Quarterback Daddy (2 page)

She changed Michelle’s diaper and returned to the
living room that had morphed into an infant’s playground. “I bet you’re hungry, petunia, aren’t you? You’re always hungry.”

Michelle’s brown eyes opened wide and she waved her arms with excitement. Alexis was just as excited. She would swear the baby was trying to talk to her. She kept up a stream of patter while she warmed the bottle of formula, all the while thinking about the excursion she’d planned for them that afternoon.

A visit to
Michelle’s father.
She could no longer ignore Dan Delito’s existence.

After racking her brain for other solutions, she was back to where she’d started. Quitting her job was not an option; she needed an income. But on her salary, she couldn’t afford proper day care. Her parents certainly weren’t an option, not with her father still hitting the bottle. So, she’d either lose Michelle to the foster care system, or she could split custody of the baby with Dan Delito. Money was certainly not a problem for him! She now had less than three weeks to work it out so she could return to her job.

Alexis was almost a hundred percent sure Delito was the dad. Although her sister had never spoken about the father of her child, she’d had no reason to lie in the ambulance. Could she have realized, even as she lay dying, that Alexis would need the financial and emotional support of a partner, just as Alexis would have been a support for Sherri? Was that the reason her sister had whispered Dan’s name at the very end? Sherri had made foolish choices in her life, but there was nothing wrong with her IQ.

And then there was the file of year-old newspaper
clippings she’d found in Sherri’s apartment. Articles from the sports pages, mostly football, mostly Patriots, always Dan Delito’s name circled every time it appeared.

She missed her sister, her pretty sister with the dazzling smile. Sometimes Alexis’s guilt choked her to the point of nausea. Alexis was older. She should have looked out for Sherri better. But Sherri could disappear like a wisp of smoke. She’d go off with girlfriends, with men, or follow her favorite teams. First with Alexis’s heavy schedule at school and her many part-time jobs, and then with her busy days at the D.A.’s office, she’d easily lost track of her sister’s activities.

Excuses, excuses. Remorse pierced her again, and her lips trembled. “I’m going to take such good care of you, sweetheart,” she whispered to the baby. “And I’ll make sure that daddy of yours is superterrific before I leave you with him for even an hour.”

T
HAT SAME
W
EDNESDAY
afternoon, Dan Delito was watching Colts footage at home in his Beacon Hill neighborhood. The seventh game of the season would be played this Sunday at Gillette Stadium, the Patriots’ turf outside the city. They had a sold-out crowd of loyal fans, and now Dan sat forward in his leather club chair, studying the opposition’s habits, their strengths, their weaknesses. Where the possibilities lay. He thought about the guys on his own team, and how they stacked up against their counterparts.

He drained his bottle of beer and threw the empty in the trash can with its brothers. Beer wasn’t like
real
alcohol; Kim had never minded him downing a beer. Of
course, she’d never seen him drink a whole six-pack in an afternoon.

He studied the screen again. Football. The one thing he could count on. If it weren’t for the game, he’d have nothing to make him get up in the morning. But now, Peyton Manning looked blurry. Geez! How fast was the Colts’ QB running? And why was he carrying the ball this time instead of handing it off? Maybe…maybe the guy wasn’t Manning? It wasn’t. The Colts’ receiver was head-ing for the end zone with no one blocking him. Dan made a mental note for his linebackers, cornerbacks and safeties. New England couldn’t allow that.

His head began to pound, but he picked up the remote, rewound the tape and started watching from the beginning. Now he was so focused, he chose to ignore the ring-ing doorbell. It chimed a second time, and he made an annoyed gesture with his hand as though brushing off an insect. It couldn’t be anyone important. Both his immediate and extended families led busy lives in the middle of the day. They all worked hard. Weekends, of course, were different when Danny played. Then, the entire clan showed up at the stadium or watched the away games on television, usually at his parents’ house. The sport was definitely a family activity.

