Butch nudges Brock’s hand, licks mine. He’s trying to make peace between us. What does it say about us that a dog is more mature than we are?
“Yelling at each other won’t solve anything, Brock. You better go. I have to talk to Kaylee.” And somehow make her understand.
A gamut of emotions roll across his face—anger, frustration, helplessness. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, there’s a measure of calm there. “Maybe we should both talk to her.”
“No!” He can’t step into the role of her father. I won’t allow it.
A cold anger seems to settles within him as he points a finger to me. “You’re not shutting me out of her life. That’s my child in there.”
I hitch up my chin. “Watch me.”
He taps his chest with a closed fist. “I have rights. Rights I will exercise, legally if you force me.”
“Get out. Get out now.” I push at him, but he doesn’t budge. Only when Butch whines again does he move toward the door.
With his large hand on the door frame, he fires one last salvo at me. “I want to talk to my daughter, Ellie. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to explain things to her. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll contact my lawyer, and we’ll settle this in court.” And then he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
In an effort to calm down, I take a deep breath before heading to Kaylee’s room. Butch, ever the peacekeeper, tags along. As soon as we get there, he jumps on her bed and licks her face.
She’s not having any and pushes him away. “Get away from me, you stupid dog.”
But I can see her heart’s not in it, and when he does it again, she lets him.
Butch glances at me, a clear message in his big, brown eyes. ‘Do something.’
“He’s my father, isn’t he?” When I don’t answer quick enough, she screams. “Isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me?”
“I thought it was the best thing to do.”
“He didn’t know?”
“No. I never told him. He was seventeen, Kaylee, a senior in high school. He had his whole life ahead of him. I didn’t want to ruin his future.”
Her breath hitches, and a sob escapes her. “You mean like I ruined yours?”
“No, sweetheart. You didn’t. I wanted you from the first.”
“How could you want me? You were seventeen with your whole life ahead.”
“But I had one thing he didn’t have. A great mom. Grandma made sure we were okay. We moved to another town where nobody knew who I or your father were. Her support and Steve’s allowed me to finish high school, attend college.”
She swipes at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “But why didn’t you tell me once I was old enough?”
I clasp my hands to keep them from trembling. “By then the lie had grown so big, I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“If he hadn’t come to Chicago, I would have never known, would I?”
Her tear-streaked face breaks my heart. “No. I would have never told you.”
She takes a shuddering breath. “I need to be alone right now.”
What did I expect? That she would throw her arms around me, hug me and tell me she understood? No. I didn’t. Still, her rejection hurts. “Come on, Butch.”
“Let him stay.”
“All right.” I walk out, closing her door softly behind me.
As soon as I step into the hallway, my held tears rain down my face. I deserve every accusation, every reproach from her. Plain and simple, I screwed up. Once she was old enough to understand, I should have told her. But I didn’t. I was too afraid her love would turn to hate. Which is exactly what’s happening now. And, unfortunately, she’s not the only one.
Chapter 15
Brock
“THE GM WANTS TO SEE YOU,” the assistant coach says after Wednesday’s practice ends. I don’t have to guess what he wants to talk about. It’s all over the internet. The kinder posts refer to me as an absentee father. The harsher ones brand me a deadbeat dad who abandoned his kid to party his way through the NFL, all while his child lived in abject poverty. A bit extreme, but they have a point.
I did party my way through the NFL. My child may not have grown up poor, but she and Ellie lived through hard times. More than likely, Ellie had to borrow money for law school. At least that’s one thing I can take off her plate. I can pay off her student debt. If she’ll let me. Right now, that doesn’t seem likely. She won’t even return my calls.
I’ve phoned her at least ten times in the last two days. Not once did she pick up. I left message after message. Demanding at first, then threatening her with a lawsuit. The last few times, I downright begged. But just like before, she ignored them all. Damn it. I want to see my daughter. That’s not too much to ask, is it? I want to talk to her. Get to know what she’s like. It won’t be easy, I know. But I need to make some kind of a connection with her. I don’t want to miss any more years of her life than I already have.
I trudge my way to the GM’s office and knock on the glass panel. When he yells enter, I stick my head in the door. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, come in. Close the door, Brock.” Not only is he present, but so is Coach and Oliver Lyons, the Outlaws’ owner. I’m truly in deep shit.
The GM slides a copy of some sports gossip rag across his desk. The headline reads ‘Brock Parker, Deadbeat Dad.’ “Is it true?”
Not wanting to miss a word, I carefully read the article. The last thing I want to do is lie. The situation is bad enough as it is.
“Kaylee Adams is my child,” I admit.
One of them hisses a breath. Don’t know who since I’m reading the article again. I got the gist first time around, but I want to know how far the slanderous rag has gone.
Once I’ve caught all the salacious innuendos, I glance up. “I didn’t know. Eleanor never told me.”
“How could that be?” The GM’s lip curls in disdain. “This thing happened while you were both in high school, didn’t it?”
“This thing?” I spit out. “You mean Eleanor’s pregnancy?”
