“That doesn’t even make sense. She didn’t want me to think she was using me for money, but that’s exactly what she’s doing now. I’ll help out with the damn kid, but she doesn’t need to drag my name through the mud to get what she fucking wants.” What. The. Fuck.
A kid. I have a kid. One I didn’t even know about. Why wouldn’t she tell me? Why can’t I be involved? Do I even want to be involved? What do I even tell Bria? Does it even matter? I mean, are we even going to make it past this soccer season, if I go back to playing and she graduates? Then what?
I can’t think about her right now. And yet, I thought she was my biggest problem an hour ago. Not a fucking baby. What the fuck.
“Tatum, listen to me.” My eyes snap to Aubrey’s and her face is crumpled with worry. “Amanda wants to talk to you, but I highly advise against it. I don’t know what her plans are or what she’s capable of. Also, if this is her bottom line and the angle she’s going to play, then I must urge you to get a paternity test.”
“You think she’s lying?”
“I don’t know, but my goal is to look at every possible outcome and protect you the best I can.”
Despite the situation, a smirk pulls at my lip. “You got very lawyer-y for a second there.”
She smiles back. “Yeah, I kind of did, didn’t I?”
We’re quiet for a long moment. Aubrey may be able to envision every possible scenario and the outcomes they present, but I can only see one. I’m only imagining the baby. I never even knew if I wanted kids, but now hearing I might have one, I can’t imagine ever not knowing him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bria
It’s been more than a week since I’ve talked to Tatum. He’s bailed out on my training sessions again and at practice he’s ignored me. No, that’s not right. If he was ignoring me he’d still be at least aware of my existence. But what he’s doing is beyond indifference. He looks right through me, like I’m a ghost, like nothing and no one is even there.
He’s freaked out. I get it. But we don’t know for sure someone caught us. It’s mere speculation. It could be our minds playing tricks on us since we were exposed in the heat of the moment.
But for him to totally ice me out…I didn’t think it would hurt this much. Which definitely sounds naïve, I know, but I thought we were finally on the same page. I thought we moved past the games.
I guess I was wrong.
“Bri, you coming?” Morgan slings her bag over her shoulder and hovers with one foot out the door.
“Yeah, be right there.”
We have a game today and once again, my mind couldn’t be less focused. Grabbing my bag, I head downstairs and out the door while Morgan lays on the horn of her car.
I slam the door behind me and settle into the short drive to the stadium. As we pull up, I see Tatum on the field, setting up supplies for our warm up. Seeing him causes butterflies to take root in my stomach.
I need to talk to him. Once we get through this game, I’ll go talk to him. I’ll corner him in his office again afterwards since he seems to spend all his time in there. Fuck, if not, I’ll drive to his goddamn house. I don’t care. I just need to talk to him.
My head is not in the game when the whistle blows. In the first half, I’m single-handedly responsible for three turnovers and when I get pissed, I get aggressive. I receive a red card with five minutes left in the half which makes Paxton pull me from the game.
“What’s going on with you today? You’re not on your game, Campbell.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Coach. I’ll pull it together in the next game.” He shakes his head and grimaces.
“You might not get to play in the next game.” My head snaps over to our assistant coach, who can’t make those calls despite thinking he runs the team.
“You’re not going to bench me,” I scoff, then look to Paxton. “Are you?” His face pulls down in a grimace. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s a bad day. I’ll make up for it.”
“It’s too late. Remember this for the next game.” Tatum’s words are harsh as he interjects his thoughts.
“Trevino,” Paxton’s tone is reprimanding, but Tatum is unforgiving.
When the whistle blows to end the half, I shove my shin guards into my bag and stay on the bench while the team huddles. There’s no reason for me to join in, especially because I don’t want to see Sam’s smug face as she learns she’s taking over my position for the rest of the game.
I drink my water and ignore the chants from my teammates. I may be acting like a spoiled brat, but they’re punishing me over one bad game. I’m allowed to have an off day. Everyone else surely does, and they don’t hear about it.
As the second half starts, I yell at my team from the sidelines. Granted, they’re doing well, which is pissing me off even more. They’re up two to one and if they win without me, then what is my purpose? Maybe I’m not as good as Tatum originally thought I was.
My leg shakes for the entirety of the forty-five minutes as I watch my teammates kick ass. I want to be happy for them, but I’m too wrapped up in my own drama to be supportive. I’ve graduated from being a shitty player to also being a shitty captain.
“Great game ladies. That was the best I’ve seen most of you play in a long time. Whatever fire was lit under your ass today, keep bringing it. We only have a few games left until playoffs start. We can’t start slacking now.” Tatum’s speech is directed at everyone else, but his point is driven home when he glares at me.
It’s the first he’s really looked at me in a long time, and it wasn’t a good look. I’m ashamed and I glance away.
Once again, I’m one of the last people on the field. It’s not fair to make my friends wait for me, but I don’t have an option. When Morgan questions me, I lie.
“You go ahead. Tatum wants to talk to me about training tomorrow. I’ll see if I can get another ride home.”
“Are you sure? I can wait.”
“It’s okay. I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Okay, well, call me if you need me to come back.” I nod and she grabs her things and walks side-by-side with Lindsay back to the car.
I march inside the building, exhaling an unsteady breath as I go. Tatum and I have come so far in a few short months. When he first came here, I wouldn’t have blinked twice about confronting him. In fact, I would’ve looked forward to every way I could get under his skin. Now, I’m filled with nerves when all I need to do is talk to him, to explain. And, well, to get an explanation about where he’s been and why he’s been avoiding me.
As I walk down the long hallway, I hear his voice echoing past the concrete walls. He’s whisper-yelling at someone, but I don’t hear anyone responding.
With measured steps, I inch toward his office. The door is cracked, as if he pushed it closed but it never latched. I can see Tatum pacing and he looks pissed. His brows are furrowed and his hair is mussed as if he’s been dragging his hand through it over and over again.
His jaw is locked and his lips are pressed into a hard line. His phone is pressed to his ear, explaining why I couldn’t hear anyone responding to him. He’s been listening for a long time, and when he speaks again, my stomach drops.