When the doorbell rang a third time, Danny cursed out loud, hoisted himself from the chair and clambered down the mahogany staircase to the front door. He pulled it hard.

“What?” he barked from the threshold.

His visitor had already left, however, and was ten feet from his town house, her long hair bouncing against
her back just below her shoulders. Thick, dark hair. Wavy hair.

Time stopped, and he froze. He stared until she started to disappear. Then Dan stepped farther outside, where the bright sun blinded him and ratcheted up his headache to new levels of pain. He clutched the wrought-iron railing with one hand, while the other shaded his eyes enough so he could squint after the woman.

Kim’s dark hair, her beautiful hair, bounced just like that once…. The same straight posture, the slender body and those long shapely legs below the skirt…

He couldn’t breathe. Was God giving them another chance? Or was he hallucinating? Was this the d.t.’s?

“Hello,” he called.

She turned her head, her smile grew and she held her index finger up. “Hang on a sec.”

Hell, yes! He’d hang on for hours if she asked. That smile. Pure sunshine. From a distance, he could only guess her eyes were dark as Kimmy’s were. He continued to watch her, then understood the delay. She was pushing a baby stroller, leaning over it and talking at the same time.

He walked toward her, every step reverberating through his body, his head ready to explode. Pain didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to miss this chance.

“You need some help?” he asked as he came abreast of her, memorizing every nuance. Not Kim. These eyes were hazel. This woman was a bit taller…but he found these small differences easy to ignore.

She looked up then and stepped back. Whatever friendliness he’d thought he’d seen evaporated. Her eyes accused him as if she had the right.

“Ugh! Your breath. It stinks…stinks from…beer. Well, I see this visit was a mistake. Just get away from me, and get far away from the baby.”

He didn’t need a public scene. Besides, she didn’t sound like Kim. His Kim would never have made such a disgusted face at him. Of course, she’d have had no reason. He never drank in the old days. But it felt damn good now.

He opened his arms wide. “Keep your cool. I’m leaving. No harm, no foul.” He turned to go and heard her voice again.

“You are Dan Delito, aren’t you?”

Another groupie. He didn’t need this. Or…maybe he did. The girls came in handy after a game, when the guys were high off a win or needed consolation after a loss. For a little while, anyway, Dan could forget about cancer and Kim’s ordeal. He could forget about feeling lost himself.

Keeping his distance, he said, “And what if I am?”

“Is that a yes or a no?” she asked, stepping in front of the baby stroller, her head tilted back to meet his gaze.

He studied her at length, all heavenly ideas forgotten. No hallucinations. No miracles. No second chances. The woman was not like Kim at all. “What are you, some kind of lawyer?”

“Touchdown. So, answer the question.”

This barracuda could have chewed Kim up and spit her out. However,
he
wasn’t Kim.

“Who’s asking?” he demanded, standing his ground.

For the first time, she hesitated, her gaze traveling from the top of his head down to his running shoes.
Finally, she pulled a card from her purse—as well as a stick of gum—and handed both to him. “My name is Alexis Brown.”

“I see,” he said, studying the card. “The District Attorney’s office?” The black print seemed to dance on the white background, but he thought he’d read the words correctly. “What’s this all about?” He considered his activities during the last few days and remembered nothing unusual. Of course, he might not be remembering everything….

The woman seemed to have come to a decision. “I’m sorry, Mr. Delito. I see I’ve made a mistake. Why don’t we both forget about this visit? You can go back inside and…and do whatever it is a player does in the afternoon, and I’ll get out of your way.”

She put her hand out to retrieve her business card, but his reflexes were still quick, and he whipped it behind his back. “Not so fast.”

Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “Yes, fast. I’m outta here, right now.” But her gaze lingered on him for a moment, then she shrugged. “I bet you’ll never remember this conversation anyway…you’ll think it was a vague dream after you sleep it off.” She sighed audibly. “That’s the way it works when Jack Daniel’s takes over.”

