I bit my lip, remembering the look on Lincoln’s face when I had said that. A “that was so mean; why?” expression that had made me ashamed at the time. I felt worse thinking about it now. Yeah, that had been a terrible thing to say, which Ellie had repeatedly let me know. “What’s wrong with him, Cam?” she kept asking me. “Why won’t you just admit that you’re a couple?” Lincoln had wanted to know the same thing.
Because that wasn’t who I was. I wasn’t a woman who was going to settle for someone, not ever. I made sure that César had tea, and I made him take more medicine, and then I went up to bed. I lay and looked at local apartment rentals until César knocked on the door, his way of saying that he thought I should turn out the light. He always worried about the baby.
I sat up. “César?” I called.
He opened the door and looked in. “What’s up? You going to sleep soon?”
I nodded. “Are you feeling ok?”
“Yeah.” He walked in and sat on the bed, his weight making it dip low. “Are you still angry about the tickets?”
“No. Thanks for taking me on a vacation. And I understand why they want to meet me. They’re probably worried that you got yourself mixed up with some awful woman who got pregnant on purpose, right?”
He didn’t look me in the face. “I told them that’s not what’s happening here.”
So yes, that was what they thought. “Are they still mad at you, too? Is your dad still disappointed?”
“Very.” He sighed. “I hate that he feels that way and I want to see him in person to try to work it out. He’s only been this upset with me one time before. In high school, I got a DUI. It was the dumbest thing I ever did, the absolute worst.”
I waited for him to say, “Until now,” but he just went on.
“For months, my dad looked at me differently. I could tell that I wasn’t the person he thought I was, the son he expected me to be. I’d never felt so bad and I swore I wouldn’t disappoint him again.” He studied his hands, remembering.
I reached out and drew my index finger across his knuckles. “Then it will be important to see him so that he remembers what a good son you really are.” I’d help him prove it, because he was a great guy. A really great guy.
César flipped his hand over and held mine for a moment. “I’ll be glad to have you there, backing me up.” He looked at me and smiled a little. “Goodnight, Cam.” I watched him go, thinking.
The next day, after another boring eight hours at the winery, I drove over to the Woodsmen practice facility and waved to the guy in the security booth as I pulled in. César was running sprints on the field while dragging a sled behind himself, his legs pumping and total concentration on his face. I watched him pass the two guys running next to him, finish and then shake his head, like he was unhappy in the effort or the result. He looked across and saw me and waved, his frown turning into a smile.
“Camdyn?”
I looked to my left. “Oh, hi, Dan.” It was the guy I had met before here, the one whom César had said was the Woodsmen CEO. He stood with another man wearing an orange Woodsmen hat.
“Let me introduce you to our new head coach, Jim Roberts,” Dan said.
Woodsmen fans had been panting for weeks about who the new coach would be, but I had already heard this name mentioned over our dinner table. “Welcome to the team,” I said. “Are you here watching César Hidalgo? He’s your best player.”
The new coach smiled. “I look forward to working with him.” We talked for a while about the team and about some changes they were trying to make, image-wise. I offered a few suggestions that Dan Dorbeek seemed to appreciate, especially my ideas about the fan events that the Woodsmen always held. Dan talked about the upcoming exhibition game, Woodsmen versus Junior Woodsmen, which he said would introduce the new coach and his family to the community. It was being televised on the local Woodsmen broadcast, so I thought it would also show everyone that the quarterback, Davis Blake, had recovered completely from his injury of the previous season.
Coach Roberts mentioned that he had a daughter about my age who would be moving from LA to Michigan with him this summer. “I don’t think she’ll be here for the scrimmage. She’s not entirely happy about the move,” he said nonchalantly. But his face said, “She’d rather die than give up Cali.”
“I’d be happy to meet her this summer,” I told him. “I can show her lots…” I trailed off. I would have a baby by then. “I can show her around some,” I finished lamely.
César joined us, panting and sweaty from his workout and so cute I had a strong impulse to grab him by the jersey and kiss him. With a lot of tongue, and with his hands on my breasts. God, it was always so hot in here! I took off my coat. César didn’t appear to be affected like I was and shook hands with Dan Dorbeek and his new coach.
Dan had been staring at me, and now he snapped his fingers. “I remember. Warren Wilde,” he said.
I stepped back. “What?”
“You’re Warren’s niece. That’s how I know you, from when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame a few years ago. I met you in California at the party we had for him, you and your mother.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m his niece.” Warren probably wouldn’t ever acknowledge me publicly as his daughter, but why would I have cared?
“I
