Page 118 of Sin Bin Daddies
My hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles stretched pale. I want to believe I can handle this, that I can be part of it—her, the baby, all of it—but doubt clings to me like a second skin.
I care about Madeline. God, I do. More than I should. More than I planned to. I think about the way she kisses, how she looks at me like she sees through every layer I try to keep on.
I might be in love with her.
That truth slices clean through my chest. But what the hell does that change? What does love matter when you’re someone like me?
I’m a workaholic. Always have been. It’s what built my career, and it’s also what ruined my marriage. Elena left because I couldn’t be present.
Because no matter how many nights I was home, my mind was always buried in game reviews and strategy boards. I was married to the game. She got tired of being second place.
And now this. A baby. Madeline.
How am I supposed to balance that with this job, with the pressure mounting from Coach Ace’s offer, with the spotlight on me every single day?
By the time I pull into my driveway, my stomach is doing somersaults. I throw the car into park and sit for a minute, hands still on the wheel.
Then I’m out, unlocking the door and stepping into my quiet house, which suddenly feels colder than usual. The air is stale.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Asher. He’s dropped the hospital info in the group chat, directions, and appointment time. No fluff, just logistics.
The text punches through my gut like a fist.
I drop my keys on the counter and head for the kitchen. I barely make it to the sink before everything inside me rushes up and spills out.
I throw up until there’s nothing left but acid and dread. My mouth tastes like regret.
I rinse it out, then open the cabinet above the sink and pull down the bottle of whiskey I’ve been pretending I’m saving for special occasions.
This qualifies.
I pour a generous amount into a glass and take a long swallow, watching the fish drift slowly through the tank in the corner of the living room.
Their world is small, contained. Predictable. They swim in circles and get fed twice a day. No surprises. No secrets.
No panic texts about appointments and group decisions on baby names.
I’ve never felt more trapped.
My reflection flickers across the glass of the tank, distorted by the water and the low blue glow of the lights. I look like a man on the edge. Probably because I am.
Daisy’s situation nearly blew up Miami’s entire news cycle, and she was already a known quantity. Beautiful, beloved. She had three men and somehow made it look like a fairytale.
This isn’t that. This is a scandal. I’m part of the coaching staff. She works for the team. Even if she quits now, it won’t change anything. We didn’t exactly hide what we were doing either.
How do I explain this to Coach Ace? He just told me he sees me as his replacement, and I thanked him by fucking someone on staff and knocking her up. Real professional.
How the hell am I supposed to show up for Madeline when I already feel like I’m failing? She told Henry she was pregnant before she told me. That says it all.
My phone buzzes again. Its a message from Ford in the group chat.
>> Leo, make some excuse for us to miss practice. We wanna go to the appointment with her tomorrow.
I stare at the screen, throat tight.
They’re already in motion. Acting like a unit. Like a family. And I’m left out—no, I left. I’m over here spiraling and they’re… adapting.
I force myself to input a response. My fingers hover before I finally press send on a thumbs-up emoji.
