Page 15 of Filthy Player

The awestruck young man flashed his wide eyes to my dad as my dad introduced himself, barely keeping his composure. My dad wore his emotions on his sleeves, almost all of them always full of joy and love. In my entire lifetime, he’d raised his voice so few times I could count them on one hand. The worst being when I’d passed out at a high school party and didn’t come home until the next morning. I was so hung over I practically crawled into the house at eight o’clock. Even then, my dad had been more worried than pissed.

It wasn’t a surprise to see his excitement shining clear on his face. If he could get up and jump to show his glee, he would. Damn the strokes that took away his ability.

“You must be Sam,” Beaux said. “Your daughter Paige told me you were a big fan of ours, so the guys and I got together today after practice and got some things together for you.”

Christ on a cracker was right. My dad clutched the handle of his wheelchair with one hand, the other one limp in his lap.

I looked away from the men and gritted my teeth. He was only fifty-five years old, had always worked out and taken care of his body. The strokes had destroyed his physical strength and I hated it. I hated seeing him turn into a man he’d never been and yet he handled it with such grace. Tears welled in my eyes and I forced them down.

This wasn’t about my grief or my frustration.

“Damn,” Dad said, as Beaux opened the bag. If they noticed he couldn’t move his arm, they didn’t say anything.

Oliver Powell reached in and the first thing he took out was a jersey with his name and number on the back.

“We all signed this. Didn’t know who your favorite player was, so we went with mine because I’m pretty much the shit,” Powell said, smirking at Beaux.

“Right, of course,” he replied.

“No. This is good.” Dad tried shaking the awe out of his expression but it was fruitless. He was in absolute heaven. “This is…shit, honey,” he said. He clutched my hand with his good one and I held it firmly, looking down at him. The tears in his eyes mirrored my own blurry vision. “You did this for me?”

I squeezed his hand tighter. “You deserved it. It was just a simple favor I asked.”

“One we were more than happy to give,” Beaux said. He took out a football next, and a quick flip of it showed it covered in Sharpie marker. “It’s not a game ball, but we used it at practice today. All of us signed it, including the coaches,” he said, setting in my dad’s lap. None of them had blinked at my dad’s disability.

None had given me a look of pity.

They were just being nice. An onslaught of emotion slashed through me and I tried to hide it.

Beaux had done this for me, for my dad.

All to get into my pants? I was starting to doubt that was all he wanted. Seemed like a lot of work for little reward—for him, not me. With the way Beaux used his body not only on the field but standing in front of us, moving smoothly and confidently, his grin never slipping, I knew a night with him would be more rewarding than I could imagine.

And damn it. My heart was softening.

“We’ve got one more thing for you,” Kolby said. He stepped forward with a white envelope in his hands. “Season tickets to the games.”

“Holy crap!” Dad shouted. Forgetting about the jersey and the ball, he let go of my hand and reached for the envelope, clutching it in his hand. “You kidding me?” He looked at me and smiled wide. It’d been years since I’d seen him this happy. “What the hell did you say to them, girl?”

“Before you get too excited,” Kolby went on, “those are tickets for my suite. I get it for my ma and daughter. Just thought you’d want some company, and I know Mya would. But if you think she’d be too much for you—”

“No problem. Love little ones. Been on Paige’s butt to give me some grandkids of my own but she’s too damn stubborn to listen to anyone. Told her I wasn’t going to be around forever and she needed to give me that joy of seeing her holding her own newborn. Nothing better, man, holding life you created and been entrusted with it.”

Kolby grinned with pride. “Definitely understand that.”

Damn it. I’d flushed from head to toe when he mentioned my name at first, but all that turned to grief I tried to keep buried and locked down tight as he continued speaking. Already overwhelmed, it was impossible to keep a lid on it.

I sniffed, swiped beneath my nose, and turned away, brushing tears off my cheeks.

“Aww. Damn. I’m sorry, girl.”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

Next to me, Mike had slid to my side and he pulled me against him. I was falling apart in front of some of the best players in the country. How humiliating.

I couldn’t stop it.

“It’s all right,” Mike said. “Give yourself a second.”

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