Quarterback's Unknown Baby Daughter: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read online

  It was a shithead move, and I knew it, but the brain isn’t always the boss in these situations. I never actually had sex with the girl, but I did spend the night in her bed after passing out dead drunk. Quite honestly, I don’t even recall her name. At any rate, I was too wasted to function in that capacity. The weekend-gone-bad with Deanna had left me angry, belligerent and yeah, horny as hell. Arguing over the fact my family had money and hers didn’t, that her grades wouldn’t have allowed her entrance to the same college, and my rowdy choice of cohorts didn’t exactly get us cozy between the sheets.

  That’s when my buddies dragged me out a few days later for some slap and tickle at the Beta Sigma Phi sorority house to assuage my frustration. Afterward, I felt so guilty I texted Deanna and confessed it all. I missed her. I thought coming clean was the best way to fix things. Honesty is still the best policy, isn’t it? The Bible says so. At least my daddy always said so.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t see it that way.

  Wyatt Connor. Don’t u evr txt me again. We r done. Never wanna c u again.

  The message was burned in my brain. It was tough at first, but I did as she asked. I stayed away.

  I roll over onto my stomach and punch one of the stupid damn pillows. Thirteen years have come and gone since then. I lived my life, and she lived hers. I finished school, played on the college team as per my scholarship agreement and was groomed for the NFL the whole way. I’ve never known anything else. And Deanna… Well, she chose to have a family. A beautiful twelve-year-old girl who by some coincidence loves football.

  Is she married? She still goes by the name Murphy, but that doesn’t prove a thing. Neither does the absence of a wedding ring. Either way, Deanna has clearly gotten over me faster than a hound follows a good scent, and I have to admit the thought hurts me. If Grace is twelve, she had to have been conceived not long after Deanna and I called it quits.

  Or maybe before.

  The dark thought pops uninvited into my brain, as though planted there by some invisible bad angel on my left shoulder. Whoa – that couldn’t be. Deanna didn’t have loose morals, except for the ones my lusty teenage self had pried open. She was the epitome of her mama’s good girl, the virtuous dutiful Christian daughter. Practically a recruitment poster for the local convent. If anyone had ruined her reputation, it was me. She wouldn’t have fooled around behind my back, would she?

  No way. Not with a mama like hers. Mrs. Murphy only let me in the front door because of my parents’ upstanding place in the community, not because she trusted or thought any higher of me than the average rattlesnake. I couldn’t imagine her sanctioning another suitor for her precious daughter so soon.

  Oh, Christ.

  Holy fucking Christ on a mule.

  The only other explanation is… No. Hell no. My brain doesn’t want to go there, but it does. Could Grace be mine? Mine and Deanna’s child? You screwed the ass off each other; that’s kinda how it works, homeboy. Holy shit. I can hardly fathom the enormity of that concept. You have a daughter. And she never told me. Not one doggone word.

  She never fucking told me. Somehow, this hurts even worse than thinking someone else could be Grace’s father, and I know what I have to do before I return to New York.

  I have to know the truth.

  I’m not the only one who has to come clean.

  Chapter Seven

  Deanna

  IT’S A NEW DAY

  “Hannah, has that dang batch of Cymbidiums come in yet?” I ask my assistant.

  I’m anxious to start work on a big order for the local Oilmen’s banquet, and the shipment of special orchids has been delayed. Fifty custom centerpieces just don’t pop out of my butt; it will take a whole day’s work to have them ready on time.

  “Truck’s just pulling up out back now,” Hannah says. “I’ll go sign for them and help unload.”

  “Great. Bring them out front while I start on the containers. And hurry – it’ll take both of us moving at top speed to get this finished before closing today.”

  “Sure thing, Deanna.” Hannah pivots and trots away to the back entrance, her long ponytail swinging in her wake.

