Hard Man: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (Bad Ballers Book 1)

by S. J. Bishop

  "Madeline?" I asked, moving to the couch. "Look, I'm mad at you right now, but if something's wrong—"

  "He hit me!" she blurted.

  I blinked. "Who?"

  "Lars! After you left yesterday, he went crazy."

  "Lars hit you!" I hollered, rising from the couch. It couldn't be true.

  Madeline was nodding, tears falling fast and loose over her cheeks. Her eyes were puffing up. “I went down to the stadium yesterday to find you. I didn't even think, I mean... h-he was in the locker room, and when he saw me he started flirting, and then..."

  "Wait, are you saying..." I was trying to wrap my head around this new information. "Are you saying that Lars kissed you, you didn't kiss him?" She nodded furiously.

  "I told him to stop. I tried to pull away, but he just kept kissing me. If you hadn't walked in when you did, I don't know what would have happened."

  I couldn't believe what Maddie was saying, yet it made a lot more sense to me than Madeline going after Lars. He was a known womanizer. He probably thought women should be dropping to his feet around him. If Madeline had resisted, it had probably pissed him off.

  "Oh God," I said, falling back onto the couch. My head sunk into my hands as large tears formed in my eyes now. I pulled Maddie into my arms. "Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?"

  "You were so mad. I didn't think you'd believe me."

  "Oh God, Maddie. You said he hit you! Did he...do anything else?"

  "No," she shook her head. "He was just real mad after you left, and when I tried to leave too, I think he just took it out on me. He slapped me once, and then he got on that goddamn motorcycle of his and rode off, leaving me there."

  "Jesus, I feel like such an ass. I'm so sorry. I should have stopped to think. When I saw the two of you yesterday, I just..." My bottom lip quivered as the reason for my rushing to the stadium came flooding back. It wasn't as if I'd forgotten I was pregnant, but for a moment, I'd been able to put it out of my mind.

  "It's okay," Madeline said, trying to comfort me now that I was the one sobbing. My shoulders shook up and down, and I knew I'd never make it to rehearsal in time now. If I did, I'd look like a wreck.

  "It's not your fault," Madeline said. "You didn't know."

  I shook my head. "It's not just that,” I bellowed. I took a deep breath, suddenly desperate to tell someone. I couldn't hold this in any longer. "I'm pregnant."

  Just saying the words aloud made my heart race. Maddie was the first person I'd told, and I didn't think I could say it again if she hadn't heard me.

  "You're...pregnant?" she asked slowly, comprehension taking its time.

  I nodded.

  "Whose..." I looked at her, and her eyes widened. "No way. Lars?"

  I kept nodding, unable to stop. There was something oddly comforting about the rhythm of a steady nod.

  "When?"

  "About a week ago. That night at the bar after I'd thought I'd bombed the audition."

  "Christ, Clarissa. What are you gonna do? You know you can't be pregnant on Broadway, right? Have you told Lars?"

  "No. That's why I went down there yesterday. To talk to him."

  We sat in silence before she spoke. "Look, if I'm not the one playing that part, then you have to be. You need to get an abortion."

  "I don't know if I can..." I said, already picturing the clinic with their cold sterile rooms.

  "You have to," she insisted. "I won't let you fuck up your career. You've worked too hard for this."

  "I know, I just—"

  "That's it. No more discussion. You can't have that monster's baby. Think about what he tried to do to me. Look at my face." Madeline's black and blue marks stared back at me, a reminder of Lars' violent temper.

  "You're right," I said. "I'll make an appointment for the morning."

  14

  Lars

  I pulled up to the stadium and cut my bike's engine. I'd always been better at driving drunk than walking drunk. I stumbled my way into the locker room and realized everyone else was already up top. They'd started practice a half hour ago.

  Shit. Coach is gonna kill me.

  I let out a loud hiccup as I made my way to the field. The guys were already running plays. Coach saw me and came over.

