Page 7 of Blindside Beauty


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But what I really like about it is how it feels safe. As I drive to our new house, I notice kids playing in cul-de-sacs and riding their bikes and families out for picnics in the park.

Just as I’m about to turn onto Cottage Street, a car blows through a stop sign, and I slam on my brakes to avoid hitting him while I quickly reach back to make sure none of the moving boxes tumble over and crush my daughter. Fortunately, nothing budges back there, but the point is they could have.

Motherfucker. This is a residential neighborhood. That guy could’ve killed someone driving like that.

So much for being safe.

“Hazel, are you okay?” I glance back at my four-year-old daughter. I’m grateful I splurged on the top-rated car seat. It set me back, but nothing is more important than Hazel’s safety.

“I’m hungwy, Daddy.”

I blow out a relieved breath. She’s always hungry. “The guys said they’re bringing burgers.”

“No onions.”

“No onions, kiddo.”

“They huwt my tummy. And then I have to poop.”

I chuckle. “I know, munchkin. I’ll check your burger to make sure there are no onions, and if there are, I’ll peel them out.”

“You pwomise?” She can’t say her Rs yet. It ticks her off when people mention it even though everyone thinks she’s adorable.

“Cross my heart.”

After double-checking to make sure there’s no traffic, I turn, but it’s a little too sharp, and the driver’s side tire rubs against the panel, making a horrible sound. It’s bad enough I had to tie my bumper back on after Abigail Dawson hit me this past spring, but that sound is a reminder I can simply be sitting in my SUV and bad shit happens. It makes my blood pressure shoot up every time I hear it. Like I need another reason to be paranoid about driving.

My jaw tightens when I think about that night.

I hadn’t been with another woman since my girlfriend Gemma died our sophomore year. I hadn’t hooked up or messed around with anyone. I wasn’t ready. Plus, I had my hands full raising my daughter. But last spring my teammate said his friend wanted to go out with me, and it made me realize that maybe it’s time to stop being a monk.

Larissa and I talked on the phone for a few weeks and finally set a date.

After she and I grabbed a bite to eat, we sat in my SUV and talked. Talking turned into kissing, which, to my surprise, turned into her crawling over the center console and straddling my lap. And that was turning into something interesting when Ezra Thomas once again fucked up my life by pissing off his ex-girlfriend so much, she threw her car into reverse and plowed into me.

The memory of him harassing her still pisses me off. At the time, I didn’t know it was Ezra and Abigail. I thought it was just some douchebag yelling at a woman. I’d rolled down my window to ask if she needed help, and that was when she hit the gas.

I work my jaw back and forth.

Larissa and I have been in an awkward place ever since. Maybe it’s for the best. I’m probably not ready for anything serious. I might never be ready for something serious, if I’m being honest.

What I need is peace and quiet. A safe place for my kid to play and somewhere I can study my playbook and film uninterrupted.

I only have one more shot to make the NFL, and if I can’t get my shit together, I’m royally fucked. I can eke out the grades to play, but no one would call me an Einstein. I have no fallback if football doesn’t work out for me. I’m a business major with no real aptitude for it. When my friends were figuring out what they wanted to do with their lives, I was changing diapers and mourning the loss of my girlfriend.

A few minutes later, I pull into the driveway of our new rental. It’s a small two-bedroom house on a sleepy suburban street, which is perfect.

I’m getting Hazel out of her car seat when a little red sports car pulls in behind us and Larissa gets out.

“Why is she he-a?” Hazel asks, her eyes going squinty.

“You don’t like Daddy’s friend?” Because at this point, that’s all we are. We’ve both been busy, and after our makeout session got interrupted, we haven’t had many chances to hang out.

Hazel shrugs and goes into koala bear mode, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.

“Hey, cuties.” Larissa gives me a wide smile and tickles Hazel, who pointedly ignores her by burrowing her face into my neck.

I gently jostle my daughter. “Hey, kiddo. Say hi.”