Page 91 of Punked By the Playmaker
“Was hoping for a minute alone with Bristol.” I shuffled on my feet, the nerves getting the best of me, and my voice cracked. “To apologize.” The word felt unfamiliar on my tongue.
He couldn’t hide his shock. “You? Apologize?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I, uh, had some stuff happen in my personal life that opened my eyes to how much of a jerk I’ve been in the past. And it’s important that I take accountability for my actions, let those I’ve hurt know that I’m sorry.”
Bristol turned to her husband. “Can you give us a minute?”
Maddox grunted. “Presser starts in five.” Then he released her and brushed past me into the room full of reporters.
I wasted one of those five minutes staring at the girl-turned-woman who used to idolize me. Not that I deserved it. Because while she claimed me as her boyfriend, I viewed her as nothing more than a fuck buddy. A warm body on standby that I could call anytime the team was in Hartford. The minute she started talking about forever, I ended things.
She took it hard. Moved halfway across the country to get away from me.
“I am sorry, Bristol,” I began. “I never should have used you the way I did, stringing you along, letting you think that there could be more between us. And I’m especially sorry for cornering you at that bar in Indy after you left Connecticut.”
My fists clenched, imagining someone toeing the line of what was considered sexual assault with Maisie. No doubt, I would have had the same reaction as Maddox.
Head tilted to the side, she assessed me. “You’ve changed.”
Self-deprecating laughter burst from my chest. “Bet you never saw that coming.”
“The younger version of myself wanted to believe that it was possible. Hell, she had confidence that she would be the one to spark that change.”
Guilt churned in my gut. “Bristol . . .”
“Tell me, was the catalyst a woman?”
Oh, she was going to get a real kick out of this.
“In a way, yes.” Whipping out my phone, I woke up the lock screen before turning it around to show her a picture of Maisie, explaining, “The universe saw I was treating women like shit and decided that a good way to knock me down a few pegs was by having me raise one.”
Bristol’s hand flew to her mouth. “You’re a dad?”
My chest swelled with pride. “Yeah. Found out less than a month ago, but I’m so in love with her. It’s unreal.”
“Never imagined you having kids.”
“That makes two of us. But it’s been the best surprise of my life.”
“May I?” She extended a hand, and I dropped my phone into her palm so she could examine the picture more closely. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. “How old is she?”
“Twelve, about to turn thirteen this summer.”
Instantly, I could see her doing the math in her head, trying to figure out whether Maisie had been conceived while we were together.
I set her mind at ease. “It was before we met. And before you ask, I don’t know who her mom is, and neither does she. Maisie was adopted at birth, and the records are sealed.”
“Oh, Levi. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I have regrets, sure, but twenty-year-old me was in no place to take on a baby.”
“Wow.” Her disbelieving laughter filled the air as she passed my phone back to me. “So you’re doing this alone? What about the adoptive parents?”
A mix of sorrow and gratitude filled me at the mention of the people who’d raised Maisie from infancy. “They passed away about a year ago.”
Tears glistened in Bristol’s eyes. “Poor thing.”
“But to answer your question, I’m not doing this all by myself. I got married recently, and my wife comes with a fourteen-year-old boy.”
