Page 1 of Singled Out

Chapter One

Max

Sometimes life could sack a guy out of nowhere, leaving him stunned stupid, wondering what the hell had just hit him, trying to figure out how to get back on his feet.

Sometimes that sack was literal and sometimes figurative.

I’d experienced both.

The literal sacking had happened thirteen years ago and ended my short but promising NFL career. I’d gotten through that trying time eventually. Switched to a plan B.

The figurative knocked-on-my-ass incident had happened a little over a year ago, and most days I still felt dazed and stupid, as if I had no hope of ever being on solid ground again.

Instant parenthood could do that to a guy.

I had the men’s room at the Marks Hotel to myself, thank God, because I needed to breathe.

I needed to get my mental shit together, paste on my public-Max smile, and get this night over with.

After washing my hands, I checked my phone one more time for a text from my mom.

Nothing.

Ty Bishop, the basketball coach and my colleague at the high school, burst through the door, interrupting my anxious thoughts.

“You ready for this, Dawson?” he asked, heading for the urinal.

“Hell no.” I said it with a smile, a tone of brotherhood. Then I exited and headed down the hall toward the backstage fray.

In the past, I would’ve embraced an event like tonight’s bachelor auction wholeheartedly. I knew what the people of my hometown of Dragonfly Lake, Tennessee, expected from me. They saw me as the smart, athletic, good-looking guy who could handle anything. The guy who’d suffered a devastating setback and come out unscathed. The guy who had it all.

Privately, I was none of that, but I’d usually done my best to play the role.

These days it was harder to hide private Max, with all his fears, doubts, and anxiety.

And now I was minutes away from having to walk up on a stage, stand under a spotlight, and wait for someone to bid on a date with me.

I’d have to stand there and smile, act like the fun-loving guy who had it all, while in reality, I was worried as hell about my little boy at home with a fever and a cough.

“Hey, Max.”

I turned at the sound of my sister Dakota’s voice, relieved it was someone I didn’t need to fake it so hard for.

“Hey, shorty,” I said as we side hugged. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You going to buy yourself a date tonight?”

She made a pfft sound and waved away the idea. “As if. I’ve got better things to spend my cash on.”

That worked for me. The fewer guys she dated, the fewer guys I had to give that stern, big-brother glare to keep them in check where my sister was concerned. She turned plenty of heads on a normal day. Tonight she was dolled up in a too-short black dress, crazy-high heels that made her closer to my six-one height, and enough smoky eye makeup to choke a horse. Her blond locks were up in an intricate style.

Ignoring the opportunity to give her some low-key hell, I asked, “Have you talked to Mom?”

Her expression turned sympathetic. “I’m sure Daniel’s okay, Max. He has a cold. Mom knows what she’s doing. She’d call you if he got worse.”

The rational side of me knew that was true, but the worried father side of me was having a hard time embracing it.

“Do you know how many kids have had colds before?” she asked, her tone dripping with smart-ass.

“Do you know how many of my kids have had colds before?”

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