Fourth Down: A Beaumont Series Next Generation Spin-off

by McLaughlin, Heidi

  “Wow.” His eyes go wide. “You’re really expanding your horizons. How come you didn’t go back to Texas after school?”

  “I wanted something different, and I don’t necessarily want to live in Texas for the rest of my life. Going back to visit my family is enough for right now. Where are you from?”

  “Here,” he says. “My wife and I have a house across the river in Vancouver. Both of us were born and raised in the area.”

  “Well, then I know who to come to when I need something to do.”

  Aiden laughs. “My wife would love that. She’s a party planner. Does mostly weddings and fundraisers.”

  “That sounds like a fun job.”

  “She loves it. I’ll have her stop by the station soon so you can meet.” We’re silent for a moment until he asks, “Do you know Peyton Westbury?”

  I shake my head. “No, should I?”

  “Leon said you went to Northwestern, right?” I nod. “She’s from there as well. Sometimes Peyton fills in for me when I’m out. She works for the Portland Pioneers.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, she’s about your age. I guess I figured she recommended you to Leon.”

  “No, I don’t think so, but I’m going to have to look her up.”

  “I’m sure you’ll meet her eventually. She’s here a lot.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  After lunch, the Meyers rep shows up, and I sit, well, mostly stand, through a three-hour fitting. I don’t remember the last time—if there ever was a time—I tried on so many outfits and pairs of shoes. I swear, my body is moving in a constant up and down motion from all the high-heeled shoes. The rep seemed satisfied when she left, though, and told me I’d have an outfit hanging in my room when I came in tomorrow. Once she and Lisette finish chatting, Lisette and I walk to the newsroom to watch the evening news broadcast.

  Seeing my co-workers deliver the news is exciting. I’m eager to stand up there and provide the weather, but when I hear Selena tell the viewers that I’m starting tomorrow, my heart beats faster. I’m excited and ready, and Selena, Arthur, and Aiden seem eager as well.

  It’s dark when I leave the station. Aiden offers to give me a ride home, which I graciously accept. He goes into what I call “Dad mode” and tells me I need to either take a rideshare home from work if I’m going to walk in or drive both ways at least until spring when it’s light enough to walk after the five o’clock segment and then drive back. I appreciate someone looking out for me.

  When I get back to my apartment, I pour myself a glass of wine before going through one of the boxes I haven’t emptied yet, looking for my college yearbook. I thought it odd that my mother insisted on me buying them, but I did. I flip through the one from my senior year, searching for Peyton, and find nothing. Then my junior year, still nothing. It’s not until my sophomore year that I come across a Peyton. Only her last name is Powell-James. Nothing close to what Aiden had said. Her bio says we were in the same sorority, but I don’t remember her at all.

  With my curiosity piqued, I pick up my phone and call Veronica, one of my sorority sisters. She’s a year ahead of me, and we talk often. She never mentioned a sister living in Portland though when I told her I was moving out here.

  “Hey, please tell me you made it to Portland.”

  I laugh and realize I forgot to text her when I arrived. “Yes, sorry, V. I’ll send you pics when we hang up. My apartment’s great. I met everyone at work today. I think I’m going to love it here. But hey, that’s actually not why I called. I have a question. Do you remember a sister named Peyton?”

  “Peyton,” she says her name slowly. “Yes, she graduated with me. Don’t you remember us doing that massive fundraiser for her? She was the one who left school because she was in a horrible accident.”

  “Oh yes, now that you mention it, I do remember something, but not specifically her.”

  “You might not have met. She lived off campus her senior year. Why?”

  “Well, the sportscaster at work says she lives here, and I thought I’d reach out, one alumnus to another.”

  “Oh, you know, now that you say this, yes.” Veronica fumbles with her phone and then apologizes. “I think Peyton is married to someone in the NFL. I don’t remember off the top of my head.”

  “She works for the team, from what my co-worker says.”

  “Oh, maybe that’s it. Do you have her email? You should send her a message.”

