Page 39 of Only for Tonight

Doug’s coming out of the weight room. He stops when he sees me. Looks at Ella. Looks at me.

“Is that a baby?”

“Yep.”

“Whose baby?”

“Long story.”

The meeting room is half full when I walk in. There’s about a dozen guys, Coach Royce, two assistants, game film on the projector. The second I step through the door with a car seat in my hand, every single conversation stops.

Twelve heads turn at once.

“Morning,” I say, like this is perfectly normal.

Three seconds of silence.

Then Weston: “Bro. What?”

I set the carrier on the table and angle it so Ella can see the room. She scans the group—twelve very large men staring at her—with the composure of someone who’s been doing this her whole life. Pacifier working. Eyes calm. Not a sound.

“This is Ella,” I say. “She’s sitting in.”

Coach has his arms crossed. “Ivan.”

“Coach.”

“That’s a baby.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In my meeting room.”

“She’s very well-behaved.”

The vein in his forehead surfaces. He looks at me, looks at Ella. She blinks at him once, slow and unbothered. Something in his expression shifts—barely—before he catches himself.

“She yours?” he asks.

“No. Just helping out.”

He considers this and then nods. “One sound and you’re both gone.”

“Understood.”

I sit down. Ella pops her pacifier out, considers it, puts it back in, and closes her eyes.

Perfect angel. Better composure than half the guys in here.

Film runs forty-five minutes. My blown coverage in the second quarter gets highlighted. The late rotation in the fourth. I nod, take notes, own it. The whole time, I feel the glances—guys half-watching the screen and half-watching me, trying to work out the math on the baby.

Ella sleeps through the entire thing.

Coach dismisses us. I start packing up.

“Ivan.” Weston’s already in the seat beside me. “We’re talking about this.”

I check Ella’s straps. “About what?”