I hear the reporter’s voice from the news as I finish getting dinner for Wyatt. “Drama today at the Forge stadium as a run-of-the-mill press conference ends in controversy. Star player Hawk Moyer and Stag Law CEO Tim Stag angrily ejected members of the media from the stadium as team officials decline to comment on the—”
I mash the buttons on the remote, finally changing the channel to PBS. The theme song to Octonauts fills the apartment instead and I return to my thoughts as I microwave Wyatt’s pasta. I acted unprofessionally. I let my temper overtake my composure at work when one of my athletes was rude and it’s my responsibility to train him. “It’s literally my job to put up with his shit,” I mutter.
I get Wyatt settled in with a movie and step into the bathroom to call Hawk. “‘lo?” His voice warbles.
“Hawk? Are you okay?”
“Lucy the milf,” he drawls, his words sounding slurred. “Looooooooosey.”
“Holy shit, are you drunk? We have a game tomorrow!” I hiss at him into the phone and look at my watch. It’s a bit after six. I start to calculate the time between now and when the team has to present for warmups tomorrow. “Jesus, Hawk. What’s gotten into you?”
I hear him belch. “Didya know I’ve got brudders?”
I sigh. Right, the press conference. I open the door to peek at Wyatt and bite my lip. I’ve got to do something. “Don’t drink any more alcohol, okay? Where are you?”
“Echo, echo, echo,” he says, then giggles. “It’s empty here. I don’t even have a couch.”
“Are you at home? Hang tight. I’m coming over.”
I step into the hall and tap on my neighbor’s door. The elderly tenant lives alone and I sometimes grab milk or cat food from the store for her. She’s often offered to watch Wyatt for me, but I’ve never taken her up on it. Now feels as good a time as any to ask.
She opens the door wearing a nightgown and slippers but I hear the television blaring in the background. “Hi, Gladys,” I wave. “Would I be able to ask you to hang out with Wyatt for an hour while I take care of a friend?”
Her eyes light up. “Sure,” she says, smiling and putting on her robe. “You’ve got a sweet boy there, Lucy. I’m happy to help.”
I choke back a wave of emotion at her sincerity and get her situated on my couch next to Wyatt, who spoils the plot of the movie for her.
I slip out quietly to look Hawk’s address up in his file, and remind myself I have access to this file because I’m in a position of authority at his workplace. He lives close by, and I realize I could walk if I wanted. We’re almost neighbors. Faster to drive, though.
When I get to Hawk’s building, I’m relieved that someone is coming out the front door as I rush up to it, so I don’t even have to buzz and wait for him to amble over to the intercom.
I tap on his door. “Hawk,” I whisper-shout. “It’s Lucy. Can you let me in?”
The door cracks open a minute later and Hawk squints at me. “You’re really here?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, you big lug. Come on, let’s get some food into you.” I push the door open and he wobbles backward. “What did you drink?”
He shrugs, following me to his kitchen. “Buncha beers.” He belches again.
“Okay, that’s not as bad as it could be. Although you’re going to be wrestling with some bloat tomorrow.” I click my tongue at him.
He pats his stomach and looks down. “Still hard as a rock. Wanna feel?” He lifts his shirt and rubs his abs. I will not stare at his abs. No I will not.
“Hawk.” I use my mom voice. “I am here to help you sober up and maximize your chances to play well tomorrow. Sit.” I point at the stool and throw open his fridge. He’s got a stack of packaged meals in there, and I sigh in relief as I grab one and shove it in the microwave. I don’t see any sports drinks, so I pour him a glass of water and root around my purse for some aspirin.
“Take this.” He gives me a feeble salute and starts to chug the water. Another belch. The microwave bings and I slide him a plate of food. When I open his drawer there is one single set of silverware, and I sigh at the sight, but grab him the fork. “And this.”
I laugh a little when I think he tries to make a sexy face, but ends up stabbing himself in the lip with the tines of the fork. He chews a few bites and I lean my elbows on the counter, observing. “I’m sorry I was mean to you at training,” I tell him. “That was unprofessional of me and I apologize.”
“Row to hell,” he murmurs and grins. “Like go to hell. You’re funny.”
I sigh and shake my head, checking my watch. I can stay a few minutes before I have to get back to Gladys and Wyatt.
Hawk catches my eye and makes a pained face. “Does Wyatt know his father?”
The question hits me like a shot to the chest. I nod rapidly and swallow. “Yes, he does.”
“Will you tell me what happened?” Hawk taps his temple with his fork. “You’re not with him…I can tell.”
A chill washes over me at the thought of rehashing my experiences with Nick. But I remind myself Hawk is vulnerable when it comes to fathers. I swallow and reach for Hawk’s water glass, taking a sip. “He never physically abused me, but I’m certain he would have started eventually.” Hawk clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists. “By the time I left he was controlling every aspect of my life. All the money. He was going out to the car each night to check the odometer. If I went somewhere, he demanded to know who I talked to and what lies they spread about him.” I shiver.
