavy arm slings over my neck as I start to walk to my car, and I grunt when the man’s fist hits me not so playfully in the ribs.

  “You coming out with us tonight?” Drew Keenan was drafted to the Chargers the same year as me and I consider the man a friend, even though I don’t always approve of some, actually most of the shit he pulls. He’s a bit of a dick, even though he has everything a man could want. A beautiful wife. Three cute kids. A great career. And yet he’d rather spend his nights out at the bars picking up random chicks.

  “Nah.” I shrug off his arm and pull my keys out. “I’m staying in tonight.”

  “Stop being a pussy, Madden. Come on, lighten up for once in your damn life. Have a few drinks, get your dick wet.”

  I grunt and use my fob to pop the trunk of my silver 911 Turbo S Cabriolet. The car is the closest thing I have to a love in my life. Pathetic, yeah, but the second I sat down in the leather seats of the Porsche I knew she was meant to be mine. And considering I have nothing else to spend my cash on, I allowed myself this one indulgence.

  “Not in the mood.” I toss my bag in the trunk, then shut it. Already my head is starting to pound, and my hamstring is aching from pushing myself too hard today.

  But Drew isn’t giving up easy. “Shit, Madden, how long has it been since you’ve been laid?”

  I rub the back of my neck, knowing it’s been a long fucking time. Close to a year if my memory serves me right. Last time I’d let Drew drag me out with him, I ended up with some random girl in my bed and barely remembered anything that happened.

  The car beside me beeps as the door unlocks, and Knox Brady approaches, his usual cocky grin spread across his face when he sees Drew and me. “Is there a team meeting I didn’t know about?”

  “I’m trying to get Madden to come out with us tonight,” Drew says.

  “Good luck with that.” Knox, who has two inches and thirty pounds on my 6’2” two hundred and twenty-pound frame, leans on the hood of his car. He looks like the typical California boy, with his blond hair and blue eyes and I get why women throw themselves at him.

  In truth, there isn’t a man on the team who couldn’t have a new girl in his bed every night. Maybe there is something wrong with me that I don’t want that. But I don’t.

  “You’re both welcome to come over to my place for a couple of beers,” Knox says. “I’m not in the mood to go out either.”

  “God, you two are killjoys,” Drew says. “A pair of fucking pansies.”

  Knox snorts. “Don’t you have a family to go home to, Keenan?”

  Drew’s lip pulls up in a sneer. “Yeah, don’t remind me.”

  “I might stop by later,” I tell Knox, before opening my car door. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a few things.”

  Knox might be a player on and off the field, but he’s also one of the most generous people I know. He sponsors and helps run over a dozen different charities. And lately, I feel like I need to do more, be more. I just don’t know what that looks like yet. I’m hoping he can help me figure it out.

  It takes over an hour driving through rush hour Los Angeles traffic before I get to my apartment. My head is beyond pounding as I ride the elevator to the top floor, and I pop two Tylenol in my mouth.

  I’m starting to wonder if all the concussions I’ve had aren’t starting to mess with my brain. But that thought is gone when the elevator door opens, and I see a girl sitting on the floor in front of my apartment. She’s dressed in ripped jean shorts and a black tank with her dirty blonde hair hanging over her face. There’s not much to her. In fact, she’s nothing more than skin and bones, and my first insti
nct is to help -- or call security.

  But then she looks up, and I recognize the blue eyes that stare back at me because they’re the same ones I woke up to in my bed almost a year ago.

  Aria Ryan.

  I remember her name, only because the girl used to star on a popular tween television show. But that was years ago before she looked like she’d shot herself up with enough heroin to tranquilize an elephant.

  “Tatum.” She starts to stand, but her legs give out on her when she does.

  I take four long strides and grip her elbow to steady her.

  “What are you doing here?” Maybe it’s callous to ask, but I only spent one night with the girl. One night I can barely remember. And after she’d stolen two hundred bucks from my wallet, she’d taken off and I never heard from her again.

  “I...um--”

  A cry sounds out, more like the sound of a bleating sheep and the noise has me lowering my gaze to the blanket-covered car seat behind her. I hadn’t noticed it before. Or the diaper bag that sits beside it.

  I drop the woman’s arm and step back, knowing whatever this is, it isn’t going to be good.

  The woman does nothing to try and calm the now screaming baby, and when I look into her glassy eyes, I have no doubt she’s high as a fucking kite.

  I drag my fingers back through my hair, my hands shaking as I do.

  “Can I come in?” Aria asks. “She needs to be changed.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What do I do?

  I glance down at the car seat again. It’s one of those basket ones for a smaller infant. I still can’t see the baby, but every second that passes, I get a sickening feeling that this woman is about to toss a bomb in my lap.

  Not knowing what else to do, I open my apartment door and motion for her to come in. Aria stumbles through, leaving the baby and diaper bag in the hall. I pick the car seat up and grab the bag, bringing them both into the kitchen and setting them down on the counter.

  I start to pace. “Okay, so you’re here because...?”

  “I need help. Money. Whatever you have on hand. I promise I won’t ask again, I just...” She fidgets, her hands shaking.

  Even despite the dark circles under her eyes, her gaunt appearance, she’s still beautiful -- and a junkie. Which means I can’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth, but when she pulls the blanket back and I see the child, something inside me breaks, and I lose all rational thought. All except one -- It’s mine.

  Why else would she be here asking for help?

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  Aria puts a soother in the baby’s mouth and it stops crying immediately. Blue eyes the same color as her mom’s stare back at me, big and wide. What hair she has, is almost colorless it’s so blonde.

  I know nothing about babies, but I know she isn’t very old. Two, three months, maybe, which would line up with the last time I saw the woman.

