Page 69 of Roughing the Player
She gives me the side eye because she knows I’m going off script.
“I met Ellie at Stonewall Jackson High. She was one of the smartest girls I knew. All straight A’s. Me, on the other hand? Well, I was too busy with football to pay much attention to school. And Macbeth was kicking my ass.”
Laughter rolls around the room.
“You know the NCAA rules. If you don’t maintain a C average, you can’t be drafted to play college ball. So I needed to improve my grades. A friend told me about a girl that tutored students. So I hired her to help me out. It wasn’t easy. I was stubborn as a mule, but she didn’t give up on me. I got a B+ on my midterm. First time I’d gotten such a high mark. She went from being my tutor to being my friend. And before I knew it, I’d fallen for her. But halfway through our senior year, she left. I didn’t know it at the time, but her Mama was getting married and her fiancé had gotten a new job out of town. I asked everyone—the school, my friends—if they knew where she’d gone. But nobody had a clue.”
I grip the edge of the dais as I recall the pain of the day I realized I’d never see her again.
“I went on to college, but I never forgot the sweetest girl I’d ever known.” I glance back to see her eyes filled with tears. “You see, I’d truly cared about her. But I’d never told her so. The rest you probably know. I attended Clemson, made it all the way to the Championship game. During my last year in college, I was drafted by the Florida Manatees. Later on, I got transferred to the San Diego Missionaries.”
The gazes of the journalists bounce between Ellie and me. One thing for sure, they’re not bored.
“When I heard I’d been transferred to the Chicago Outlaws, the top team in the nation, well, I was elated.” A choked sound reaches me. Ellie. It has to be. A quick peek at her confirms it. She’s biting down on her bottom lip to hold back a laugh.
I gotta make this story good, pour on my Southern charm, to keep her from getting sad again. “Well, imagine my surprise when I spot the little lady herself waiting for me at the airport. Whoo-boy! She almost knocked me off my feet.”
She’s rolling her eyes. I can feel it.
“Never one to pass up an opportunity, I asked her out. You might remember seeing her at the banquet a couple of weeks ago?” Some of the journalists nod. Good. They were paying attention.
“Now, let me be clear about this. She attended as a favor to me. You see, she works for the agency that represents me and wanted to keep things professional. So much so that when I asked her out again, she turned me down. Yeah, she pretty much busted my heart into a million pieces.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Her voice is low enough only I can hear.
I place my hand over my chest as if I’m still feeling the pain. “So, I gave in. What else could I do? I’m a gentleman after all.” I turn to Ellie. “Aren’t I, darling?”
“Sure thing. Sweetheart.” Her saccharine smile might fool everyone else, but it doesn’t fool me.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about her, so I thought I’d give it one more try. After the Minnesota game, I dropped by her place. And there I got the surprise of my life. A daughter I knew nothing about.”
Her demeanor grows somber, as every eye zeroes in on her. Some questioning, some downright nasty.
Knowing my future is on the line, with her, with the team, I turn serious. “Now I got to be honest here. It hurt that she’d never told me. That she’d chosen to raise our daughter with no assistance from me.” I take a deep breath, let it out.
“But I understand why she did it. She knew about my reputation, my partying. She didn’t think that would be a healthy relationship for her child. So she made the hard decision to keep the baby secret from me.”
Half of the audience glares at Ellie, but the other half appears sympathetic.
“Our daughter takes after her Mama. She’s beautiful and smart. And that’s all I’m going to say about her. As journalists, you’re curious about what’s going on, but we need privacy while I get to know our daughter. Ellie and I would prefer you don’t intrude while we work hard on becoming a family.”
“What about child support, Brock? Are you going to pay for that?” someone in the back of the room yells. So much for waiting for the Q&A.
“Every penny and then some. I’ve already set up a college trust fund for our daughter. She won’t have to worry about expenses when she goes to school. Every penny will be taken care of.”
“What about Ms. Adams? Are you going to pay her?”
Ellie jumps to her feet and pushes me out of the way. “No, he’s not. He doesn’t owe me a dime.”
I wink at the audience. “Whoo-eee. She’s something else, isn’t she? She’s an independent, self-sufficient woman to her core who refuses to take money from me.”
“Why didn’t you tell Brock about his daughter?” a woman reporter, one of the few in the audience, asks.
“Because, err—”
I wrap an arm around Ellie’s waist. “Tell the truth, honey, don’t be shy.”
“Well, I knew about Brock’s, err, lifestyle. And I didn’t want to expose my daughter to it.” She pretty much paraphrases what I just said.
