Shot Caller (A Bad Boy's Baby Novel)

by Masters, Colleen

  “Sure you do,” Glover says, laying a hand on Barry’s shoulder, “Ms. Abrams, we’ll have to consider whether or not there’s a place for you here after this—”

  “You can’t fire her for making the right call!” I shout, leaping up from the table.

  “Easy Mad,” Poppy warns, “We haven’t checked you for a concussion yet—”

  “Fuck my concussion,” I roar, marching toward O’Leary, “Just because you’re a shit trainer, doesn’t give you the right to deprive this team of someone who actually knows what she’s doing.”

  “I’ve been an athletic trainer since before the two of you were born,” Barry shouts back, spittle flying every which way.

  “I don’t give a sweet fuck all about your resume, mate!” I snarl, towering over the pathetic old man, “If you get rid of Poppy, you can say goodbye to me too.”

  “What are you saying, Mad?” Glover cuts in.

  “I’m saying that if she goes, I go,” I tell them firmly, “That’s a bloody promise.”

  A tense silence falls over the room as I take my stand against O’Leary. Glover’s jaw pulses as he looks between me, Barry, and Poppy, making some quick choices on the fly. Despite our differences, I trust Glover to do the right thing for the club here. Hell, I’ve bet my place on the team on it. And if my bet is off, if I lose my place here on the Empire, that’s it for me and my redemption tour. At long last, Glover takes a deep breath, laying a hand on Barry’s arm.

  “It’s the half,” he says wearily, “I need to go have a chat with the team. Come with me, Barry. We need to have a chat too.”

  “You’re not seriously—?” Barry sputters.

  “Let’s go,” Glover says firmly, glancing back at Poppy and the medics, “Give Walcott a full examination. We need to follow protocol for head injuries, here.”

  The medics guide me back to the table as Glover marches O’Leary away. I glance up at Poppy, who stares back at me with misty, amazed eyes.

  “I can’t believe you just did that for me,” she breathes, as I settle back onto the table.

  “You didn’t think I was going to let them get rid of you, just like that?” I reply, taking her hand back in mine. “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than be good at your job to get away from me, Poppy Abrams.”

  A huge, grateful smiles spreads across her face as the medics give me a proper once-over. Looks like I might just be back in her good graces after all. And it only took a blow to the head to get here.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Poppy

  “Good news is, he’s not concussed,” the medic tells me. He’s pulled me into the hallway outside Mad’s examination room to have a word.

  “What’s the bad news?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “Bad news is, another blow could do serious damage if he goes back out there,” the medic replies.

  “You know Mad,” I laugh softly, “He’ll want to play the rest of the game if we let him.”

  “I’m gonna leave that up to you,” the medic replies, “You know him better than anyone.”

  “Great,” I sigh, shoving a hand through my hair, “No pressure, right?”

  “Right,” the medic smiles, taking his leave, “You’ll have the right call.”

  I take a moment to collect myself out in the hallway. It’s the first quiet second I’ve had to think since González attacked Mad. Finally, I let the feelings I’ve been holding at bay wash over me—fear for Mad’s condition, outrage at O’Leary trying to throw me under the bus, pride at the way Mad stood up for me. But above all, I’m relieved. Relieved that Mad’s injury wasn’t worse, that he’s still here with me. Nothing like a crisis to put things sharply into perspective.

  “Hey,” I say softly, stepping back into the exam room, “How’re you feeling?”

  “Oh, just peachy,” Mad laughs as I close the door, “Never better.”

  I walk slowly up to the exam table, taking in the sight of Maddox laid out before me in nothing but his shorts. His bloodied uniform top lays on the counter, and the sight of the red stain brings tears to my eyes.

  “I was so worried about you,” I whisper, sitting down on the edge of the table beside him.

  “I wasn’t,” he smiles, laying a hand on my thigh, “I knew I had you looking out for me, didn’t I?”

  “When I watched you go down… All I could think of was that the last time we spoke was during a fight,” I go on, shaking my head. “If anything happened to you…”

  “But it didn’t,” he said firmly, “And nothing’s ever going to. I told you, it’s gonna take a lot more than that to tear me away from you.”

