Page 31 of Unrivaled

With a nod at my reflection I feel slightly better. Just a little, but I’ll take whatever boost I can get right now.

Grabbing my black knee high boots from my closet, I sit on the edge of my bed and put them on, toss the important things in a small clutch instead of the giant tote I usually carry, and with a deep breath, I exit my room.

Mom pokes her head out of the kitchen when I get back to the living room, and Dad looks up from the book he’s reading in his favorite chair while Ben watchesDinosaur Train.

“You look beautiful,” Mom says, crossing to me and giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Mom.” I give her a wan smile, because I know she means well and wants me to be happy. And I hate that I’m essentially lying to my parents by not telling them what’s really going on. But I can’t. Not yet. Soon, though. Probably tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. Because this conversation with Grayson is going to change everything.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gray

Despite telling Tiffany that she could pick our meeting location, she never did, so I finally asked her to meet me outside the athletics center, since that’s where I’ve been all afternoon.

I’m starving after running drills and working out. I’m hoping I can convince her to get dinner somewhere, either out or, if she’s okay with it, back at my place.

At my place we’d have privacy for our discussion, plus I’d have my pre-prepped post-workout meal, but she might feel more comfortable being in public with me since we’re virtually strangers.

I pull out my phone to check the time, wondering what the chances are of her standing me up since it’s already 5:07.

But when I lift my head, there she is, looking like some combination of catalog model and fallen angel, her blonde curls blowing around her head from the cold wind whipping through the corridor created by the trees and buildings that lead to the athletic center. Kick ass boots encase her long, lean legs, and the hem of her dress peeks out from beneath her wool coat, flaring as she walks.

She looks like she’s ready to go out somewhere, and I can’t help glancing down at my very casual post-workout attire of joggers, sweatshirt, and unzipped puffy coat in varying shades of gray and black with the bold exception of the red lettering on my Marycliff football sweatshirt.

Maybe I should just plan on eating the protein bar I carry in my bag for emergencies, because what are the odds she’ll want to be seen in public with me dressed like that?

When she’s right in front of me, her face a neutral mask, I gulp and straighten my shoulders, offering a tentative smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she returns, her voice flat, deflating any hope I had of this being a positive encounter. Some part of me still hoped she might be into me again like that night we first met. Despite her hostility now, I know she’s charming and sweet when she wants to be. I had that directed at me once upon a time, and I thought maybe I could convince her to again. Guess not.

She glances around and pulls her hair to one side, holding it so the wind doesn’t whip it into her face, then refocuses on me. “Where are we doing this?”

So direct and to the point. Blunt. No fiery fury like last week and definitely not the smiling girl who danced with me at that party. But a lot has happened since then. She’s not licking her wounds from a bad breakup and looking for something to distract her. She’s a woman, a mother, and she sees me as a threat. Something to be dealt with.

My teeth grind together at that realization. I don’t want things to be shitty between us. I was serious that night years ago when I told her I wanted her number before she left, and I’d been disappointed that she didn’t follow through. But I figured maybe she didn’t want to get involved with anyone else, fresh off her breakup. Or maybe she got back together with her ex. Or maybe she’d just moved on. Regardless, the night we met was a fond memory, even after it was relegated to the annals of high school shenanigans.

I never expected to see her again, much less find out that she’s the mother of my kid.

She clearly never expected to hear from me either, especially after how my high school coach treated her. I have to force myself not to grind my teeth or flex my fists at the fresh wave of rage that washes over me from the way he inserted himself and decided making me a deadbeat was in my best interests.

Tilting her head, she raises her brows, and I can’t help but get lost in her icy blue eyes.

“What do you tell people?” I ask.

My question clearly catches her off guard, because her eyebrows twitch together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

I clear my throat. “About me. I mean, about Ben’s father.” Lifting a hand, I gesture vaguely at her. “He looks nothing like you. Do people say things? Ask about me?”

Ducking her head, she looks away and crosses her arms, her neutral mask faltering for a moment before sliding back into place. “I tell them the truth, that his father’s not in the picture. Most people just tell me how cute he is, ask if he’s mine, and say he must take after his father.” She looks at me again. “I just say thanks and smile, because random strangers aren’t entitled to details about my life.”

I grunt in response. It’s a version of the truth, and far more charitable toward me than I have a right to expect given the way she was fobbed off. Her family must hate me too, since I’m sure they all believe the same story.

God, that kills me.

I’ve always been the responsible one. The guy other people count on to do the right thing. It grated enough that my second string quarterback had it in for me all season, but I could ignore that for the most part, because it was clear that was all about him and nothing to do with me personally.

But this? They believe I’m a terrible person because they were told I wanted nothing to do with Tiffany and Ben. That I abandoned them, choosing to be a selfish little shit and take the easy way out while leaving her to deal with a lifetime of consequences.

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