Page 5

N ASH

“What the fuck?” I jump when the front door alarm goes off. I drop my mug in the sink and rush to the front door. It’s closed, which makes no sense. “Paisley?” I call up the stairs.

I take three at a time and bust through the door to her room. Her hair is a snarly mess that’s going to be a bitch to brush out, but she’s sleeping peacefully. Thank God.

The sound of a car starting is too loud to be my neighbors. I have enough property and a buffering of woods between my house and theirs. I lift the shade to the window and spot a black Honda leaving my driveway.

“The fuck?” I glance down at my sleeping beauty and cross the hall to the guest room.

It’s empty. The bed is made with precision as if my parents hadn’t spent the night, and there’s no sign of their overnight bags.

No sign that they were even here. I search the other two spare bedrooms and fly down the stairs, poking my head in the living room and media room.

“What the hell?” I dig through my duffle bag, still by the front door, for my cell and dial my mother. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her to answer. The phone rings and rings until finally she picks up.

“Oh, Nash. I’m so sorry I forgot to call you last night.”

“You didn’t stay with Paisley?”

“Your father—”

“What happened? Is Dad okay?” My heart stops beating. Literally. Or at least it feels literal.

“He had a rough night. The doctor said—”

“Doctor? Mom. What’s going on?”

“He’s okay, honey. Stop interrupting and I’ll fill you in.”

Fuck . I take a deep breath. “Go on.”

“You know how he’s had a lingering cough?

Well, yesterday it got really bad after dropping off Paisley at school.

I took him to the walk-in clinic and they diagnosed him with bronchitis.

I didn’t want him to get you or Paisley sick so I asked her teacher, Miss Wentworth, to watch her.

She’s a respected teacher and Paisley really loves her. ”

“Well, she’s not here.” I’d have noticed if a sweet old lady was lurking around my house.

“I told her you’d be back in the middle of the night and that she could leave in the morning for school.

I meant to call you but we spent five hours at the clinic yesterday, and you know what a terrible patient your father is.

I’m sorry, honey, for not telling you. But she’s a sweet young lady, and like I said, Paisley adores her. She saved us last night.”

When I got home at two this morning, I didn’t pay attention to the car in the driveway, assuming it was my parents’. It must have been Miss Wentworth leaving a few minutes ago. I close my eyes and tap my head against the wall.

I can hear my father’s coughing in the background. “Your father needs another dose of his medicine. We love you, Nash. Great game last night. We watched snippets when we could.”

“Go take care of Dad.”

Fuck. I run my fingers through my bedhead and stomp up to my room to throw on a sweatshirt. After a quick check on Paisley, I go back to the kitchen to start on the blueberry pancakes I always make for her after being away.

The first five weeks of the season have been shitty, with more away games than home. My parents have done all the heavy lifting with Paisley and I more than owe them for it.

When the pancakes are done, I store them in the warmer and head upstairs to wake my little girl. She fills the morning with nonstop chatter.

“Miss Wentworth and I colored and played Barbies and played on the swingset. She pushed me high but not as high as you.”

“No one pushes you on the swing as well as I do, Sweet Pea.” Yeah. I’m an insecure asshole.

She hops off her stool and twirls around the kitchen while telling me about her night with her teacher.

“We had a dance party and she made chicken snakes but I had to help her because she didn’t know how so maybe you can teach her to make chunkies or snakes because they didn’t taste the same as yours but she told silly stories and made me giggle while we made dinner and I helped her make salad and ate the green stuff. ”

I swear, I need to get my girl into deep sea diving. Her lungs can hold a cargo ship tank of air. Maybe her teacher can help her with her run-on sentences.

“Can she watch me the next time you have to work late, Daddy?”

“We’ll see, Sweet Pea. Let’s get you ready for school.”

My little chatterbox doesn’t stop filling the morning with play-by-plays of everything Miss Wentworth said and did.

Apparently, they packed a lot of activities in a short evening.