  “Is she mine?” I demand, already knowing the answer. Why else would she be here?

  Aria chews on her bottom lip and then finally nods.

  I inhale through my nostrils, then let the breath out slowly.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Okay. I can figure this out. I start to pace again, hands on the back of my head.

  “Do you have cash on you?” Her eyes dart around the room, looking for something.

  “Cash?” I shake my head. Is she serious?

  She twists her hands together. “I just need...”

  I know what she needs. Her next fix. And I know I shouldn’t do anything to support her habit, but she’s the fucking mother of my child...what the hell else am I supposed to do but give her everything I have.

  “Yeah.” I pull out my wallet and take out the cash that’s inside. “I only have sixty on me.”

  “Thank you.” She starts to grab the car seat, but I stop her.

  “Wait. You’re not leaving.”

  “I have to... I have to go.”

  I clench my back teeth together. Shit, maybe I should be calling the police, the fucking child protective services, or at least my damn lawyer. Anything but let her leave.

  My brain is a goddamn mess, but the one thing I know is that she’s not walking out that door with my kid.

  “What’s her name?” I ask, glancing down at the child who’s now sleeping.

  “Rose.”

  “Rose,” I repeat. It’s a good name. “She looks like a Rose.”

  “Look,” Aria says. “I really need to go.”

  “I can’t let you leave with her.” There’s a warning in my voice. As messed up as this is, that’s the one thing that isn’t happening.

  Aria frowns up at me, those haunted eyes empty of any real emotion.

  “Leave her here,” I tell her. “Go do what you have to do. Then come back and we can talk.”

  There’s a hesitation before she nods. “I could use a few minutes to myself.” With an unsteady gait, she walks towards the door, not looking back before disappearing.

  It’s five hours later when I realize she’s not coming back.

  Chapter Two

  Tatum

  I’m pacing the apartment with a crying infant in my arms, wondering what the smart play here is, exactly. My first instinct is to call Charlotte -- she was my first love and best friend all through college, and now she’s a mom. I just wish she wasn’t living in DC. If she were here in LA, I’d have her come over and talk me through this.

  Whatever this is.

  But I don’t call her. Her husband, Spencer, is a senator and I know they are dealing with enough with his high-stress job. The last thing she needs is to try and fix my problems across the country.

  Plus, until I figure out what I’m going to do, the less people who know about Rose the better.

  But what the hell do I know about babies?

  I’ve already riffled through the diaper bag Aria left. Thank God there was a canister of formula and a handful of diapers. While I don’t have a ton of experience with kids -- okay, zero -- I can read directions. But there’s no owner’s manual stuffed alongside the package of baby wipes and I’m going to need some back-up.

  With one hand I pull out my phone and call Knox. “Hey, uh, can you come over?”

  Knox groans. “Dude, I just got into bed.”

  “This is more important than sleep, I promise. I need you, man.”

  “Why?” I hear his voice change. He may be a beast on the football field, but he’s a loyal friend. “What’s going on?”

  Rose starts wailing and I lift her up on my shoulder, patting her back.

  “Where are you?” Knox asks. “Did you go over to Drew’s?”

  “I’m at my house. Alone... with a baby,” I say tersely. This night has gone from bad to worse. “My baby.”

  There’s a pause before he curses, “Holy shit.” He lets out a low whistle. “Okay, I’ll be right over.”

  I hang up and call Drew. He may be pissed that I never went out with him tonight, but the moment I tell him it’s an emergency, he’s on his way over. Normally I wouldn’t call him but out of the three of us, he’s the only one who has any actual baby experience.

  Twenty minutes later, my two best friends are here. The three of us are looking down at Rose, who is finally sleeping again, spread out on a blanket on my living room floor.

  “A fucking baby?” Drew laughs, enjoying my situation way too much. “Fuck, Tatum. I had no idea you were such a player.”

  “It’s not funny,” I say, my voice rising. “I’m freaking the hell out here,” I explain to them how Aria came over, high as a kite, and then left as fast as she came.

  “Aria Ryan? The TV star?” Knox says, eyes wide.

  “Yeah.”

  Drew frowns at me. “Shit. I didn’t realize you two hooked up.”

  I’d barely remembered it myself until she showed up at my door with Rose.

  We sit down on my couches, my eyes fixed on my daughter. My daughter. She looks so fucking innocent, so small. And I’m responsibl
e for her.

  “I was fucked up the night I met her at your place,” I say to Drew, wincing as I remember that night. Drew’s wife had taken the kids to her parents and he’d had one hell of a party. But I hadn’t cared about the chicks in string bikinis that flaunted their tits in my face. I was too messed up. “I’d talked to Charlie that day,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to put the pieces together. “She’d just had her baby and I was--”

  Drew laughs cutting me off. “You were crying in the pool. I remember thinking, shit, that Charlie girl sure did a number on you.”

  His laughter wakes Rose, so I reach down, pick her up, and pat her back.

  “Damn, like a pro,” Knox says, grinning at me.

  “Hardly.” I shake my head. And then a thought hits me. “What if Aria doesn’t come back?”

  “Then you’ll have to find her.” Drew pulls out his phone. “Shouldn’t be hard.”

  “Who are you texting?” I ask. “I don’t want anyone to know about Rose, not now. I need to protect her.”

  Drew nods. “I know, bro. This would be bad press. I know the chick, and you’re right about her being a junkie. I enjoy a little snow on occasion, but that girl...” He shakes his head. “She’s bad news. If the press finds out, it’s going to be a PR nightmare.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter. Then say to Knox, “She looked so sick.” I shake my head. thinking of Aria’s hollow eyes. “I shouldn't have let her leave.”