Single Dad Boss: A Small Town Romance

by Kara Hart

  Yeah, this isn’t the way to go. But as I said earlier, fuck it. I’m over being set aside. I carried this team to victory, over and over again. It’s about time I at least get left alone. It’s time to prove, once and for all, that Landon isn’t worth jack shit.

  He stands closer to me, chest touching mine now. There’s only two options right now. Either he kisses me, or he takes the first shot. Though the first option makes me laugh a little inside, I’m willing to bet on the latter.

  “Say it again,” he whispers. “I dare you.”

  “Your breath is disgusting,” I laugh. “But, sure. I’ll tell you again. You’re small. You’re worthless. And it’s just a fucking game. Honestly, you need to settle down.” I turn around and smile at the people watching us. They give a laugh, which seems to set him off.

  Landon doesn’t waste a beat. As soon as I turn my head back around, I see his knuckles come straight at my face. Crack, his fist comes barreling at me, pounding against my jaw. I feel it nearly dislocate. The pain shoots throughout my head, but I instantly shake it off.

  Meanwhile, there’s an alarm going off in my head. This is terrible. Abort, abort, abort now! But of course, I can’t back out of a fight once I’m in it. It’s not in my nature. My nature is to destroy the very thing threatening my girl and me.

  His fist reconnects with my nose the second time, and I go falling like a ton of bricks. I never start out fighting that strong. Better to weaken the guy a little first, right? I fall across a bed of weights and feel the blow at my core. It hurts, but I manage to pick myself back up.

  At this point, everyone and their mom has their phones out. They’re recording the whole thing, but I’m not going to stop now. They’ve already got the footage of him, swinging at me, of me falling across those damn weights, so they better at least have some footage of me defending myself.

  I run at Landon and tackle him. His back smashes into the mirror across from the weights. The glass cracks and falls to the floor with both of us. I can feel the shards pressing against my skin, but I can’t bother with that right now. I manage to hold him down. I don’t take any chances. I start swinging.

  For the life of me, I can’t keep him down. One punch at his face sends his head back against the floor. Another, and it seems to knock him out. Only, he’s back within a few seconds. Finally, he knocks me in the gut and I’m forced to roll off him.

  He jumps on top of me and swings at least three times against my temple. My whole vision gets blurry. I can’t really see too well and I feel like I’m on the verge of blacking out. Shit, who knows? Maybe he’s really done me in.

  I manage to get one clean shot at his nose again and I hear a loud snapping noise. When he falls off of me onto the floor, I know I’ve broken it. Blood falls from his face, like a mudslide. He screams and punches at the floor, a futile attempt at redirecting the pain elsewhere.

  I pick my aching body up and manage to get a short smile onto my face. “You’ve met your match, son,” I say to him, wiping his blood from my fist. My face aches like hell and my body is sore all over. “Alright, time to go home. There’s nothing to see here anymore,” I tell everyone.

  I walk out the building into the bright sunlight. I guess my workout has ended early. Hell, who knows if they’ll play me in the Bowl now. I always imagined myself holding that trophy, or running and pouring ice cold water on my coach’s back. It’s those traditions you dream about continuing. But now there’s all this pressure, and rules, and players who want to fuck up my career out of jealousy.

  Now, I’ve got a girl a few blocks from here, most likely on the Internet. She’s probably watching the fight go down. Maybe it was even shared live. It’s a fucked up world we live in these days. All I know is that I’m done for. Every way I try and spin it, it’s bad fucking news. Either way, the love of my life is going to hate my guts.

  I leave my car at the gym and instead, I walk taking the long way home.

  84

  Fiona

  Don’t talk to me ever again. I write the words out on my phone and hit send. Within seconds, my phone starts to vibrate erratically. It’s Jackson and he wants to talk on the phone.

  I hit the red deny button, but he calls back even faster this time. Another quick deny just shows his tenacity. “Fine,” I answer the phone. “What do you want, Jackson? I don’t want to talk to you. Seriously, just leave me alone.”

