Page 58 of Roughing the Player
“Yes.”
Marty hisses in a breath.
I hurry to explain. “It’s not what you think. He never knew he had a child.”
His eyes practically bug out. “You never told him?”
“No.”
“From the media accounts, you were in high school when this happened. How could he not know?”
“My mom and I moved out of town before my pregnancy showed.”
Silence reigns while he processes the information.
“Well, if he didn’t know it then, he certainly knows it now,” Marty says.
“Yes, he does.”
“Is he willing to pay child support? We can work with that.”
I knew that question would come up, but I don’t have an answer. At least not one that will satisfy them. So all I can reveal is the truth. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
His brows scrunch together. “Why not?”
I swallow hard. “I haven’t taken his calls.” Along with the media, Brock had rung me up a bunch of times.
For several seconds, they stare at each other, probably thinking what an idiot I am. The tension in the room’s so thick, you can cut it with a knife.
But before it gets to the breaking point, Marty says, “Can we have the room, please? I’d like to speak privately with Ms. Adams.”
The two senior partners come to their feet, but before they exit, one of them fires one last salvo. “Fix this, Ms. Adams. Otherwise, you’ll no longer work here.”
My stomach lurches. I can’t lose this job. I have a mortgage and school loans to pay. More than that, if they let me go, no sports agency in the world would hire me. I’d be forever known as the woman who destroyed Brock Parker’s career.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Marty says, “Don’t mind him. He’s still living in the Stone Age.”
“I’m so sorry, Marty.” I keep my head down while tears rain down my face. “I never intended for this to happen.”
“I know you didn’t.” He offers me a box of Kleenex and waits until I compose myself.
“You have to talk to Brock. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” The keeping-my-head-in-the-sand-hoping-the-problem-goes-away approach hasn’t worked. Not that it ever had a chance. It was just wishful thinking on my part.
“Brock has a quite notorious past. I don’t have to tell you how much damage this scandal would do to his career.”
“I know.”
“I’m sure he’ll want to provide child support.”
I nod, wiping a tear from my cheek. “More than likely.”
“Good. Good. Now, once you get things worked out, you’ll need to make a joint statement. I’ll help you draft it, if you wish. It’s going to hurt, but you’ll need to come clean about hiding your daughter’s existence from him. You’re thrilled you reconnected, blah, blah, blah. And he’ll be paying child support for all those years he missed. You get my drift, Eleanor?”
He’s calling me Eleanor again. That’s a good sign, right? “Yes, Marty.”
“Okay, now.” He pats his hands on his thighs, a gesture he often makes when things have been settled to his satisfaction. “I’ll let you return to your office so you can call Brock.”
