Only One Mistake (Only One 6)

“I’m good, Dad.” I close my eyes. “I’m landing and going straight to meet with Nico.”

“Call me after,” he says, and then I just wait. “Proud of you, son. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.” I hang up the phone as the wheels touch down.

The plane lands without any fanfare, and when the doors open, the humid air hits me right away. “Welcome to Dallas,” the flight attendant says. Slipping on my aviator glasses, I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. I walk off the plane, looking for the black Lincoln waiting for me, and see my father leaning against the side of the truck.

“You didn’t think I would let you do this by yourself.” He grabs me around my neck and pulls me to him. “No fucking way.” Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh as I hug him. “Let’s get this over with.” He lets me go, and the driver opens the back door for me, and I get in. Only when I’m sitting down do I let out a sigh of relief because he’s here. I didn’t even know how much I needed him until I saw him. My father gets in beside me, and I look over at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He looks at me, and it’s like looking in the mirror. We have the same black hair and blue eyes. He helped push me this summer, making me bigger than I’ve ever been before.

“All this shit.” My hands fly up. “All this fucking shit.” I shake my head. “All the eyes on the family because of me.”

He chuckles. “One, I couldn’t be prouder that you are my son and help carry on my name.” He raises his finger, and I see the tears in his eyes. “And two, fuck what everyone else says. You know the truth. The family knows the truth.”

I watch the city go by me on the way to the arena, and my phone rings. Looking down, I see it’s Nico. “Hey, we are just getting to the arena.”

“Yeah,” he says, and I hear him walking. “Press is here.”

“Okay.” I look out the window and see the press trucks. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Good, we have a plan. See you soon.” He hangs up, and I look over at my father, who is going nuts texting.

“Everything okay?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“Erika is in labor,” he says, and I gasp. “Her water broke after she called you.” My heart speeds up. She’s my agent, but she is also married to my cousin. “Uncle Matthew is, well, not handling it well.”

I laugh. “What does Uncle Matthew handle well?”

“This,” he says, pointing at the arena and the press trucks. “This is his playpen, and he’s pissed he’s not here walking in with you to show a united front.” The lincoln stops, and I look at him. “If he could, you know he would be here.”

“I know. Let’s do this,” I say, ignoring the lump in my throat. My father gets out first and then walks around, and the door opens. I get out, and I can hear the cameras clicking.

The silver door opens and I look over and see Nico walking out. His head held high, he’s wearing a suit and the biggest smile on his face. “There he is.” He holds out his hand. “Relax,” he says, and I take a deep breath. “This picture is going to be posted in five minutes everywhere, so pretend you’re happy to be here.”

“I am.” I smile, shaking his hand.

“Welcome home,” he says, looking over my shoulder at my father. “Why am I not surprised that you are here?” My father shrugs. “Where is your sidekick?”

“Another family matter.” My father doesn’t want the press to know Erika is in the hospital.

“Shall we?” He holds out his hand. I nod at him and follow him into the arena. The minute the door slams behind me, I stop walking and look up.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Nico laughs, looking at my father.

“I thought he was going to throw up.” My father slaps my shoulder. “You did good.”

I watch Nico and my father walk ahead of me, and he shows me the dressing room. “It’s an off day today,” Nico says. “Good thing for Erika she chose today to give birth.” He laughs. “I mean, not surprising she scheduled that.” He looks at me. “Now that all this is done, Coach is waiting.”

I nod at him and look over at my father. “I’ve got this,” I say, and he shakes his head.

“Oh, I wasn’t coming in with you,” he says. “That’s a you thing.” He motions with his chin. “You got this.”

When I walk into the room with Nico, I see the coach sitting at the table on his phone. He looks up. “The big bad Michael Horton.” He puts his phone down and gets up. “Martin,” he says, holding out his hand. “Welcome to Dallas.”