  “Good,” I smile, “I’m gonna hold you to it.”

  We fall in silence for a moment, the faraway sounds of the stadium rumbling above us. The sudden sensation of deja vous hits me like a punch in the gut as we sit in this exam room together, tucked away from everyone else in the world. It’s been eight years since we first found ourselves giving into our feelings for each other that night at the university training center. Who would have thought that under all that youthful lust there was something even more powerful at work? Something real. Something lasting.

  “So, get this,” I smile, brushing Mad’s hair away from his forehead, “I’m the one who’s gonna have to decide whether you get to play in the second half.”

  “Huh,” he grins back, “Why do I feel like we’ve been here before?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I tell him.

  “Well, obviously I’m going to play the second half,” he goes on, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m all patched up, aren’t I?”

  “Exactly. You have five stitches in your head,” I point out, blocking his exit, “Seriously, I don’t want you going back out there.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” he insists, brushing off my concern, “González is out for the game, and no one else is going to fuck with me.”

  “Can’t you just play it safe for once in your life?” I appeal.

  “Not a chance,” he grins, bringing his hands to my hips.

  “There’s no way I’m going to convince you to stay off the pitch, is there?” I sigh, resting my hands on his chest.

  “Nope,” he says, “Not unless you plan to distract me the way you did last time we were in this situation.”

  A pang of longing sears through my core as Mad alludes to our first night together, way back in the day. If only I’d known back then that someday that cocky college superstar would be someone I truly cared about. The father of my first child…

  “Mad, wait,” I say breathlessly, holding him back as he tries to make his way to the door.

  “I told you, I’m playing in the second half,” he replies, trying to step around me. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  “I know, it’s just…there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, right now,” I insist, “It can’t wait any longer.”

  Maddox takes a begrudging seat on the edge of the table, looking impatient as hell to get back to the game. Not exactly the ideal circumstances for this conversation, but it’ll have to do.

  “I know this isn’t fantastic timing,” I begin nervously, wringing my hangs, “But there’s something you need to know. It has to do with…uh…why I got so upset with you in Rome.”

  “Well, seeing as that’s still a fucking mystery to me, go head,” Mad replies.

  “I…Well…God, there is no easy way to say this is there?” I mutter.

  “Just come out with it, Poppy,” Maddox implores, “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

  “OK,” I breathe, bringing my eyes to his, “The thing is…I’m pregnant.”

  My words echo around the quiet room, surrounding us with their weighty meaning. For a long moment, Maddox simply stares back at me, unflinching.

  “Pregnant?” he finally manages to say, “You? Is it…mine?”

  “Of course, it’s yours,” I tell him, “I’m
only at about five weeks or so.”

  “When did you find out?” he asks, betraying no emotion.

  “I was pretty sure when we left for Rome, and positive when we got back,” I reveal.

  “But what…What does that have to do with why you were so pissed at me?”

  “Don’t you remember?” I prompt him, “During the Serie A game, when that player shoved the ball under this jersey…”

  “Right. The ‘baby on the way’ thing,” Maddox says, “So what?”

  “So, when I took that moment to bring up the idea of having kids, you said they weren’t for you,” I tell him, “You said you couldn't picture having them, ever.”

  Maddox’s jaw tenses as I remind him of his own words.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his scruffy jaw.

  “Yeah,” reply, having trouble meeting his eyes, “And once I knew how you felt about the whole kids question, I just…I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to trap you.”

  “Trap me?” he repeats, “Poppy…”

  “I just don’t want you to feel like you have no choice in this,” I tell him, “You didn’t ask for this to happen. If you don’t want to be a father, I can’t force you to be.”

  “So you’re…you’re keepin’ it, then. Are you?” he asks, his eyes drifting down to my still-flat stomach.

  “I am,” I whisper. It’s the first time I’ve voiced my intentions for this baby, even to myself. “I never really gave much thought to whether or not I wanted kids before. I guess since I was never with the right partner, it always felt impossible. But now that this baby has kind of snuck up on me…I can’t imagine not bringing it into this world. Raising it myself.”