  I don’t mean to be snappish, but I’m not quite my usual self today. Hannah’s my right arm, and it wouldn’t do to be cross with her, even though I know she would never quit on me. She’s been a loyal and hard worker since the day the shop opened, as well as a good friend. But she’s also getting married to her long-time beau next spring, and moving to Dallas. I’ll miss her. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been training Grace in the floral business, but she’s still young and with many more years of school ahead of her. I’ll have to hire another assistant at some point, but I reckon I’ll be hard-pressed to find someone as talented and reliable as Hannah.

  With a sigh, I get busy shoving foam bases into the fifty shallow pots lined up on our worktop. For a moment, I toy with the idea of bringing Grace to the shop for the afternoon to help, but the school year has just started, and I don’t want to interrupt her routine until she’s more settled in. She would be distracted anyway, what with all the excitement her ‘Player of the Game’ award has stirred up. Not to mention the hoopla over the man who presented it to her. Her little friends at the restaurant last night jumped up and down like jackrabbits in Wyatt Connor’s presence, clamoring to get his autograph on a flimsy Sizzle Shack napkin. Shoot! That reminds me. She’s going to a sleepover at one of those friend’s houses tonight. Whew! That will give me extra time to work, as her friend’s mother will be picking them all up from school.

  I start working faster, my thoughts a jumble of everything, but at the forefront is Wyatt Connor. All-star quarterback. League MVP. Secret baby-daddy. What would the world think of him if that news came out? That would be some tarnish on his shining armor. Ugh. The last twenty-four hours has taken its effect on me too, making me ornery as a bear today. I’d been about to blurt out the truth to Wyatt and, thank goodness, those girls had stopped me, though it could hardly have cranked up the awkward meter any higher than it already was.

  We’d said our goodnights, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of it. He told me he’ll be on a plane this afternoon, jetting back to New York and out of my life once again. Out of our lives, I remind myself. Mine and Grace’s. Thank the Lord. It didn’t matter that he’d apologized and that I’d nearly forgiven him. He’s gone, no one’s the wiser, my mental shelf is clear, and it’s a brand-new day.

  I gaze out the front of the shop to admire the bright sunshine pouring in, imparting a glowing blaze of color as it illuminates the display arrangements I’ve put in the window. It puts a smile on my face.

  Yes, sir, a brand-new day.

  Suddenly a shadow moves past the window and pauses in front of the door. I’m never one to turn away customers, but I really need to get this order done.

  “Hannah!” I call, just as she bustles into the room with her arms full of long boxes.

  “Here they are,” Hannah says in a breathy voice, setting the boxes on a nearby table.

  Our heads swivel in unison as the door chime sounds and a tall figure steps in. He’s dressed in a suit that I’m sure even Armani would envy, capped off in true Texas style with a superb Stetson hat and gator hide boots polished to a gleaming shine.

  “Mornin’ ladies,” he says, allowing his familiar Texan drawl out to play – the one that had been conspicuously missing last night. With a heart-stopping smile, he removes the hat and nods in polite deference. The very picture of a Texas gentleman.

  “Mornin’,” Hannah and I mumble simultaneously. Poor Hannah is frozen in place, her hands still gripping the flower boxes and her eyes wide as two harvest moons.

  “May we help you?” I ask on reflex.

  “Oh my stars, you’re... you’re...” Hannah stutters.

  Wyatt’s smile dims to a professional grin and offers her a handshake. “Wyatt Connor, ma’am. A pleasure.”

  “Ohhh... the pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Connor,” Hannah says
, clearly blushing as she takes his hand, the flowers forgotten.

  Dear Lord, does every female on the planet react to him this way? Whether they’re twelve or two hundred? I curse inwardly. Can’t say as I blame them; he’s a six-foot-four and two hundred and thirty-pound hunk of male perfection.

  “As a matter of fact, you can help me. If I could have a word with the lovely proprietress of this establishment, I’d be obliged.” He turns and looks directly at me. “In private?”

  His expression changes as he turns to me; he’s not asking, he’s demanding. The gorgeous blue orbs of his eyes take on a deeper hue... like the ocean on a windy day. As I take a closer look, there are shadows beneath them that hint he’s not slept well. A curly forelock of brown hair flops across his brow giving him a vulnerable, little boy look. I thought he would be long gone to the airport by now. What the blazes does he want?