  "There you are," he said. "Thought I was gonna have to send out a goddamn search party." He stared at me intently as I tried to stand straight. I couldn't believe I was letting a woman get to me like this. I felt like a pathetic asshole. One of those losers you see on some talk show, spilling their guts about their long lost love.

  She had refused to take any of my phone calls last night. She hadn't even responded to my texts. Whatever. I was done with her. I had to be. She was no good for me. I wondered what Coach Walker would say if he knew I'd fucked his daughter. Would he kick my ass? Probably. Definitely.

  "Oh Jesus," he said, looking at me with narrowed eyes. He stepped closer and sniffed the air. "You're drunk."

  "No, I'm fine, Coach. Really. I just had a few beers earlier, that's all.”

  "It's noon."

  "Yeah. So?"

  "For fuck's sake, Lars. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself kicked off the team? Do you wanna lose that cushy new contract you've set up for yourself? If management gets wind of this, they will pull that money from you so fast you won't have time to blink."

  "Coach, I'm sorry—"

  "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for sticking up for a stupid asshole like you!"

  "I'm not stupid!" I shouted back at him.

  "Oh yeah? What else do you call coming to practice drunk? This is your shot, and you're blowing it. Players like you are unheard of, Lars! With no football in college, no semi-pro teams, no nothing, you made it to the big leagues. Do you know how many guys would give their right arm to be where you are now? Or how many kids are looking up to you? And this is the example you set for them?"

  I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my face. "I didn't ask for kids to be looking up to me," I growled, almost nauseous at the thought. "I'm not the kind of man kids should have anything to do with."

  "You're exactly the kind of man kids should look up to. They need to know that just because they don't have money and come from nowhere, they can still dream. They can still make it."

  I'd never seen Coach Walker's eyes burn with such intensity.

  "Now, go get back down into that locker room and get your head together. For yourself, for the people looking up to you, and for your goddamn team!"

  He turned to see Matt Barton and the rest of the team watching us, listening to everything we were saying. "Did I tell you knuckleheads to stop? Get back out there! NOW!"

  Coach hurried back and left me to my walk of shame down to the locker room.

  "He's right," I mumbled. "I am an asshole."

  I sat on the bench in the locker room with my compression pants still on, but I took my jersey off and let the bench cool my skin. My head was dizzy with everything Coach had said. My phone beeped, and I looked down to see a text from Madeline.

  Wanna come out and play? I've got a surprise for you.

  I ignored her message, not giving a shit what her surprise might be and called Clarissa instead. Maybe the problem wasn't that I was stuck on her, it was that I wasn't stuck on her enough. If only she would take my calls or let me kiss her again. Fuck. I sounded like a pussy. The kind of guy Angelo and the others used to crack jokes about long ago. It seemed a thousand lifetimes ago now.

  Ash was the only one who'd ever made it seem okay to have feelings. Angelo had always recommended pushing them way down deep inside you so that you didn't feel anything. Who would I rather listen to? Angelo, the mob boss who had killed countless people since I'd known him, or Ash, the best guy I'd ever known besides Coach? The only guy in Vinegar Hill who'd cared enough about me to tell me to get out while I still could.

  Clarissa's phone was ringing. She either didn't want to answer or was too busy doing something else. I suspected it was the f
irst one. I was about to put my phone away when Ash's image passed through my mind. Suddenly, for the first time since leaving Vinegar Hill, I felt homesick.

  I dialed Tony's number, not at all certain whether it would still work. The last I'd heard from him, he'd wanted to get out from under Angelo just like I had.

  "Hello?" a gruff voice answered the phone.

  "Tony?"

  "Who's asking?"

  "It's Lars."

  Silence.

  "Hoolyy shhiiit! Lars? Fuck, man. It's been so long I didn't recognize your voice. How the hell are you? You know, we all watch you down here. We've got a little pool going about whether or not you're gonna bomb it in the Super Bowl."

  "Are you betting for me or against me?" I asked, grinning, already glad that I'd called him.