  “It wasn’t all my fault,” he begins to beg. “He took the first swing, Fiona. Look, the video shows that. Doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve heard this same excuse a million different ways. I know how this goes. You apologize profusely, until everyone feels sorry for you. Then, you act good for a few weeks, but eventually you go back to the same old crap,” I say, feeling exhausted. I have a deadline for another player due in a week and I just want the time to stare at my computer screen, and do the work that I need to do. “I’m not getting played anymore. Let this one go, Jackson.”

  “Baby, I—” I cut him off before he can say whatever it is he’s about to say.

  “Baby? Come on, those days are over,” I say, taking another deep breath. I need to calm down before I have a breakdown.

  I know how this looks. I’m just the shrill woman who can’t deal with an arrogant, cocky man. That, I’m sure, is how Landon saw me in the first place. It’s not fair, but I can’t worry about how I look to some sports players. It’s my job to worry about how they look. And yeah, I’m pretty pissed that Jackson couldn’t go one week without slamming his fist across his best friend’s nose.

  “Are you serious?” he asks into the receiver. It’s quiet where he is and I can tell he wants me to say that this was all a joke, that maybe I’ll let this one slide. Only, I can’t. I think it’s about time. We had our fun and now it’s gotten too complicated. I’m not about to get fired over this crap.

  “I’m serious, Jackson. And I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I even came out to Portland. It wasn’t exactly my choice,” I mutter, holding my breath. Truth is, I want this to work out more than anything. But I’ve given him plenty of chances. He could have put in more of an effort, but he didn’t think it was a big enough deal. It makes me feel like I’m nothing to him.

  “Fiona,” he whispers. “Let me come over, at least. I’ll cook you dinner. I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise you,” he says. I promise you. My doorbell rings. It’s Jennifer. She’s come over to help me with a new client’s interview. She understands all the crap I’ve been through.

  “You’ve said those words plenty of times before, Jackson. Look, I’m sorry. I have to go.” I hang up the phone and walk up to the door. Tears push past my eyelids and fall down my cheeks. I wish I were stronger sometimes. I wish I didn’t feel these emotions all of the time. I wish I could just find a normal man who would do anything for me. Instead, I fall for all the bad guys in the world.

  “No more Jackson?” Jennifer asks me as she walks inside my place.

  “No more boyfriend,” I say solemnly. “Ugh. What even is my life right now?”

  “Well, I’ve come bearing gifts,” she says, holding a bag of Mexican food, from the same restaurant I went to the other day. This makes me bawl. I grab the bag and just fall to my couch, tears streaming down.

  “Oh my God,” she says, jumping back a little. Startled, she whispers “Are you okay, honey? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” I cry. “You’re amazing. You’re the best friend a girl could ever ask for.”

  “Okay…” She’s keeping her distance by grabbing some plates. She pours us a soda and I try and keep myself as composed as I can. “Here you go.” She hands me a plate of food.

  “Did I make the right choice?” I ask her. Images flash in my head. Only, this time they’re different. Instead of sex, I keep thinking about all of the really big moments. I think about the nice restaurant he took me too, the curb we sat on together, and the night we admitted to each other that there was something more between us.

  Now, t
here’s none of that. “Let’s weigh your options,” Jennifer says. “No more sex, no more expensive romantic dinners… although, you didn’t do that too many times, did you? Never mind, don’t answer that. No more, uh, rough sex, spontaneity, and no more hot, God he was so hot, Jackson. Damn, why are you asking me this? You know my stance on Jackson. Use him for his cock, over and over again, until you get bored. Then, throw him out.”

  “Oh, God.” I start crying again. I stuff a pillow over my face.

  “Well, are you bored yet?” she asks me.

  I let the pillow fall back to the couch and I give her a blank stare. “Okay, so that answers that. You aren’t bored yet. Got it,” she says, awkwardly. “I’m just messing around when I shouldn’t be. You’re clearly hurt and I want to be here for you. I’m really sorry sweetie-pie. More than you know.”

  “Jen, I’m a grown woman. I should be able to handle this type of stuff every now and then,” I pause and sigh, wiping more tears from my eyes. It’s like a never ending stream at this point. “It’s just different with him, though. Like, I was starting to really fall for him, you know?”

