Page 38 of Game Changer

“And they say us new money punks have no class.” He forces a laugh.

“They said a lot more than that today and again tonight.”

“You gotta fight this for her, man,” Hudson states.

“Ava is working on an emergency injunction in case it’s needed, but I don’t see how it would be. I’m already her emergency contact and, apparently, her healthcare proxy. I don’tgive a shit how much money they have, they’re not in Magnolia Pointe anymore. If …” I stop and reword. “Whenshe wakes up, she can decide where she wants to rehabilitate, but I can promise you one thing—they’re not taking my kid.”

“Yeah, there is no love lost there for Lily and her grandparents,” Hudson states something so obvious that I have no idea how I didn’t see it before.

Lindsey’s folks, Walter and Madeline Bellemont, own half of Magnolia Pointe, Georgia, and a multimillion-dollar company, Bellemont Textiles. From what I thought, they were the reason I received letter after letter, asking me to sign off my rights. Today showed me I’m not wrong. But Lily’s reaction to them being here, and not once asking to see them, has put a sour taste in my mouth and a knot in my stomach.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“You stepping out for the season?” Hudson asks.

“We’re number one, so we have this week off. Gonna have to believe Lindsey will wake up by then, so no, I’m not stepping out, and I’m keeping shit positive, so I’m not saying anything more.”

“No need to explain, man. I got you.”

“Appreciate you, Hart.”

Pulling into town, Hart announces, “We got a text,” like he’s on BritishLove Island.

This makes me smile. Hart hates those reality shows about dating and finding love. Me? I love them, mostly because they’re freaking hilarious.

“Read it, man. I’m driving.”

I grab my phone off the dash and open the team group text.

Knights (official team text)

The revised schedule for the next two weeks is here.

Wild Card Weekend. Knights number one seed. Rest and mental prep. Focus on self.

“Monday and Tuesday are done, so Wednesday …” I scroll to it. “Light practice. Focus on fundamentals. We gotta be there at nine.Situational football drills, helmets only.Thursday, light practice and films nine to noon. Friday, walkthrough and recovery work if needed, nine to noon. Team meeting at one. Saturday, we’re supposed to watch the wild card game, and Sunday, we go in to review film with the coaches. Next week, it’s full speed for game prep for our very first playoff game.” I try to sound excited because it is fucking exciting, but right now, Lindsey breathing on her own is the most exciting thing in the world. “Monday, opponent prep, study films, light practice. Helmets only focus on gameplay. Tuesday is our mandatory day off.Wednesday, full speed, high-intensity session, pads on. Clock management and pressure plays. Thursday, third down drills, Red zone offense, and defense pads on high intensity. Friday, final adjustments and walkthrough focus on execution, special teams, final film study. Saturday, a short walk-through rest and team dinner. Sunday, we win the league.”

“Does it say that we win the league?” Hudson chuckles.

“No, man, but it’s what’s gonna happen.”

He holds out his fist. “Fuck yeah, it is.”

I give it a tap.

With Lily sound asleep in bed, I decide it’s best to shower and clean off the hospital germs and smells that seem to get stuck in my throat from that place and feels almost like it’s suffocating me. Then I decide I need to read the letter I found packed in thebag of Lily’s things, hoping it may clear up some questions I have in my head.

After stepping into a pair of flannel pajama pants and brushing my teeth, I grab the letter and begin to read.

Dear Beau,

I don’t really know how to start this, so I guess I’ll just start where my heart is. I need you to know that no matter what happens between us—whether we figure out a way to work this co-parenting thing or if we don’t—I will always, always be grateful for you. For what we created together. For the piece of both of us that will grow into someone incredible.

But I need to be honest with you, and I need you to hear me when I say this: I don’t see us working out in the way most people would expect. Not in the traditional sense. I know, deep down, you’ve always known that, too. And I hate that. I hate that I can’t give you that family you crave, but it doesn’t mean you’re not the best father for our little flower—you are. But just because we aren’t, that doesn’t mean I don’t care.

It doesn’t mean I don’t love you in my own way.

And maybe this sounds strange, maybe even selfish, but there’s something I need from you.Something that’s been sitting heavy on my chest for a while now.

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