Page 6 of The Silent Count
Abel’s girlfriend, Scarlett, invited me to Mae’s birthday party a few weeks ago, and the tension between Mae and October could’ve been cut with a damn knife. Their game of cat and mouse was fun to watch when I wasn’t stealing glances at Lea as she worked her way through the crowd. I still have visions of that form fitting red dress hugging her curves in all the right places.
“Vincent Fortune Bradford-Parker,” she hums with a nod, opening the file and flipping through the limited contents.
“Pretty bad name, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t say a word.” Lea tucks her lips between her teeth to conceal a light strain of laughter, and I match her expression.
“Didn’t have to.”
“I will say, I’ve heard… considerably worse before.” Lea shoots me a knowing look that tells me we’re riding the same wavelength. Our quarterback, October, has a sister named Halloween, which is… considerably worse.
“Where’d the name ‘Fortune’ come from? Not really one you hear often.”
“Family name,” I reply off handedly. “It’s been passed down for generations, but no one really knows when it started or where it came from. Just kind of stuck, I guess.”
It wasn’t like my father was around enough to divulge details about our family lineage. If I was lucky, he’d let me sneak in a few questions during his once-a-year attempt to see me on my birthday. He much preferred to fill my half-hour time slot with football talk instead. Reminiscing on his glory days between lectures on how I can improve my game—which was rich coming from the man who never once came to see me play. Not until I made it to the pros.
“You sure you’re ready to deal with everything that’s about to unfold?” She pauses with her lips parted like she wants to say something else. A second passes before Lea lays the closed file on her desk with a sigh and gives me all of her attention. “I don’t only mean with the press either. Sorting out family issues in the public eye is never fun to deal with. Trust me, I know.” Her eyes widen as she looks off to the side. “If anything, it makes dealing with it behind closed doors ten times harder. I just—I want to make sure you’re ready for it.”
Carrying the weight of my father’s name has been nothing short of a slight against me since day one. Vince Bradford might be one of The League’s most beloved players, but he was an absent father who only came around when he needed a photo op to stay relevant. Or to keep up the “family man” image he tried to create in interviews.
If someone counted up the hours, my guess would be that I’ve spent maybe a handful of days with my father over my twenty-eight years of life. So, you can see why I find it funny that every article, every mid-game replay, every action compares me to him.
People assume Vince has been an integral part in making me the player I am today. But they couldn’t be more wrong.
I’ve done this bymyself. Made a name formyself.
Which is why I don’t feel an ounce of guilt about dropping my father’s first and last name. He doesn’t deserve to have his name onmyjersey, and I don’t deserve to carry the weight of his name for the rest of my life.
“You say that as if you know from experience.” This time I’m the one examining her, noting the way her stare ever so slightly falters away from mine while red splotches spread over her chest.
Lea pins back her shoulders, letting out a deep breath as she schools her emotions. She rises from her seat and walks around her desk, taking a seat on the edge. There’s two feet of distance between us now, but the flaming tension from earlier is replaced with a bonded tether.
“We’re not all that different, you know?” Lea gives me a broken half-smile that makes my chest ache. I know that smile well, because I’ve worn it more times than I can count.
“I know.”
The moment hangs between us, and our silence says enough for both of us.
Lea reaches out her hand, an unspoken plea begging for my touch to ground her from the weight of the moment. Because we both know that her mom and my dad are two sides of the same coin.
Her touch isn’t the kind that sends jolts of electricity racing over my skin at first contact. Instead it’s comfortable. Serene. Right… it just feels right.
I’m not one to take risks often. And on the rare chance I do, they’re calculated risks. Heavily calculated. Yet something tells me I’m about to risk it all for my coach’s daughter, because one touch isn’t going to be enough.
THREE
LEA
I’ve beenon edge since the moment Fortune Parker stepped foot in my office this morning.
I’m rarely one to get flustered by players nowadays. There was a time when I was new to the job and being around hot, athletic men all day was exciting, but now that I sweep these players’ deepest, dirtiest secrets under the rug, that excitement has run its course. I know these guys are a bunch of grown children getting paid copious amounts of money to play a kids’ game. Something about seeing Fortune’s tall, brooding figure standing in my doorway earlier made my heart jump, bringing that long-forgotten excitement back to the surface. I like to think I covered it well with my pasted-on smile, but the more I replay the moment in my head, the more I doubt my subtlety.
It’s not something I’ve ever admitted out loud before, not even to my two best friends, but I have a school-girl style crush on Fortune and have for a while now. One I seldom allow myself to think about. Except for those late nights when I need something to occupy my mind as I doze in and out of consciousness. I never let it go further than mindless, late-night musing, though. As much as I’m intrigued by Fortune, there’s no way I’ll be able to act on my crush in real life without the risk of him losing his job… and my credibility.
There’s a fine line between a good reputation and being a league cleat chaser. One screw up… especially with a player, would tarnish the integrity I’ve spent over half a decade building with reporters and news outlets.
In my six years working for the team, none of the players have been stupid enough to go against my father’s orders. Normally, I don’t mind. I’m not interested in mixing business with pleasure, but there is something about Fortune’s quiet, mysterious demeanor that sparks a flame of curiosity somewhere deep inside my mind.
