College Daddy: A Single Dad Romance

by Amber Heart

  Aaron nodded, satisfied with Kennedi’s answer. “OK, I’m sold! Any other questions?” he said, darting his eyes around the table. Known to be the resident rabble-rouser, Aaron’s tone suggested that there couldn’t possibly be any other queries on the floor since he had already given his stamp of approval.

  “Actually, I’ve got one,” Chelsea – Frank’s associate editor – replied, challenging Aaron’s tone and nodding in his direction. “Sports, and football in particular, are both so male-dominated,” she began, intensifying the inflection in her voice to mirror the expansiveness of the problem, as she perceived it. “I’m sure you might’ve got some practice handling – I’m just going to say it – the sexism that is so rampant in sports. But I would love to know - how do you plan to handle all of that in the context of this campus and our culture at DSU.”

  Though the premise of Chelsea’s question was – on its face – harsh, Kennedi got exactly where she was coming from – and, more importantly, why the question was actually a critical part of the discussion. While the men around the table looked uncomfortable, as if Chelsea had broken some sort of rule for remaining politically correct, Kennedi totally recognized the merit of her question, had already considered it in the context of DSU’s culture, and was ready to address it.

  “I hear you,” Kennedi began, sitting straight up in her chair and leaning toward Chelsea. “I hear you completely – you know I do – and I know why you’re asking this question! Fortunately, I got the idea to do this story while I was still at SI, and I was surrounded by women reporters that I could tap for insight on how to go about reporting it. I’ll have to say, I got some interesting insights.”

  Before Kennedi even finished her thought and fully answered the question, Chelsea uncrossed her arms, sat forward in her chair, and listened intently. She was totally plugged in and even picked up her pen to write notes.

  Kennedi continued, “The rules are changing: women can enter locker rooms and, generally, can’t be barred from having access to the athletes. Now, while that’s true, overall, I also know that – because I want to cover the story over several months – I have to be rather shrewd about my reporting and not step on any toes until I absolutely have to. My plan, here on campus, is to only get baseline access to the field – for practices and such. So, just based on how I want to cover Dante’, I won’t actually need a lot of that sensitive access. Unless my plan changes, I should be in good shape and I don’t think the kinds of issues you may be thinking about will be a problem for me.”

  As Kennedi finished her statement, she – once again – took stock of the room and felt confident with the nods. Sensing a lull in the conversation, Frank boomed, “Any more discussion?” After a reasonable amount of silence, he went on to say, “I think we’re ready for a vote. All in favor, raise your hand.”

  Kennedi held her breath and slowly exhaled as she saw all of the hands around the table raised in the air. She would have been happy with a majority, but a unanimous vote was, quite clearly, magnitudes better. “Kincaid,” Frank said, “are you even going to vote for your own story?” As she smiled sheepishly, a chorus of giggles erupted.

  “Oh, right…” she said, jutting her left hand high and catalyzing more laughter from the table.

  “Any opposed?” Frank said, just to cover all of the bases, to a nearly motionless room. “Kincaid,” he started, with a nod in her direction, “you’ve got your story!”

  And just like that, Kennedi got her wish. She felt a quiet calm fill her body and, quite rapidly, a tingling in her fingers and toes. All of the hard work, careful preparation, and targeted thought she had invested – just to get her story off the ground – had just paid off. With a crisp victory that was only seconds old, Kennedi sat in silence to let her nerves mellow out. She watched, almost through a surreal lens, as Frank announced the end of the meeting and everyone scattered. Although she knew she had a good chance of being victorious when she practiced in her mirror, earlier that morning, the reality of a victory was finally in her grasp. Little did she know, her work had really only just begun.

  Chapter 4

  After an inspired, quite calculated morning, a nerve-wracking afternoon, and a final OK from the Associate Athletics Director, Kennedi found herself in the bleachers of DSU’s football stadium, waiting for the team to take the field for practice. While the head coach, Jonathan Bailey, had been made aware of her overall vision and plan, Dante’ Douglas – who was central to both – had not been privy to either. Kennedi had strategically and explicitly asked that he not be told about her or the story until she had an opportunity to observe him at practice first. She reasoned that she could get a more authentic view of the NFL hopeful in action if she didn’t initially bring any special attention to herself.

  Kennedi arrived to the practice field early and took a seat, high in the bleachers, near the 35th yard line. As she sat her back pack down and looked around, she was immediately struck by how ideal the scene was. It was a warm, sunny day that was slowly transitioning into a mild, balmy evening and the sun was situated just right in the sky. With no glare to occlude her vision and a nice breeze sweeping over her from time to time, she knew she had the perfect perch. To add to Kennedi’s delight, the smell of fresh cut grass filled the air and the crisp white lines on the field looked as if they had been freshly drawn. From where she sat, it wasn’t hard for Kennedi to find something that was pleasing to her senses.

