“I’m here to see Troy Jenner. Can you tell me what classroom he’s in?”
The receptionist looks me over skeptically. “Are you on his emergency contact list?”
“I’m sorry?”
“That kind of information is only for those listed on his emergency contacts. Even so, I’d have to call him to the office.”
“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. Mr. Jenner is on staff here, correct?”
The woman snorts before taking a bite of her apple, speaking around a mouthful. “Troy Jenner, teaching here? Now that would be something.”
I physically jerk back, and she sees it.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Please God, no!
Swallowing, I unintentionally palm my stomach, and her eyes follow. Suspicions raised, she leans in for closer inspection.
“And who are you again?”
I haven’t said who I am in relation to Troy, and we both know it.
Think, Clarissa.
“I’m h-his stepsister.”
She doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t either. Because it’s a lie. A lie that could cost me everything.
“Ah,” she says skeptically. “Well, I’m really not supposed to, but,” she glances at my baby bump, “if this is an emergency?”
“I’m afraid it is,” I reply gravely. Her eyes fill with pity as my mind races back to that night at the bar.
“I just started teaching high school at Round Tree, first year.”
He grins before taking a sip of his beer. “What a coincidence, I’m in my fourth at Burns.”
From then on, it was all smiles, suggestive looks, followed by moans, grunts, and thrusts, inducing the best orgasm I’ve had in years. All of that bliss gave way to a hellacious morning after, though I had no regrets, until this very moment.
Because the man I’ve been fantasizing about is no man. Troy is a student. A high school student.
All of my hopes, along with any idiotic and romantic notions, disintegrate as I grip the counter to keep my knees from buckling.
I’d taken a half-day to deliver the news knowing this was my only way to get it to him. We didn’t exchange numbers, our clothes the only thing we’d swapped when re-dressing in his back seat. Ironically, this is a detail I could never forget. Throwing caution to the wind for just one night to get some much-needed vitamin D had led to an alcohol-induced pregnancy in the back seat of a vehicle.
And this is the cherry on top? I’d procreated with a fucking high school student?!
Reeling, I swallow back the bile climbing my throat as the receptionist summons Troy to the office.
I could walk out of this school right now, and he would be none the wiser. But the sin he’s committed, his blatant lie, has forever altered three lives, one of which he helped create. That can’t go unaddressed.
It’s too late to turn around. No part of this can be undone, and I’ll forever hate him for putting me and his unborn child in this position.
Anger, like I’ve never felt, fills me as I stand in wait for the man who has betrayed me in a way I can never forgive. Surely, he’s seen enough headlines for these types of scandals to know what consequences I would face if our tryst were ever discovered. And now, I’m walking evidence of said union.
He’d deliberately deceived me, so purposefully, that my imminent need to feel his flesh against my palm and sub his balls for a sparring partner is all-consuming. I could blame it on the hormones, but the truth is, I’m livid, disgusted, mortified, and a thousand other emotions I have no choice but to conceal, so I don’t implode in front of the school secretary. My hopes for some semblance of a relationship with the father of my child has just gone from maybe to never. He looked like a man, fucked like a man, but was, in fact, a teenager.
I will face him today with the intent of never laying eyes on him again. If he has even the smallest amount of conscience, this news will turn his world upside down and instill in him some of the terror racing through me.
Reading my hostile posture, the receptionist, whose nameplate reads Mrs. Garrison, speaks up from where she sits in front of a group of incoming students. “Mr. Brown’s office is empty today, if you’d like some privacy.”
“Thank you.”
She nods, again eyeing me with sympathy as I try to mask my fury. I’m too pissed off to feel any sort of comfort.
Once inside the small office, I sit behind the desk, nerves firing off at random. I only have a few minutes to grapple with what I’m going to say. But what is there to say? My reason for being here has completely changed. Realization hits me fully that I already have my answer without even discussing it with Troy. I’m going to do this alone—as a single mother.
I lift my phone to text Parker so she can give me the go-ahead to slice and dice some accordion-textured flesh to make new earrings, but it’s then I hear his voice call out to the lady at the desk. The timbre only slightly familiar, but it’s the distinct voice of a man. Even so, there should have been other hints. How, how could I have not known?
Vodka. Too much vodka.
“Stepsister?” He asks, clearly confused as he opens the door, his curious eyes meeting mine before widening in recognition. He pauses halfway inside the small office before lowering his gaze to the floor. “Thanks, Mrs. G.” He shuts the door putting his weight against it, head hung, his hands on the knob behind him. I hide the bulk of my belly beneath the desk as I glare at him. Letting out a steady breath, his eyes again lift to mine.
“How old are you?”
He ambles toward me, looking very much the same as he did months ago, though my perception of him has definitely changed.
He’s beauty and deception.
Tall, incredibly built, biceps bulging beneath his T-shirt with corded muscles gathered at his shoulders. Rusty blond hair, glacier blue eyes, slightly-wide prominent nose, square granite jaw, full lips—the features of a man and he’s anything but.
“What I did—”
“You didn’t regret nor feel an ounce of guilt for, until this moment. How old are you?”
