three years, I’ve had rough games—losses even—that have only gotten me a pat on the back and a “hang in there, kid.”
I run my hand through my hair and push it out of my eyes. “I couldn’t find my rhythm in the first half. I know I let you down.”
“Nonsense. You got yourself back up again at halftime like any good leader does, regrouped, rallied your guys, and pulled out a win. I’m wondering if you wanna talk about what’s going on in your head. What’s been bothering you all week.”
I nod slowly. There’s a reason we all view Sully like some kind of guru. He has this way of looking into you and pinpointing what’s wrong. It’s why so many of his old players stay in touch with him. Because he really cares, and I swear he can see shit other people can’t.
Swallowing, I rub my palms along my thighs. Time to bite the bullet.
“Got some news last week that’s been messing with my head.” And my pregame routine. Sleep. Homework. Sex life. Social life. The works.
But I think of that toothless grin Poppy gave me this morning before I left her with Bree, and my heart melts a little. That kid wrapped me around her pinky faster than Cal Winston’s release off the line.
She slept clinging to me like she was afraid to let go, which is better than crying. But still. I can’t get her down at bedtime the way Gabby does, and I can only ask the woman for help so many times a day. I know this is my problem and mine alone.
His chair creaks as he leans back and steeples his fingers over his stomach. “Tell me about it. Let’s work through this. I want you clear-headed for our away game this weekend.”
Son of a bitch. I need to get someone to watch her while I’m gone.
He taps a finger on his desk. “This about a girl? Nine times out of ten, when I have to call one of you in here, it’s about a girl.” He chuckles.
Immediately, Gabby comes to mind, and I almost agree with him.
Except, no, I remind myself.
Wait. I guess he’s right in a way.
Fuck, I can’t even think straight anymore.
“Yes, this is about a girl.” I pause. Take a breath and try not to let my balls crawl up. I’m worried I’m letting him and the team down. I haven’t spoken to my own father in weeks—he hasn’t called me since I almost emptied my bank account to pay his rent and buy him groceries. But Sully is here worrying about me. I owe him the truth. “It’s about my daughter.”
His eyebrows lift. “Come again?”
“She’s about six months old.”
Silence fills the room.
He taps that finger again. “I’m guessing from the look on your face, you just found out.”
I nod. See, Sully always knows things.
“That’s…” He’s quiet for another long minute. Damn, I rendered the man speechless, which is tough to do. I prepare myself for the lecture that’s sure to come.
He clears his throat. “I guess congratulations are in order.” It’s my turn to be surprised. “Son, there are few things in a man’s life as special as having a child.”
And he goes on to give me the pep talk I didn’t know I needed.
When he walks me out twenty minutes later, he pats me on the shoulder. “Is the baby mama around to help?” His lips pull up on one side. “I hear the kids use that term.”
“No, sir. She’s not, but, uh, I have a friend who’s been helping.”
“A friend, huh?” His bushy eyebrows quirk up. “A girl?”
I nod slowly.
He looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Weird. Coach never holds back.
But he knows my family situation well enough not to ask if my parents can lend a hand. A snowball has a better chance in hell than my father staying sober long enough to babysit.
Instead, Sully pats me on the shoulder again. Despite the motivational chat he just gave me, he looks kinda sad. Resigned, even. A knot of dread forms in my gut.
He releases a deep sigh and gives me a small smile. “Good. Well, guess you know this means you’d better get to bed on time each night. No dillydallying or you’ll never get enough rest. I remember when my Beth Ann used to wake up at all hours. It was hell.” He chuckles. “I don’t envy you, but you’re young. Healthy. You can do this. Just love up on that little