Blind Side(48)

Power and confidence — that’s what he always exuded.

“That was a hell of a game,” he said. “I’m glad I was here to see it.”

I blinked, shaking off my surprise. “I am, too.”

“Your future is looking brighter and brighter. I know you don’t need me to tell you, but I’m proud of you, Clay.” He nodded, something cautious in his eyes. “I never got to speak to you after everything happened.”

Everything meaning his daughter throwing my heart in a blender.

“I won’t pretend to understand my baby girl,” he said with a gentle smile. “But I will tell you this — I think it was a mistake. And I hope she realizes that, too.”

A knot formed in my throat.

“And I also want you to know that regardless, I’m still here for you. Always. Okay? Anytime you need something — you just pick up the phone and call.”

I nodded, biting the inside of my lip as emotion surged through me. I almost wanted to fall into the big man’s arms and sob, to thank him for being here, for loving me, for believing in me.

But I also wanted to distance myself.

No matter what I felt growing up with him, he wasn’t my family — not then, and certainly not now.

I had to get that through my head sooner or later.

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me,” I managed.

A nod of understanding was all he was able to offer me before Maliyah swung around the corner, throwing herself into Cory’s arms.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, sweetheart. You looked great out there.”

She smiled and beamed under his praise just like I did, and my heart ached for a reality where my father came to home games and met me in the locker room after.

Maliyah’s eyes caught on me, and she swallowed, glancing up at her dad and then back.

“I want to say hello to a friend in the front office,” Cory said, and it didn’t surprise me that he had friends on the staff.

He had friends everywhere.

“Meet me at the car?” he asked, and then he kissed his daughter’s cheek without waiting for a response.

When we were alone, Maliyah’s eyes searched mine.

And then, without warning, she threw herself into my arms.

“That was amazing!” she breathed, holding me tight as I wrapped her up just the same. For a brief moment, I inhaled her scent, inhaled the way it felt to hold her familiar body to my chest.

But in the next, I let her go, stepping back to put space between us.

“You sound surprised,” I answered coolly.

“Well, I knew you were good, but… I like being reminded just how good.”

She offered me a teasing smile, dragging her fingertip down my stomach.

“Some of us are going out,” she added. “You should come.”

I sniffed, looking down the hall behind her. “We’ll see.”

“Come on, you have to celebrate after that,” she pleaded, and then she tucked her finger into the band of my football pants and tugged me into her. Her lips pressed right against the shell of my ear as she pressed up onto her toes. “It is your birthday, after all. I’d like to give you a gift.”

I hated that my cock responded to that voice whispering in my ear, that my skin broke out in chills at her touch. She smiled when she pulled back, like she knew she still had that effect on me — like she loved it.

And that cooled the fire.

I peeled her hands off me. “I have plans.”

Before I could turn, she stopped me, her hand wrapping around my forearm to whip me back around — not that I’d fought it.

“With her?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“That’s none of your business.”

Maliyah shook her head. “Why are you playing this game, Clay? I know you want me.” She stepped into me, her cleavage pressing against my lower ribs. Her hand slid down then, cupping me through my pants. “I can feel it.”

I shrugged her off so quickly she almost fell. “That’s a cup. See you around.”

I left her with her jaw on the floor, and once again, I tried to tell myself I did it because I knew it was too early. Her father had pretty much insinuated as much. She’d toss me aside just as quickly if I gave in now.

She just wanted to test me, and this was me passing.

This was all part of the plan.

I was still convincing myself of that when I was showered and dressed, texting Giana that I would meet her in her office.

Ten minutes, she texted back.

And then my phone rang.

Mom’s bright smile lit up the screen, her arm around my waist at my high school graduation. I smirked at the sight, knowing when I answered, I’d hear the worst and loudest rendition of the Happy Birthday song. It was her favorite thing to do, sing it obnoxiously enough that I hid my face in embarrassment, and that didn’t change when I moved across the country.

Last year, she made me put her on speakerphone in the middle of our weight training.

“Mom, before you start, I’m alone. So you don’t have an audience if you want to save your vocal chords.”

The joke died along with my smile when I was met with a choked-off sob on the other end.

Heat crept into my ears, my heart pounding as I ducked into one of the assistant coach’s office that was empty. “What happened?”