Fourth Down: A Beaumont Series Next Generation Spin-off

by McLaughlin, Heidi

  The café Peyton chose to meet at isn’t far from my house. I made sure to let Lisette know I was busy until about three, just in case. I’m not suspecting any earth-shattering weather patterns to arise, but you never know, and since I’m new, I want to make sure everyone at the station understands I’m dedicated to my job.

  My eyes are constantly roving over every face that comes into view, even the men. There have been a few times since I’ve sat down that I’ve looked from a very handsome face to a left hand, just to check. Not that I’m interested in dating, at least I don’t think I am. I remember when I took the job in North Dakota. I told myself I’d wait six months before I start looking for someone to spend time with. I tried dating, but the few men I went out with made it such a huge deal that I was on television. Honestly, it’s a turn-off. I want someone to like me for me not because I’m the person in front of a green screen telling you how much snow you’re going to get on Wednesday.

  I’m in a daze, staring off into the abyss of moving bodies when I hear my name. The woman in front of me, dressed to kill in a pantsuit and heels and putting my flats to shame, is definitely Peyton Westbury. She looks exactly like the photos I found online, with long chestnut hair and a rock of a diamond on her hand that I found a dozen or so articles written about. She married a childhood friend, and there’s an age gap between them that critics have questioned. “Are you Autumn?” she asks again.

  “Yes, sorry.” I hold my hand out to shake hers. Peyton pulls the chair out across from me and sits. The next thing I notice about her is she’s beaming, making me feel as if this meeting is actually a good thing.

  “I was so excited to get your email. It’s not often I get invited out for coffee.”

  My mouth drops open at her admission. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “What?” she asks, looking at me like I’m speaking another language.

  “Okay, don’t get me wrong, but you’re Peyton Westbury. I looked you up on the web. You’re famous without being famous. I honestly thought you wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  Peyton chuckles. “I’m not famous. My dad, uncle, brother, and husband are. Even my sister could be considered famous. I’m just me.” She’s humble, a rarity these days.

  “Well, I appreciate you meeting me. Being new to town, I want to branch out from work friends and really get to know the area.”

  “And this is perfect because I want friends who aren’t associated with football. I think it’s a win-win. So, tell me, what have you done in the few days you’ve been here?”

  Before I can answer, our waiter comes to take our order. We both ask for coffee and a blueberry muffin. “Let’s see,” I start as soon as the waiter moves onto another table. “I’ve walked along the harbor, this neighborhood, and the station. That’s about it. It’s been a week, but I’m eager to explore so much more. I think when we have a storm or something, I’ll see about doing some remote work.”

  “Leon is a great guy to work with.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot that you fill in for Aiden on occasion. He’s actually the one who told me you lived here. Do you mind me asking how you got into sports?”

  The waiter is back with our coffee and breakfast. Peyton doesn’t hesitate and picks up her fork. I find myself watching her, mesmerized for some odd reason. Here she is, with this ridiculously famous family, and she just wants friends. Suddenly, I don’t feel so lonely.

  “So good,” she mumbles and covers her mouth. “Sorry, I love the muffins here. They’re baked fresh and have that melt in your mouth feel to them. This café is by far my favorite. Well, except the one my mother-in-law owns.”

  “You’re close with her?”

  Peyton laughs. “My family story is odd, to say the least. For the longest time, growing up, everyone assumed Noah—that’s my husband—and I were related. Our moms are best friends. Our dads are as well. Noah and I were always together. To our families, it wasn’t a big surprise that we started dating or got married. The people in our hometown, on the other hand, were a little taken aback by the idea. But my mother-in-law, Josie, I grew up calling her my aunt, and then I married her son—do you get what I’m saying?”

  “I think I need a family tree or something.”

  She laughs again. “You and me both. But, back to your original question before this delicious muffin entered our lives. My dad was really into football. It was our thing. When he died, I just hung onto it. With Noah playing his entire life, I was there, watching and learning. When I was five, my uncle Liam—that’s Noah’s dad—started teaching me how to play the game.”

  “Wait, I thought your dad was a drummer?”

  “Wow, you really did look me up. He is. My biological dad died when I was five. It’s a very long, drawn-out saga.”

  “You should write a book,” I tell her.

  She smiles and sighs. “Someday, although my life is anything but interesting.”

  I find this hard to believe.

  “Anyway,” she continues and finishes telling me her story. I’m completely sucked in and have so many questions, but I don’t want to ask her something intrusive. By the time she’s finished talking about her life, her husband, and Portland, two hours have passed, and panic sets in that I’ll be late for work.

  “Shit,” I say when I look at my phone. “I don’t want to be that person—the one who eats and runs—but I go on air at five and still need to do my hair and make-up.”

  “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I talked your ear off. I hate it when I do that.”

  “No, I loved listening to your stories, and besides, I asked, so please don’t feel bad.”

  “Listen,” she says. “Noah and I are having a couple of people over tonight. I know you do the eleven o’clock news as well, but maybe you can stop by. We live only a few blocks from here so you wouldn’t have to go far. I’d love to introduce you to people and get to know you. I promise I won’t talk too much.” Peyton giggles and then shakes her head. “Sorry.”

