Page 19 of Let You Love Me

“Everything okay?” Mom asks, eyeing me closely.

I never have been able to hide anything from my mother. Even my pregnancy. She knew from the moment I discovered I was pregnant that something wasn’t right. After weeks of trying my best to hide the truth, she wore me down until I caved.

The weight of the roof estimate is heavy in my pocket as I nod. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just need to talk to him about something.” I force a smile then turn, poking my head into the living room to tell Soph I’ll be right back, but she barely acknowledges me, too preoccupied with the preening unicorns on the screen.

My father’s office is at the end of the hall on the first floor, and as I draw closer, the familiar sounds of a football game reach my ears. The cheering fans, the sharp trill of the referee’s whistle, the confident rasp of the sports announcer’s voice. As weird as it is, those sounds offer me a weird kind of peace. I’ve been hearing them my whole life. I practically grew up on the football field.

The door is cracked but I knock anyway, knowing I need to give him a minute to take his mind off whatever thoughts are running through his head while the game plays on the screen.

I open the door further and step inside to see his gaze trained on the television, watching with rapt attention before he pauses it and turns back to me.

The rumpled state of his salt and pepper hair tells me he’s been running his hands through it, a clear sign he’s stressed.

“You ready for next Saturday?” I ask. It’s the first game of the season and they’ll be playing a team ranked higher than them.

He exhales and leans back in his desk chair, the leather squawking with the movement. “No. But we will be. It’s gonna be a tough one. Alabama look really good this year, but so does Chance. He’s strong, maybe stronger than ever.”

Right.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Chance Lockhart, Daddy’s claim to fame and his secret weapon. There’s no doubt thetalented quarterback is the reason for CU’s winning season these last two years. He’s also the reason Dad got the coaching position at CU in the first place. Although he doesn’t know I know this, I overheard the conversation several years ago and clung to it, praying for his sake everything worked out, and it did. My father has dreamed of coaching at collegiate level for Cumberland ever since a college injury took him off the CU field, and I was thrilled for his sake that his dreams came to fruition, even if it was in part due to Chance’s success.

I may be young, but I’m old enough to know not everyone is lucky enough to achieve their dream in this lifetime, and it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man. Both of my parents have been nothing short of incredible, supporting me through my pregnancy, withstanding the gossip and the scrutiny that comes with having a pregnant teen.

They lost friends over my indiscretion. Not to mention sleepless nights, stress, and money. Though I’ve tried my best to buffer any sacrifice on their part—because it was my actions that landed me here, not theirs—they inevitably paid a price for it. When you’re seventeen and pregnant, and lucky enough to have the support of your family, you lean on them whether you want to or not; to some degree, it’s impossible not to.

After Sophie was born, I took the full brunt of responsibility on my shoulders. I do everything in my power not to inconvenience them. I don’t accept money. I have a sitter who stays with Soph when I’m at school. I buy groceries and pay my own car insurance.

I’m cognizant of the time they spend with her, ensuring it’s the kind of quality time a grandparent would normally spend with their grandchild so as not to take advantage. I don’t expect them to provide childcare. Both of them are in their midforties and still young. They have careers and a life outside of mine. The only thing I’ve regularly accepted from them since her birth isthe roof over my head, because that I couldn’t turn down. Not if I want to build a better life for us.

In short, I don’t take handouts or favors. But I’m about to take one—a favor, that is. Or maybe it’s not a favor so much as it’s nepotism at play. Either way, it sits in my stomach like a lead brick.

“Lane?” he asks and I blink, noting the concern flickering in his eyes and realize he’s been talking while I’ve been zoning out.

“Oh. Sorry. I just . . .” I shake my head. “It’s been a long morning.”

His brow furrows. “I was asking what I can do for you.”

I clear my throat, fighting the urge to fiddle with my hands. “Remember the job you offered me last year?”

“The assistant spot working with Reid?” he asks, referring to the team’s equipment manager.

I nod. “That’s the one. Is it filled yet?”

“Not yet.” He leans back in his desk chair, fighting a smile. “I may or may not have told him to drag his feet posting it, but I’m hoping that’s about to change?”

It’s a question. He must sense I’m about to cave.

The hope I see in his eyes should make me feel better about taking the job, but it doesn’t. I hate feeling like I earned it only by name alone. I hate that people who have connections tend to get ahead in life, even if my father falls into the same category. It’s such an unfair advantage to those who don’t have any. I have no doubt the assistant spot will look good on my résumé, even if it has nothing to do with the degree I’m pursuing. My desire to major in sports therapy has everything to do with my upbringing and nothing to do with the fact that my father can get me a job as soon as I graduate. Hell, had I been a boy, I have no doubt I’d be playing college ball right now. But Mom and Dad didn’t have a boy, and after my mother had me and needed anemergency hysterectomy a few months later, their shot at ever having another child went out the window.

“I’ll take it,” I say, thinking of the estimate in my pocket, thinking of Sophie. It’ll make me far more money than my at-home gig doing data entry does. Plus, maybe if I’m smart with my time, I can still do both.

My father grins. Truthfully, he knows this will help me, but I also think he’s just as excited to have me on the field with him, working side by side.

“It’s about time. Glad to see you’ve come to your senses. This internship will make you a shoo-in for a job after you graduate. What made you change your mind?”

I shrug, racking my brain for a reason that doesn’t involve the roof estimate, because he’ll only offer to give me money. As a college coach to a team in the Big Ten, he makes a ridiculous amount of money, and when I refuse, it’ll turn into an argument.

“I figured the extra income would be good for me if I want to fix up the lake house, and like you said, itwilllook good on a résumé.”

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