Page 58 of The Game Plan
I’m following the two of them as muffled voices sound from outside. Before Crew can reach the door, it swings open. Tyler Harris, their roommate and the team’s quarterback, steps through with his gym bag slung over his shoulder.
His eyes slide over to where Bret and I are standing in the doorway of the living room and foyer. Harris shakes his head. “Jesus, this feels like deja vu,” he mutters. “What’d you two do now?”
My brow furrows in confusion as Bret looks at me, mirroring my expression. Before I have a chance to clap back, two more figures step through the door. And I swear my stomach drops out of my ass.
Fuck me.
My parents walk through the doorway. And they arepissed.
“You two,” my mom snaps, eyes pinning my sister and I in place as her body practically vibrates in disappointment. “Was it something we did as parents? Honestly. Are we so terrible that both of our children feel the need to keep life-altering decisions from us?”
“Mom, slow down…” My sister steps forward with her hands raised, as if she’s talking to a wounded animal. But Mom’s eyes slice through her, silencing her in her spot.
“This isn’t about you right now, Bret Addison. But if I find out you knew about this and didn’t tell me, we’ll be having a different conversation.” She moves her glare onto me. “This is abouthim.Grant Derek Campbell,married? And you couldn’t even call us, let alone let us know you weredatingsomeone?”
Crew clears his throat. “Need some help folding laundry?” he asks Harris.
“Yeah, man. I, uh, think I forgot how to fold my…uh, towels.”
I keep the chuckle deep inside as I watch the two run up the stairs like children. “He’s married?” Harris’s whispered question isn’t very low.
Fuckers.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” I groan, gripping the back of my neck and turning toward the living room. Might as well sit down for this interrogation.
Bret follows me back into the living room, and we take our same places on the couch. Mom and Dad stand on the other side of the coffee table, refusing to sit. The last time I saw them look at us like this, I was eight, and Bret and I were getting lecturedabout not using super glue. In our defense, we’d been playing superheroes, and the tape kept falling off the leaves I was using to camouflage her.
Dad’s face is stone. Not a single twitch or flicker in his expression, and that’s what scares me. The silence. The stillness. It’s almost more terrifying than yelling.
“But it did,” my father snaps, voice low and dangerous. “In front ofmystaff. Inmygoddamn facility.”
I start to speak, but the look he gives me in my direction silences me.
“I was blindsided,” Dad says sharply. “In the middle of a staff meeting, you decide to make the biggest personal revelation of your life and drag my entire program into it.”
I glance at my sister for help, but she’s frozen, staring at her clasped hands in her lap.
He keeps going. “I’ve built this team. I’ve brought in titles, funding, national recognition—and now, the story is going to be about you. My son. The coach’s son. Secretly living with and marrying a student. A pregnant one carrying someone else’s baby. As if we needed more attention on our father-son dynamic.”
My stomach churns as the weight of it all crashes over me. This is exactly what I feared. Not for me. As much as the spotlight is going to suck, I can handle it. I’m strong enough. But Savannah… She didn’t ask for this kind of scrutiny.
“You’ve put yourself, her, and this family in a very public situation.” Dad continues. “One that makes this university look unethical. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I wasn’t going to sit there and let them throw out bullshit accusations. She’s not somestudent; she’s the woman Ilove.”
Mom sniffles. I glance over in time to see her chin wobble. I hate that this is hurting her. I’ve gone and put my foot in my mouth, but I can’t pull back now.
“It wasn’t supposed to come out like that,” I say, voice hoarse. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, but it did.”
“You got married to a woman who’s carrying someone else’s child? And you hid it from us?” Mom asks, the question trembling with her disbelief.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I start to say, but Dad cuts me off.
“Sorry isn’t good enough, Son.” His eyes are trained on me. “It’s about responsibility. It’s about setting an example—a good one. You’ve jeopardized this entire program with one action. You understand? This is no longer your personal life. This is aheadline. This is ascandal.”
“And what exactly will the media do with that?” Mom questions, turning her attention to Dad. “How will they treat her?”
“That’s not my concern, Emily,” Dad snaps.