She started walking toward the corner, but as she turned away he caught a glimpse of her expressive face, so poignant and soft when she looked at the baby. He heard her mumbling to herself, saw her shaking her head.

He unwrapped the stick of gum and chewed hard. He’d remember the conversation, all right, because he
wouldn’t forget her resemblance to Kim. Returning to his house, he tucked her card in his wallet.

D
ISAPPOINTMENT HIT HER
with the ferocity of a thunderstorm. Alexis took several deep breaths as she walked the long way home with the baby, realizing for the first time how much she’d been counting on Dan Delito to be the answer to her dilemma. But there was no way she’d relinquish Michelle to a drunk, no matter how handsome or famous or powerful. What a waste.

Had she not done her research, she would have kicked herself. But she had. She’d looked for information about Dan Delito everywhere, scouring the newspapers, the Internet,
Sports Illustrated
and other magazines for comments about him from his teammates. She’d learned he’d been born in the north end of the city, came from a big extended Italian family, graduated from Ohio State, got married shortly afterward. Seven years later, his wife died. He’d been seen at a couple of clubs with different women in the past year, but nothing more remarkable than that. No drunken scenes, no scandals. No nothing.

Since August, a month after Michelle’s birth, Alexis had followed the team’s progress at training camp and through four preseason games and now through the regular season. She thought she’d done her due diligence.

None of the newspaper articles mentioned a drinking problem. So, somehow, his drinking didn’t interfere with his performance on the field.

“Not yet, anyway,” she murmured to herself. But it would at some point, just as it had with her father.
Among other things, Calvin Brown was a functioning alcoholic who’d lost his business after almost a lifetime of drinking. Dan would lose his career, too. It was a question of when, not if.

She looked into the stroller. “In the end, Michelle, the liquor always wins. It can turn some people into monsters. So no drunken daddy for you. We’ll have to think of something else.”

In the half hour it took her to walk home and go upstairs, she came up with several work-from-home ideas, but nothing practical. Nothing that paid well from the start. But at least she’d taken some definitive action. A real estate agent was visiting her tomorrow. They’d discuss listing her condo.

A few minutes after she changed Michelle’s diaper, her cell phone rang.

“Alexis speaking.”

“I’m not an alcoholic. You just caught me at a bad time.”

She recognized Delito’s voice instantly. “At two in the afternoon? Give me a break. Besides, you don’t owe me an explanation. We’re done.”

“Does law school teach you to make snap decisions?”

“I had evidence and plenty of it.”

“And I had extenuating circumstances. My ninth wedding anniversary. It’s been a tough week. You might want to consider that before you rush to judgment.”

She let out a slow breath, remembering he was a widower. “Point to you, Mr. Delito. I’ll reserve judgment—for now.” She was surprised he sounded coherent.

“So, what does the D.A.’s office want with me?”

He called because he was worried, but it was an easy question. “Absolutely nothing, Mr. Delito. I came on a personal matter. My business card was all I had on me.”

“A personal matter? Want to explain that?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m also sorry about your wife, but you were in a bad way today, and I’m not ready to chat. I don’t know whether to trust you yet.”

He disconnected the call.

She stared at the silent mobile, satisfied at having learned something about him. The man had pride. She hoped there was substance behind it.

“B
ARRACUDA
”
HAD BEEN
a compliment—the woman was a shark. Dan’s nostrils flared and his mouth tightened as he fingered her business card in the kitchen of his town house. Not trust him? A fifty-five-man roster trusted his every move. Ten teammates watched him like hawks on the field, not to mention the opposition players checking him out. He hadn’t disappointed his men yet, and he wouldn’t. The game was the only thing he had left.

Her card said, Alexis Brown, J.D. Well, he had his own lawyers—paid them plenty to read his contracts, monitor stories in the press and keep him out of trouble. Now Andy Romano could do some research, as well. His closest pal when they were growing up, Andy had recently been made a partner in his firm. Talk about trust—they’d take a bullet for each other. He punched in his friend’s number.