He swallows. “Clarissa—”
“Oh, good, you remember my name. Because you were completely clear with yours, Troy Jenner. And, apparently, that’s the only truth you spoke that night.”
He hangs his head. “That night, I was so—”
“Buzzed? Me too. Yet, I still knew my numbers. Especially my age, and I could recite my alphabet and put the letters together to form the truth. How. Old. Are. You?”
He blows out a defeated breath. “Nineteen, in November. I failed sixth grade.”
Pressing my lips together, it’s all I can do to keep from screaming. I’ve never been so angry in my life. I give myself a few seconds to get it together but can still hear the shake in my voice when I’m able to speak.
“I should be relieved.” Furious tears gather in my eyes. “But I’m not. And do you know why?”
He slowly nods, his eyes roaming over my face, neck, and chest, which has me recoiling.
The kicker of it is, that night, I felt an attraction to him I rarely have for other men. A connection, even though our common bond for those few hours was mostly physical need, or in my case, to ease the ache of loneliness after a breakup. I’d felt alive with him in a way I hadn’t in years. I wasn’t about to use the pregnancy as an excuse, but I hoped maybe he’d seek me out. When that didn’t happen, I resigned to use that night in my future fantasies. Problem is that now I have been imagining him for months. Our easy conversation, the way we clicked, the way he kissed me, covered me, consumed me, made an impression that lasted. And now, as water gathers in my mouth, I fight the urge to be sick at the idea of just how often I replayed that night in my head.
It’s all too obvious it was a foolish pipe dream as I sit in the middle of my worst nightmare. Troy runs a hand through his hair as his Adam’s apple bobs, those blue orbs scouring me in inappropriate appreciation.
My stomach rolls as my anger boils over.
“I went to c
ollege for five years, Troy. Five. To make a difference. To mentor young minds. To help promote growth, so that one day those young people can become what they dream they can be and you—”
“Clarissa, I’m sorry—,” he says, his hands up. “I’ve thought about you, but I knew—”
“I’m not a bad person,” I bat my tears away, looking up at him with incredulous eyes. “But you know damn well what we did will make me look like a predator.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong, not legally.”
“You’re a teenager, a fucking student.” I stand abruptly while his gaze follows the path of the hand used to accentuate my baby bump. “What did you do?”
His expression goes from remorse to disbelief as I round the desk and confront him face to face.
“Tell me, did you laugh to yourself the whole way home? Did you check some fucking sick fantasy off your list? Carve a T for teach in your bedpost?”
His eyes are still fixed on my stomach. “You’re—”
I reach back and slap him as hard as I can. Palm burning, I barely recognize the indignation in my own voice. “Don’t ever, ever, contact me. Don’t come looking for me, for us, ever. You will have nothing to do with this baby. This,” I emphasize, rubbing my belly, “is solely mine to love and a secret for you. A secret you will take to your grave and live with for the rest of your life.”
He palms his jaw, his face reddening from my slap. “I deserved that, but please—”
“Don’t even think about pleading your case. You don’t have one.”
He reaches out a hand to stop me when I attempt to step around him.
“This is not up for discussion. You’re a fucking child. Don’t touch me,” I jerk away from his grip. Tilting up to meet his watery gaze, I glare at him. “I mean it with every fiber of my being. I never want to see you again.” Opening the door, so he knows the discussion is over, I meet the stare of one Mrs. Garrison. She’ll be one of four that will ever know who the father of my baby is. I say a silent prayer, tears I’m unable to stop streaming from my eyes as she looks on at me with a slow nod. If she knew who I was, if she, for one second, knew the real reason for my outrage, I have zero doubts my life would be over. But she doesn’t, her eyes telling me that woman to woman, my secret is safe.
“Clarissa,” Troy calls to me weakly, standing where I left him in the office behind me. I glance back to see a thousand emotions swimming in his eyes, but my anger outweighs anything he may feel. “Please let me talk to you.”
“Stay away from us,” I hiss before walking out.
Troy
I saw my son for the first time on social media because Clarissa changed her profile pic. Her account was set to private, and I dare not think she would ever accept me as a friend. But I thanked God for mother’s pride when she updated her picture with his birth announcement.
Dante Oliver Arden was born October fifth, eight pounds two ounces, twenty-two inches long. If I had any doubts about her claim that I fathered him, which I didn’t, they would’ve been dismissed the minute I saw him. He had my hair color, my nose and chin, and her last name. But he was mine, and after laying eyes on him, I was his. After a stellar game where I scored three touchdowns, which earned me a visit from a scout, I found out I was a father. Once I’d returned from the out of town game, I’d visited every hospital within a ten-mile radius of the school she worked at and found she’d checked out the day before. At eighteen, I’d become a dad, which was both elating and devastating—because my son entered the world fatherless.
At the time, I was unprepared for all the responsibilities that title entailed. I had nothing to offer, but something inside me was dying to try and fill those shoes, at least in the sense of being present. In my eyes, any father who tried was better than none at all, which was the hand I got dealt. My dad is as deadbeat as they come. Something happened inside me with every promise he broke. I didn’t want to be that father to my own son, but I knew, without a doubt, Clarissa had meant what she’d said to me in that office. And because of the position I put her in, I had no choice but to sit back and watch.