  “Of course,” I answer, peeling off my canvas work gloves. “I have an office in the back. Hannah, mind taking over things for a minute?”

  “No trouble at all, Deanna. You two go on. An honor to meet you, sir.”

  “This way,” I say, gesturing to the back of the shop. I would just as soon have stepped outside into the warm sunshine, but there are too many eyes keeping a bead on things in downtown Odessa.

  Wyatt follows me down the short corridor, his fancy boots clomping on the tiled floor.

  “Sure smells fine in here,” he comments. “I feel as if I’ve been transported to a tropical island.”

  “We do get a lot of exotic blooms imported from the tropics,” I say, trying to keep my nerves in check.

  It’s small and messy, but I push open the door to my office and offer him the lone visitor chair across from my desk that’s covered in stacks of paper alongside my laptop. He glances at it but doesn’t sit down.

  “A fine shop you’ve got here.” He ignores the dingy surroundings.

  “Thank you.”

  “I won’t keep you,” he says, fidgeting with his Stetson. “So I’ll just get right to it. I’ve done a lot of thinking since last night, and I want to ask you something, straight out. You can tell me I’m off my nut a mile and a half if you like, but I want you to tell me the truth.”

  My stomach clenches at his words. He seems almost nervous, and that’s not like him at all. The Merriam-Webster dictionary has his picture under the word ‘confident’.

  I brace my hands against the desktop and give a curt nod. “Okay, shoot.”

  He relaxes a bit but doesn’t break eye contact. It’s all I can do to stay upright and meet his gaze.

  “Is Grace ours? You and me? Am I her biological father?”

  My knuckles turn white as my grip tightens on the wooden desktop, clinging to it to prevent myself from slipping to the floor in a dead faint. How the hell did he find out? Was I that obvious last night, despite my efforts to conceal the truth? Even though I had a momentary slip and wanted to tell him, what good could come of it now? We lead completely different lives. I’m no gold-digger; if I’d wanted financial support, I would have gone after it long ago. If I deny it now, it will all be over. He would have no reason to contact us again, and Grace and I can carry on as we always have. Perhaps that would be for the best.

  “You lost your right to ask that question a long time ago,” I finally reply, my voice tight.

  Wyatt doesn’t flinch. He stands like a Greek statue, resolute and determined. I know I’m not getting out of this with a vague statement like that.

  “I have every right.” The strain in his voice is evident. “If she’s mine, I’m responsible. She had to have been conceived before you and I broke up. The math doesn’t work any other way; unless there was some other man in the picture. If so, tell me now, and I swear I’ll walk away and never bother you again.”

  The look on his face is so needful and genuine; I’ve never seen him this open and raw, desperate for the answer to a question only I can give him. It pains me to see it, and even more so that he might think I’d been unfaithful to him. I can’t lie to him about this. My Christian upbringing and – I can’t deny it – deep-rooted love for this man makes it impossible.

  I close my eyes and shake my head slowly. “There’s no one else. There’s never been anyone else, Wyatt. Ever.” My eyes pop open again and look straight into his. A maelstrom of emotions swirls inside them.

  “Never?” he asks quietly, as though in disbelief.

  “Nope. Grace is your daughter. Our daughter.”

  Chapter Eight

  Wyatt

  PASS INCOMPLETE

  I knew. Somehow, I knew before even asking the question. Grace is my daughter; mine and Deanna’s. How could Deanna not have told me? All these years, she’s denied me this existential fact. It borders on cruel. I could have helped raise the baby, paid for anything she needed, yet she kept quiet. Not even a damned support order. Even if by legal means at least I would have known. She hated me that much for cheating on her that she couldn’t stand the thought of me being involved in any way? Couldn’t find even an ounce of forgiveness in her bones? And what must have the Bible-toting Mr. and Mrs. Murphy thought? Do they know I’m Grace’s father? Questions flood my mind one after the other, like a bursting dam. And I want the answers – all of them. But one is at the top of the list.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I say, the quietness in my voice belying the resentment I feel.

