The Game of Love: (BWWM Romance) (20 page)

“Austin Riley has a baby?’ She overheard a woman say as she waited for the elevator.

“Seems so,” the friend standing next to her answered. Then both women exchanged a look as the camera zoomed even closer to Olivia’s face and Austin’s finger stroking her cheek. His much lighter finger compared to Olivia’s slightly darker, cappuccino complexion. Lighter than her mother’s, but darker than her father’s, a perfect blend of the two.

“Hmm,” the first woman spoke up.

“My thoughts exactly,” the friend chimed. “Where did Irish-Italian Austin Riley get that cute, little mocha baby?”

*****

Luke Maisley cursed as he pushed his rental car over a bumpy, unlined road down the back street of an eerie Alabama neighborhood. Moving the lever to park, he switched on the cabin light and double-checked the directions that the man at the gas station had given him, secretly wishing that he’d written them down wrong for an excuse to hightail it out of the creepy suburb that looked straight out of the 1950s. But he’d gotten it right: four miles down Lee Street, left onto Naples, the last house on the right: the one with the purple wisteria clinging to the windows.

Parking along the curb in front of the house, he began to question his judgment. Generally, the only news Kyle Stallworth ever brought to the table had to do with Kyle
himself. Luke never complained because both their careers had been bolstered by Kyle’s high-profile relationships, public controversial statements, and brushes with law enforcement. However, he was admittedly doubtful when Kyle had told him that this man, William Riley, was supposedly Dallas quarterback Austin Riley’s estranged father.

If Luke remembered clearly, when Austin had spoken about his father on draft day, he’d alluded to the press that his father was dead. Because no one was the wiser, everyone had accepted it and moved on to asking him about how different he thought life in Dallas would be compared to what he’d been used to in Tallahassee for the past four years. But if Kyle was correct—and Luke had a hunch that he was—then finding out that Austin’s father was alive and living in abject poverty was already the start to a pretty solid story that would rattle the millionaire QB’s wholesome, pretty-boy image.

A faint spot of light in one of the windows indicated that there was the possibility that someone actually lived there. Cutting the engine, Luke hopped out of the vehicle and made his way up the concrete walkway. He tightened the straps on his leather satchel and walked through a wooden gate attached to the front porch, but as he prepared to knock on the door, emerging from the far end of the porch was a snarling, brown and black Doberman Pinscher.

“Easy now,” Luke tried to coax as he decided what would antagonize the dog least: taking a step backwards or remaining firmly in place. The dog bared its teeth in response and Luke’s eyes darted to the car. If he ran now, there was still a chance he could make it inside the car before the dog had a chance to pounce.

“Heel!”

The command came from inside the house and Luke carefully pulled his attention from the dog and placed it on the tall man standing in the doorway. If he’d had any doubt before, all of it was dashed as he looked at the spitting image of Austin.

“He’s all bark,” the man warmly reassured, stepping onto the porch. He bent to scratch behind the dog’s ear, and Luke couldn’t believe that the same vicious creature that had made his life flash before his eyes was now whimpering under its master’s gentle massaging.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Luke replied.

“You a reporter?” The man eyed his bag.

“Yes. Luke
Maisley. I’m a journalist. Are you William Riley?”

He turned back to the dog. “Depends. Are you here about Austin?”

“Yes.”

“Never thought I’d ever see one of you out here.” He motioned to the front door. “You want to come in, or do you want to stay out here on the porch with Gus?”

Luke nervously chuckled as he followed the man into the dark house.

Inside, Luke half-expected to walk in and find images of Austin ranging from birth to adulthood plastered everywhere, but instead, the paneled walls were bare. The front room housed an old, patchwork recliner, a mismatched sofa, and a flat-screened TV in the middle of the hutch of an armoire. Quite fittingly, the TV was turned to the championship game. Austin appeared on the screen, standing on the sidelines with his hands tucked into his pads as his defense massacred the Pittsburgh offense.

There’d been something markedly different about the QB this past season. He’d obliterated records, putting up more yards in a single-season than any other player in football history. It was as if there was an invisible force right there with him on the field helping him call plays, dodge sacks, and adding wings to his feet.

“Lemonade?”

Luke carefully took a seat in the sofa. “Sure.”

William reappeared with two glasses in his hand and a platter of barbecued chicken wings.

“The lemonade’s not bad,” he seemed to be warning, “But it’s nothing compared to what my wife used to make.”

He placed
the glasses and platter on the coffee table and sank into the recliner. When Austin’s face reappeared on the screen again, William looked up and smiled in such a way that Luke wondered what could have possibly caused the father and son to be so estranged.

“You said you never expected me to come out here? You mean, a reporter?”
he asked.

William nodded and tore his gaze away from the screen. “Most people think that Austin’s father’s dead.”

Luke reached for his glass of lemonade. “Which I did, up until a few days ago.”

“What happened a few days ago?”

“A source.” Luke took a sip and the overpowering tartness of the lemon bit at his tongue. Clearing his throat, he put the glass back on the table. “Someone recently informed me that you were alive and living out here in Montgomery County.”

William swigged h
is drink as if he wasn’t aware that it needed at least four teaspoons more sugar. “Had to be somebody from Yearwood. Not many people know where I went.”

The crowd roared and he craned his neck just in time to see Austin throw a thirty-yard pass to Cason Allen. William pumped his fist and roared.

“Do you watch all of his games?” Luke asked.

“Every single one of them.” William took another sip. “If it wasn’t for football, I probably wouldn’t even have cable, but I got one of those special packages to make sure I can see every game Dallas plays.”