  “I don’t. I’m sure I can find it in our alumni book.”

  “Here, I’ll give it to you. Tell her I said hi though.”

  Veronica rattles off the email address. We stay on the phone for another ten minutes or so before she has to go. I keep good on my promise and send her pictures of my apartment before sending an email to Peyton. Chances are, she may never respond, but if she does, hopefully we can meet up for coffee. Having a friend that isn’t a co-worker would be lovely.

  Four

  Julius

  Behind me, Reggie talks about last night's football practice and how Miss Meghan kept yelling for him to tackle the other guy. "Only," Reggie says, "the other guy is on my team, and we're not supposed to tackle. I told Miss Meghan we could only tackle during games. Not practice."

  I glance over my shoulder in time to see Reggie shake his head and sigh. It's comical. He's very dramatic, especially when it comes to football. He's told me many times that I'm his role model, but he's also told my best friend and teammate, Noah Westbury, that he's also his role model. Honestly, I'm not sure where I stand with my son in this sense.

  "Daddy, I spill." The sweet voice of my daughter, Roxy, sings out. Instantly, I'm next to her and cleaning up the small dribble of milk that came off her spoon.

  "It's okay, baby girl," I tell her as I run my hand down her hair. I've worked hard to keep my frustration with their mother hidden. They don't need to see the anguish she's putting me through, because they're going through their own pain. I come from a long line of married family members and have a hard time accepting that my marriage is over.

  "I sorry," Roxy says, looking up at me and batting her big brown eyes.

  "I know you are. We cleaned it up. Everything is good." Roxy is like this because her mother would yell at her, which I've deduced is because Elena felt guilt over what she was doing to our family. Maybe there's another excuse for flying off the handle and screaming at the kids over something as trivial as spilled milk, but I doubt it.

  Roxy goes back to scooping her cereal into her tiny mouth without a care in the world. This is how her day should always be, carefree and without worry. Reggie watches me. Is he waiting for me to freak out, to start yelling? It's not going to happen, at least not in front of my kids. I'll let myself go when I'm at the practice facility where I can punch a bag or scream out on the field, and no one would know why. The thing is, they'd likely start screaming with me, thinking I'm trying to hype myself up or something.

  “Eat up, Reg. It’s almost time to leave for school.”

  “I go to practice?” Roxy asks. As much as I’d love to take her with me, today is not the day.

  “Miss Meghan will be here soon. I think today is story time at the library, and then I believe she’s taking you to the zoo.”

  Roxy nods as if she has her schedule with her nanny down.

  “Is Miss Meghan taking me to my practice?” Reggie asks as he gets up from the table. He carries his bowl to the sink and then places it in the dishwasher. I have to say I’m rather impressed with him right now. We had a long talk after Elena went back to Los Angeles about stepping up with his sister, and he’s taken it to heart. He knows that Miss Meghan is here to care for him and his sister, but not wait on them or clean up after them.

  “Yes, but if that changes, I’ll let you know.”

  Reggie finishes in the kitchen and then heads off to his room. It’s just Roxy and me. I pull the chair out from under the table and sit down beside her. “I’m going to eat your breakfast.”

&nb
sp; She smiles brightly and giggles. “No, you not, Daddy.”

  “Uh-huh,” I tell her. My hand starts moving toward her spoon, and she laughs louder. She squirms in her chair and then holds her arms out for me. “Are you all done?” I ask as I bring her toward me. Her dark hair is a mess of curls, going every which direction. I’m thankful Meghan is around to help me. Otherwise, I’d feel lost when it comes to my kids. I kiss Roxy on the nose. “I love you, bug.”

  “I lub you too, Daddy.”

  “Come on, let’s clean up.”

  Roxy gets down from my lap and takes her bowl over to the sink. I hoist her up onto the counter and let her wash her bowl before setting it into the dishwasher. The front door opens, and she screeches out Meghan’s name. I’ve barely put Roxy on the floor before she’s off and running toward her nanny.