  “Ah…” Maddox breathes. It’s all he can bring himself to say.

  “So, like I said before,” I push forward, trying like hell to be brave, “You should still get to make your own decision, just like I’ve made mine. I’m not going to force anything on you. If you want to be a part of this kid’s life, I’d obviously love that. But if not…Well. I’m not afraid to go it alone. I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life, I’m sure I could take care of an extra person, too.”

  I can see the gears of Maddox’s brain spinning, even as he sits silently before me. I have no idea what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. I just wish he would give me a clue.

  “Can we…talk about this later?” he finally says, his voice ragged. “Later, when I don’t have to go back out on the pitch and play another 45 minutes?”

  “Of course,” I tell him, trying to smile convincingly. “We’ll just…talk later.”

  He rises to his feet and stands before me, laying his strong hands on my shoulders. Without a word, he plants a chaste kiss on my forehead, hugs me to his chest, and finally takes his leave of me. I stand looking after him as he heads back to the tunnel, stunned and confused. Part of me was hoping he’d be secretly thrilled with the news, as foolish as that sounds. As much as I’ve tried to prepare myself for his not wanting to be involved with this baby, that eventuality now feels like far too much to bear.

  “Don’t jump to any conclusions,” I remind myself, smoothing down my work uniform, “Just make it through this game. One thing at a time.”

  Given my fallout with O’Leary, I don’t risk heading back to the sideline for the second half of the game. Instead, I race into my office, shuck off my Empire duds, and slip into a nondescript zip-up hoodie and jeans. Throwing my hair into a ponytail, I slip on a pair of gigantic sunglasses as I head for the elevator—anything to obscure my identity, even a little bit.

  The roar of the crowd grows louder and louder as I ascend from the training facilities onto the ground floor of the stadium. The second the elevator doors swish open, I lose myself in the teeming crowd of fans. My heart races as I make my way toward the stands, trying to blend in as best I can. The last thing I want is to make a scene, but I can’t bear not to watch the second half of the game.

  At last, I see the sky open up above me as I wedge myself into the standing-room-only supporters section. Located on the second level of the stands, this section is where the most die-hard Empire supporters gather to watch the game. I immerse myself in the sea of navy and gold, standing up on the bleachers to see over the heads of the other fans. What else is a vertically challenged lady to do?

  Play is about to resume down on the pitch, and my stomach ties itself in knots as I watch Maddox stride across the field. He’s got a fresh, bloodless uniform on, but even from here I can see where the medics shaved a tiny patch of his brown hair for his stitches. I wouldn’t have let him back on the pitch if I thought he couldn’t handle it, but I can’t help but worry all the same.

  Two twenty-something guys standing right in front of me in the supporters’ section are talking enthusiastically about the last few minutes of the first half. I eavesdrop on their conversation as subtly as I can, trying not to draw attention to myself.

  “González should be suspended for what he did to Mad Man,” says the first fan, a tall lanky guy with a clean-shaven baby face.

  “No doubt,” replies his companion, a stocky guy sporting navy and gold face paint, “At least he got a red card, though. Now we get a penalty to start the second half.”

  Of course. There was no time for the Empire to take its penalty shot after Mad got hurt in the first half. There was too much commotion there at the end, what with everyone scrambling to deal with González’s infraction. In soccer, a penalty is awarded any time the opposing team gets a red card. Penalty shots are nerve-wracking, thrilling moments—it’s just the keeper against one player from the fouled team. That means the Empire gets to take a shot at the Sentinel’s goal, one-on-one.

  “Oh, hell yes!” the lanky kid in front of me yells, as the players take their positions on the pitch, “Mad Man’s gonna take the shot himself!”

  I watch with mounting excitement as Maddox squares off against the Sentinel’s keeper. Of course. Not only does Maddox deserve the chance to get back at the Sentinels for what González just did to him, but he’s also our star striker. He brought the score up to 1-1 just before González lashed out at him. That means we’ll take the lead if he makes this penalty kick.

