Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)
Chapter 7

Inside the football stadium at Treasure State, lying on the fifty-yard line, a guy could see a perfect oval of midnight and stars.

Strange how I’d spent countless hours on this field but I’d never noticed the stars. The few night games we played each year were done beneath the bright lights. The stars didn’t stand a chance competing with those blinders. And otherwise, my time playing and practicing here had been under the sun, not the moon.

It was so beautiful I didn’t want to blink. And if I stared at the stars, if I traced imaginary lines with my fingertip, connecting them into random shapes, then I could keep ignoring the phone in my pocket.

I could pretend like I hadn’t gotten that text from Faye.

I’m pregnant

Thinking about it made my head spin, so I locked my eyes with a star and let the others swirl around it until they blurred to white circles.

For a month, I’d been staring at Faye’s number, wondering if I should call or text. But every time I started a message, I’d delete it just as quickly.

She had slipped out of my bed last month. She had walked away in the middle of the night. If she wanted to hear from me, she would have stayed until dawn.

So I hadn’t texted or called. Instead, I’d dwelled on our night together for a month.

That had been one of the best nights of my life. And she’d walked out on me. Maybe she didn’t want to get involved with a football player. Some of the guys, like Maverick, had reputations for getting around. I wasn’t like that, but maybe she thought she was just another one-night stand. Maybe she hadn’t enjoyed the sex? That seemed impossible considering the way she’d clung to me, but what the fuck did I know?

Faye was pregnant.

That, I knew.

“Fuck.” I rubbed both hands over my face, swallowing the scream that clawed at the back of my throat.

What did this mean? What the hell did I do now?

Should I text her back?

I hated texting.

That one message had just changed my life. Flipped everything on its head.

And to think, my day had been going so well. I’d woken up early and made breakfast. I’d tossed a load of laundry in the washer and hung out with Maverick before we’d come to campus for the day. Practices had been hard but fun. My two workouts had been solid.

Then after a shower, I’d gone shopping to get Mom a birthday present. She wanted thermal underwear, so I’d gone downtown to Bucky’s Sporting Goods. The cashier had flirted with me shamelessly.

Maybe I could have gotten her number, taken her home, except I had no desire for casual hookups. The only one-night stand I’d had since my freshman year had been with Faye.

I’d been telling myself for a month that my lack of interest in other women wasn’t because of Faye. I’d refused to admit how often I’d thought about her—constantly.

So I’d brushed off the cashier’s attempts to score a date and left with Mom’s gift. An hour later, while I’d been shoveling my favorite fried rice and mushroom chicken into my mouth at the Chinese restaurant in town, I’d gotten a text from Faye.

The hours after that were fuzzy. There’d been driving. Disbelief. More driving. Then somehow, I’d found myself at the stadium. I’d had to climb over the fence since the gate was padlocked, but I just . . . needed to be here.

In this place, I could think. On the field, I was in control.

I’m pregnant

The stars seemed to rearrange themselves in the heavens until they spelled out those two words with their white dots.

Was this a joke? Faye didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d joke about that. Granted, I didn’t know her very well, but she wouldn’t joke about this, right?

My phone chimed in my pocket again. The sound was terrifying. Faye had made me scared of my own damn phone.

It had been ringing for hours, and I hadn’t once looked at the screen. Was it her calling? If it was, she’d have to wait. I wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet. Not to anyone. Not until I could breathe through the tightness in my chest. Until I could think through the haze of shock and panic.

Pregnant.

My phone dinged with a voicemail message.

“Fuck,” I hissed.

Couldn’t she leave me alone? Couldn’t she stop calling until I had a minute to think this through? Fucking hell, was it too much to ask that I have a few hours to myself to contemplate fatherhood?

The noise stopped. I braced, waiting for it to start again, but the only sound was my thundering heart.

My exhale was deflating, my limbs and spine sinking deeper into the turf.

What did I do? How did I manage this? What the actual fuck had we been thinking that night?