  “Good morning, Mr. Cunningham.” Roxy is in her arms before I can even mutter a good morning.

  “Morning. Thank you for staying with the kids yesterday and last night. If you need a day off this week, let me know.”

  “It was my pleasure. We had a good time, right guys?”

  Both kids nod.

  “I’m going to take Reggie to school now,” I say. “You’re picking him up, right?”

  “Yes, but you’ll call me if anything changes?”

  “I will.” I kiss Roxy on the cheek and then holler for Reggie. He tells Meghan good morning before following me to the door.

  We live on the top floor of a new apartment complex. Technically, we have a penthouse, but it’s nothing over the top or extravagant. I’m not the guy who spends an ungodly amount on living expenses or frivolous things. I want to make sure my children have the best education possible and can go to college. I was lucky, I had football to pay my way, but Reggie’s path may differ. Same with Roxy.

  Our building is on the waterfront and within walking distance to most things—even Reggie’s school. During the season, I drive Reggie to school. In the spring, we walk. Most days, even in the fall and winter, we walk around our neighborhood, do our shopping, or hang out in the park. I love it here in Portland, because no one cares that I play professional football. The gossip hounding media, on the other hand, is a whole other story.

  “Is Mom coming home?” Reggie asks when we step into the elevator. He knows I went to see her yesterday, but I haven’t sat him down to tell him we’re going to divorce. I don’t even know how to start a conversation like this with my son. Part of me thinks he’s too young to hear about all this adult drama, but the other half of me doesn’t want to lie to him. When he goes to L.A. to see his mother, something tells me she doesn’t plan to hide her new boyfriend from the kids, and they should know about him ahead of time. Do I tell them, or does Elena? Is it possible we can be amicable enough to sit down and tell them together?

  “She’s busy, bud,” I say but sigh heavily. It’s not intended. I’m just thoroughly exhausted with all of this.

  “Are you getting a divorce?”

  I say nothing. I’m unprepared to answer his question.

  “Mom has a boyfriend.”

  I look at my son, who is staring at the door. “Where did you hear this?”

  He glances up with unshed tears in his eyes. At this moment, I want Elena to see what she’s done to her children. “It was on TV last night.”

  Motherfucker. I swallow the knot in my throat. “I’m trying to protect you,” I tell my son. “I don’t want you to have to deal with all this adult stuff.” He looks at me with sadness as my head shakes back and forth slowly. My heart hurts. It breaks for my children. “Mom is going to stay at the house in California for a bit, but you can go see her whenever you want.”

  “She doesn’t love us anymore?” he asks, the dam of tears finally spilling over. I crouch down so we’re eye level, and I wipe his damp cheeks.

  “She loves you, Reggie. She wants you to go live with her, but I want you and Roxy to stay here with me. Maybe I’m being selfish and should ask what you want.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  As much as it’s killing me inside, I nod and stand back up. He doesn’t need to see that his question is ripping me in two. When we reach the garage, I rush to my SUV and click the fob to unlock the doors. Reggie and I climb in and say nothing to each other until we’re at the drop off in front of the school.

  “I love you, Reg. Have a good day.”

  “Love you too. Tell Noah I said hi.” He climbs out and doesn’t look back as he runs toward his friends. I wonder if he’ll talk to them about what’s going on or if he’ll keep it bottled up. The latter isn’t good. I pull my phone out and send a text to my agent, asking him to find me a local family counselor. My kids need someone to talk to that isn’t their mother or me.

  By the time I pull into the practice facility, the tension in my body is rolling off me. It’s a good thing we don’t have a game for a few more days because I’m not sure I’d be able to focus. I’m heated, angry, and emotional. Not a great combination of feelings when I need to focus on running routes and catching torpedo passes from my quarterback. This year, we have a good team, especially with the draft picks the general manager and our coach made. In my opinion, which, let’s be honest, probably doesn’t amount to much, I think we have a shot at the playoffs.