  With absolutely no fan-fare, Kennedi watched intently as the football players, their coaches, and their energetic support staff erupted from an attached locker room, and spread onto the practice field in droves. After positioning her notebook snugly in her left-hand and tucking a Douglas Weekly ink pen into her right, Kennedi was primed and ready to absorb and record as much as she could. Situated far away from where she thought the majority of the action would take place, Kennedi was excited to gather context clues and soak up all she could by osmosis as opposed to direct interaction.

  Kennedi actively searched the increasingly crowded field for a glimpse of Dante’, but couldn’t quite place him. Then, with helmet in hand and in full-on conversation with the Coach Bailey, she watched as he emerged onto the field. Kennedi wasn’t sure what she expected, but she was struck by how normal Dante’ looked. She observed him while he was in deep discussion and desperately wanted to know what he and the coach were talking about. As their conversation continued, Kennedi’s mind raced with possibilities and her intrigue soared.

  All of a sudden, Kennedi’s heart sank. She watched, almost in horror, as Coach Bailey pointed in her direction and Dante’s gaze followed. She had explicitly asked to remain incognito until she signaled that the time was right to reveal her identity to him. Kennedi felt a slight betrayal from being exposed, way in advance of when she wanted to be, but realized that there was no analog for the backspace on a keyboard for this one – that the cat was out of the bag and she had no choice but to adjust to the unwelcomed introduction.

  As soon as she had been pointed out, she watched carefully for Dante’s response. Seeing him turn his head back to his coach, and have, what looked to be, a few terse words before walking onto the field was not a good sign. If she had read the situation correctly, Dante’ was not at all pleased about her presence and the battle that she went through just to get the story OK’d by Frank and the Douglas Weekly panel began to look like child’s play at best and, at the very worst, a waste of everybody’s time. No matter how many people thought that her idea was good, if Dante’ wasn’t on board, Kennedi knew she could forget it.

  Determined to keep pressing forward and not be deterred, Kennedi positioned her notebook at an angle in her lap and jotted down a few notes. She urgently wanted to document what she was feeling in the moment and ensure that her first impressions and observations about Dante’ were accurately logged and precisely captured. After focusing her attention on her notebook for a second or two, and earnestly concentrating her energy there, Kennedi raised her head again to resum
e her fact-gathering mission. By the time she reengaged with the action on the field, the players were beginning to huddle. Kennedi had been a journalist since her high school days and a die-hard sports fan for most of her life. But this was the first time she would be chronicling such a high-profile figure on the brink of achieving – what many had labeled – the impossible. Brushing Dante’s reaction off, she continued to take notes until she felt a familiar buzz on her left thigh. Kennedi looked down to see her phone, which had been silenced, all aglow and in full-vibration alerting her of a newly arrived text. It read: “This is Coach Bailey. Meet me in my office in 5 minutes.”

  For the second time in only a few minutes, Kennedi’s heart felt as if it were in free-fall. After what she’d seen play out, she knew this meeting request wasn’t a good thing. Not sure if her story, and the epic series she had hoped to share with the world, was squashed before it even began, she quickly gathered her things and rushed to meet Coach Bailey.

  As Kennedi descended the stairs from the bleachers, the rickety creaking of metal underneath her feet became the soundtrack for a process she had become all-too-familiar with - building a case for the merits of her idea. This time around, her audience would be Coach Bailey and, by proxy, Dante’. As she tried to muster, yet again, a compelling argument for the work she so badly wanted to do and so desperately believed in, she couldn’t help but feel like this series – this experience – was going to be a defining moment in her career and her life. She wasn’t sure if she would emerge with a lesson in standing firm, an exercise in adaptive persuasion, or just a major blow to her ego but she had prepared to learn from whatever came her way.

  Frantically eager to get to the bottom of the coach’s text, Kennedi was on the move. As her mind raced diligently in the mental realm and her body raced forward in the physical space, she had to remind herself to breathe. When she arrived at Coach Bailey’s office, she was reminded how the scene so strikingly mirrored her interaction with Frank earlier in the day. Much like then, after sauntering through a much larger, outer office space, Kennedi stood at a door that was slightly ajar, and braced herself before she knocked. She secretly hoped that the victory she experienced with Frank, in alignment with the other similarities she’d noted, would also be mirrored in this situation as well.

  “Come on in,” she heard a deep, baritone voice boom from inside. Kennedi drew her notebook into her chest and pushed the door open. “Ms. Kincaid?” Coach Bailey said, as the door crept forward, revealed her form in the doorway, and announced her arrival with a loud creak.

  “Yes,” Kennedi replied, making her way into his office. While the similarities of her earlier experience with Frank initially stood out the most, as she got a better view of Coach Bailey’s office, it was the differences that took center stage. Most prominently, Coach Bailey’s up-to-date, almost swanky office presented a sharp, distinctive contrast. Consider, for instance, that the hot seat situated across from Coach Bailey was an ergonomically-correct plush leather chair that looked to be the younger, sleeker great-great-grandson of Frank’s old, ratty furniture.