I’m not thrilled with my parents for giving a stranger access to my home and leaving my daughter with her, but I’ll deal with that after my father gets better.

She fills the cab of my truck with more stories of her day at school yesterday and tells me where to park when I get to her school, even though I drop her off most days. It’s the pickup in the afternoon that conflicts with my schedule.

“Bye, Daddy.” Paisley hugs my legs and I kiss the top of her head before she scampers off into the sea of little people running inside the building.

Monday night away games suck, and since we didn’t land at Logan until two this morning, Coach gave us the morning off. I head in for light cardio on the bike and see Matt, my go-to trainer because he gives the best deep tissue massages.

I’m not focused during my lift and I brush off conversation, which isn’t out of the norm for me. I’m equally worried about my dad and annoyed at my mom for so easily trusting a virtual stranger with my daughter.

After Matt rubs down my quads and hamstrings, I take another shower and call my parents before I’m stuck watching film for three hours, followed by position meetings.

“How’s Dad doing?”

“He’s cranky and tired from not being able to sleep. Another day or two on antibiotics and he should start feeling better.”

“I’m sure you’re just as exhausted. Take care of yourself, Mom.”

“Oh, I’m fine. It’s you and Paisley I worry about. Speaking of, I’m sorry I can’t pick her up today. Will you be able to get her at three?”

“Three?” Fuck. I glance at the time on my phone. That’s in an hour. There’s no fucking way Coach will let me slip out to get her, and then what? Bring her back here?

“Beth,” my Dad coughs and whines in the background.

“I have to go. I’m sorry, honey. See if Miss Wentworth can watch her? I love you. Bye.”

My head hangs low as I stare at my phone.

I’ve been dependent upon my parents since moving to Boston three years ago.

I bought them a condo fifteen minutes from my house because they didn’t want to infringe on my privacy by living with me.

I wouldn’t have minded. It’s not like I have a revolving door of women anymore.

When the season is over, they fly out to Seattle and spend six months with my sister and her family. It works for all of us and keeps them happy and active.

It’s my fault for not having a contingency plan or backup babysitter. They’ve been one hundred percent reliable, but I never thought about either of them getting too sick to watch Paisley. They’ve had stomach bugs and colds before, but when one is down, the other comes to babysit.

Delaying the inevitable, I drag myself down to Coach’s office. I tap on the open door and he calls me in.

“Nash. Hell of a game last night.”

“Thanks.” I drop to the chair across from his desk. I’ve played on three NFL teams in my ten-year career, and Hayes is by far the best coach I’ve ever had. He genuinely cares about his players, and he knows the game at a level I’ve never seen before.

His strategic plan and ability to find the threads of weakness in offensive lines is uncanny. His ability to see through his players when they’re BSing or not putting in their all is ridiculous as well.

“I take it you’re not here to talk shop.” He gets up from his chair and rounds his desk, leaning against it and crossing his ankles in a relaxed pose. “Are your parents and daughter okay?”

Hayes doesn’t meddle, but he lets us know he cares. As does his wife, Caroline. They never had any kids of their own and treat the fifty-three of us players like their sons. They also respect our boundaries as well.

I keep my personal and professional life separate, but Hayes knows most of the details. He and Caroline are the only ones in Boston who do.

“Yes and no.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “My dad has bronchitis and my mom doesn’t sound much better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do? Caroline makes the best chicken soup. I know it won’t cure them, but I know she’d love to bring some over if that’s okay.”

“I’m sure they’d love that.” I take a deep breath before lifting my head. “They’re the only ones I trust to watch Paisley, so I’m stuck in a bind today.”

Hayes nods in understanding. “What’s your game plan?”

I huff out a snort. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t have one.”

Instead of berating me or telling me how much of a fucking idiot I am, Hayes stays quiet. He’s effective like that. Not one to yell. He gives his players time to think before they speak, and he does the same for himself.

I know better than to ask him what I should do. He’s waiting for me to come up with a plan.

