Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (29 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

RILEY

I can tell there’s something wrong from the moment I walk in the front door.

For one thing, Omar is waiting for me in the hall — arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his face. Nothing usually gets Omar out from in front of the PS4 on his days when he doesn’t have either classes or training, so something serious must be up. I know it’s been my turn to clean the kitchen for… okay, well, for weeks, so it’s probably that. Omar gets crazy about these things.

I grab a towel from the pile by the front door to wipe my face — I’ve been out for a run, and I worked up a serious sweat.

“Omar, if this is about the dishes, I swear I’ll do them,” I say. “I just haven’t had the chance yet.”

He doesn’t answer. His frown just gets deeper.

“Okay fine, I’ll do them today,” I say. “Can I shower first? Is that all right with you?”

I throw the towel to the floor, and go to walk past him to the bathroom. 

“It’s not about the dishes, Riley,” he says.

There’s something in the tone of his voice that makes me pause and look back at him.

“What is it?” I ask, tightness growing my stomach. The first thing I think of is Ava, or if something has happened with the mess that is our ‘fake dating’. “Did Coach Jackson —”

Omar shakes his head. “Riley,” he says, and then sighs, running his hand over his face. “Look — you have a visitor. She says… she says she’s your mother.”

I stare at him. For a moment, my brain refuses to understand what he’s saying.

My mother? But that’s impossible.

That’s what I want to say. But the words won’t come out of my mouth.

The only thing I can do is stare, feeling like the world is slipping away from beneath my feet.

“She’s in the lounge,” Omar says quietly. “She turned up about half an hour ago. I didn’t know what to say — I know you haven’t seen her in a while, but I didn’t know… I didn’t want to turn her away. She says she really needs to talk to you.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The good, hot sweat of my run has turned cold.

Without a word, I barge past him and through the doorway into the lounge.

There’s a woman sitting on there, her back to me. For a moment, I think it can’t be my mother — she had light brown hair, but this woman’s hair is almost entirely gray. Sure, it’s swept up in the bun my mom always kept her hair in — she mostly worked in food preparation and cleaning, so it had to be out of the way — but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like it’s an uncommon style.

For a moment, I’m about to turn away and tell Omar it’s a mistake, and this woman is not my mother.

But then she stands up, and turns toward me.

“Riley,” she says as her eyes settle on my face, and a small, hopeful smile spreads across her lips.

And I know it’s her.

“Mom?” I say, standing frozen in the doorway. I want to go to her, but at the same time, something’s stopping me.

Just because I understand why she left after I got my scholarship doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell at first.

Sure, as the months went by it got easier to deal with, and it gave me an incentive to work even harder at football than I would have done otherwise. I’d make sure she didn’t have to worry about me. I’d make it so I wouldn’t be a burden on anyone else ever again. I’d earn more money than I could spend in a lifetime, and never have to rely on anyone else, ever again.

Okay. Let’s just say there were a lot of motives there. But mostly, it was for the money. I never want to be poor ever again. I never want to have to live like my mom had to, and make the kind of sacrifices she had to make, just so any kids I might have in future can go to school with shoes on their feet.

“Oh, son,” Mom says, her voice cracking a little, and holds her hands out to me.

That does it. I can’t stay where I am.

I rush to her, wrapping her up in my arms and lifting her off the ground. She’s tiny compared to me and always has been — I was taller than her by the time I was twelve — and I pull her into a giant bear hug easily.

“You’re all sweaty,” she laughs when I put her down again, waving her hand in front of her nose. “Have you been at training or something?”

“Just running,” I tell her. “I… I don’t know. I like running.”

I sit down across from her on the couch. After she first left I’d imagined all the things I’d want to say to her if she came back, but now that she’s really here I can’t remember a single one of them. Instead I’m just left saying dumb shit like
I like running
.

“You certainly look like it,” Mom says. She shakes her head. “I just can’t believe how grown up you are.”

I pull in a deep breath. “It’s been three years. And I’ve been training a lot since then. I’m going pro next year. Nothing can stop me.”

Mom’s eyes are shining. It tugs at something in my heart, and makes me swallow.

“I always knew you would,” she says softly. “You were always so determined — that was why I never had to worry too much about you at school. You were so driven at sports, I knew you wouldn’t get into trouble.”

I lick my lips. As great as it is to see Mom again, there’s still a lot of questions I need to ask her.

“Is that why you left? Because you didn’t think you needed to worry about me?”

Mom closes her eyes, then opens them again, sighing.

“Oh, Riley,” she says, her voice sad. “I… of
course
I worried about you. And I thought about you every day — you might not believe it, but I watched every game you played when they showed them, and every TV show where they talked about you. And you know how I feel about football.”

I can’t help but laugh a little. Mom always hated football — baseball was her game. But that just wasn’t physical enough for me — I needed something with more action. It was going to be either hockey or football, and football won, because the gear was cheaper, so my school had it.

“It’s just that… every time I turned on the TV, there you were, doing so well — everyone was saying you’re the best of your generation. And I just thought… maybe you didn’t need me… that you wouldn’t miss me….”

“Mom,” I say, my voice coming out somewhere between exasperated and plaintive. “Why would you think that? Of
course
I missed you. I just thought you needed some time, y’know, to not look after a kid and do what you wanted to do.”