Faye and I hadn’t used a condom. I’d assumed she was on birth control, but I didn’t remember asking because I’d been drunk.

My hangover the next morning had been a motherfucker and that first practice had kicked my ass. A month ago, I’d thought that hangover had been worth it. Now?

My head throbbed like my brain cells were being stretched to the max as they tried to fit this in.

I’m pregnant

“No.” I pounded a fist at my side.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t part of the plan. Faye couldn’t be pregnant because I wasn’t ready to be a . . . dad.

My insides churned, my fried rice threatening to come up. I breathed through my nose, letting the night air cool the sweat beading on my temples as I stared at that oval of stars.

Was it real? Was this really happening?

My phone rang in my pocket. Again.

“For fuck’s sake.” I dug into my jeans, expecting to see Faye’s name on the screen. Instead, it was a missed call from Maverick. Behind that notification were ten others. Three texts, a missed call and a voice text from Mav. A text from Erik. A missed call from Dad. A missed call and voicemail from Halsey.

I sat up, then bent over my phone and opened my texts and calls.

Maverick. Erik. Dad. Halsey.

Nothing from Faye.

Seriously? So she hadn’t even tried to call me since she’d sent that text?

“What the fuck?”

I clutched the phone in my hand and raised my arm, about to throw it as far and long as possible, but stopped myself before I launched it across the field.

Shattering my phone wasn’t going to solve anything. It wasn’t going to make this better.

That was really all Faye was going to say? I’m pregnant and then silence?

No. “No fucking way.”

Maybe she’d gone to the house. Maybe that was why Maverick had called and texted.

I pulled up his messages.

Where are you

I’m bored

Tell me you’re not with Halsey

I hit play on his voice text.

“Stop ignoring my texts. Also your ex is annoying the fuck out of me. Tell her to forget our address.”

What? I pulled up my voicemails and hit play on Halsey’s.

“Hey, Rush. I, um . . . I wanted to say hi. And I miss you. A lot. I stopped by your place but Maverick said you weren’t home. I don’t know if he was lying to me or not, but if you’re around this week, maybe we could talk. Call me. If you want. I heard you last month. I know you said it was over. I just . . . I miss you. Bye.”

My finger hovered over the delete icon for a long moment before I tapped the glass.

Halsey hadn’t spoken to me much over the past month. We’d bumped into each other at the grocery store. She’d had a couple of my hoodies at her place from before we’d broken up, and she’d dropped them off at the house a couple weeks ago. But otherwise, we were done. We’d been done since the breakup after my camping trip.

Except tonight, a part of me wanted to call her. Not because I missed her, but because she was familiar. But that would be a dick move and I wasn’t going to lead her on. It wasn’t easy with Halsey, but it was a hell of a lot simpler than anything with Faye.

I ignored the text from Erik and the call from Dad, moving back to Faye’s text from earlier.

My hand felt heavy, my fingers sluggish, as I tapped her name and typed a reply.

Is this a joke?

I cringed as I added the question mark, then deleted every letter.

Are you sure?

After an eye roll, I deleted that text too. Of course she was fucking sure.

Is it mine?

Another cringe. Another hard press on the delete key until the reply was gone, and I was staring at a blank text box.

What did I say? Why hadn’t she called? She wasn’t scared of me, was she? I hadn’t done anything wrong the night of the bachelorette party, right?

I racked my brain, replaying every moment, some clear and some fuzzy. I remembered dragging my knuckles across her arm. I remembered her touching my lower lip with the pad of her thumb. I remembered nibbling on her earlobe with my teeth.

I remembered our first kiss.

A hundred years could pass by, and I’d still remember that kiss.

It had been a thunderbolt. Lightning had zinged through my body the moment her soft lips had brushed mine. The flick of her tongue had ignited an inferno that had raged through my veins.

My arms had locked around her automatically, intent on never letting go.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe I’d come on too strong and freaked her out.

