Lowell

“Mommy will find out anyway, and you’ll still get in trouble.”

“How? Are you going to tell her?”

“No.” Kimberly giggles, a joyous sound I’ve gotten used to in the past month or so as well as Charlotte’s insane rules, like no dessert before dinner and none on the weekdays at all. We settled into more of a schedule so that I could get Kimberly from school on Wednesdays and Thursdays, my only free days without practice or press. I’ve had to do a lot of things under the radar too and especially at the school. The closer it gets to the Super Bowl, the more B-list paparazzi follow me around for a photo, and I wouldn’t want that to happen at her school.

Charlotte and I have kept our relationship with each other under wraps from everyone else, even Kimberly. We haven’t even defined it for ourselves yet, only in passing that I am one hundred percent committed to her and Kimberly. But it has only been a month, and I don’t want Kimberly caught in the middle of anything if it doesn’t work in our favor.

“So, we’re all good then.” I take a huge spoon of the Oreo ice cream sundae, and she successfully knocks it back off my spoon. My laugh matches hers. She stares right up into my eyes as she takes the spoon and gets a brain freeze after.

“See? Slow down.” I take a napkin and wipe the bit of ice cream on her cheek that’s been there for a while. “Anyway, your mom isn’t psychic. She won’t know.”

“If you say so.”

I leave the rest of the ice cream to her. I shouldn’t even eat stuff like that anyway. Our dinner at a steakhouse near the neighborhood was half her laughing at my ‘boring’ food and eating all of hers.

Charlotte had a salon expo or something all day. I wasn’t paying attention when she told me what it was, after her saying I would have Kimberly alone for longer than I ever have before. It’s mostly been me picking her up from school and bringing her home, and we all have dinner together. All at her house, and not mine yet. Even though I changed a lot of things, I understand why we can’t dive in with both feet.

It’s been comforting to say the least—getting to know Kimberly more and noticing how relaxed she is around me. Usually, she isn’t shy at all around anyone, but she has her tells, even for a kid her age.

“I’m full, Daddy. Thank you.” Kimberly all but lays down on her side of the booth. I smile at her, once again impressed by her manners.

“You’re welcome.” I already paid, so I make sure I wrote the tip in before we get up. I wait outside the bathroom for her to wash her hands. She comes out making a funny face, and honestly, the sight of her makes me grin because she’s so darn cute—especially with her curly hair up in a bow and an orange shirt matching her canvas shoes.

“What?” I ask her.

She takes my hand on her own accord and tugs me forward.

“Smelly.”

I laugh at her. She comically shakes her head. Back at the car, I strap her into the car seat I recently bought. Back when I paid attention, it was by age, and car seats were only for four years and under. Now it’s by height, and Kimberly will probably be short like her mother, though I’m not that tall either since I’m barely six feet.

“When will Mommy be back?”

“Later. Why? I’m not enough fun for you?” I get back to their house where Charlotte didn’t even give me a key, but Kimberly has one and knows the gate code.

“I was just wondering.” She sighs. I follow her inside, and she goes through her usual routine with changing her clothes and getting her homework out.

I wait in the living room already watching television when she skips back in wearing an orange one piece and carrying her folder.

“Ugh, I want to watch Nickelodeon.” She sits on the floor using the ottoman as a table.

“After your homework,” I say as stern as possible, but it doesn’t even work. Her huge bright eyes are making me change the channel before I can think.

“It’s not hard.”

I glance at the math sheet and honestly don’t remember any of it, funny as that is. I also don’t do any math now, and in college, I had a major that required no math at all.

“Fair enough.”

I sit with her somehow following the plot line of the cartoon and only interrupted a few short episodes later when Charlotte texts.

Charlotte: How is she doing?

Lowell: I’m doing great, thank you for asking.

Charlotte: …

Lowell: She’s fine. Doing her homework. We had dinner already.

Charlotte: Well, I would hope so, it’s almost nine.

Lowell: She eats slowly. And how are you doing? Sell any products?

Charlotte: I’m not selling anything, Lowell. It’s for distributors to pitch us.

Lowell: Oh okay, so you were judging people.

Charlotte: Whatever.

Lowell: When will you be back?

Charlotte: I’m leaving now. Two hours or so.

Lowell: Okay. I’ll be waiting for you… possibly naked.

Charlotte: Please don’t scar our daughter for life.

Lowell: It’s bound to happen at some point, might as well do it before she keeps memories well.

Charlotte: You’re crazy.

Lowell: Only for you. See you soon.

Charlotte: See you.

“Hello?” Kimberly brings me back to, waving a piece of paper in my face while she stands by me on the couch.

“Sorry, kid, what’s this?” I lock my phone and set it aside. I learned the hard way that Kimberly will snoop if she has the opportunity.