“I need a favor.”

Andy’s laugh made Danny laugh. “You’re paying me, Danny-boy. It’s not a favor. Shoot.”

Dan read the information from Alexis’s business card. “Find out what you can about her. I don’t know why she came to the house, but she had something
serious on her mind. She wasn’t a groupie and…she had a baby with her.”

A long, low whistle came through the phone. “A baby? Danny-boy, suddenly, I’m thinking something not-so-good.”

“No way. She’s one woman I’d never forget. And I never saw her until today.”

“Excellent. I’m breathing again. I’ll start with public records right away and get back to you later. It shouldn’t take too long. Oh, and I’ll be in the stands on Sunday. Think we’ll make it through to the you-know-what this year?”

Dan groaned. The Super Bowl. That was the single topic of the football season he avoided. Hated questions about it, so didn’t allow his friends or family to even say the
S
word within his hearing. Occasionally they got creative, but he
never
offered a direct answer.

“I take it one contest at a time, my man. One game is all I can concentrate on. But come to the house after the game and bring Pauline. We have an early kickoff at noon. Plenty of time to party afterward. The whole family will be here.”

“Will do.”

Dan disconnected and made his way to his home gym in the basement, bypassing the cold beer in the fridge and ignoring his liquor cabinet. He needed a clear head. Alternating the stationary bike with the Bowflex machine, he worked up a sweat, felt the renewed strength in his arms and legs and started to focus on Sunday. Tomorrow he’d be on the field for a practice with the offensive line. The guys would be looking to him and the coaches. He had to be ready. He
would
be ready. No drinking.

When Andy called over an hour later, Dan was out of the shower and back in front of the television, screening footage again.

“What’ve you got?” asked Dan.

“Basics so far. A hometown girl from Southie. Thirty-one years old. Graduated from Boston University Law two years ago and went right into the D.A.’s office. It took her eight years to get her undergrad degree, so her career started later than usual.”

“Married?” asked Dan.

“No record of it.”

“What about the kid?”

“I can do some deeper digging tomorrow,” Andy said.

“Maybe she was babysitting.”

“Maybe, but I don’t like the idea of a home visit. You never know when the paparazzi gets wind of something or invents a story from thin air. I don’t like it at all.” He paused. “Did you smell like a brewery?”

“Maybe a bit.” Despite his best efforts, Dan’s voice had a sharp edge.

“So, Danny—how’s that going?”

“I’m fine. And I don’t need another father.” He had everything under control.

“I couldn’t be Nicky if I tried. But I love you like a brother, Danny, and I care. Pauline cares, too. She worries about you.”

Andy and Pauline. Danny and Kim. They used to pal around often together in the old days. Close friends. Trusting friends. They’d shared so much, including the pain of losing Kim.

“Andy?”

“Yeah?”

“Today, when that woman came over…for a minute, I thought she was Kimmy.” His voice broke.

“Oh, hell, Danny. I’ll be right there.”

That’s what friends did for friends. Dan was one lucky dude. “Thanks, but don’t bother. My folks threatened to return tonight. I’ll be fine. In fact, I
am
fine. In the end, she wasn’t Kim.”

With a heavy heart, he said goodbye and clicked the phone off.

I
N HER CONDO THE NEXT DAY
, Alexis cringed when she signed the listing papers with the real estate agent.

“I love this place,” she said to the young woman with the fat notebook and laptop. “I bought it with my very own money, my very own
hard-earned
money. A good down payment. Lived on a strict budget. And now, I’ll be taking a loss on the investment. I can’t believe it, but I need to generate cash.” She glanced at the baby in the swing.

For the first time in her life, she missed having what she knew other women had—girlfriends. Girlfriends to talk things over with, to ask for advice and give advice in return. In childhood she’d had to watch every word and keep her family life a secret. In those days, she and Sherri had been a twosome, depending solely on each other.