Except she’d been as into me as I had been into her. When I’d asked her if she wanted to come to my place, she hadn’t hesitated, not even a millisecond. On that cab ride to my place, she’d all but crawled into my lap to make out the entire drive.

And damn it, she’d been the one to start undressing first. The moment we’d crossed the threshold of my house, she’d whipped that argyle sweater-vest over her head.

“Fuck.” I tossed my phone aside and let my head fall back to the turf as I stared into the stars.

I’m pregnant

Now what?

No matter how many times I asked myself that question, I couldn’t come up with an answer. So I stared up at the oval of stars and spent the worst night of my life in the place where I was normally my best.

Come sunrise, she still hadn’t called.

The fieldhouse had a keypad for student athletes to access the weight room. We could come and go as needed to work out and train. Coaches didn’t want us paying for gym memberships or using equipment that wasn’t top-of-the line, so we all had codes to get in at odd hours.

Six o’clock in the morning wasn’t exactly an odd hour, but the doors had been locked when I’d walked over from the stadium after spending the night on the fifty-yard line.

The building had been quiet, the scents of concrete and floor cleaner thick in the air. Our first practice wasn’t until around noon. A workout might clear my head, help me think of a reply to Faye.

Hours spent staring into the night certainly hadn’t helped.

The locker room’s automatic lights had flickered on when I’d stepped inside. The lingering smell of cologne and sweaty clothes and metal lockers that was as familiar as my own skin should have been a comfort, except after I’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt from my locker, the knot in my gut had only seemed larger.

I’d trudged into the weight room, moving to the far corner of the huge space. The football team had reserved blocks when the entire gym was ours alone, but otherwise, we shared this facility with other student athletes.

I liked seeing friends from the basketball team. There were a few girls on the track and volleyball teams who were in better shape than any male athlete, myself included. Sharing had never bothered me.

And in my years on the Wildcats team, not once had it felt crowded.

Not before today.

I hadn’t been able to muster the strength to exercise. Instead, I’d been sitting in the corner, tucked behind a weight rack, staring at nothing for hours. Hoping to avoid notice. So far, I’d been lucky.

There’d been a handful of people who’d come in earlier. One of the assistant athletic directors who worked upstairs. A guy from the golf team. A girl I didn’t recognize but who’d been wearing a ski team T-shirt. Two basketball players.

Maybe there’d been others. I hadn’t really paid attention. I’d just sat in this corner, staring at a blank spot on the floor, hoping everyone would leave me the fuck alone. If they’d noticed me, no one had approached.

At some point, after everyone had left, the lights had gone off. I couldn’t replace it in me to move and trigger them on. The dark seemed fitting for my mood.

How long had I been here? I was probably late for practice. I’d get my ass chewed for sure.

Whatever. A lecture from a coach seemed fairly trivial today.

The door opened, the lights flashing bright. My phone, clutched in my hand, started to ring. The number on the screen read Seattle, Washington.

Not Faye.

She still hadn’t called. How could she not call? What the hell was her problem? Why would she have texted me in the first place? Was she really such a coward that she couldn’t face me?

Well, she couldn’t avoid me forever. I mean . . . maybe she could.

If she didn’t want to keep the baby.

Did she want to keep it? Did I?

The phone kept chiming in my hand as a towering figure appeared beside the weight rack.

I didn’t need to look up to recognize the man staring down at me. I recognized his Nikes from practice.

Coach Ellis.

“Rush.”

He was from Seattle. He’d played for the Seahawks. I should have put that together and realized who was calling.

Yep, I was late for practice. Shit. I gulped but kept my eyes glued to the screen.

The ringing finally stopped.

She was going to call me, right? Eventually, if I didn’t reply to that fucking text, she’d call.

Coach dropped to his haunches. “Rush.”

“Coach.” My throat was raw, my voice hoarse.

We had some strict rules this year, either because of all the shit that had gone down in the spring or because it was Coach Ellis’s style.