“I already worked with Matt, and I can make most of the film session. If I leave by two-thirty, I can make it to Revere in time to get Paisley and back home to zoom into the defense meeting.”

Mark Nichols isn’t as compassionate as Hayes, but he’s a good defensive coach and has been pivotal in helping me get to where I am today.

“And tomorrow? We’re starting later to give you boys time to recover after last night, but we’ll be in the middle of practice at three.”

I nod my understanding. “I’m working on it. I have a...someone I can ask to watch Paisley tomorrow.” Fuck. I’ve never even met Miss Wentworth and now I have to grovel for a favor. What if she has a family of her own and can’t help?

I’ve been an absent father from Paisley’s school life and haven’t even met any of her friends, their parents, or her teacher.

Fucking worst dad ever. When I’m home with her, I give her one hundred percent of my attention, but it’s becoming clear to me that that’s far less frequently than I would like.

But my parents have spoiled me—and Pais—and now I’ve gotta suck up my abhorrence for letting others into our lives.

“Have you talked with the other players to get nanny recs? Chuck and Sean seem content with theirs.”

Content. I don’t want to be content with Paisley’s caretaker. I need them to make her their number one priority. She’s my everything, and I won’t let her be with anyone who doesn’t feel the same.

“Not yet. I’ll look into it.” It’s not a blatant lie. I’ll ask them, but I’m not settling.

“I’ll have a word with Nichols and let him know I okayed you zooming in tonight.” Hayes squeezes my shoulder. “Come to me if you need me to help.”

“Thanks.” Hayes means it, but it’s my job to care for my daughter, not his.

I check the time every five minutes during film, my attention not where it should be. We’ve got a tough game against Baltimore on Sunday, and their quarterback is a sneaky fuck. All eyes are on me to take him down.

Hopefully by Sunday my head will be in the game. I pack up as soon as we’re done and fly out of the training center to my car.

The parking lot at the school isn’t as packed as I thought it would be. Could be because it’s fifteen past three. I doubt I’m the only late parent. Traffic is unpredictable in Boston. I hurry inside and check in with the administrative assistant.

“I’ll need to see some identification before I can send you down the hall.”

If I hadn’t already felt like a fucking tool of a dad, this just cemented it. My daughter’s school doesn’t even know who her father is.

I plaster on a fake smile and hold out my license. “My parents, Beth and Joe Humphries, usually pick up Paisley because I’m working. I’m here at drop-off almost every morning,” I tell her, just to make a point that I am around for my daughter.

She taps my information into the computer and hands me my license with a smile. “It’s protocol the first time someone new picks up a child in our care. For safety reasons.”

Someone new. I’m not someone fucking new. My patience, already thin, is about to fucking snap.

“I appreciate the security.”

She smiles up at me and points to her right. “Miss Wentworth’s kindergarten class is in room twenty-eight. Third door on the right. You’ll need to stay in the doorway and give her this before entering and taking Paisley out of the classroom.”

She hands me a piece of paper that I don’t even bother to look at. Whatever. Just let me take my daughter home and get to my computer before Nichols starts the meeting.

“Thanks.”

I head down the hall and step into the classroom—fuck the rules—and glance around for my girl. She’s one of two kids left, and her teacher is bent over picking up crayons off the floor.

Nice ass. She stands and turns slightly, giving me the perfect side profile while she cleans up items on a shelf, and my eyes gravitate to her chest. Fucking perfect tits. Her outfit is modest, but there’s no hiding a body like that. Here I was thinking my daughter’s teacher was a gray-haired lady.

I remember my mom’s words this morning. Sweet young lady.

Miss Wentworth turns and her gasp fills the classroom. I snap my eyes up, embarrassed to be caught looking, and freeze.

“No fucking way.”

“Miss Wentworth. That man said a bad word,” a little snitch says from the corner of the room.

“Daddy!” Paisley drops the puzzle piece in her hand and runs across the room, crashing into my legs.

“No fucking way,” Kendall repeats.