  “You’re fine, and honestly, I really enjoyed today. Count me in for later. I can come down between airings.”

  Peyton stands. “Perfect. I’ll text you the address. It’s super casual, nothing fancy.”

  “I’ll be there.” We hug, and then I’m on my way. I can’t help but think I’ve just made a new friend. One that I’ll be able to share my secrets with, meet for lunch and spa appointments, and go shopping with. Exactly what you’d expect from a sorority sister.

  * * *

  I stand outside the building, which I believe is where Peyton lives. I look at my phone, the address on the door, and then the street sign, making sure I’m at the right place. I’m not confident I am, especially since the city is crazy with its streets—Southwest, Southeast Avenues, and Boulevards.

  “The only way to find out is to go inside.” I give myself a pep talk before opening the sizable ornate steel door. My footsteps echo against the marble floor as I make my way toward the reception desk. “Hi, by any chance, are there apartments here?”

  “The onsite realtor has gone home for the day.” The man behind the desk tells me. He slides a business card toward me. I take it out of respect.

  “I’m actually looking for Peyton Westbury. I believe this is her address.”

  He turns stone-faced and says, “We protect our resident's privacy and do not divulge whether they live here or not.”

  “Of course, and I’m not asking you to. I’m new to town, a bit confused about where I am, and want to make sure I’m in the right location. Is this the address?” I turn my phone to him so he can see the text exchange with Peyton. He nods, and I turn my phone back around. “Phew,” I say, hoping to lighten the tension. “Peyton gave me a code for the elevator.”

  This man is a statue. His face has no expression, and he’s watching my every move. There are two sets of elevators, one on each side of him. Now, I can gamble and go to the right and be wrong, or I can plead with this guy to help me out. Something tells me he’s not
going to fall for an eyelash batting crazy woman, though.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he picks up his phone and presses a couple of numbers. “Mr. Westbury, this is Bernard down at the front desk. Mrs. Westbury has a guest requesting access. Yes, of course.” He hangs the phone up and then points to the left, saying nothing else. As far as first impressions go, I bombed this one.

  The elevator is all glass, and as soon as it moves past the first three floors, I can see why. “Holy shit,” I mutter as the city comes into view. “So, this is what money buys you these days?” I’m completely taken when the doors open and loud voices wash over me. I turn and find that I’m standing there, gawking. Peyton beckons me forward, and in good time because I barely miss the doors shutting on me.

  “I’m so glad you made it. Come on, let me introduce you to some friends.” She takes my hand and pulls me into the living room. When she said a few people, I thought she meant two or three, but there has to be at least twenty, if not more, standing around mingling.

  “First, this is my husband, Noah.”

  He reaches out and shakes my hand. “Peyton talked non-stop about you today. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  I’m dumbstruck, totally caught off guard by how good looking her husband is. The pictures I saw online did not do this man justice. “It’s nice to meet you as well. I look forward to catching one of your games.” I have no idea where this came from, but it seems like the right thing to say.

  “Well, let Peyton know when you want to come, and we’ll be sure to put tickets at Will Call for you.” Noah walks off, leaving me to think he probably suspects I’m using his wife for tickets.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “Is something wrong?” Peyton asks.

  I shake my head quickly. “No, just stupid things come out of my mouth when I’m nervous.”

  Peyton sets her hand on my arm in a reassuring fashion. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone here is super chill.”

  She takes me around, introducing me to other friends of theirs. Staff who work for the team, neighbors, and a couple of the players. When she gets to her brother, I know exactly who he is, thanks to the web.

  “This is my brother Quinn and his fiancée, Nola. They’re visiting from Cali this week.”

  We shake hands and exchange pleasantries. There’s small talk about my move to Portland and questions asked about my job. Nola has a ton of questions about the weather, predictions, and the science behind it. She speaks with a southern accent, which I find enduring and cute, and makes me wish I hadn’t worked so hard to get rid of my Texas twang.

  We stand around together, talking about everything from clothes, Peyton’s sister, who, from what I’m gathering, can be a pain in the rear at times, to babies. Peyton’s mother is eager to be a grandma and isn’t shy about telling her daughters every chance she gets.

  Then, the most awkward and uncomfortable thing happens. Peyton is called away, and Nola excuses herself to use the bathroom, leaving me as the wallflower. I stand there for a moment until I move toward the sliding glass door. I step out onto the balcony, only to find a man sulking in the corner. By the look he gives me, it’s clear he wants to be alone.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

  He sets his glass down onto the table. The ice inside rattles against what’s left of the amber liquid. He stands and comes toward me. The muscles in his arms flex, and his jaw clenches as he strides toward me. He’s three, maybe four inches taller than me, with black hair and the most gorgeous blue eyes. With each step he takes, the hair on my skin rises.

  “I heard everyone talking about you in there,” he says in a sultry, husky voice. “The new weather girl.”

  “Meteorologist,” I squeak out.

  “I find it odd that you haven’t been here a week and already have your claws into Peyton.”