  Deanna squares her shoulders and faces me directly, like she’s fixing to stab a knife through my heart. It wouldn’t matter if she did; she couldn’t hurt me more than she has already.

  “You abandoned me, Wyatt Connor. You ran away faster than a fox out of a henhouse, with all your folks’ money in your pocket and a scholarship to boot. There was no place in your life for a simple country girl like me. Football and the big city and college floozies were all you cared about.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it. I kept in touch; I wanted us to make a go of it. I wouldn’t have invited you out there to visit if I didn’t.”

  “Well, we both know how that turned out.”

  “I’m sorry. I can only say it so many times. I told you the truth about what happened.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact you did it anyway. You broke my heart!” Her voice is cracking. “You betrayed me and all of what we had together.”

  Despite the anger and resentment filling the room, all I want to do at this moment is hold her, console her. Make everything right again if it’s within my power.

  “I get that. I do. We were young and foolish, and you were scared. You must have known our baby was on the way by then. But even if you hated me at that moment, I still deserved to know. I’d have taken responsibility. I could have helped you – money wouldn’t have been a problem, I—”

  “No.” Deanna sniffs, struggling to keep the waterworks at bay. She’s not succeeding. “That’s just it. Money was the problem. I knew how much football meant to you. I couldn’t hold you back – saddle you with a kid and sabotage your career before it had even begun. You’d have asked your folks for money, and I was afraid you might ask me to get—”

  She stops and swallows hard, choking back tears and possibly the word she’s about to say. A word I’m dreading.

  “—rid of it,” she finishes, turning her face away.

  I feel like I’ve taken a punt right in the breadbasket. Doesn’t she realize I grew up in the same town, with the same values? I would never have entertained the thought of an abortion. Then again, she never gave me the opportunity to entertain any thoughts about my own child, did she?

  “It’s the greatest sin against God there is,” she goes on. “Morally, I couldn’t do that. And I didn’t want to put you in a position to ask it. When I saw the kind of life you aspired to, I knew I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Deanna, if there was any sin committed between us, it was that you didn’t tell me the second you knew you were pregnant. That you allowed pride and resentment to stand in the way of me sharing in someth
ing wonderful that belonged to both of us. You robbed me of a daughter.”

  She turns and trains her tearful visage on me. “I didn’t see it that way. At the time, I thought I’d made the best choice – the right choice – for both of us.”

  “You mean for the three of us, don’t you? Without consulting anyone else. That’s a pretty selfish choice.”

  “Wyatt, please...” Deanna begs, tears brimming in those beautiful green eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, tempering my anger.

  I didn’t come here to make matters worse. The poor girl looks as torn up on the outside as I feel on the inside. Hurtful words won’t help, nor will they change anything. What’s done is done.

  I take a step forward and reach out to stroke her arm. “I understand. You did what you thought was best. But Jesus, Deanna; you went through the whole pregnancy alone, and in a town where people talk... where everyone talks. It must have been insufferable. The sideways looks, the gossip. And your mama and daddy—” I break off, taking an even breath. “They must think I’m lower than an earthworm in a wagon rut. That is, unless you didn’t tell them who the father was.”

  “I told them.” Deanna nods. “How could I not? There wasn’t anyone else in the frame. They knew what kind of relationship you and I had. I thought we would be together forever. I loved you. You said you loved me.”

  I sigh and pull her close. She smells of flowers and blue sky and sunshine, all the things that remind me of Texas and made me think of her over the years we were apart. Strangely, I feel like I’m home again. Not my physical home in NYC, but in the place my heart resides no matter how far away I roam.

  “I said it. I meant it. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  She shudders a little in my arms, as though releasing the tension of thirteen years. “So you see, our child was conceived in love. There’s no greater gift than that. Momma and Daddy knew that. They never shunned me or made me feel any kind of shame. They loved me and Grace with all their hearts, rest my daddy’s soul.”