Page 48 of Sidelined By Love

Though I might break my own rule about being with someone in the public eye if the man had any interest in me. Not that my dad needs to know that.

“That’s not what the tabloids are saying.” He still doesn’t look up, and his voice is completely flat.

“And you know what a paragon of truth they are.”

Dad’s fingers fly over his keyboard, completely disconnected from the words he mutters. “I don’t care if it’s true.”

Seriously? Shouldn’t the truth count for something?

With a scowl, Dad continues. “It’s not good for Reddington, and he’s the face of this team. I want it to stop.”

I try to find my smile, but it’s hiding pretty well. “Whatever happened to any publicity is good publicity?”

“Not when you’re involved. You could tarnish a nun’s reputation.”

His words slice through me, cutting off any response and leaving me doing my best fish impression.

“Just fix it.”

“But I don’t have—”

“This is your mess, so clean it up. Don’t I pay for an overpriced publicist?”

No. He hasn’t paid her salary since I was eighteen. And a man as obsessed with his money as he is knows that.

When I remain silent, he finally looks up, eyes narrowed and shrouded, thick eyebrows pulled together. “Get it done. Or I will.”

Suddenly I’m fifteen again, grounded for sneaking out of the Manhattan penthouse to see a show on Broadway, that same threat in my father’s voice. It’s the tone that says I won’t like his fix. It’s the tone that says life as I know it is about to change.

It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-seven and have been living on my own for ten years, supporting myself for nearly as long.

My mistake was doing exactly what he warned me against—getting involved with his locker room.

And I don’t know what I hate more. His insistence on control. Or that he was right.

Tears spring to my eyes, blurring the lines of his face. But I refuse to knuckle them away or give him any indication that he’s gotten to me. “I’ll deal with it. Your precious reputation will be fine.”

Your daughter’s heart, maybe not so much.

Sixteen

Grant

Istop to chat with the equipment guys on the field after practice, so I’m the last guy to make it into the locker room. I’m already pulling off my pads and practice jersey as I step inside. Suddenly everything goes quiet.

Everything.

I’ve literally never heard the room silent until this moment. There’s always someone joking, someone razzing another guy, one of the guys from the social media team interviewing a player, or at least the sounds of groaning after an exhausting practice.

When I walk through the metal double doors, I step into a vacuum.

Getting my pads off, I can confirm what I already suspected. Everyone is staring at me. Every guy in the room. They know something I don’t. And it makes my chest tight and my lungs strain for a simple breath.

I stare pointedly at my center Scott. He doesn’t even pretend to hold my gaze, dipping his chin and turning toward his locker. Ja’maar, usually the life of the locker room, is slumped in his purple chair, elbows resting on his knees as he rubs a palm over his bald head.

“All right. Someone start talking.” I use my QB voice, the one that gets heard even over fifty thousand fans. “Now.”

From the corner of the room, Card looks up from where he’s literally twiddling his thumbs, his big shoulder leaning against the wooden frame of his cubby. “You could have just told us you were seeing her instead of trying to warn us off her.”

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