  “I’m sorry, what? We went to school together.”

  “Right, and you just so happen to need to climb the network ladder, knowing full well how popular she is in town. I hope for her sake, she sees through your bullshit before it’s too late.”

  “Listen, buddy,” I say, taking a step back. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me, so why don’t we just walk away from this conversation?”

  “Whatever you say, Weather Girl.” He keeps his eyes on me before stepping into the house. He goes right to the bar and makes another drink. I tell myself this guy is drunk, nothing more, and didn’t mean a single thing he said. Except, the doubt lingers in my mind. What if this is how Peyton feels about me?

  Six

  Julius

  The bourbon numbs everything except my thoughts. This room is full of people kissing ass and taking names to better themselves in their careers. The media management companies are trying to brand Noah and Peyton, then there’s the rookie running back who makes sure to tell Peyton how pretty she is every day, and the new weather person for who knows what station. If I had to guess, it’s probably some online-only type broadcast because the internet is the wave of the future. Honestly, they’re right. I rarely watch the news because I can’t filter what they show. At least, with the web, I can go right to the information I want. Probably not the best way to get my news, but whatever. ESPN is pretty much the only channel I watch because they’re nice enough not to comment on my marriage, but they’re sure to point out when I have a lackluster game. Fun times in the land of Julius Cunningham.

  What bothers me the most is the new person in the crowd. What did she call herself? Oh yes, a “meteorologist.” Even as I say this in my head, it sounds pretentious and snobbish. Did she have to go to some special school to tell people it’s going to rain? Hell, I can do that just by looking at the clouds. And seriously, this is Portland—it’s going to fucking rain, and then in the summer, it’s going to get so fucking hot, people are going to wish for rain. It’s an endless cycle.

  I watch her, this weather girl, as she moves around the room. She’s schmoozing, taking names and numbers, and working the room. She’s using Peyton to advance her career because it’s likely she wants to be the next Barbara Walters, and standing in front of the map talking about the rain accumulation is just her way of getting her foot in the door.

  When this woman heads toward Quinn, I am certain she’s just here to use Peyton, and I hate it. I overheard earlier that they went to school together, yet Peyton has never mentioned her until this evening. What bothers me is that Noah doesn’t seem concerned. Normally, he’s a hawk, protecting his wife from everyone. His sheltering comes from Peyton’s accident. She almost died, and it still haunts him after all this time. I remember it all, clear as day. Noah almost quit, gave up his career to be by her bedside while she was in a coma. I was so angry with him, not because he wanted to leave the team. I was mad because he had a girl at the time, and to me, this was cheating. Dessie thought so as well but stuck by him. She tried to confide in me when all of this went down, but I turned her away. Elena didn’t trust her, and as it turned out, with good reason. Still, I had beef with Noah until he told me why he put Peyton before anything. He was in love with her and had been most of his life. The minute he found out about her accident was when he knew he had to make changes in his life, or he would never be truly happy. This isn’t to say Noah still didn’t make a few mistakes where his life is concerned. Now though, as I watch him, he’s always gravitating toward Peyton. He always knows where she is and always knows when to look at her at the right time.

  I thought I had that with Elena. Boy, was I wrong! The more time I think about my life with Elena, the more I realize she used me. She came to Alabama for one thing—a ring—and she got it, but that’s all she’s getting out of me.

  Noah nods in my direction, and I raise my glass to him. He comes toward me and pats me on the back. “I’m glad you decided to stop by.”

  “Nothing else to do,” I tell him. “Are you coming to Reggie’s game tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there. Eleven, right?”

 
I nod. “I’m hauling ass after our walk-through. I’m hoping to make it by kick-off.” I’m thankful we have a home game this weekend because it gives me a chance to watch my boy play.

  “Did Reggie’s coach decide on a position for him yet?”

  “Nah, man. The kid has a canon but can run like the wind.”

  “How’s he doing with Elena being gone more?”

  I take a sip of my bourbon and scan the room for another look around. My eyes immediately hone in on the weather girl. She’s laughing, enjoying herself, and I’m finding that it bothers me. Did she not hear what I said to her outside?

  “Reggie knows she has a boyfriend. He saw it on one of those entertainment shows the other night. I told him his mom wants him and Roxy to go live in L.A. with her, and he asked me if he could think about it.”

  “Probably not the question you expected.”

  “Not in the slightest. That’s why I asked everyone to come to his game. I want him to see he has family here, even without his mom being here.” I motion toward the weather girl. “Who is she?”

  Noah clears his throat. “Autumn LaRosa. She’s the new weather personality at MCAX.”

  “How does she know Peyton?”

  “She doesn’t or didn’t. Aiden Marchetti asked Autumn if she knew Peyton since they both went to Northwestern. It turns out they were in the same sorority, only they never knew each other because of Peyton’s accident and then moving off campus.”

  “Do you trust her?” I ask.

  Noah laughs or coughs. I’m not sure which. “Yes, why? Do you know something I don’t?”

  I shrug and sip on my drink. “Just find it odd that she’s here, new in town, and attaching herself to Peyton almost immediately.”