Chapter 5 0005 - The Quarterback Wants the Son He Rejected

Lexi's POV

Ninety thousand people were screaming Chase Holloway's name at the top of their lungs, and I could hear every single one of them through my earpiece while I stood inside the Dallas Stallions' players' tunnel clipping the microphone to my jacket. Cameras packed the concrete walls, and security kept shouting at anyone who stood still for more than a second.

Tonight was my first national broadcast for SBN and the first time I had been back in Dallas since the night I left. It was also the first time I would see my husband since the night he told me to get rid of our baby. I squeezed the microphone so hard my knuckles ached.

"Lexi, you're live in sixty," my producer Mark said through the earpiece. "Give me energy. It's the season opener and everybody's watching."

"Understood."

"Keep it simple. Talk about the Stallions, championship talk, and Holloway's MVP run. Stay sharp."

I told myself I could stay sharp and professional and completely unbothered for five minutes with Chase Holloway standing in front of me. I checked my phone one last time and saw a text from Rosa sitting on the screen.

Eli's good, don't worry about us, go be brilliant.

My babysitter had canceled that morning, so my friend Rosa had taken Eli, grabbed a family-area pass, and refused to listen to any of my arguments against it. He was sitting in the family section near the tunnel right now wearing his Ironclads jersey, and I was pretty sure he was already asking strangers if they had ever tackled a quarterback. I smiled at the message, shoved the phone back into my pocket, and turned toward the camera.

"Thirty seconds," Mark said.

The red light blinked on and I started talking.

"Good evening, America. I'm Lexi Carter, live from Dallas, where ninety thousand fans are waiting for the Stallions to open their season. Chase Holloway signed the richest deal the league has ever seen, and tonight he starts turning that contract into an MVP campaign. He says pressure is just part of the game, and we're about to find out if the highest-paid quarterback in the league can deliver when the lights are this bright."

The crowd roared behind me.

"Excellent," Mark said. "The players are coming out. Grab Chase as soon as he walks past you."

My mouth went completely dry.

The players poured out of the tunnel in waves, helmets swinging at their sides and pads making them look twice as big as they really were. They slapped hands with the staff and yelled over the noise, and then I saw him.

Five years had put more muscle on his frame and left faint lines beside his eyes. His dark hair was shorter now, and the number twelve stretched across his chest. Confidence rolled off him the same way his expensive cologne did. He wasn't the boy who used to need his father's approval anymore. He was on billboards and cereal boxes, and he was looking at the field when he stepped into my camera frame.

Then he turned and saw me.

He stopped so hard that the lineman behind him almost ran straight into his back. His lips parted and my pulse slammed against my ribs, but I forced myself not to look away. I was here to work, and our marriage had no place on live television. I lifted the microphone and kept my voice steady.

"Chase, the MVP talk starts tonight. Are you ready for it?"

He didn't answer. His eyes moved over my hair and my mouth like he was trying to decide if I was really standing there.

"Chase?" I kept the professional smile on my face. "What does tonight mean for you and the team?"

He blinked hard. "Yeah. Of course." He tugged at the strap of his pads. "It's a big night. We worked hard this offseason. Individual awards come with winning."

"Your new contract puts enormous expectations on you. Do you feel like you have something to prove?"

"I—yes. I mean, every season matters. One game at a time."

The most polished quarterback in America was stumbling over the easiest questions in football.

"What's happening?" Mark snapped in my ear. "Keep him talking!"

Chase's eyes dropped to my bare left hand. He had slid a cheap ring onto that same finger at two in the morning years ago.

"Lexi," he whispered, and the microphone caught every word.

I lowered it an inch. "We're live, Chase."

He flinched.

Then a small voice cut through the tunnel noise.

"MOM!"

I spun toward the sound and saw Eli running straight at me, his oversized number 54 jersey flapping around his knees. His sneakers slapped against the concrete as he ducked around a startled security guard. Rosa chased after him, waving apologies at everyone in sight.

"Eli, sweetheart, slow down!"

He slipped right past her. "Mommy!"

I barely had time to bend down before he crashed into my leg and wrapped both arms around it. I grabbed him before he could take off again and brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"Baby, what are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't see you!" He squeezed tighter and glared up at me. "Rosa said you were working."

"I am working." I crouched and tugged his jersey straight. "You can't run into the players' tunnel like that."

He peeked past me and looked straight at Chase. Eli tilted his head and studied the giant in the number twelve jersey while Chase looked down at him.

I knew exactly what Chase was seeing. He was looking at the same dark eyes, the same stubborn jaw, and the same little crease between the eyebrows that he saw every time he looked in a mirror. He was looking at his own face on a four-year-old boy.

Eli pointed at him. "You're the man on my cereal."

Somebody behind us swore under their breath, and the cameraman swung the lens wide to get a better angle on Chase. Chase looked from Eli to me and then back to Eli again.

"How old is he?" he asked, barely getting the words out.

I stood up slowly and kept my hand on Eli's shoulder. "Four."

Chase took a step toward us. Eli pressed himself against my knee and asked, "Mommy, why is he staring at me?"

I swallowed. "He's surprised, sweetheart."

Chase's expression crumpled for a second before he pulled it back together. "Lexi." He reached for me and then stopped when I turned Eli away from him. "Where have you been?"

I let the question sit there between us. On that old voicemail he had sworn I would never work in this city again, and now he was standing in front of every camera in Dallas asking me where I had been after he had run me out of town himself.

Mark exploded in my ear. "Cut the segment! Get her off camera! What the hell is happening?"

I yanked the earpiece out and shoved it into my jacket.

"Who is he?" Chase's voice cracked right down the middle. "Lexi, who is this child?"

I lifted Eli onto my hip. He hooked an arm around my neck and was already more interested in the players lining up behind Chase than in the man staring at him. I faced Chase directly and said the words out loud.

"He's my son."

Chase shook his head. "No. No, that doesn't make sense."

Eli played with my collar. "Mommy, can we go see the field?"

"In a minute, baby."

Chase stepped closer, and all that confidence he usually carried was completely gone. "Lexi, whose son is that?"

I didn't blink. "Mine."

Then I turned and carried my son toward the next live shot. I didn't run and I didn't look back. I walked through that tunnel like Chase Holloway was just another player who had missed his cue. He called my name once, and then he called it again louder, but I kept walking.