  The locker room is empty, which is odd but also a relief. Only Noah knows I went to L.A. yesterday to see Elena, and I don’t really want to talk about what I did on my day off with anyone. Although, I guess if people saw the same shit my son caught on TV last night, the cat is out of the bag.

  I find my teammates in the weight room. Loud music is playing, and some of the guys are walking around in spandex shorts or pants and no shirts, while others are wearing team workout gear. I bypass everyone and head for the treadmill. I want to get five miles in before I start to lift. Today is cardio, weight training, and skills practice. Tomorrow, we run through mock plays, on Thursday we’ll hit, and Friday is another walk through with game time situations. Coach always has us down by seven when we run our simulations. He says it keeps us humble.

  The five-mile run seems to go faster than I expected. I don’t feel like I’ve exerted enough energy to be cordial to anyone. I look around the room and spot Noah. He’s in the corner, chatting with our cornerback, Cameron Simmons. I head over, and the three of us shoot the shit for a bit until Cameron is called into the trainer’s room.

  “You look pissed,” Noah says. He picks up a weight and sets it on the bar. I match him and realize this set is for me. Noah lifts, but never over a certain amount because he’s afraid to fuck up his arm.

  “I am.” I lie down on the bench and place my hands on the bar. Inhale. Exhale. Pushing the bar up, I lock my arms until I feel the burn of the weight. Noah’s behind me, his hands poised to grab the bar if needed.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  Up. Down. Inhale. Exhale. Grunt.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  “I take it things didn’t go well?”

  “Met the boyfriend,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “He came into my home saying something about how my wife better be naked and ready for him.”

  “That’s messed up, man.”

  “She also wants to separate the kids since I want to keep them.”

  “I’m not a parent, but I think that sounds ludicrous.”

  “It is. I told her the kids should stay with me. They have a life here and a solid routine. Down there, they’d be with a nanny all the time. If she gets an acting gig, it could take her away from them for months, or they’d have to go and interrupt their lives to accommodate her. I also pointed out the only reason she wants the kids is because of child support.”

  “Prenup?”

  “Solid as a rock. A nice little clause in there about extramarital affairs. The irony of it is she added it because she was afraid I’d fuck a fan or a cheerleader. Do you and Peyton have one?”

  Noah laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, we both k
now we’re not going anywhere. She knows I won’t cheat on her, and if she ever cheated on me, I must’ve done something terrible to deserve it. I love that woman more than my own life. If she told me to quit football and wait on her hand and foot, I would.”

  “You don’t ever worry about your age difference?”

  “Nope. I’ve known most of my life I was going to marry her. I probably would’ve done it when she turned eighteen if it wasn’t frowned upon by society. All through college, I wanted to be with her, but it wasn’t legal, so I kept my distance.”

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  “You have no idea,” he tells me. “Listen, I know you’re hurting from the wife thing, but come over Friday night. Peyton and I are having some people over. My friend Quinn will be here, and possibly Peyton’s sister, Elle. It’ll be very lowkey.”

  “Elle’s a bitch,” I tell him.

  Noah laughs. “Elle is engaged, and even if she wasn’t, she’s not the one for you. Come on, let’s get this lift in so we can get the hell out of here sooner.”

  Five

  Autumn

  I thought starting a new job was nerve wracking, but nothing compares to meeting a sorority sister who seems to have hit the jackpot when it comes to life. After I sent the “hey, let’s be friends” email to Peyton, I spent the next hour or so of my life on the couch with a glass of wine in my hand, looking her up. Why? Because I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently. I had it in my mind that there was no way in hell someone like her would email someone like me back. I am a Plain Jane, the I don’t belong in her circle type of person. All over the internet, Peyton is living this luxurious life. Her father is a drummer in a very popular band. Her husband is the quarterback of an NFL team. Her sister is one of the most sought-after band managers, who it seems took their brother's band and skyrocketed them to stardom. Who am I? Someone she may have crossed paths with in the halls of our sorority house. And that’s a big giant maybe. Honestly, I should’ve done all this research before sending her an email because now I feel like a complete fool for reaching out to her.