Our curfew was midnight. No drinking. No bars. Practices were mandatory. Don’t be late. If you broke the rules, your ass was on the bench. Indefinitely. I couldn’t sit on the bench. I had to play.

Move. Stand up. Why the hell couldn’t I get up off this floor?

I glanced at Coach Ellis, expecting to see a frown or glare. Instead he looked . . . worried.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Only an idiot would argue with that tone. It wasn’t angry, but it was firm. My dad had that same tone.

Would I have that with my kid?

I swallowed hard, turning back to my phone. At some point, I’d have to admit what was happening. I’d have to tell someone. But if I said it out loud, then it was real. I wasn’t ready for it to be real, not yet.

“Are you in trouble?” he asked.

A fuck ton. I nodded.

“Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?”

My throat bobbed as I swallowed a lump. “Eleven.”

Coach’s exhale was audible as he sat on the mat beside me, mirroring my posture with his forearms draped over his knees.

I tensed, waiting for the lecture I most definitely deserved. The ass chewing I normally got from coaches when I fucked up. Did Coach Ellis know I’d slept on the football field? “Aren’t you going to scream at me? Tell me to get off my ass and get to practice?”

“Not really a fan of screaming.” His voice was steady and calm. Not exactly gentle, but he wasn’t pissed off.

I stared at a concrete wall, still not sure what to say. Would it be easier if Coach yelled? Yes. No. Nothing mattered, not right now.

Coach Ellis didn’t move or speak. He simply sat with me until finally, knowing I couldn’t say the words but couldn’t keep this to myself any longer, I opened my phone, pulling up Faye’s text and shifting the screen for Coach to read.

I’m pregnant

The color drained from Coach Ellis’s face.

It took him a few minutes. But then he cleared his throat and told me a story.

The story of his daughter.

We missed practice.

My butt was numb from sitting on the floor in the weight room, but I’d listened to Coach without so much as shifting a millimeter as he’d told me about the girlfriend he’d gotten pregnant in college. How it hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed. How he had no regrets because his daughter was the light of his life.

The dread in the pit of my stomach felt never-ending, but at least the panicked fog had begun to clear.

“My life is over,” I muttered.

“Your life is different,” he corrected. “Not over. Just different.”

My life was definitely over. At least the life I’d planned. Goodbye professional football.

I opened my mouth, ready to tell him to stop pandering to me, but before I could say a word, I noticed the design on his white T-shirt.

A Super Bowl championship T-shirt.

He’d had a kid. And he’d still been a champion.

“It’ll be all right.” He stood, reaching out a hand to help me to my feet. “Call her. Talk it through.”

Pins and needles zinged through my legs as he gave me a moment to get my balance. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Welcome.” He dipped his chin. “You have my number. I’m here, day or night.”

I gave him a sad smile. “Sorry about practice. I’ll make it up to you.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Coach Ellis clapped me on the shoulder, then with a strong grip, steered me away from the wall, past the racks and treadmills to the door.

Guess my time in the weight room was over.

“Your car is at the stadium,” he said. “Houston found it.”

“I, uh . . .” Damn. “Sometimes I come to the field. To think. Sorry. That’s probably breaking the rules.”

Not probably. It was.

But he hadn’t gotten mad so far. Maybe today he’d give me the break I needed. Maybe he understood what it was like when a football field was your safe space.

Coach Ellis escorted me not just out of the weight room, but out of the fieldhouse entirely. I felt his gaze on my back as I started across the parking lot toward the stadium beyond.

As much as I wanted to replace a new hiding place, I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, until I was behind the wheel in my Yukon.

Then before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled up Faye’s number and dialed.

She answered on the first ring. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

Silence settled between us, a quiet so still and noiseless I lifted the phone from my ear to make sure she was still there. Then rested my head against the seat, my body sagging as deep as the steering wheel would allow.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked.

“I don’t know what to do,” I murmured.

She sniffled. “Me neither.”

“Guess we should talk?”

“I guess so.”