Between her part-time jobs and schoolwork, she’d had no time to cultivate friendships in college. At least, that’s what she told herself. She wasn’t too good at forming relationships with men, either. She’d had one brief love affair as a student that ended badly—all her
fault. She still cringed at the memories. But now, she needed someone to talk to, a friend of either gender. Life was becoming more complicated, not less, and at this moment, she was chatting with a virtual stranger.

“Maybe you could advertise for a roommate,” said the real estate agent. “I won’t make any money—I’m talking myself out of a listing here—but, frankly, I’ve known some hard times myself.”

Alexis listened and hope soared. “A roommate?” New idea. With other people around, she could really brainstorm. “I’ll let you know if anything changes, but in the meantime, list the apartment. And please keep an eye out for an inexpensive rental—if such a thing exists in this city.”

After the agent left, she called Roz.

“If I had a regular roommate, a working woman like me, her rent could help me pay for daycare,” she told the social worker in a breathless rush.

“That could work, but I’d have to investigate anyone you brought into your home at this point.”

That made sense. Roz’s job was to protect Michelle. “Well…do you know someone looking for a place to live?” A recommendation from Roz would seal the deal.

“I’d have to think about it. But…Alexis, I want to be up-front with you.” The woman’s words came slowly. “I’m preparing the foster care paperwork, just in case. The days are flying by, and foster families appreciate a heads-up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, my God, Roz! You can’t do that. Michelle loves me, and I love her. She’s mine. And besides, transferring her to strangers would be letting Sherri down.”

“The baby
is
yours, Alexis. That doesn’t change.
This is simply a temporary measure until your finances are under control and day care arrangements can be made.”

But Alexis’s nerve endings jangled, warning bells clanged, and her stomach lurched. This nightmare couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not to Michelle. There were plenty of single parents successfully raising kids by themselves. Was she any less capable? She couldn’t believe that, but…but maybe those women received child support or other aid that she didn’t have.

She trusted Roz—one of the very few people she did trust—and now the woman had given her something new to worry about.

“Surely, there has to be something available for me,” Alexis said.

“I’m so sorry, Alexis, but you already know that day-care assistance is need-based, and your income is too high for us to underwrite you.”

The nightmare continued. She had less than three hundred dollars left in the bank, which she’d earmarked for emergencies. Now, a headache took root, pounding harder with each minute that passed. Her legs danced with nervous energy, the way they had when she was a kid. The whole world had been against her then, too. A world of broken promises.

Yes, you can. No, you can’t. College? Foolish girl. Who do you think you are?

She usually tried not to look back. But now, she actually stroked her cheek as she hung up the phone, remembering the slaps. The punches. And worse.

With all his money, Dan Delito could solve her problems. He might even want to know he had a child. But
did he deserve another chance? She simply didn’t know. And she couldn’t put Michelle at risk with a drunk.

B
Y THE THIRD QUARTER OF
Sunday’s game, the teams were tied at fourteen. They seemed evenly matched to Alexis, with two touchdowns at six points each and good kicks for the points after. From the recesses of her mind, she’d dredged up the little football knowledge she’d stored.

“Delito gets the snap,” called the TV announcer, “and is sacked right in the pocket….”

Alexis saw was a bunch of huge guys in a pile and guessed that Dan was on the very bottom. He hadn’t had a chance to pass the ball. The fans in the stadium were quiet. Not a good sign.

“Seems like the guy’s in trouble, Michelle. Maybe he’s not concentrating.” Maybe he had a hangover. No, that wasn’t a fair assessment. Football was a ferocious contact sport; it was easy to get sacked.

The baby vocalized her agreement, and Alexis leaned down to smother her in kisses, as she did a dozen times a day. The sweet pea loved “talking” with her about any subject and continued babbling now. Alexis had a better time playing with the baby than watching the game.

