The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs Book 2)

by Kate Stewart

  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.”

  I look over to where Harris stands airing out his junk while smelling his socks.

  “Yeah, well, I’m over all the clowning for the moment. Including yours, dumbass. Later.” I head out of the room, passing coach’s office door, thankful he’s on the phone. He doesn’t bother glancing up.

  Making my way to the parking lot, I weigh the cost of living next door to my son. It will be tight, but I should be able to make it. Though it would be more money smart for me to live with Harris and take the free ride, it’s time I make a stand where Dante is concerned. Clarissa still refuses to cash the checks I mail, though I know she needs them, but teaching must be paying off because the house she rented is a pay grade above her last two places.

  Now might be the time to finally stake my claim for a place in his life, but the fear is real. I don’t want to make her life any harder, but Dante’s passed the point of recalling his first memories, and I’m determined that from this day forward, I want as many of his memories as possible to include me.

  “Dude, where’s your head at?” Kevin asks, nudging me.

  “Huh?” I ask distractedly pulling out my keys.

  “You constipated, man?”

  “What?” Kevin keeps up beside me as I head toward my truck.

  “I’ve been talking to you
for like, five minutes, and the whole time you’ve had this ‘need to shit’ look on your face. What in the hell are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing…coach. He seems off. You know what’s going on with him?”

  “No clue. But God help us.” Kevin does the sign of the cross as I unlock my truck, and he jumps in the passenger side.

  “I told you to find a ride.”

  He shoots me a devilish grin. “Just drop me at the library.”

  “When are you going to take the hint? She’s not feeling you, like at all.”

  “Nah, she loves me, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “Fine, and I hate to say it, bro, but you’re setting yourself up for failure.” It occurs to me then that the statement might be just as true for me as it is for him.

  Tracey’s Incredible Breakfast Bake

  Wildlife Photographer, California

  Makes 8 servings

  45 minutes

  1 Can Flaky Grands Biscuits

  8 Ounces Shredded Cheddar Cheese

  ½ Cup Milk

  5 Eggs – Beaten

  1 Cup Cubed Ham or Cooked Ground Sausage

  Cut each biscuit into quarters. Mix all ingredients together saving biscuits for last. Pour into a greased 9x13 casserole dish.

  Bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes.

  Clarissa

  After a quick stop at the market, I pull up to Dante’s daycare, and his teacher greets me as he climbs in the back. “Hey, Peanut, have a good day?”

  He wrinkles his nose. “It was a five at most.”

  His teacher and I share a smile. “Hi, Tammy.”

  “How are you, Clarissa?”

  “Hanging in there. A few more days of mental prep and I think I’ll be ready for another year of teaching teenagers.”

  “I don’t envy you,” she chuckles. “I like them much younger. Especially this little stinker.”

  “I’m fond of him too,” I say, glancing back at Dante as he buckles in. “Most days.”

  “He got in trouble for trying to record on his phone during naptime.” She hands me his cell.

  “Sorry about that. He knows to leave it at home.” I direct my sharp tone back his way, so he knows I mean business.

  “I’ve seen his videos, they’re pretty awesome, and my son loves them too. You’ve got a budding star on your hands.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I grin. “But I’ll have another talk with him.”

  She ruffles his hair. “This one is bound for great things, and we had a talk today, no worries.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Have a good one.”

  “You too.” She shuts the door, and I glance back in my rearview.

  Dante sinks into his seat, ready with an excuse. “It was only a minute.”

  “Son, we’ve gone over this.”

  “But I’m too old to nap.”

  “Uh uh. You’re getting to be a big boy, but I need a few workdays before school starts. Just hang in there. Big school in two sleeps.”

  “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’ll do better.”

  “You are better. You’re the best.”

  “I know,” he deadpans. I laugh, and he nods toward the dash. “Old Town Road.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “No. No way.”

  “PLEAAAAASE,” Dante orders in the same tone I use when I’m at my wit’s end.

  “Motown?”

  “No Motown! Old Town.”

  “Is there any other song?” I implore for mercy. “Like anything? I’ll listen to tribal music, French rap, I’ll even try bluegrass. Anything but that song.”

  “Mommmmmy,” he whines impatiently.

  I lift my head to the heavens. “Why, Lord, why? You gave him “Achy Breaky Heart,” wasn’t that enough? Couldn’t you have just stopped there? Did he have to make another hit that was so annoying it makes you want to chum up and feed yourself to the sharks?”

  Dante giggles behind me. “What is “Achy Breaky Heart”?”

  “It’s just as ridiculous as “Old Town Road” is, but for you, I’ll play it. If it will keep me from hearing that song one more—”

  “Fine, “Baby Shark” then!”

  “God, no! “Old Town Road” it is, you little diva!”

  My cell rings just as I hit play.

  “HA!” I say as Parker’s name flashes on my screen, and I show it to Dante. “Saved by Auntie Parker.”