  “I do, baby,” she rubs my back, tickling up my neck to my hairline. Baby. Everything just reminds me of him. I’m constantly reminded about our short time together. Those nights that felt so right, and so wrong at the same time. It was like we would escape together someday. I really fell… in love with him.

  “But he was just some guy, you know? He’s an asshole,” she says. “All football players are. It just comes with the territory.” She fakes a smile.

  “The thing is, I don’t think he is. Deep down, I think he’s probably a really good guy. He’s just misunderstood,” I tell her, turning on the TV. On the Sports Network, his image is shown a million times over. They should really try and rename the network to the Jackson Leeman station at this point.

  “I’ve heard that one before.” She laughs at me. “Look at the TV right now. Look at that guy. He’s a maniac, right? Do you really want to end up with someone like that? I mean, really?”

  I shrug and take a few bites of my taco. “I mean, at first glance, no. I don’t. But that’s what I’m saying. He was provoked. Landon has been trying to get him disqualified for weeks now,” I say.

  “Well, it looks like he is succeeding,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “It’s not fair. I feel like if we met in a year from now, things would be better. It’s this damn Super Bowl. It makes people go crazy.”

  “It’s more than that, honey,” she says, with a tinge of sarcasm. I don’t appreciate it.

  “What if I loved him?” I ask, almost out of nowhere. “What if I envisioned a life with him? Kids, a house, a garden… you know, that sort of thing. Now all that is taken away from me.”

  “Oh my God,” she says. Her voice rises like three keys up. “You loved him? Are you serious, Fiona?”

  “I don’t know!” I exclaim, taking another bite from my taco. The tears have started to dry. I’m just feeling a tad bit embarrassed now. “I’m not saying I did, okay? I’m just asking you. What if I did?”

  “Well, then I’d say you should fight for it,” she says, turning serious. “But I don’t know, Fiona. You’ve put your career on the line for him. I’d never do that shit for any guy, let alone some jock. It’s up to you though. This is your life. Remember that.”

  So, do I love him? I can’t stop thinking about him, that’s for sure. I can’t stop thinking about our nights, his touch, and his lips. He made me feel so fucking good. He made me feel loved. So, do I love him? Well, I did. But now, I just don’t know. I have to think about bigger things than love, like my own trajectory.

  While I struggle thinking about this, Jennifer has made her own whisky-cola combination and she’s drinking it down pretty fast. In thirty minutes, she’ll be drunk as a skunk. This is the woman I’m getting love advice from.

  I feel my phone vibrate and I nearly scream from the stress of everything. “I swear, Jackson won’t stop texting me,” I say. “It’s beyond annoying.”

  “That’s because he ain’t getting no pussy no more,” she says, looking at her phone.

  I grab mine and glare at the screen. It’s Joseph. Fuck. I noticed your little video. Care to explain?

  I sink into the couch cushion and Jennifer knows something is wrong. “Uh oh,” she says. “Spill it. What’s happened now?”

  “Nothing,” I groan. “It’s just my boss. He just saw the video.”

  “You know, for a head position at a PR firm, he doesn’t find out about things that quickly. Does he?” she jokes.

  I ignore her and think of something to text him back with. I tell him the truth, that Jackson is a total asshole. I use different wordage, obviously. Look, if you want, you can deal with the mess that is Jackson Leeman. I’ve done everything that I can. He won’t listen to me. Find another agent if you need to. You have until today to tell me your plans.

  My breathing quickens and my pulse seems to go right along with it. This is fucked, but for once, I’m sticking up for myself. A smile actually breaks out onto my face.

  “What are you so happy about now? You’re like a rollercoaster of emotions right now,” she says. “I’m concerned, Fiona.”

  “I just gave my boss an ultimatum,” I laugh. “Never done that before. It feels kind of… nice.”

  “Oh, boy. This is where it starts. The downfall of Fiona Breckinridge’s life.” She rolls her eyes. “Be careful, woman.”