“Yes. Sorry.” He waves his hand in the air in an apparent apologetic gesture. “Didn’t mean it as an insult.”
The coach stares at me stone-faced. Oliver Lyon’s expression is easier to understand. Disgust covers it nicely. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to understand my position on the team is on the line.
Damn it. I’m not at fault here. I’m not the bad guy. But I’ve got to get my temper under control if I’m to come out unscathed. I breathe deep in an attempt to calm down. “She left midway through her senior year. She wasn’t showing yet.” A logical explanation which just happens to be true.
“Well, that’s something.” The GM leans back into his chair, as the tension eases out of him. “We can spin this. Blame it on the mother.”
I pound his desk. “The hell we are.” There goes my calm.
“Care to rephrase that, Brock,” Coach Grohowski says, in a quiet tone. That’s not good. Everyone knows it’s better when he yells at you.
I count to ten to regain command over my temper. Once I’m reasonably sure I won’t bite off somebody’s head, I say, “You’re not blaming Ellie. And neither am I.”
“Brock, you’re in serious trouble here,” Coach says, not unkindly. “The notoriety can hurt the team, end your career. We need to do something.”
“We?” I scoff. “You don’t need to do anything. This is mine to fix. I’ll handle it. I’ll make it right.”
“You want to come out of this smelling like a rose,” he says. “Otherwise . . .”
He doesn’t have to say it. The look on the owner’s face says it all. If I don’t fix this, I’ll no longer have a place on the team.
Chapter 16
Eleanor
“ELEANOR, COULD YOU STEP INTO MY OFFICE?” Marty, my boss. Three guesses what he wants to talk about, and the first two don’t c
ount.
It’d taken no time for Meghan to spread the news that Kaylee was Brock Parker’s daughter. Heck, she’d probably texted the information to her friends on the way back to her house. Once the cat was out of the bag, it had spread like wildfire on social media, and the gossip rags had wasted no time setting their news hounds loose on the story. Within a day, they’d found out how Brock and I knew each other, and that he’d never paid child support. The reports had been vicious, some of them branding him a ‘Deadbeat Dad.’
Not content with hurling insults at Brock, my house phone has been ringing nonstop; so has my cell. They’d even managed to track down Kaylee’s number and my mother’s. She’d called in a panic on Monday. “Honey, I’m getting calls about Brock and Kaylee.”
“Don’t say anything!”
“I haven’t, sweetheart. I know better than that. I just thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
And that’s exactly what I’d done the last two days. But now it seems that option has been taken away from me.
Marty and I had tried to prevent a scandal, but it found Brock anyway. No wonder Marty wants to talk to me.
The gazes of most everyone in the agency follow my every step as I walk on shaky legs to Marty’s office. When I reach it, I’m not surprised to find two of the firm’s senior partners there as well.
“Close the door, Ms. Adams.”
God. If Marty’s calling me by my last name, it’s a lot worse than I thought. Am I going to lose my job?
“Please take a seat.” Marty is sitting on one of the easy chairs next to the couch where the two partners are perched like vultures eager to pounce.
As carefully as I can, I fold into the matching seat.
“Thank you for coming. The reason we asked you here is that we need to broach a sensitive subject with you.”
In other words, the ‘sensitive’ subject will be discussed with care, something I truly appreciate. “All right.”
“Are you aware of the rumors swirling in the media about Brock Parker and you?” he asks.
I lace my hands to keep from breaking down. “Yes.”
“Is it true?”
“There’s so much information flying around. Anything in particular you’d like to know?”
“Is he the father of your child?”
Ahhh. The crux of the matter. There’s only one answer I can give. “Yes. He is.”
One of the senior partners jumps in. “You didn’t see fit to let Martin know you had a relationship with Brock Parker when we hired you?”
“There was no relationship. I hadn’t seen him in over ten years.”
“Come, come, Ms. Adams. Whether you hadn’t seen him in ten years is immaterial. You had a child with him,” he thunders on. There goes the polite approach. But then he’s got a reason to worry. The brewing scandal may impact the agency in negative ways.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters, Eleanor,” Marty says, not unkindly. “Some media outlets claim Brock never provided child support. Is it true?”
“Yes.”
Marty hisses in a breath.
I hurry to explain. “It’s not what you think. He never knew he had a child.”
His eyes practically bug out. “You never told him?”
“No.”
“From the media accounts, you were in high school when this happened. How could he not know?”
“My mom and I moved out of town before my pregnancy showed.”
Silence reigns while he processes the information.
“Well, if he didn’t know it then, he certainly knows it now,” Marty says.
“Yes, he does.”
“Is he willing to pay child support? We can work with that.”
I knew that question would come up, but I don’t have an answer. At least not one that will satisfy them. So all I can reveal is the truth. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
His brows scrunch together. “Why not?”
I swallow hard. “I haven’t taken his calls.” Along with the media, Brock had rung me up a bunch of times.
For several seconds, they stare at each other, probably thinking what an idiot I am. The tension in the room’s so thick, you can cut it with a knife.