“When I left, I took nothing. Just Wyatt. Our pediatrician helped us get to the women’s shelter, and they connected me with grants to pay rent.” I stare past Hawk as I relay the process of applying for food stamps and using the shelter’s lawyer to set up our original custody and visitation orders.
I watch Hawk’s throat as he swallows, his gaze serious, unflinching. He sounds more sober when he asks, “Is it better now? Now that you left?”
I feel a lurch in my stomach, knowing how intently he’s listening to me even amidst his turmoil. I close my eyes and shake my head in response to Hawk’s question. “His family condones his behavior. He lives with his parents now and they make it their part-time job to harass me in every way imaginable. They called my old job to claim I was acting inappropriately with male clients. They call child protective services and claim my car or home are unsafe. Nick used to show up for visitation when he felt like it and skip when he didn’t, but if I was ever 30 seconds late, they called the police to try to hold me in contempt.”
Hawk’s eyes flash as I talk. I can tell the food and water and time have helped dampen his drunkenness. He seems to be listening to me more seriously. I run my hands through my hair and sigh. “It took me a long time to sever all ties they held over me. But every cop in Zone 4 knows me, I have a good job now, and a new lawyer helping me try for full and exclusive custody.”
Hawk nods at this last bit. “Thank you for telling me all that,” he says, earnestly.
“You’re welcome.” We stare at one another for a few beats. It feels so good to tell him some of these things. I’ve been carrying all this on my own for so long. To have him open up to me in return feels like everything right now, even if he is three sheets to the wind.
“I didn’t ever think about how hard it was for my mom to be with an alcoholic,” he says. He reaches a hand for me and then seems to reconsider, putting it on his lap. “I’ve always been so angry at her for keeping me away from my father.”
His eyes still have a glassy quality telling me he’s still got a ways to go toward sobering up. I shove his plate toward him again and he takes another bite. “I’m sure she was only thinking of what was best and safest for both of you,” I tell him. “I know it in my bones.” Hawk nods and closes his eyes. “Will you tell me about her?”
He turns his head toward me and I smile, because he looks rumpled and real right now, not like he’s trying to be charming. More like he looked when we were running around together on the soccer field.
He says, “I used to try to quit all my soccer teams so I could pick up part-time jobs. She would always head me off at the pass and tell all my coaches she had things handled.” He takes a bite of his food. More sober now, he tells me they eventually reached a compromise in the summers and he worked roofing jobs under the table.
“How old were you? Roofing?” I shudder, thinking about Wyatt climbing around up on people’s high roofs.
He shrugs. “Fifteen? I brought home a lotta cash, Lucy. A lot. And roofing is a good workout.”
I make an incredulous noise. “You were probably dehydrated. Did you get sun stroke?”
He grins. “I got so tan. You wanna see my tan lines?”
“Hawk.”
He drops the fork and puts his head in his hands before looking at me again. “Fuck those days, though. All those ladders, hauling shingles. Fuck every tear my mother shed, too.”
I see a tear form in the corner of one of his eyes and resist the urge to reach out and wipe it away. “I have brothers,” he whispers. “I could have grown up with brothers.”
“Hey.” I reach out and touch his chin, lifting his face to meet his dark eyes. “You can still have a relationship with your brothers. There’s nothing stopping you from that.”
The next time I see Hawk, he’s on fire on the field, starting at midfield for the Forge for the first time. The team’s marketing manager provides prepared statements for the press before the match so none of the players or coaches have to talk with the media.
I stand on the sideline with Coach Todd, nodding and taking notes as the Forge gel on the field. Something about the atmosphere of competition rather than just practice has turned a switch on inside Hawk. He streaks up and down the field, transitioning deceptively between offense and defense. He owns the left channel, appearing out of nowhere to intercept passes from Baltimore and quickly transfers the ball to Reggie or Josh. While most of the team plays with joy on their faces, dominating the game from the first whistle, Hawk wears an intense expression.
I try not to think about how sexy he looks, all sweaty and brooding as he plants his right foot in the grass, swings and shoots a ball into the goal from 20 yards out. I try to think about the mechanics of his glorious thigh muscles, his trim calves. I can’t let myself lust after the man who was so vulnerable last night, who listened so intently as I poured my guts out talking about my ex.
He takes his jersey off and whips it around his head, sweat glistening in the dark curls on his chest as he cheers. I swallow thickly from the sidelines, extremely turned on and not sure what to do about it. I force myself to ignore the flutter in my belly when the final whistle blows and Hawk turns toward me on the sideline. His eyes meet mine and for a brief moment, he smiles before the team crashes around him to celebrate.