Well, I always had a choice, but none that didn’t include jeopardizing her career or didn’t put her in a situation of defending herself and causing her more harm. Not only that, I had shit in the way of supporting them both. I figured Clarissa didn’t make much on a teacher’s salary, especially in the first few years, and I knew if I worked my ass off, I’d get a scholarship for ball putting me in a better position to help her financially. That I managed to do but was red-shirted my whole first year of college due to player ineligibility. They had no space for me to start, leaving me on the sidelines. The upside was I got to keep my full ride and without school and ball, I could concentrate on supporting them both. I’d managed to find a gig working for a shit load of cash. I’d saved a few thousand, bought a new truck, and was finally ready to approach her, to approach them both, when my Mom lost her job, putting me back at square one.
A few times over the years, and selfishly I’d give up for a while, justifying it with the thought they might be better off. And then I would study my son’s picture, watch his videos, and all notions would leave me.
So, I watched.
For years, I watched.
I’d follow her home from her school and watch Dante play in the little park across the street from her apartment. I stalked her on social media, which paid off because I got to see him take his first steps on Instagram. When he began talking on one of her videos, I was filled with a father’s pride but had no one to share it with. Not even my own mother, who I know without a doubt, will never forgive me once I finally reveal the truth.
Clarissa shared so many milestones on social media that I’d foolishly convinced myself she was throwing me a bone. So one night when he was three, after a little liquid courage, I finally made a move by leaving a new car seat on her porch along with some cash hidden between the pages of my favorite children’s book, A Light in the Attic. After that night, I’d catch her scanning the parking lot every so often when she carried him from the house, but when she spotted me, I was never acknowledged. Not once.
I felt like I was on trial every agonizing minute I watched but endured the punishment because I deserved it. In hindsight, it was the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, boldly deceiving Clarissa the way I did that night.
But now I long to hold my son, more than I fear her wrath. I long to tell him the good things I know about life. To give him his first football.
I know, without a doubt, now’s the time to take action, or I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
I’m done watching.
Today’s the day I meet my son.
I’m between places due to my old roommate moving in with his girl. And with Mom shacking up with her long-time boyfriend, I no longer have a room at the house I grew up in. So, the minute I spotted the ad for a vacant room in the house next to hers, I saw it as a sort of sign.
Dialing the number, I say a silent prayer.
“This is Theo.”
In the locker room, I stuff my gear into my duffle. “I’m calling about the room for rent on Ohara drive. Is it still available?”
“Yes. I’ve gotten a few calls, but it’s still up for grabs. Are you a Grand student?”
“Yeah,” I mutter low as Kevin shoulders his bag and draws his brows in confusion at my conversation. “I play on the team.”
“Ah, well, I’m the half-time show.”
“In the band?”
“Yep.”
“Nice.”
“Thanks. So, the room is five hundred a month, including utilities. I’ve already rented the other out, so you’ll get the smaller of the two.”
“I don’t have much anyway. When can I see it?”
“When are you free?”
Glancing at my watch, I see Clarissa won’t pick up Dante for at least another hour.
“How about now?”
“Now’s good for me.”
“Give
me fifteen.”
“See you then. What’s your name, man?”
“I guess that would be a good place to start, Troy Jenner.”
“Ah, Jenner.” His pause has me tensing. “Well, I mean no offense, but this may not be the house you’re looking for.”
I keep the indignation out of my reply. “I’m looking for peace, quiet. No bullshit.”
Kevin chooses that exact moment to try and get my attention by dropping trou and presenting me with his nut-sack. Eye level with his balls, I rise from the bench and deliver him a bitch slap that would make a pimp jealous. He has the audacity to act offended, screeching when I grip him in a headlock.
“Get your dick beaters off of me, Jenner!”
Theo sounds up on the other end of the line, hearing the commotion. “Are you sure about that?”
“Positive,” I grunt out, pushing Kevin away from me after gifting him a quick knee to the jugular. I have about thirty seconds until he regains motor function, maybe less. Kevin gasps on the floor, ass out, holding his neck as I step over him and cover the mouthpiece of the phone.
“Lance Prescott is the other who just rented out a room. Do you two get along?”
“Sure.” I glance at Lance a few lockers down where he’s packing his duffle, his usual ‘fuck off’ air surrounding him. He’s known as the team mute and keeps mostly to himself, but he’s a beast on the field, which has earned him mad respect from me. He’s the only other Texas Grand Ranger with enough talent and attention to get drafted, which in a way, makes him my main competition for the draft, but I don’t hold it against him. He defended his way into his spot, just as much as I ran my way into mine, and it’s my hope we both get a contract come draft day.
“I mean, we’re not exactly tight. He’s not much for words.”
“There’s your peace and quiet. See you in fifteen.”
“See you then. Thanks, man.”
I end the call and nudge Kevin on the floor. “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? That call was important. Get a ride home. I have shit to do.”
He grunts as he lifts himself from the floor. “Why are you still looking for a place? I told you, Harris has room for you in his apartment and won’t charge you shit.”
The Underdogs: The Complete Series Page 28