  "For you, buddy. I never bet against a man after we've been shot at together. You know me better than that."

  We laughed and talked like we'd just seen each other yesterday. There were no awkward pauses. It felt good to have a friend again.

  "So, how are things with Angelo?" I asked, not sure he could talk about it now that I was out.

  "Wouldn't know," he told me. "I got out just after you did."

  "You did? I wish I'd known."

  "What for? So you could send me a congrats card like I'm some fuck neck who just graduated outta some Ivy League school? No, man, you were right to cut ties. They have a way of hauling you back just when you thought you were out."

  I paused on that thought, wondering if that's why I had waited so long to talk to Tony. I'd wanted to make sure that I was really out of Angelo's gang, out of Vinegar Hill, out of the business of not caring about myself...before saying hello to that old life again.

  "Hey, Lars..." Tony paused. I could almost hear him thinking.

  "What is it, man?"

  "When's the last time you talked to your mom?"

  "My mom?" I asked, surprised. "Shit, man, not in...six or seven years. Not since senior year when I left home."

  "Did you leave or did she kick you out?" he joked.

  "A little of both," I grinned. "Why?"

  "She's back."

  I was silent for a full minute while I let that sink in.

  "In Vinegar Hill?"

  "Yeah. The old house."

  "Fuck. She's back in that shithole? The roof was caving in when I was seventeen. I'd bet a season's salary no one's fixed it since then."

  "You'd be right."

  "What the hell is she doing back there? I thought she was in California or somewhere warm."

  "My mom says she didn't have a lot of money after the divorce. I guess the fuck neck got it all. And they didn't have much to begin with."

  "Divorced? What the fuck? When did she get married?" I was bothered that Tony knew more about my mom than I did.

  "You should come down and see her, man."

  "Fuck Vinegar Hill."

  "No, Lars, don't do that, man. This place is a part of you. Me... Ash... your mom... we're all a part of this place, too. You can leave home, but you can't forget it. I think with a place like this, it's important you don't forget. Don't even try."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it waits for you to forget and then pulls you back in."

  "Not me, man."

  "Never say never."

  15

  Clarissa

  Rehearsal couldn't be going worse. I felt like every orifice of my body was sweating. I couldn't keep my nerves at bay.

  Phil approached me from his director's chair. He put one hand gently on my shoulder and looked at me through his thick-rimmed glasses. I was glad that it had turned out Phil was the director and Jerry was just his assistant director. For my sake, it couldn't have worked out better. Jerry had been shooting me daggers all afternoon. I could tell the only thing keeping me here was Phil.

  "Listen, Clarissa. You have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. That's why we gave you this part. But..." he hesitated, searching for the right words. "You need to get some confidence. When you're singing, stop staring at the floor. Walk across the stage with your head up. Do you understand?"

  I nodded vehemently. "Absolutely."

  "Good. Let's try it again, shall we? And don't worry too much; this is just the first rehearsal. We have many more to go."

  I smiled and tried to look as though his comments hadn't bothered me, but inside I was dying. Despite whatever encouragement Phil tried to say, all I heard was, stop sucking and sing better. I opened my mouth and let the song carry me across the stage. The note was pure and crisp, until I caught sight of Jerry rolling his eyes. Suddenly, my voice cracked.

  Shit.

  "That's okay, try again," Phil said.

  I heard Jerry mutter something under his breath but couldn't make it out.

  The music started, and I walked across the stage, the eyes of the other cast members trained on me. The rehearsal space wasn't nearly as big as the auditorium where we would be performing the actual show. The crew was already building the set, and I knew that if this show went well it would make my career.

  I looked down at the stage and caught sight of my belly. In my mind, it had already grown several inches. Any gurgle or noise it made was my baby kicking in me, even though I knew it didn't have feet yet. I had no idea what to do. I'd made the appointment for tomorrow morning, but I just didn't know whether I could go through with it or not.

  My voice cracked again.

  Shit.

