Page 11 of Defending her Heart

“Thanks.” I drop to the chair across from his desk. I’ve played on three NFL teams in my ten-year career, and Hayes is by far the best coach I’ve ever had. He genuinely cares about his players, and he knows the game at a level I’ve never seen before.

His strategic plan and ability to find the threads of weakness in offensive lines is uncanny. His ability to see through his players when they’re BSing or not putting in their all is ridiculous as well.

“I take it you’re not here to talk shop.” He gets up from his chair and rounds his desk, leaning against it and crossing his ankles in a relaxed pose. “Are your parents and daughter okay?”

Hayes doesn’t meddle, but he lets us know he cares. As does his wife, Caroline. They never had any kids of their own and treat the fifty-three of us players like their sons. They also respect our boundaries as well.

I keep my personal and professional life separate, but Hayes knows most of the details. He and Caroline are the only ones in Boston who do.

“Yes and no.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “My dad has bronchitis and my mom doesn’t sound much better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do? Caroline makes the best chicken soup. I know it won’t cure them, but I know she’d love to bring some over if that’s okay.”

“I’m sure they’d love that.” I take a deep breath before lifting my head. “They’re the only ones I trust to watch Paisley, so I’m stuck in a bind today.”

Hayes nods in understanding. “What’s your game plan?”

I huff out a snort. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t have one.”

Instead of berating me or telling me how much of a fucking idiot I am, Hayes stays quiet. He’s effective like that. Not one to yell. He gives his players time to think before they speak, and he does the same for himself.

I know better than to ask him what I should do. He’s waiting for me to come up with a plan.

“I already worked with Matt, and I can make most of the film session. If I leave by two-thirty, I can make it to Revere in time to get Paisley and back home to zoom into the defense meeting.”

Mark Nichols isn’t as compassionate as Hayes, but he’s a good defensive coach and has been pivotal in helping me get to where I am today.

“And tomorrow? We’re starting later to give you boys time to recover after last night, but we’ll be in the middle of practice at three.”

I nod my understanding. “I’m working on it. I have a...someone I can ask to watch Paisley tomorrow.” Fuck. I’ve never even met Miss Wentworth and now I have to grovel for a favor. What if she has a family of her own and can’t help?

I’ve been an absent father from Paisley’s school life and haven’t even met any of her friends, their parents, or her teacher. Fucking worst dad ever. When I’m home with her, I give her one hundred percent of my attention, but it’s becoming clear to me that that’s far less frequently than I would like.

But my parents have spoiled me—and Pais—and now I’ve gotta suck up my abhorrence for letting others into our lives.

“Have you talked with the other players to get nanny recs? Chuck and Sean seem content with theirs.”

Content.I don’t want to be content with Paisley’s caretaker. I need them to make her their number one priority. She’s my everything, and I won’t let her be with anyone who doesn’t feel the same.

“Not yet. I’ll look into it.” It’s not a blatant lie. I’ll ask them, but I’m not settling.

“I’ll have a word with Nichols and let him know I okayed you zooming in tonight.” Hayes squeezes my shoulder. “Come to me if you need me to help.”

“Thanks.” Hayes means it, but it’s my job to care for my daughter, not his.

I check the time every five minutes during film, my attention not where it should be. We’ve got a tough game against Baltimore on Sunday, and their quarterback is a sneaky fuck. All eyes are on me to take him down.

Hopefully by Sunday my head will be in the game. I pack up as soon as we’re done and fly out of the training center to my car.

The parking lot at the school isn’t as packed as I thought it would be. Could be because it’s fifteen past three. I doubt I’m the only late parent. Traffic is unpredictable in Boston. I hurry inside and check in with the administrative assistant.

“I’ll need to see some identification before I can send you down the hall.”

If I hadn’t already felt like a fucking tool of a dad, this just cemented it. My daughter’s school doesn’t even know who her father is.

I plaster on a fake smile and hold out my license. “My parents, Beth and Joe Humphries, usually pick up Paisley because I’m working. I’m here at drop-off almost every morning,” I tell her, just to make a point that Iamaround for my daughter.

She taps my information into the computer and hands me my license with a smile. “It’s protocol the first time someone new picks up a child in our care. For safety reasons.”

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