I swear to God, I can’t do one thing right this week.

Get it together, asshole. This is football. This is the one thing you can do. Put up or shut up.

Gritting my teeth, I reach back to release the pass, but my throw goes wide, and Quentin shoots me the finger.

Coach has had enough and stalks toward me. “Son, I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but I need you to dislodge it and play like this means something.” He shakes his head. “Where’s the guy who played for me in preseason? I want him back. You’re playing hard, and you’re playing tough—and at the end of the day we’re winning—but something ain’t quite right here.” He turns his back to the rest of the guys and lowers his voice. “Is there anything you need to tell me? Did you get arrested last weekend or get a girl knocked up or something?”

I choke on my own spit. “No, sir.”

He gives me a curt nod. “Okay, then. That’s a relief.” His head tilts. “Girl problems?”

My shoulders slump, and like a fucking Buddhist Zen master, he says, “Ask not what she can do for you, but what you need to do for her.” With a stiff pat on the arm, he adds, “And then, once you’ve got that shit straight, have a little fun out here, okay? You’re depressing me.”

Once practice is over and I’m stuck in gridlock traffic, I give in and decide I need some advice. Glancing at the date on my dash, I realize I can’t call Jax because he’s traveling to a game. I know I could call Clementine, but I don’t want to be the douchebag who calls his ex-girlfriend when he needs help with another woman.

So that only leaves one other person, and I haven’t spoken to him in months.

“Daren, my God, it’s good to hear your voice.”

The guilt from not calling him in so long forms a knot in my throat.

“Hi, Dad.”

He sighs. It’s the sound of relief, and I know it’s because I’ve been calling him Mason for the last several years. But I was too hurt to call him my father.

“To what do I owe this wonderful call?”

Fuck, and he has to be nice about it. “I need your advice.”

The last time I called him for help, Clementine was all over the news. Yeah, it takes a major crisis to go there these days. I saw him more in college because my mother nagged me until I gave in, but I’ve had a hard time letting go of the anger. I know he didn’t mean to crush me, but he did, and no apology or amount of money can ease that pain. My guess is that huge Heisman banquet he threw for me was part of his apology, but he should know by now I don’t care about those kind of gifts. But lately, even Maddie has been encouraging me to see him.

My father laughs. “Is this about a woman?”

I roll my eyes. I swear he can read my mind. “Of course.”

He chuckles again. “Well, lay it on me. Your mom and I were about to have dinner, but I’m sure she won’t mind if I take it in the study so we can talk.”

If I weren’t starting to feel like I was losing Maddie, I’d never do this. But one thing is for sure. I can’t lose her. And Mason has stayed married to my mom all these years, even when she was raising someone else’s kid. I figure he must have really loved my mother to marry her after her fiancée took off. She never even heard from the asshole again.

I know. That’s who I should be angry with. My real father. But he died when I was in high school—my senior year, in fact—so I never had a chance to tell him to go to hell. That’s one of the things that made this whole thing worse. Finding out that I had a real father—right after he passed away.

Maddie’s right, though. I need to get over this shit with Mason. He’s always treated me well. I’m not sure why I’m still angry about this. I guess part of it ties into how finding out he wasn’t my real father had a chain reaction in my life that I’m only now recovering from. But I gotta own that shit too.

Shaking my head, I man up and tell him the short version of what’s happening with Maddie, minus the coma-inducing marathon sex.

He hums over the phone. “You gave her a diamond bracelet, and she’s barely spoken to you for the last week? Son, something about that equation doesn’t work for me.” He’s silent for a moment. “What happened the last time you saw her?”

Shit. That feels like a lifetime ago. “Okay, part of that problem was I had just changed my number, and I thought I had given her the new one. And we had our weekly interview yesterday, but she was all business.”

“Well, tell me what happened a week ago. It seems the drama started there, right?”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “I was working with this woman, a financial advisor, on some investments, and Maddie came over. She said hi and that she was heading home to work. And since then, she’s barely returned my calls or texts, which is unusual for her.”

There’s that chuckle again. “Son, what does this financial advisor look like?”

What? “I don’t know. Medium height. Blonde. Wears too much lipstick and her perfume makes me gag. Why?”

“Is she attractive?”

I pause to think about Camille. “I guess. I haven’t really thought about it. I’m not into blondes.”

“What does Maddie think of this woman?”

“She barely knows her. I think she met her one other time. Hell, I barely know Camille.”

“Ahh, you’re still so young. I remember being this clueless.”

“Seriously, you’re not helping here.”

He laughs. “Sorry, son. Okay, tell me what happened the first time she met Camille.”

I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tightness in those muscles. “We were all at a restaurant. Maddie was there with her roommate Sheri and several of Sheri’s friends for this book club they have. Maddie invited me over.” I scratch my head, wondering how the hell this means anything. “I sat opposite Maddie and next to Camille because that was the only seat available, and I signed autographs for the girls.”

“And?”

And what?

I blow out a breath. “I looked up, and suddenly Maddie was gone. My buddy Quentin told me she left. So I tracked her down, and I guess you could say we’ve been together ever since.”

I’m still waiting for the punchline, waiting for all of this to make sense.

And then I remember the conversation Maddie had in the back hallway by the bathroom. I had asked her if she was jealous, and even though she denied it, I knew she was lying.

“Oh, God. She hates Camille, doesn’t she?”

“My guess is yes, she’s not her biggest fan.”

“And Camille was at my house when she came over the day after I gave her the bracelet. Maddie said she wanted to thank me for something, but she couldn’t say anything specific because no one is supposed to know we’re dating.”

“Sounds like you know what to do.”

I rub my forehead and try to finish driving home without getting in an accident. “What would that be, Dad? What would you do?”

“Grovel. It’s the only way to go. As long as you’re being honest with her, I’m sure everything will work out.”

My lips twist at the irony here. He’s telling me to be honest.

Long after we get off the phone, I’m still mulling over his words. It takes me a good hour to stop being pissed at him all over again. And then his advice to be honest sinks in.

I know I haven’t told Maddie everything, but the crazy shit is just getting crazier, and I don’t want to freak her out. But maybe she senses I’m not telling her the whole story.

I have nothing to hide. I haven’t done anything wrong, but I want to protect her, protect us. And I hope I haven’t done just the opposite.

But with the bachelor contest this weekend, I know I don’t have a lot of time to make this right. The last thing I want is to do this event with all of this awkwardness between us, so I head for her place resolved to tell her everything.

Except when I get to her door, no one is home.

And she doesn’t call me back.