  Coach Bailey watched as Kennedi entered his office and cautiously took her seat. Once she was securely planted, he leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the large, mahogany desk that separated him from his visitor. “I’m not sure if you saw Dante’s reaction as we stepped on the field,” the coach began, getting right to the heart of the matter, “but he wasn’t comfortable practicing once I told him about your project. He said as much as soon as I pointed you out in the stands and he realized what you were there for.”

  Kennedi was taken aback. “With all due respect, Coach Bailey,” she began, “that’s in part why I didn’t want him to know who I was or why I was there.”

  “And with all due respect to you, Ms. Kincaid,” the coach countered, adjusting his tone, “this story you’re doing is not my main priority. Having my players’ full confidence is. I could not have him blind-sided and thinking that I was in on it all along. I need to make sure that he and the rest of my guys know that I always have their best interests at heart.”

  “I totally understand that,” Kennedi replied, putting everything into perspective, and realizing that she needed to pick her battles carefully. “I get your position,” she continued, “but I’m a little confused. What are the next steps here?” Kennedi wanted to ask more – to know if her series featuring Dante’ was officially off of the table – but she was afraid that more digging would only lead to her planting a rouge seed. Basically walking on eggshells, Kennedi stopped short of asking if the story had been quashed and let her last question dangle in the air.

  “Well, I’m not sure how you interpreted his response, but he’s not opposed to chatting with you. In fact, he’s quite open,” the coach said before leaning back in his seat and waiting for Kennedi’s reaction.

  Thankful that she still had a green light, Kennedi closed her eyes for just a second, and slowly exhaled. “That’s good to know,” she said, shifting in her seat and focusing her gaze back on the coach. As her initial relief and excitement began to taper, she noticed that Coach Bailey was just sitting there, looking off into the distance, seeming as if he had something important he wanted to say. Kennedi sat still and basically held her breath in anticipation.

  “Here’s what I need you to know, Ms. Kincaid,” the coach began, breaking a tense silence, “around the time I discovered that Dante’s talent was just - undeniable, I also noticed that he was not the overly talkative guy that the public typically wants in its athletes.” Attempting to choose his words carefully, Coach Bailey sat silently once again. Kennedi could see the wheels turning over his head and respected his thoughtful approach. “That said,” the coach continued, apparently prepared to complete his thought, “I let him know – in so many words – that publicity and interacting with reporters, is going to be a necessary evil for him. I made it clear that just like he has to practice for games, he’ll also need as much media training as he can get.”

  Kennedi sat listening attentively.

  “All that to say,” Coach Bailey blurted out, “he’s agreed to the interview, just not here – not at practice. He wants to meet you tonight, around 7:00 PM, at Braxton Residential Hall. There’s a special off-the-radar room in the basement. When you get to Braxton, let them know who you are at the front desk, and they’ll give you directions on how to find the room – and a key to access it.”

  Kennedi had to keep herself from gasping; to say that she was shocked would be mild. After 4 years at DSU, two of which she lived on campus, Kennedi had no idea about this secret room – or even that Braxton Hall had a basement.

  Still processing everything that she had just learned, Kennedi took a moment to gather her thoughts. Taking stock of her current situation, and realizing that she was moving in the right direction, Kennedi tucked away – hopefully for the last time – the pitch she’d developed and modified several times over just to get others on board with her series.

  Thinking that the worst was behind her, Kennedi replied, “Braxton Hall at 7:00 PM? That works for me!”

  “Good!” Coach Bailey replied. “He’s a good kid, Ms. Kincaid,” the coach continued, rising from his desk, reaching for a baseball cap, and placing it securely on his head, “make sure that comes through in your piece.”

  Kennedi smiled, “I will and, actually, I’d like to come back and have a more in-depth talk with you. Your insight on this player, at this pivotal time in DSU’s history, is just what my series needs.”

  “You’ve got my full support. I’d love to offer that kind of perspective,” Coach Bailey said, walking to the door and ushering Kennedi out. “You’ll have to excuse me for now, though; I’ve got to get back to the field.”

  Taking her cue, Kennedi arose from her seat and began her retreat. “Thanks, Coach. Thanks for everything.”

  “Any way I can help my guys grow, leverage their talent, and maximize their potential – I’m more than happy to be a part of.”<
br />
  Chapter 5

  It was 6:45 PM, on the first day of fall semester at DSU, and Kennedi Kincaid was sitting in a secret room, of a secret basement, in Braxton Hall, full of nervous energy. The more Kennedi thought about the interview she was about to have with Dante’ Douglas, the more she realized that the stars might have actually aligned in her favor. True, she had a different idea in mind for how her first interaction with him might go, but she learned a long time ago to roll with the punches as they landed and she was becoming quite adept in the process.

  Knowing that she had about 15 minutes to orient herself and get prepared for a lively discussion, Kennedi spread her notebook, tape recorder, and a set of pens out across the table. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she played out, in her mind, how the meeting would go.

  Still in full-on prep mode and thinking that she had time to spare, Kennedi was nearly dumbfounded when the door opened and Dante’ burst through it.

  “Look at this!” he said squarely addressing a seated, speechless Kennedi, “I was trying to get here ahead of schedule but it looks like you beat me to it.”