But before it gets to the breaking point, Marty says, “Can we have the room, please? I’d like to speak privately with Ms. Adams.”
The two senior partners come to their feet, but before they exit, one of them fires one last salvo. “Fix this, Ms. Adams. Otherwise, you’ll no longer work here.”
My stomach lurches. I can’t lose this job. I have a mortgage and school loans to pay. More than that, if they let me go, no sports agency in the world would hire me. I’d be forever known as the woman who destroyed Brock Parker’s career.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Marty says, “Don’t mind him. He’s still living in the Stone Age.”
“I’m so sorry, Marty.” I keep my head down while tears rain down my face. “I never intended for this to happen.”
“I know you didn’t.” He offers me a box of Kleenex and waits until I compose myself.
“You have to talk to Brock. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” The keeping-my-head-in-the-sand-hoping-the-problem-goes-away approach hasn’t worked. Not that it ever had a chance. It was just wishful thinking on my part.
“Brock has a quite notorious past. I don’t have to tell you how much damage this scandal would do to his career.”
“I know.”
“I’m sure he’ll want to provide child support.”
I nod, wiping a tear from my cheek. “More than likely.”
“Good. Good. Now, once you get things worked out, you’ll need to make a joint statement. I’ll help you draft it, if you wish. It’s going to hurt, but you’ll need to come clean about hiding your daughter’s existence from him. You’re thrilled you reconnected, blah, blah, blah. And he’ll be paying child support for all those years he missed. You get my drift, Eleanor?”
He’s calling me Eleanor again. That’s a good sign, right? “Yes, Marty.”
“Okay, now.” He pats his hands on his thighs, a gesture he often makes when things have been settled to his satisfaction. “I’ll let you return to your office so you can call Brock.”
I come to my feet and take a step toward the door.
“Oh, one more thing. The sooner you make that joint statement, the better. We don’t want to give this story any more oxygen than it already has.”
With my back to him, I nod. “Of course.”
But as it turns out, I don’t get a chance to call Brock. He’s already in my office waiting for me. As soon as I step in, he comes to his feet. His face reflects a myriad of emotions—anger, concern. But mostly, resolve. “We have to talk,” he says.
“I know.”
Before I can say anything else, my assistant knocks on the glass door. I hadn’t checked in with her on the way back, mainly because I was in a daze. But something tells me I really should have.
“Come in.”
She dashes in, an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry to interrupt.” She hands me a note. “Your mom called while you were with Marty. She says to call her back right away. It’s urgent.”
My stomach lurches. “Thanks.” I grab my cell from my desk and dial mom’s number. She picks up before the second ring.
“What’s wrong? It’s not Kaylee, is it?” She’d endured the gossip storm at her school for the last two days, but today she’d begged off with the excuse of a stomach ache. I hadn’t the heart to deny her.
“No. She’s fine. It’s a mess of photographers, about twenty of them, in front of the house. Snapping pictures, trampling over the bushes. Butch’s going crazy. He’s tearing at the front door trying to get to them. You better come home, honey.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Whatever you do, don’t let Butch out
.” He might be mild tempered, but he’s still a Pit Bull. He’s so protective of us, he might do some serious damage to those photographers.
“What’s wrong?” Brock asks, looking just as worried as I feel.
I summarize Mama’s end of the conversation. “How did they find out where I live?”
“It’s not that hard, Ellie. Not when you live, eat, and breathe tabloid journalism.”
Angry about the invasion of privacy, I lash out at him. “Is that what you call it?”
“No. I call it trash. But it’s lucrative trash. They make a lot of money from these stories.”
“Well, it sucks.” My life’s going off the rails, and I don’t know how to get it back on track.
“Yeah, it does.” He touches my shoulder. “Ellie, let me come with you.”
Not happening. “I don’t think so.” I shrug him off. “It would make things worse.”
“How can it be any worse?”
He does have a point. But I’m not convinced he’ll improve the situation.
“You don’t want them there, right?”
I nod.
“Well, from personal experience I can tell you they won’t leave until they get something. I can give that to them.”
I rub a hand across my brow against the incipient headache blossoming there. “Like what?”
“A statement from me while I’m standing in front of your house. That way they’ll get a photo and copy.”
Given how much experience he’s had with these types of things, I have to trust his idea will work. It’s worth a shot anyway. “Okay. Let’s go with that.” I grab my purse and briefcase. On the way out, I tell my assistant, “We’re headed home. Please call Marty and let him know that Mr. Parker is with me.”
She nods, but her gaze zeroes in on Brock. So does everyone else’s. Seems most of those working here have found a reason to hang out around my office. The only thing that’s missing is the popcorn so they can enjoy the show.
But I don’t have time to worry about that as we head out the agency’s front doors. Once in the elevator, I punch P4.
He hits P1, the visitors’ parking lot. “I’ll drive. We’ll use my SUV.”
Roughing the Player (Chicago Outlaws Book 2) Page 12