  85

  Jackson

  It just all turns to shit, doesn’t it? At the end of the day, after all the cameras stop rolling, after all the fans put away their autograph pens, and much after the lights dim in the arena, what is left? I can answer that with one word: me. Only, that’s not as descriptive.

  Picture this: a man in his prime, holding all the glory in the palm of his hands. Picture him in his empty mansion, without anyone left. There’s only him and the work he’s done. He’s buried in bank account statements, car payments, and the alcohol that keeps him going. There’s no wife. There’s no kids. There’s only him. And then, poof! It’s all gone.

  I got drunk the night after the big fight. I couldn’t help it. I needed something to ease the pain and the one thing I truly wanted was missing from my life. Gone forever, just like everything else good. So, I got drunk by myself, staring at the blue pool.

  I had a big, long discussion with myself. Was this what I wanted? Did I care that much about the game? By the end of it, I realized something. Hell no. This is not what I care about. It’s Fiona that I want more than anything. I don’t give a shit about the other stuff anymore. If I can’t have her, none of it is worth it.

  I drain the pool. I call my realtor. “Put the house on the market. Yeah, I know. I’m drunk. Just do what I say, dammit.” I hang up the phone and fall asleep.

  Now, it’s morning. You’d think my mind has changed, but it remarkably hasn’t. I still know what I want and need. It’s Fiona.

  I call the Sports Network to issue a statement. “It’s all my fault. I admit to everything. But I will say one thing in my defense. Landon has been after me ever since I fell in love with one beautiful girl. I used to be the partying lunatic everyone loved. Now, according to him, I’ve lost my mind by trying to clean up my act. I just want to be a better man. So yeah, I hit the guy because he hit me first. Plain and simple. If the league wants me out, then I’ll have to comply. Dallas was a fun last game. Everything has to end sooner or later, right? So be it. Farewell, football fans.” It’s not the best statement in the world, but it does the trick. I’ve always spoken my mind. I’m not about to stop now.

  I don’t want to leave the game behind, but I want the world to know my side of things. I want them to know that I was willing to put it all on the line for Fiona. Really, I just want her to know how I feel and how I really am, deep inside.

  Even when I’m awake and sober, I look at these empty hallways of my house and feel a pit of despair forming inside of me. Th
is is not the life I was after. I was after something much bigger. Deep down, I wanted love.

  I grab a pen and paper. A simple email or text message won’t work for me this time. I look at the white, blank page and start writing. Words never suited me before, but I’m turning a new leaf. This is day one of my new life.

  Fiona, I’m selling the house. I realize that’s not the best way to start a heartfelt letter, but I think you’d want to know that. I’m done with this life. I’m done playing the old Jackson Leeman. He was a character I thought I had to continue being. Turns out, I don’t. The other day was a wake-up call for me. I know you probably don’t believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me either. Still, it’s the truth. I’m done being an asshole. So what? My father was a piece of shit. He didn’t raise me right. That doesn’t make me able to do or say whatever I want. If I continue down this path of self-righteousness, I’ll eventually turn into him. I don’t want that. I want you. I want sunshine. I want love. Yeah, I said it. Love. I love you, Fiona Breckinridge. I can’t stop it from happening. It’s just a fact. Like the rain that falls against the trees in springtime. It just had to be, right? So is my love for you. Take it or leave it. I want a house, children, to wake up and cook you breakfast while you’re still asleep. I want to kiss you when you’re 70 and we’re both old. Most of all, I want to watch life unfold with you, Fiona. You probably hate me right now, but I hope someday you can learn to forgive me. Love is all I’ll ever fight for now,

  ~Jackson.

  I drop the pen and throw the piece of paper in an envelope. I don’t bother to edit it. Everything I said in that letter was the truth. I just hope she believes me. Every second, I’m looking down at my phone, as if somehow she’ll realize just how important she really is to me. Nothing happens and my day turns stagnant.

  I don’t sit around to watch the sun go down or anything. I drop the letter off in her mailbox and head to an antique shop. There’s more to be done. I need to mend everything. I need to make things right.