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“I can’t afford it, Coach,” I say, muting my irritation. “You know I can’t.” He’s perfectly aware that we scholarship guys don’t get our living allowances until next week, and even then, it’s not a lot. My paid internship money went toward rent and food for the summer since the scholarship only covers me during the school year.
“Sorry, son, but you can’t bring it here. Go home. Figure your shit out.” He sits back down and returns to his busywork.
I turn to leave. This is bad. I’ll get marked down as missing practice. He and I both know that’s not allowed unless there are extenuating circumstances. Not having a babysitter isn’t one of them.
I can’t just leave. I stop in the doorway and turn to face him. “So what if she were mine? What if I were a single dad, Coach? Are you saying the university wouldn’t support me, while they do support mothers—single mothers especially? Because if that’s the case, I think a lot of people would be interested in that story. They’d want to hear how you’re making me choose between my career, which is linked to my education through my scholarship, or breaking the law by dumping a helpless baby at my empty apartment.”
He leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Well? Is she yours?”
“What does that matter?” I ask.
“If she’s your niece, then this is a babysitting issue, and you’ll get no sympathy from me, considering you just threatened to blackmail me. If she’s your kid, then yes, there are policies in place to make accommodations when it comes to childcare. Especially since the on-campus daycare doesn’t open until next Monday—I know because I used to take my own kids there. So I would be forced to consider that a factor. So which is it, Norland?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I really don’t want to tell Coach the truth. He’s not going to think highly of me knocking up some woman I met in a bar, the kind of woman who’d just abandon her baby. It looks bad all around. “I’m the legal guardian for the time being?”
“Son, that’s not an answer.”
It sure isn’t. “It’s complicated?”
“Norland, that’s a Facebook setting. Is it yours or not?” he growls impatiently.
I look down at Fia in her carrier. If I say she’s mine, I’ll avoid getting a mark against me. I really don’t have a choice.
I clear my throat and meet his infuriated gaze. “Yeah, she’s mine. I just found out about her yesterday when her mom dumped her at my place and took off for the week. There was nothing I could do.”
Coach shakes his head. “Sonofabitch, Norland. Didn’t anyone teach you to wear a condom?”
Is he going to try to shame me, too? Rude. “If I were your daughter, would you say the same? Because it’s a little late for the contraception lecture.” I jerk my head at the baby.
“Hell yes. This isn’t 1950, son. These days they’re practically handing out rubbers in kindergarten. Safe sex is branded into your tiny male brains from birth. There’s no excuse for unwanted pregnancies.”
I refrain from pointing out that even the safest birth control methods aren’t one hundred percent effective. (A) I doubt he’ll appreciate hearing my collection of personal stories related to my giant cock and how it has been known to bust through condoms. (B) He wouldn’t understand, being a small-cock man himself. Yes, I’ve seen him shower in the locker room. There was some event he needed to attend after a game, and he had to clean up. Let’s just say his gear isn’t impressive. But he does have a really hairy crotch and a huge nut sack to hide his small dick, so there’s that nightmare going for him.
As for me, I have been through a few condom malfunctions, so I’m no stranger to full STD workups. All clear. But sometimes it sucks being well endowed. Kidding. It’s fucking awesome.
“Yes, I should’ve been more careful, but not much I can do about it now. She’s mine for the week.” I exhale slowly, trying not to stress out over the fact I have no game plan. I am a sad little planless man, a single-dad-ship without a rudder. “I’ll do my best with the childcare arrangements, Coach, but I’m at the mercy of my friends since I can’t afford much.” I add hastily, “That doesn’t mean I’m not committed to the team, though.”
“Dean,” he says sternly, “this is college football—one step away from the NFL. If you want to win, you have to be one hundred percent focused out there.” He points in the direction of the field. “You leave your personal crap at home or don’t bother coming.”
“Are you saying you want me to quit because I’m too broke to afford a paid sitter? You know I’m on my own.” The entire world knows the sob story from the ESPN spotlight—the kid from Hard Knocks who got himself a full scholarship. No family other than the troubled little brother he raised. And a sister I just made up.