An hour later, after Dan had been sacked twice more, the two-minute warning sounded. Dan threw a long straight pass to his wide receiver, who ran the ball for almost thirty yards and blasted into the end zone. Touchdown. Patriots’ victory.

“And the crowd goes wild…” she murmured, fascinated by the unabashed enthusiasm in the stadium. The
fans had lived and breathed each play, their emotions on a roller-coaster ride throughout the afternoon. She understood it intellectually but didn’t feel it as though they did. Her own life was filled with rollercoaster emotions based on real issues. Didn’t these people have lives of their own? Shouldn’t they be pursuing their own goals, rather than someone else’s artificial ones on a football field of dreams? It was only a game. A waste of time.

She was about to turn the television off when the cameras focused on the press box and an interview with Dan Delito and Al Tucker, the wide receiver. Helmets off, but they were dressed in their dark blue uniforms with their signature logo—a patriot’s face and tricornered hat—on the sleeve. As she studied Delito, she had to admit the quarterback could hold his own in the good looks department. Well-built, certainly. Thick dark hair, a surprisingly straight nose after his long career, and a firm mouth. Handsome, but also rugged with his square jaw and scruffy beard. Man, she’d noticed a load of details, appealing and attractive details.

“It was crunch time today, Dan,” said the announcer. “How’d you do it in the end?”

Dan spoke into the microphone. “Like I always do. With the help of my teammates. Al Tucker was on the mark. He got through the Colts’ defensive line—a tough line, by the way. Great work from this guy.” He slapped Tucker on the shoulder.

“You got sacked at few times today. How do you feel?”

“Like I got sacked a few times today.” Delito grinned at the interviewer, eyes gleaming. “I’ll live.”

The two players walked off, laughing to each other. Dan, however, sported a slight limp. Being underneath a pile of gladiators must not have been fun, but he hadn’t complained.

Alexis stared at the screen for several minutes after the men had disappeared. There was no way Dan Delito had an ounce of alcohol in him today. Not the way he played. Not the way he spoke. And not the way he looked. His eyes had sparkled with humor, he knew exactly what he was doing, and he moved with the smooth grace of the athlete he was.

Maybe she really had caught him at a bad moment because of his anniversary. One indulgence didn’t mean he was an addict.

She was going to visit him again.

D
AN CALLED HER
M
ONDAY
morning, before she could plan the outing.

“Did you watch the game?” No hello. No how-are you.

“How’s the leg?” she asked.

His chuckle was deep and rich, almost musical, and caused shivers to run through her.

“Whaddyaknow? She’s a fan.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Hmm…Not quite. What I understand about football could be be written on the head of a pin. But I saw enough to reconsider a meeting. I—I might have rushed to judgment the other day.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” he drawled, his voice now laced with a touch of sarcasm. “So tell me why I should care. What’s this ‘business’ all about?”

Alexis took a deep breath. “I won’t discuss it on the
phone. It’s too private and important. But I’d be happy to meet you in the Common at the Frog Pond, or I could come to your place again. Whatever you’d prefer.”

“My lawyer says to stay away from you. He says he found you mentioned in several news articles and you’re trouble.”

He worked fast. Did he think he needed protection? “Your lawyer? I’m sure I don’t even know your lawyer. I’m just a little cog in the D.A.’s wheel.”

“A little cog? Not for long, Alexis Brown, not after graduating law school at the top of the class, not after doing the same in political science at the undergrad level. No, ma’am. I predict you’ll score your own touchdowns one day soon.”

She hadn’t been expecting an investigation. Or a compliment. “Congratulations. I see you’ve done your homework, Mr. Delito. Or your attorney’s done it.”

“Same thing. He’s got my back.” His words lingered, before he added, “Understand where I’m coming from?”

“I sure do,” she replied, trying not to laugh at his implied threat. “You sound like a lousy actor in a bad melodrama. There’s no blackmail here, and if you’re worried about paparazzi, well—they give me hives, too. So, don’t bother calling again unless you want to arrange a meet.”