Suddenly, Leo bursts into a sob, snot running from his nose, his cheeks flushed. He reaches out for me, and I scoop him up in my arms and rub circles on his back, gently shushing him.
It only makes him cry harder, though, mumbling about missing his daddy.
Calling Evan isn’t an option right now, though. He looked like a zombie at the press conference. I was surprised he didn’t collapse onto the table.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I keep my voice quiet. “You’ll see your daddy tomorrow. Do you want some warm milk? That always makes me feel better.”
I’m lying. Who the fuck likes drinking an entire glass of milk? But I’ll say anything to calm Leo down.
He shakes his head, his words muffled as he sobs into my chest. I can’t make heads or tails of what he’s saying.
We need to try and find Leo a nanny who he connects with. That way, Evan will feel more comfortable, but he has his guard up. When you first meet him, he’s a stone-cold wall, and no doubt, it scares everyone who tries to work for him off.
Darrell has even taken one for the team before and got his wife, Hazel, to babysit Leo during a few games, but he expressed that it was a one-time thing and Evan shouldn’t get used to it.
After thirty minutes of continuous crying from Leo—the tiny human showing no sign of stopping anytime soon—I pull out my phone and call the one person I know who can advise me in this situation.
They pick up on the first ring.
“Poppy, I need your help.”
11: Mae
Ihave a newfound dislike for the media. I’d watched the Missarali Storks press conference on TV and was dumbfounded to discover that these reporters weren’t there to get the juice on football after all.
They treated the guys like caged animals, attempting to back them into corners. They showed no respect, and I breathed a sigh of relief once Darrell cut the conference short. Evan looked particularly pissed off, and rightfully so.
The mother of his son is nobody’s business but his own.
Nathan was calm and collected—like usual. He showed little emotion besides the odd flicker of frustration whenever a reporter asked an out-of-pocket question. Although I tried to watch everyone, my eyes gravitated to him, even when he wasn’t talking.
He looked good in a cap.
Okay, maybegoodis an understatement.
My mom is on the phone when she walks into the kitchen where I’m eating. A part of me wants to shy away from her—cover my food so she can’t see—but then I remind myself that I don’t give a fuck.
“Alright, Cam, put it in the diary, and I’ll book it.” My mom is smiling. It’s not something I see often, but then again, she doesn’t have much reason to smile around someone she dislikes. She cuts off the call, her eyes dropping to my plate before she sighs and pours herself a cup of coffee.
She sits opposite me. The tension is thick in the air, and I meet her eyes, raising my eyebrows. The only reason she’d willingly be sitting here with me is because she has something to talk to me about.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m more than okay.” She flicks her perfectly blown-out hair behind her shoulder. “Cam’s taking me out for dinner for a catch-up, so I’m going to need to leave practice a little early on Saturday. Can I trust you to hold the fort down?”
I resist snorting. It sounded to me like she’d been the one to ask Cam to dinner, but I resist voicing that opinion.
“Sophia’s the captain. Isn’t she in charge?”
My mom rolls her eyes. “Obviously, but the football players will be there at the same time, so I need you to let me know if there are any strange interactions between anyone.”
“Why does it sound like you’re just waiting for someone to mess up? I don’t want to be your spy.” I’m trying to make friends, and snitching on people is not the way to do it—not that there’s anything to snitch about. As far as I’ve seen, everyone’s been professional.
Even if I had bent down in front of Nathan in a shed with my ass hovering over his dick.
Concern flourishes on my mother’s face, the creases her makeup has settled into deepening. “Is there a reason for that, Mae? Is something going on with you and any of the—”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” I hold up my palm. “I don’t want to hear what you’re about to ask.”