Mom shakes her head, a tear running down her cheek. “I can’t deny that that was part of it, Riley — I felt like I’d done what I could for you, and I was so exhausted by the time you finished high school. After your father left, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about these things?”

“And give you more burdens than a young man should have?” Mom’s voice is determined. “Of course I wouldn’t do that. Just because I chose the wrong man is no reason for you to go without. You got your scholarship, and I thought finally I could take a break, get my head together, and come back when I was ready.”

My throat feels tight. Shit, I haven’t cried since I was five years old. This is so lame.

“So what
have
you been doing?” I ask, to distract myself from the dumb emotions welling up in my chest.

Mom’s eyes flash as she smiles. “Oh honey, I’m so proud of myself,” she says, her voice rising a few octaves. She sounds almost girlish. “I’ve been going to community college. I’m getting an associate degree in education — I want to transfer to get a four-year degree at the end, but it’s a lot of study to commit to. I might just become a teacher’s aide. You know how I’ve always loved kids. I wanted to have more, but….”

I nod. I understand. Raising one was hard enough, especially with the way I ate.

“That sounds… amazing,” I say, and I mean it. Mom has been talking a lot about all my achievements and the things I’ve done, but this is even better. I’m young and I have everything in front of me. But it can’t be easy to try to re-invent yourself when you’re in your forties.

Mom takes a deep breath. “It’s been hard work. But I feel like I’m finally where I want to be in my life, after making so many mistakes when I was your age. I just… I hope you can forgive me, Riley. I’ve been such a bad mother. But I felt like this was something I had to do.”

I can’t say anything. The only thing I can do is lean forward and sweep her up into another hug.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for,” I tell her. “You raised me just fine. I never would’ve had a chance at the scholarship without you. So don’t ever think that, okay?”

In the next moment, my mom’s crying, her arms around me — though it’s kind of funny, there’s no way she can get them the whole way around my back.

I feel a little wetness leak out of my eyes and quickly blink it away. Footballers don’t cry.
I
, specifically, do not cry.

Mom eventually pulls back, blinking, before reaching into her purse for a tissue. She dabs her eyes before blowing her nose.

“Oh dear,” she mutters, sniffing. “I must look a fright, and I have to get back to catch the train soon.”

I feel my heart sink.

“You’re leaving again?”

Mom nods. “But only for a little while — and here, let me write down my address and phone number. That way you can contact me whenever you like.” She pauses suddenly, looking up at me a little nervously.

“What?” I ask.

“Now Riley,” she says. “When you call, a man might answer. I just want to warn you — but you have nothing to worry about. His name is Jim, and he takes good care of me. You can understand that, can’t you, Riley?”

I want to laugh. Is Mom really worried about telling me she has a boyfriend? Does she think I’m going to get angry on my piece of shit dad’s behalf?

“Mom,” I say, laughing. “I don’t care. I’m happy for you. I’m glad you’ve got someone.”

Mom laughs too, sounding relieved. “Honestly, it seems so silly now that I’ve finally said it. I just thought… well, you know how boys get about their fathers, sometimes.”

“I never even
met
my dad,” I point out. “If he showed up now… well, I don’t know what I’d do, but I’d probably punch him out.”

“Riley,” Mom scolds. “You would do no such thing. Some men just aren’t cut out to raise a baby. It’s better that they clear out early in that case.”

All right, maybe Mom has a point, there. Still. After what he put her through, the thought is a tempting one.

“But speaking of, is there… I mean, do you have a girlfriend?” Mom’s eyes twinkle. She’s been like this since junior high, always asking if the girl I’ve been hooking up with is the girl I’m
going steady
with, despite the fact I’ve never ‘gone steady’ with anyone in my entire life.

“
Mom
,” I complain. “Do we have to do this now?”

“We most certainly do,” she says firmly. “We have so much to catch up on! I want to know if there’s any women I should be vetting!”

Ava.

It’s the first name in my head, before I can even think of anything else to say. But I can’t quite bring myself to say anything out loud.

I’m caught between two lies — the official lie that Ava and I are together, and the lie that there’s nobody in my life.

I’m not about to feed my mom a line of Murray and Coach’s bullshit about our relationship, but at the same time, telling her there’s no one doesn’t feel right either.

Even though Ava is
not
my girlfriend.

I don’t do girlfriends.

I swallow.

“Nah,” I tell her, laughing. “You know me, Mom.”

Mom sighs, shaking her head. “Yes, I suppose I do. Well, just as long as you’re being safe. You know that condoms aren’t always —”

“
Mom!
”

She grins up at me. “Well, I just wanted to make sure.”

“You’ve been giving me this talk every week since I was fifteen!”

“Yes, and look at the good it’s done you!” she says, before raising an eyebrow. “Unless there’s some little baby Riley Knoxes you haven’t told me abou —”

“Oh my God, Mom, stop,” I moan. “That’s not even funny.”

“All right, all right,” she says. Glancing down, she checks her watch. “I’m afraid I really have to be going, honey. My train leaves in half an hour, and I have classes this evening. My coming out here was really a little bit impulsive.”

“Okay, Mom,” I say, watching as she scribbles down an address and a phone number on a piece of paper on the coffee table. “You’ll stay in touch this time, won’t you?”

In response, Mom reaches out, touching my face. “Of course I will, honey.”

I stand in the shower, letting the hot water rain down on my face.