Page 1 of Out of Bounds

Chapter One

Dad.

That was a word Gunnar Gracin had resigned himself to never being called. And yet, here he was, waiting on the results of a paternity test.

Having spent the last seven years in Ireland, he’d arrived in Atlanta six months ago, expecting to be announced as the new head coach for the Atlanta Rising Football Club right away. But some reorganization at the corporate level had pushed it back a couple of months, which really was fine by him. It’d given him time to adjust to the new city without anyone knowing who he was or why he was here.

It just hadn’t prepared him for the bomb that was going to drop the moment he was announced.

“You’re sure?” Gunnar asked, turning to look at Dalton Sutherland, the new CEO of Southland Holdings and acting president of the Atlanta Rising Football Club. Better known simply as “the big boss.” They were standing on the balcony of the brand-new training center that overlooked the main practice field, and despite being outdoors, Gunnar was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. So much for thinking the fresh air would help.

“Unless you have an identical twin that you don’t know about, then the test is pretty conclusive. Ninety-nine percent to be precise,” the blond man told him. The guy was a dead ringer for Scott Eastwood, just taller and with a much thicker southern accent. “She’s your daughter.”

“I have a daughter,” Gunnar muttered out loud, still trying to wrap his brain around the idea. A shiver rushed through him, although he wasn’t quite sure if it was from uttering this revelation out loud or just the cool February breeze.

“At least you skipped the diaper phase, dude,” Britt “Cowboy” Callahan, the team’s Technical Director and one of Gunnar’s closest friends commented.

Gunnar let out a groan, not sure if that was any kind of consolation right now. Dirty diapers might have been a better option than a potentially surly twenty-two-year-old girl who had just discovered her long-lost sperm donor.

“We’ve arranged for a bigger apartment for you in the same building. If you and Talia are interested, we can get some movers there this afternoon to get you into that space.”

“Ummm, yeah, sure,” Gunnar replied. Would she even be interested in living with him? She hadn’t exactly been overly forthcoming with information when she approached him a couple of days after he was announced as head coach. Hell, he knew almost nothing about her other than her name and that her mother claimed to have had a one-night stand with him back in 1998 during the World Cup in Paris.

“Not to be the arsehole here, but…” he continued, trying to figure out exactly how to word this question.

“She consented to a background check at the same time as she did the paternity test, and everything checks out,” Dalton said, addressing Gunnar’s concerns as if he were reading his mind. “Talia Whitmore was born April 12, 1999 to Elena and Robert Whitmore in Prescott, Arizona. Elena passed away two years ago, leaving behind her husband, Talia, and two more children. Talia graduated high school with a decent GPA and completed three semesters at Arizona State before dropping out, right around the time her mother passed. It appears that Talia has been working different miscellaneous jobs around the Prescott area since, most recently as waitress at a Chili’s.”

“Well then, alright. Sure, if she’s interested, then we might as well share a flat. Figure out this family thing.”

“I will get everything going then.”

Turning away from him and Cowboy, Dalton walked back inside the training center. The two former teammates watched their boss as he disappeared around a corner inside the building, before turning back to each other.

“I would have lost good money on that bet,” Cowboy said, breaking the silence. “I was unaware you knew how to bust a load and hit the road.”

“You and me both, dude, you and me both. For the life of me, I don’t remember an Elena.”

“How clear is your memory after that win though?”

His buddy had a point. That was the first World Cup his home country of Croatia had ever played in. While they had lost to France in the semifinal round, they had gone on to beat the Netherlands in the third-place playoff, with their striker, Davor Šuker, taking home the Golden Boot. A bronze medal might not mean much to some, but to them, it meant everything. They’d partied hard that night, making their way from club to club all around Paris, like they owned the world. Gunnar remembered very little after the second bar they’d visited, and he certainly didn’t remember any kind of hookup that night.

What he did clearly recall, though, was returning to Croatia a hero, having represented their newly formed country proudly in their first major international tournament, and finally having the balls to tell the girl he’d loved since they were kids how he felt. What he remembered was how elated he felt when she told him she felt the same way. That moment was supposed to be the start of the rest of their life together. That was until fate decided it had another plan.

Letting out a long sigh, he leaned onto the railing, looking out over the lush green practice field. What he would give right now to have Anya, his late wife, here with him. She would know what to do.

“I need to grab some things before our first meeting with the team. Take a moment, catch your breath, talk to Anya. I’ll see you inside in twenty.”

Gunnar heard the glass door close behind him, not bothering to turn and watch Cowboy leave. The guy had been by his side since they’d played together for Liverpool almost fifteen years ago. He’d been there after the car accident that revealed Anya’s rare blood disease and Gunnar’s sudden decision to retire from the game so he could spend more time with her. He’d also been there when she passed just three years after that. Cowboy had supported him through the grief and never once harassed him over the fact he knew Gunnar still talked to his late wife as if she could hear him. When their other former teammate Cullen Cruz had turned down the job as head coach for the Rising, it had been Cowboy who called first to ask if he would be interested, not that Cullen’s call had been far behind.

“Oh Anya…I sure fucked this one up,” Gunnar said with another heavy sigh. “I swear I don’t remember her. Not that you would care. No, right about now you’d be way too excited about having a daughter. You probably would have already taken her to lunch and learned all about her.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head as he pushed back from the railing and started to pace. Anya’s smiling face was so clear in his mind she might as well have been sitting in one of the wicker chairs.

“I’m a father, Anya. A dad. I don’t know how to be a dad. It’s not like I had one. Also, she’s twenty-two. What the fuck do I do with a twenty-two-year-old? Any advice you have would be really great right about now, because I’m not sure this is something I’m going to be able to fake.”

“Who are you talkin’ to?” a snarky, female voice asked.

Gunnar whipped around to find Felicity Sutherland, Atlanta Rising Director of Team Services, and older sister to Dalton. The tall, leggy blonde stood there, one hand on her jutted-out hip, the other holding on to some kind of portfolio, her ever-present unamused sneer on her face. Gunnar had to fight back the urge to look her up and down, her gorgeous figure on display thanks to her well-tailored outfit. She looked so much like her brother, yet her luscious curves made her decidedly more feminine and that much more dangerous. The woman was a real stunner, most of the time looking like she belonged on a catwalk somewhere in her brightly colored, high fashion wardrobe. She was also a major pain in the ass.