  Dante kicks the back of my seat. “Fine. I guess you can answer it.”

  “Well, thank you very much for your permission, son.” I hit answer and cradle the phone into the mount on my air vent. “You just saved my life by calling.”

  “Oh?” She says sweetly. “Why is that?”

  “Your nephew wants to hear that song again, and this time, I may have driven us off the road. What is it about that song?”

  “What song?”

  “Old Town Road,” Dante pipes up behind me, making sure Parker knows he’s present. There’s only one person on earth he loves more than her, and I’m the lucky one.

  “Oh, I love that song. Hey, Duckie!”

  “Hi, Auntie Parker!”

  “What’s wrong with “Old Town Road” anyway?”

  “Never mind. You suck. Worst best friend ever,” I grumble.

  “Mommy, that’s not nice!” Dante scolds. “It’s my favorite song.”

  “Mine too,” Parker giggles when I let out a miserable groan.

  “It is not. You are so fired. Seriously, why can’t you agree with me, just once?”

  “Sorry.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “No, you’re not. And in order to make it up to me, you have to stay on the phone for fifteen minutes, so I don’t have to listen to it.”

  “I’ve got time to kill.”

  “Heeey,” Dante protests behind me.

  “Quiet, son, adults speaking.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulls out his tablet from the lip of my seat and puts on his headphones. When I hear one of his downloaded videos start, I know I’m in the clear.

  “How’s London?”

  “London is fine.”

  “And the other part of London?”

  “Not fine. Horrible. It was the worst blind date in the history of ever. He didn’t know I was supersized, and I didn’t know he had skin scalp. We both exaggerated the truth, and not only that, we were both too picky to live with it. Isn’t that sad? I’m going to be the old lady in the home who talks to her shoes.”

  I can’t help my laugh. “You are not.”

  “I am. I’m going to be that woman who wears the same sweatsuit and has in-depth conversations with her bunion cradling loafers. Just promise me something?”

  “You’re ridiculous, but what?”

  “Promise you’ll wax me.”

  “Wax you?”

  “The only thing worse than being the old lady who talks to her shoes is the old lady with a unibrow and a mustache that talks to her shoes. Don’t let that be me, buddy. Please, don’t. I’ll set up a fund specifically for waxing. Promise me.”

  “First,” I say taking a right that leads us toward home, “you won’t end up in a home because you’ve got me.”

  “You’ll be married.”

  “I’ll outlive him.”

  “Great. You’ll be mopey, and I’ll be hairy.”

  “Hush. When are you coming home?”

  “Not for another three weeks at the least.”

  “Gah, this sucks. I miss you.”

  “Same here.”

  “Sorry about your date.”

  “I have a chest full of tartar sauce to clean up. I swear these tits are a shelf.”

  “You’re nuts,” I giggle.

  “Well, dinner was on him, so I went bananas with the fish and chips. It was the least he could do for orgasm denial.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Clarissa?”

  Her tone turns serious, and instantly, I wish she were in front of me. I hate that her job requires so m
uch travel. We’ve been inseparable since our freshman year at Grand, more so after I gave birth to the love of her life.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “He’s out there, right?”

  “Yes, and he’ll love you like crazy.”

  “Swear?”

  “Swear.”

  “Sorry to be needy.”

  “It was a bad date. You’re not needy. And starting something there would be pointless anyway, your home is here.”

  “True. Kiss that kid for me.”

  “Will do. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  “Now, chin up and go clean that tartar off those hooters.”

  “On it.”

  “Night, buddy.”

  “Pip, pip. Cheerio.”

  I take the streets that lead toward home thinking of how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date. A year? Longer? I tell Parker all the time to take a chance and put herself out there, all the while not taking my own advice. It’s a lot harder to simply date around with sensitive ears and an impressionable boy to keep in mind. For years it’s been just the two of us, and I’ve been content with that. But I’m not getting any younger and with Dante’s next birthday drawing near, I hear the biological tick getting louder. He’s asked me for a brother or sister on several occasions, and on those, I’ve always been thankful I’ve been able to distract him from the conversation. But my kid’s no pushover, and he’s starting to prod, becoming more demanding. Soon enough, he’ll have real questions that deserve real answers.

  The first and one I fear most being, ‘where is my father?’

  Troy

  After dropping Kevin off, I take the fifteen-minute drive to the house and pull up, relieved when I don’t see Clarissa’s SUV. The rental house is a pale-blue, two-story sitting on a quiet, residential street. It’s a nice spot for a budding family. When Clarissa moved Dante here, my stalking became a lot harder. I’ve had to drive by in the later hours of the night, parking on the opposite side of the street to catch glimpses of them here and there. After long, stressful days on the field, and before work, I take comfort in watching her read to Dante in an old recliner she’s used to rock him to sleep since he was a baby.