  "Oh for God's sake!" Jerry cried. "She can't even get through the first rehearsal without her voice sounding like a boy going through puberty."

  I blushed deeply, embarrassed and angry at the same time. My voice was one of the things I loved most about myself. I couldn't believe it was failing me now.

  "Just calm down," Phil said.

  "We should've gone with that brunette."

  "Oh, please. You only like her because she sucked your cock yesterday thinking you were in charge here. She wanted to get Clarissa's part."

  "Well, it worked. I never wanted Clarissa in the first place."

  "Except that call isn't yours to make, is it?"

  "Fuck you, Phil."

  "Fuck you, Jerry."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Did directors always argue like this? Had some poor girl really sucked Jerry's cock hoping to take my part away from me? I was horrified at the idea. The directors were talking about me like I wasn't even here, listening to every word they were saying.

  "Clarissa, honey," Phil was speaking to me again. "Ignore everything Jerry just said. You're doing great. Start over."

  The music started, and my mouth opened. My voice came out in a squeak.

  Jerry threw his hands up in the air. Phil glared at him before coming back over to me.

  "Why don't we call it a day and try again tomorrow. Wardrobe needs to see you anyway. They need your measurements."

  "Um, okay," I said, my heart hammering in my chest. Say something! Fix this! "Sorry about today. I'm just nervous, I guess." If my dad had been here, this would have been all the incentive he needed to tell me I was as bad a singer as he'd always thought I was and had no hope in this business. Hell, he'd probably tell the directors to fire me and commend them when they did.

  "Don't worry, Clarissa. Nerves always hit the worst on the first day. You'll be fine tomorrow, I promise." I smiled, grateful for his reassurances even if I didn't believe them.

  I was headed for the door when I heard Jerry's loud, blustering voice carry through the open auditorium. "Told you so."

  "Fine," Phil replied. "Two more rehearsals, and if there are any other problems, she's gone."

  16

  Lars

  It was early when I showed up. Not even nine. I'd had to come early before the day unfolded and I lost my nerve. Coach had texted early this morning that today's practice was canceled on account of the weather, so I decided I had better not waste such a rare opportunity. Coach never canceled practice.

  The old red brick
building was still standing, which was more than I could say for the roof. Or the door. Or the non-existent grass. I hoped the rain that was falling wasn't going straight through the roof. I hadn't seen this house since I’d left it at seventeen. I never thought I'd be back. From the outside, it didn't look as though anything had changed. I knocked tentatively on the door. Too tentatively. I couldn't even hear it, how was she supposed to? I lifted my hand to knock again when the door swung open.

  My mom's shocked face stared back at me. "Lars," she said, her voice wavering.

  "Hi, Mom."

  We stared at each other in silence for a moment before I worked up the nerve to start talking. "I heard you were back. Thought I'd come by and say hi."

  Her eyes narrowed. Her hair was as dark as mine, even at forty. Maria Kaine had never been one to take shit from people. I could see that trait still residing in her now. "After six years, you thought you'd come by and say hi?" she asked, her lips thin and tight.

  "I..." But I realized now that I hadn't thought this through very well. "I'll go," I said, and stepped out from under the patched-up awning that had been keeping me semi-dry. The rain instantly matted my hair down and got into my eyes.

  "Wait." I could see her lips moving, as if she were having a dialogue with herself. Maybe she was. "Okay, fine. Come in." She swung the door open, and I stepped inside.

  Nothing had changed. The people who'd lived here between the time my mom had moved and the time she'd come back seemed to have kept every single thing the way it had been when I was a kid. Still the same faded yellow paint that looked like a piss stain. Still the same dusty cupboards and splintering hardwood. The only thing that was different was us.

  "Sit down, if you want," she said, indicating the couch. I took a seat, and we sat staring at each other. I could see her trying to figure out in what ways I looked different from when she'd last seen me.

  "Want some tea?" she asked.

  "Sure." I hesitated as she rose. "Want some help?"