  “This is a sure thing,” the tall kid says excitedly, jostling his buddy.

  “Usually, it would be,” the shorter guy points out, “But Mad just took a blow to the head. What if his game is off?”

  “Shut up, man! This is Maddox Walcott we’re talking about!” his friend protests.

  “I’m just sayin’, bro,” the short guy shrugs, “Anything could happen.”

  My nerves start to fray as Maddox sets the ball down before him, taking stock of the situation at hand. The crowd is losing its collective shit as the Sentinel keeper paces in the net, getting ready to intercept the ball.

  “Come on, baby…” I whisper to myself, wrapping my arms around my waist. “You can do it.”

  The clock starts ticking again as play resumes. It’s now or never. With as much powerful grace as ever, Maddox takes off toward the ball, cocking back his leg to kick it in. The keeper leaps in the direction Maddox is aiming, putting his all into the save. But at the last second, Mad stutter-steps, pivoting just a hair. He’s faked the goalie out. As the Sentinel keeper goes flying through the air, Mad sends the ball flying toward the opposite corner of the net. It sails in a crisp, clean arc and lands squarely in the goal.

  My voice rises with twenty thousand others as Maddox puts the goal away. The entire supporters section is up on its feet, jumping and cheering with all its might. I’m right there with them, ecstatic for our team, for my favorite Mad Man. I watch with immeasurable pride as Mad punches the air triumphantly, taking in the entire stadium of roaring fans. But as his teammates come sprinting toward him across the pitch, Maddox moves in the other direction, racing toward the ball nestled in the Sentinel’s goal.

  “What’s he doing?!” he stocky guy in front of me yells.

  “No idea!” his friend replies, as
Maddox grabs hold of the ball.

  My body goes stock still as Maddox turns my way. There’s no way he can know that I’m up here, nestled among the most fervid Empire supporters. And yet, it’s toward me that he looks as he stretches out his fresh jersey and shoves the ball up under his top. The bulge that the ball creates under his shirt can only mean one thing in footballing tradition. And as Mad sticks his thumb firmly in his grinning mouth, the entire stadium takes his meaning all at once.

  “Holy shit, man!” the tall kid hollers, shaking his companion by the shoulders, “You know what that means?!”

  “Mad Man’s having a kid!” the shorter guy bellows, raising his fists in the air.

  “Dude, do you think it’s with that trainer?”

  “Probably, bro! Didn’t you see them sucking face after Mad Man went down…?”

  But I don’t hear another word that the soccer bros utter. My mind is numb with joy as I watch Maddox Walcott claim our baby as his own. This simple, silly gesture means that he wants in. That he wants to be a part of this baby’s life—a part of my life. He’s not going to bail and leave me to raise this kid on my own. He’s going to be my partner. My teammate.

  I should have known, I think to myself, happy tears streaming down my face as the Empire bury Maddox in an ecstatic huddle. Maddox may be a devil-may-care, rule-breaking loose cannon, but he’s the best teammate anyone could ever ask for. There was a time in my life when an unexpected pregnancy would have felt like a burden, something terrifying and unthinkable. But now, knowing that Maddox is here to support me, I just feel…lucky.

  And as I lay my hands across the stomach, watching as Maddox kicks his game into high gear, I know that I’m not the only lucky one in this picture.

  “That’s your dad down there,” I mutter, hoping that my baby can hear, “He’s a handful, but you’re gonna love him…”

  Just like I do.

  Epilogue

  Poppy

  October, 2016

  Five months later…

  The crisp autumn air feels wonderful against my warm skin as I stand in the doorway of the second story balcony. I’ve opened the french doors wide to let a little sea breeze into our expansive new home. After months of living in a casino hotel and a borrowed bungalow, Maddox and I finally took the leap and bought ourselves an actual home. We’ve moved south along the New Jersey coast a bit to Sea Isle City. Atlantic City didn’t exactly scream “new baby” to either of us. But on a clear day, you can still see the towering hotels and casinos reaching up over the horizon a ways north.