“Some paper.” She wrinkles her nose trying not to smile.

“Ha ha.” I take it, briefly reading the title and skipping to the end where it says parent signature.

“Why don’t you ask your mom to sign it?”

She shrugs. “She doesn’t want me to do it. The talent show is if you want to do it.”

I take her pen from her. “Okay. Why doesn’t she want you to?”

“I don’t know. She makes stuff up.” She sits with her legs crossed, and I laugh.

“Okay. But if I sign this, and she doesn’t want me to, what do you think will happen to me?” I raise my brows at her.

She turns her lips down and shrugs. “We’ll see.”

I sign it and give it back to her. She puts it in her folder with a smile and then faces me.

“Can you come to the show?” she says, hesitant in her little voice.

“When is it? Of course, I’ll come.”

“Friday,” she answers. I already know I have an offensive team conference during the day, but that’s all I can think of. Either way, this is one thing I would gladly clear my schedule for.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. What are you going to do?”

“It’s a surprise,” she says to me with a straight face.

“Fair enough. Your mom will be home soon. I’m sure she’ll want you in bed by then.”

“But I want to see her first. Please can I stay up?” she whines, barely, blinks her eyes at me, and I’m done for.

“Okay, fine.”

I mean, what am I supposed to do? I don’t stand a chance.

“I have two meetings lined up for you, one with Nike and the other with Omega. Then the press conference. The first qualifying game is this weekend, so you know we have to be on the defense.”

“For once,” I scoff at Donnie. I haven’t been vibing with him much lately after what he said to Charlotte, something I never talked to him about but told Charlotte I did. I didn’t want to open that can of worms. It’s not like I can fire my agent I’ve had for five years who has gotten me every opportunity I’ve had, nor can I create more problems by addressing an issue he has no business in anyway.

“Yeah. And this Omega deal, it’s an easy sell. Not too many appearances and a quarterly contract payout. And Nike, of course, they want a whole ad campaign, but that’s probably a year out and pretty much contingent on the results of the Super Bowl. But I’m sure I can get them down to a sure deal for making it past this game.” Donnie grins, proud of himself. I think in a different life I would be a little more excited.

But after what he did and having different priorities now, I don’t feel it anymore. I care about Kimberly and being there for her. And for Charlotte and not disappointing her.

“Thanks. I got it.”

He tells me all this when I got off the practice field for three hours on the way to the locker room. Jacob skipped out way before me. Donnie usually emails him his updates, and he prefers it that way. I would rather it too.

“Yep. Fifteen minutes.”

I run through everything as fast as I can, and it’s more than fifteen minutes. Practice is no easy feat, grass gets in my nails and somehow in my hair despite the helmet. And I need a while to recuperate. I’m not how I used to be in high school or even during college ball. One year of pro is equal to three of collegiate.

I get out soon enough meeting Donnie in the viewing room upstairs in the stadium, already there with two women in business attire and one man similarly dressed. Once I greet them, I go straight for the drinks already set out and counting down the minutes until I can leave.

They go over the contract almost word for word. I get that it’s important and all, but to me, it seems like watches because that’s what it is. Yet, they throw so much money at me, my head still spins. The way I grew up, numbers like this will always surprise me no matter how long it has been.

“Thank you.” I fast forward paying attention to these people until they are finished. Donnie gets fifteen percent of everything for paying attention when I’m not.

I go back and forth with the next meeting for almost two hours, and then the press conference that’s a lot of the same shit—mostly how I feel about carrying the team to the Super Bowl. I always give the same response—I’m not the only player, and our defense is more of the team than anything else. But like all things, they need a face and a headline, and the quarterback usually takes the heat.

“Please tell me that’s it.” I leave the conference room with Donnie.

“That’s it.” He straightens his gray suit. “Get ready for tomorrow. I guess I’ve been saying that for years.”

“Tomorrow?” I chuckle under my breath. I could barely get through today. I can’t be getting that old.

“Yes, you okay? The game, tomorrow. Saturday qualifiers.”

I stop by the last gate seeing my car parked in the distance. Donnie stops and stands in front of me, grinning to himself. I don’t see him the same way, not anymore. I have a feeling I can’t shake, and I hope it’s that I didn’t like what he did to Charlotte, and that I lied about addressing it. Or it could be something else entirely.

“Fuck off, the game isn’t tomorrow. It’s Friday? Tell me you’re joking.” I glance at my phone. How does this happen?

“Uh, no. What is it?”

“I had somewhere to be at six. Two hours ago.”

“Where? Something with your pseudo-family again?”

“Fuck off, Donnie.” I glare at him. For once, I don’t see him smirk. “I gotta go.”

“Don’t be late tomorrow!”

I flip him off over my shoulder and hope like hell I can fix this.