“Jake Eckhart!” squeals a blonde woman with sunglasses. “I knew it was you!” She rips off her sweater to reveal a Hartbreaker shirt. “You have to sign this for me!” she screams, gesturing to a spot just above her breasts despite the fact that her husband is right beside her.
I cast a desperate look over at Stacy, who’s turned her attention back to Ryan though her jaw is clenched slightly tighter.
Even though I want to pull away from the fanatical woman and wrap my arms around Stacy, I allow myself to get dragged further and further away into the swarm of gathering fans.
Chapter 6
Stacy
I sink into the pink folding lawn chair I lugged along to Ryan’s next soccer practice, glancing at my watch one more time when I think the six-year-old isn’t looking.
Ryan’s Thursday practice only has about thirty minutes left in it and Jake still hasn’t shown up. I keep glancing toward the row of cars in the lot expecting to see his ridiculously flashy BMW. I’d been hoping the football star would show a little more initiative in taking his nephew to his soccer practices, but so far, I’ve been just as let down as Ryan.
Then again, maybe my expectations are a tad too high. It’s only been a few days since Ryan’s first practice on Tuesday. Maybe Jake just needs more time to rearrange his schedule.
I don’t want to become his crutch, but how am I supposed to say no after the talk we had regarding Jake’s sister and how hard he’s striving to do the best he can for Ryan in her memory?
Jake bared his soul to me, revealing that there’s an actual human being under that flashy football façade. It doesn’t help that that smile of his is dangerous . . . and he knows it.
He’s an endorsement’s dream. Since I met the football star, I’ve been noticing Jake’s face everywhere. His smile lights up cereal boxes and football advertisements all over the world.
He’s on my mind more than he should be, but it’s impossible not to think of him when I see his face on the buses that roll around the city every day.
I’ve been trying not to see him as a celebrity or a famous athlete, but it’s a little more difficult now that I have shirtless photos of him clogging up my brain.
So, I Googled him . . . I’m only human.
Someone jostles my lawn chair, almost toppling it over. I frown up at the person, expecting some sort of apology, but the woman doesn’t even seem to notice me. She opens up a compact, applying yet another layer of bright red gloss.
I roll my eyes and shift my chair over.
This practice seems more crowded than the last one, though the number of children on the field has stayed the same. It’s weird, but maybe some of the kids just have extra family in town or there could be another event going on somewhere nearby in the park.
I try to push the crowd from my mind and focus on Ryan. Like me, I catch him occasionally looking toward the parking lot in the hopes of spotting his uncle. When I catch Ryan looking dismayed, I try to cheer extra loud for him to keep his mind on the game. I can tell by his increasingly sour expression that he’s not happy that Jake is so late.
All he wants is to feel seen by his uncle, and Jake is dropping the ball.
Even though I know Jake is doing the best he can, it’s different from the perspective of children, especially a child trying to heal from such a devastating loss. It doesn’t help that Jake is still trying to heal from the loss as well. I really think he needs to seek out some professional help in the form of a grief counselor. But I’m already overstepping by taking Ryan to soccer after school. How much more should I really involve myself?
The bottom line is my heart hurts for both of them.
When I got home after the last soccer practice, I settled down in front of my computer to look up exactly who Jacob Eckhart was. The results that flooded page after page astounded me. Not only is he a talented, celebrated NFL tight end—but he’s also quite the business mogul. He’s invested in numerous sports brands in the biz, creating a bank account equal to Chloe’s billionaire boyfriend.
Jake’s a smart guy. He’s created a financial portfolio that will support him long after his career as a lustrous football player ends. It’s pretty impressive and shows a forethought I wouldn’t have expected from Jake. He even donates to charities.
Apparently, he’s not your average athlete.
But I already know that thanks to the almost nude photo of him I glimpsed on an old cover of Sports Illustrated. 6’6’, 268 pounds, with bronze muscles for days . . . there’s absolutely nothing average about the tight end.
To be honest, I’d never heard of a tight end before, but after watching Jake walk away last practice, a title has never been more fitting.
I can only imagine how good his ‘tight end’ looks in uniform.
My cheeks burn as I try to pull my stubborn mind out of the gutter.
Lock it up, Stacy. You’re watching kids play soccer for heaven’s sake!
I manage to focus on the game for a while, but inevitably, my mind drifts back to Jake. It’s remarkable to me that even though he has obviously deep pockets and a huge reputation in the athletic world, he’s actually pretty down to earth, or at least that seems to be the case whenever we’re talking one-on-one.
But I’ve seen the way his expression changes when he’s pulled away by his football groupies. He instantly becomes that smooth-talking, slick Hartbreak Kid with a golden tongue. Jake knew just how to use it too, making the ladies practically swoon after him.
I imagine it’s a lot of pressure to live up to a reputation like his, especially when Jake has Ryan depending on him now.
No wonder he seems to be floundering juggling his new parenting role. That’s why it’s so important to have parent-teacher conferences. If Principal Walton let the teachers create personal relationships with the parents, I would have known what was going on in Ryan’s home.
Navigating the social hierarchy is part of what makes working in the prestigious prep school system so difficult, but I just have to keep striving to be the best teacher I can be—even if that means breaking the rules sometimes.
The morning after the first soccer practice I took Ryan to, I sat at my desk biting my nails and waiting for the principal to storm in and chastise me. But so far I’ve been lucky. He must not have caught wind of me helping out Jake after school, or else he would’ve said something about it. No harm, no foul. And besides, this is the last soccer practice I’ll have to pinch hit for.
When I hear the squeal of tires, I look over to find Jake climbing out of his car. He’s sweaty and wearing a blue, dirt-stained jersey with white numbers across his broad chest. His hair is plastered to his forehead as he shields the sun off his cheeks.
Like a tsunami, half the people who’ve been loitering around the children’s playing field surge toward him. They all seem to pull cameras out of nowhere, calling his name, flashes popping in his face until he’s almost tripping in surprise.
Paparazzi.
It’s my first time seeing them in the real world and not on the television screen. Between the paparazzi and the fans screeching Jake’s name, all attention has been stolen away from the kids on the field. I force myself to turn back toward them, finding Ryan standing on the outskirts of the soccer field.