Page 6 of Trusting You
3
Carter
It took me days, weeks, to muster up the courage to get on a plane and confront Paige’s baby daddy, Lachlan Hayes.
I thought of ignoring it. It was so tempting to dismiss this dude and let the courts handle him. Child Services could inform Lachlan of his DNA match in the form of a baby. This guy means nothing to me—not one iota after I finished my research on him before booking my flight.
Especiallyafter looking him up on the internet.
“Ugh,” I mumbled while reading, giving a vigorous syllable to my distaste.
This king of his college days, man of the football field, running back of record-breaking NFL dreams, is still an ass almost two years later. Every social media pic I spotted of him on my computer, he had his arm draped over a girl, and always a different one. Seemed he didn’t have a preference. Blonde, brunette, pink, rainbow…as long as they were hot, he’d bare his chest for them.
“God, Paige, what did you see in this jerk?”
Yet, I couldn’t look away. My finger just kept scrolling and scrolling, my eyes eating up all the words and pictures, the girls and tailored suits, until the last article I came across, referring to some kind of injury. My finger hovered over the mouse as I read.
Lachlan was hit hard, the wrong way, his knee blown out, during his very first game in professional football.
There was a link under the article that read CLICK HERE FOR GRAPHIC DETAIL. And like the bait it was meant to be, I clicked.
It was a video, with close to a million views. I turned the volume up and bent closer to the screen. The thunderous white noise from the crowd sounded first, then the official announcer, discussing the set-up for the next play. Lachlan was number 18 according to the article. I tried to find him on the field. I thought he was the player running back and forth behind the line of large, padded men readying for the quarterback to hoist the ball.
That’s the extent I can talk about football. Paige and I attended many college games, yet I couldn’t tell you the plays, the yards, the positions. I could tell you when a touchdown happened since that’s when the stadium went wild and a ton of beer spilled on me.
“We’ve got a rookie on the field, Lachlan Hayes, who comes with plenty of pressure on his shoulders,” the announcer said through my computer’s speakers. “Heisman Trophy winner, captain of his alma mater, he’s got plenty of stats to his name, too. We’re looking forward… Plenty of fans are eager to see what he can do, especially after his magic on the field during pregame season…”
While the announcer’s jabbering, the QB punts the ball between his legs, immediately redirecting the announcer’s chatter. There’s a scramble, some confusion, then—there—Lachlan had the ball. He was running close to the sideline, ball tucked under his arm, gaining yards, leaving the opposing team behind, when—BOOM—out of left field, literally.
He…he’s…
Oh, God.
I thought only dolls could bend sideways like that.
And break.
The viral video had me cringing. Lachlan’s writhing in the field, the cameraman unable to pan out or focus anywhere else. He, like the rest of us, was plenty human and wanted to see it all, regardless of how grotesque it might be.
I tilted my head, following the new angle of Lachlan’s leg. God, that was some career-ending shit.
I’d’ve felt sorry for the guy if the pictures of him and various women had also stopped. But, of course, they grew in proportion the day after it was announced he couldn’t play football anymore. In these recent pics, his eyes were more hooded, his shirts not buttoned properly—if they were at all—his drinks frozen in mid-slosh as he posed, mouth mawing open like he’s one second away from insulting the person behind the camera phone.
Drunk.
“A drunk, dastardly bastard. And you slept with him, Paige.” I shook my head, my finger tapping against the mouse.
No wonder Paige never mentioned who Lily’s father was.
To be fair, online accounts alone weren’t enough to put him into asshole territory. At first glance, anybody would think he engaged in pretty typical college-guy, then pro-athlete, debauchery. It was also the remembrance of him that gave him the dick flag. The fact that it was almost two years after college and he’s still babooning through life the same way he did during our senior year when Paige and I first had the chance of meeting college royalty.
Oh, did I ever remember Lachlan Hayes. Got to witness firsthand how he captured that dick flag and kept it close. I just didn’t know Paige slept with the guy that same night.
We’d always talked about how hot he was, laughing as we took cringing sips of Fireball and munching on M&Ms and Skittles on our dorm room bed. But that’s all Lachlan Hayes was in our conversations—gorgeous, unobtainable, a guy who absolutely, one hundred percent, ran with a different crowd. It was no secret most co-eds crushed on him, and he knew it.
What Paige didn’t know was, I crushed on him, too.
Stupidly. I tell myself now it was more in a celebrity way, with no chance in hell of ever finding out if he and I could work. I mean, the chances of meeting the guy were slim, never mind engaging in conversation with him or—gasp—dating him.