Austin handed off the ball to the running back who picked up another first-down on the carry.

“You must be really proud of him,” Luke continued. A flash of sadness moved across William’s face as he reached for a wing.

“I am.”

“Mr. Riley,” Luke began, “
Do you mind if I ask you some questions about Austin for a piece I’m doing?”

William pumped his fist again as Austin dodged a heavy lineman racing towards him to land a ten-yard pass to Trent Holloway.

“Don’t think my son would like that very much,” he advised. “Think he’s content with having the world think that I’m dead.”

Luke searched his mind for an explanation, unprepared for the fact that maybe William didn’t want to remain hidden in the shadows. He’d assumed that he would
have wanted the world to know that he was alive in order to reap some of the benefits of Austin’s celebrity.

“You might think differently if I told you my source.”

William cringed as a defender crushed into Austin, but then celebrated when a penalty was called.

“And who’s that?”

“Emma Riley.”

William’s eyes flicked over to him and Luke prayed that he wouldn’t call his bluff.

“She still goes by Riley?” He slapped his hand against his thigh. “I’ll be damned. I would have never expected that.”

Luke relaxed some and grabbed a wing. What the man lacked in beverage-making skills, he made up for with his talent on the grill.

“I’m sure she’s still as beautiful as ever, even in her sixties,” William went on. “Got the eyes of a lynx. And the same big ol’ feet.”

Luke quickly wiped his fingers and reached for his laptop. “
So, how did you two meet?”

Austin threw a touchdown pass to Cason and W
illiam bellowed with excitement before answering.  “Met her right here in Alabama, which is where I was born and raised. She worked in a restaurant at the time with her parents. I was twenty-eight, so she had to be around sixteen or so. She was born in Italy and her family came here to open their restaurant, which made no sense to me since Italians always went to New York, but if they hadn’t come here, I would have never met her.”

Luke typed the notes on his computer. “So, what made you decide to move to Yearwood?”
he asked.

“That was Emma.” William grabbed another wing. “She hated Alabama.
Em’s more of the free-spirited, liberal type. A product of the sixties. Alabama was too backwoods for her. ‘Antiquated’ was the word she’d used. Where she really wanted to go was New York, but I couldn’t take that fast-life type of stuff, so we decided on North Carolina and ended up settling in Yearwood, strangely enough. That place is so small, you probably can’t even find it on a map.”

Luke decided not to skirt around his real reason for visiting any longer. “So, Mr. Riley, why is it that Austin makes it seem like you’re dead? Why the fallout?”

A defender crushed into Austin on the screen, and he fell onto his back and remained still for a few seconds. William hopped up out of his seat and spewed profanities at the television. After the play was reviewed, the officials determined that the defender had led the tackle with his helmet and called the penalty against Pittsburgh. The call didn’t seem to appease William.

“You see how they’re beating up my boy out there?”
he argued. “Dirty players in Pennsylvania, I tell you. They’re trying to take him out because they know that Dallas will never win without him.”

William flopped back down into the chair and downed some more lemonade.

“God, that’s awful,” he finally admitted, looking over at Luke. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Luke, confused because the man had already had several sips of the beverage, wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“You asked me a question,” William continued. “Oh, that’s right; what happened between me and Austin.”

He grabbed another wing and Luke waited until he finished munching so that he could continue. When the man didn’t, he cleared his throat.

“So, what happened?” he prodded.

“My past caught up to me,” William replied
, and then abruptly got to his feet and disappeared down the dark hallway. Several minutes later he still hadn’t returned, and Luke tossed a glance towards the front door to make sure that Gus hadn’t found his way inside.

He dared another sip of the lemonade and popped a wing into his mouth. Austin’s face appeared on the screen again but this time, he was smiling and chatting with Cason since Dallas was finally up by a touchdown.

William’s heavy footsteps came trudging down the hall and he reappeared with an antique, brown-leather photo album in his hands. Taking his seat again, he kept the photo album in his lap and trained his attention back on the game.

“What’d I miss?”
he asked an even more confused Luke.

“Nothing. Dallas is still up by a touchdown.”

William nodded. “Good game, but my boy’s gonna win.”

Luke’s eyes fell to the album. “What’s that?”

William didn’t turn to look at him as he spoke. “It’s an old photo album. Don’t worry, I brought it out here for a reason. I’m just waiting for halftime before I show it to you.”

Luke glanced at the game clock and realized that halftime was still seven minutes away, so he closed his laptop and leaned into the seat cushions. He didn’t really too much care for football, or any sport for that matter, which was why he hadn’t attended the game. His type of journalism was more along the lines of the gossip magazine, so unless a football player
had arrived at the stadium with his mistress while his pregnant wife tried to barter a ticket at the gate, he wouldn’t be finding any stories there.

He glanced around the small house again. Austin was worth millions. Between the explosive contract that he’d signed two years prior that had over fifty-five million dollars in guaranteed money, and his endorsement deals and investments, he was set for life. Therefore, it made no sense that his father would be living the way that he was, unless something major had caused the family separation.

The clock slowly ticked down to zero, and Dallas jogged back into the locker room only up by four points with the field goal that Pittsburgh kicked right before the time expired. Luke anxiously tapped his foot as he waited for William to explain why he’d brought out the album, while William lifted the remote to mute the television.

“I don’t too much care for halftime,” he declared.
Then he looked down at the album. “I’m guessing you’re itching to find out what’s inside here, aren’t you?”

“You could say that,
” Luke answered.