Tiff's attorney called. The Nicks are pushing for full custody hearing next month instead of in June. They're claiming “emergency circumstances.”
Call me when you can.
Love you,
Mom
My stomach drops just thinking about Tiff. She was supposed to be here by now. That was the plan. The dream—but dreams are for people who can afford them, and right now, we're up against a goddamn army with bottomless pockets and no conscience.
The Nicks family wants to bury her in court until she’s out of money and has signed away any rights Ella will have to even know who her father is.
It won’t happen. It’s not possible. Still, the questions run wild, making it impossible to shut my mind off.
What if they’ve already bought the judge?
What if they get Ella?
What if everything I’m trying to build comes crashing down?
Jamie’s family is ruthless and ready to wage war over this, but I do my best to shake the thoughts out of my head. If I want to function and believe we have a real chance at helping Ella, then I need to believe we have a fair shot.
I click open the document my mother forwarded and read through the notes, gnawing at my bottom lip. So much forwatching those plays and getting an hour’s sleep before Honey wakes up. Now I'm going to spend the time I have reading through these papers, looking for a loophole.
There just has to be a way to get Tiff out of Connecticut and here with us in Indiana. She can't be stuck at my parents’ house because some asshole wants to punish her for his mistakes.
His mistakes.
Fuck. I didn’t mean that. Ella isn’t a mistake. She's the best goddamn thing that’s happened to my family.
I try to read for another ten minutes before dropping the iPad onto my lap with a sigh. My brain is fried, and every attempt to come up with a solution only makes things worse.I get up, pour myself a large cup of coffee, and return to the chair. Then I finally open the team group chat I’ve ignored since getting Honey home.
Dax:@Zach, you see Coach's notes on the SoCol game? He's on your ass about those option reads.
Sebi:Yeah, Evans, maybe try looking at me once in a while instead of just Reese and Dax. I'm getting jealous over here.
Mason:We need to run those option drills again tomorrow. I'm free at 6 a.m. if anyone else is serious about fixing this.
Reese:Give the man a break. Honey’s finally agreed to see his place. We can catch up about it tomorrow.
Sebi:OOOOOHHHHH
Dax:Getting some Evans?? That why you’re ignoring us?
Mason:Can we please focus on the fact that we've got scouts coming next week and not on whether our quarterback’s dick is getting wet?
Sebi:Mason, you're literally the human version of a wet blanket.
The last message came in four hours ago, and knowing them, they’re all probably asleep, blissfully dreaming about fixing fucking option plays. Meanwhile, I’m here, making sure my cousin doesn’t lose her daughter to a bunch of people who see her as nothing but a PR problem. Oh, and let’s not forget shielding my girlfriend from rabid fans who chip away at her every insecurity, every chance they get.
Switching back to the game footage, I try to focus on the crossing pattern that’s been giving me problems all weekend.
Coach’s note on the footage is blunt, as per usual: TIMING ISSUE WITH EVANS/DAX. FIX THIS OR BENCH IT.
Maybe Mason's right. Maybe we do need those extra reps. But the thought of leaving Honey alone in the morning after finally getting her here doesn’t feel right.
I click back to my messages and my thumb hovers over the group chat. I should answer them. They deserve at least a response about the extra practice, but my mind's too scattered between Tiff's crisis and Honey sleeping upstairs to focus on option routes and timing patterns.
A new message pops up. Reese.