Chapter 25

Foster

As I step into the Strip District Brewery—a huge, converted warehouse—the first thing I notice is the industrial chic ambiance and I’m digging it. The polished concrete floor reflects the dim lighting from the exposed filament bulbs hanging from the high, metal-beam ceiling. The walls, a mix of exposed brick and reclaimed wood, are adorned with vintage posters and neon signs. The furniture is an eclectic mix of stainless steel high-top tables and iron stools that are most likely a nod to the long-defunct Pittsburgh steel industry. The cavernous space is softened by the scattered placement of lounge furniture, including crushed velvet-covered couches and round ottomans.

The bar itself is a long, polished wood counter, backed by a wall of gleaming liquor bottles and a chalkboard menu listing craft beers and cocktails.

It’s nearing nine p.m. and as I take in the crowd, I note it’s a diverse mix of young and old who chat animatedly in the very relaxed atmosphere.

Three people work behind the bar and waiters and waitresses flit about the tables and lounging sections, the staff all dressed in graphic tees with the bar’s logo, jeans and a short white apron tied around their waists. They hustle with trays full of drinks or steaming plates of food. I’d heard this place was popular and it makes me proud that Mazzy is singing here tonight.

I invited my line mates as well as the other new guys to come out tonight. All accepted except for Penn, which is not a shocker, but we’ll keep trying. I told them Mazzy would be here singing with her friend Leo. They all know Mazzy because I’ve talked about her and they’ve seen her in the family lounge on occasion when she brings Bowie Jane to the games. But they have no clue that we’re an item or that we went out on a date. That we’ve got something special going on.

I’m not hiding it, but I haven’t had the opportunity to tell anyone. Guys don’t really talk about stuff like that. There’s no, “Hey… guess what, I’m dating someone,” but I suppose I could clue them in tonight. I imagine she’ll come to team functions in the future, so it’ll eventually be obvious, but not before a whole lot of confusion about why I’m macking on my nanny.

When I was setting up a babysitter for Bowie Jane tonight, I also called the manager of this bar and used a little Titans clout to reserve some front and center tables. She was all too happy to accommodate so I told the guys we have reserved tables under my name.

It doesn’t take me much weaving through the crowd to see the stage area set up for Mazzy and Leo, although they’re not there. It’s a small circular raised stage that sits only about six inches off the ground. It’s got a very MTV Unplugged vibe with two stools for them to sit on. Both of their acoustic guitars are in stands and two angled stage lights sit at the edge to shine on them. It’s odd that the stage is in the center of the room and not up against a wall or tucked into a corner. It means that some viewers are going to be looking at Mazzy and Leo from the back, but I see the guys at two tables stacked together, so we’ll have a front view for sure.

Camden, Hendrix, Atlas, North, King and Rafferty all have half-finished beers in front of them, which means they’ve been here a bit.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” I say as I approach the table.

I’m greeted with fist bumps and Rafferty says, “A waitress will be along shortly.”

“And she’s hot,” North says.

“But she only has eyes for King,” Atlas adds on with a guffaw. King’s good looks and how they make women silly is now our running joke.

“I’ll grab a beer at the bar,” I say and head that way, hoping to find Mazzy to wish her good luck before she goes on.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out to see Bowie Jane’s babysitter, Janie, calling me. A knot of worry forms quickly in my belly as I answer.

“Hey, Foster,” she says and quickly reassures me. “Bowie Jane’s fine. She just wanted to talk to you a minute.”

Relief weakens my legs. “Sure. Put her on.”

I wait a second and Bowie Jane says, “Hey, Daddy!”

“Hey, pumpkin… what’s up?”

“I wanted to wish Mazzy good luck. Can I talk to her?”

I grin, looking around, but I have no clue where she is. “Sorry, kiddo. I haven’t seen her yet. And shouldn’t you be getting into bed?”

“I am. Got my pj’s on and I’ve brushed my teeth. I just wanted to tell Mazzy to break a leg. She told me that’s what you say in show business.”

Laughing, I continue on to the bar. “That is indeed what you say. I’ll pass the message along. Now you get to bed.”

“Okay,” she chirps.

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too.”

Yesterday I spent all day and night with Bowie Jane as well as today up until it was time to come here. She seems to like her babysitter, Janie, someone I found through a personal referral from teammate Dillon Martelle, as she routinely watches his two kids. It’s been a relief to find someone reliable, especially so Mazzy can take some time off from the grueling schedule required when I’m on extended road trips. I don’t worry about it as much as when she first started, but I don’t want her to be so overwhelmed that she quits, so I work hard to give her that time away.

Except… I hate her time away. I want her to spend it all with me and Bowie Jane, and I want to have time alone with her and it’s just a lot to work through, but I’m committed.

One other thing brings a huge measure of comfort to have Mazzy caring for my kid—the fact that she’s there for Bowie Jane on the big things that really count. This week I was in Vancouver playing my old team on Halloween. It’s a holiday I’m rarely able to attend, even when Sandra and I were married. I think there have been two occasions in ten years when I’ve been at home without a game on Halloween and have therefore been able to partake in the fun of trick-or-treating with Bowie Jane.

This week, Mazzy went all out to make it special for her and also for me. She carved pumpkins with my kid, decorated the house, took Bowie Jane costume shopping, and then took her trick-or-treating in the Archers’ neighborhood with Mason and Landon.

Mazzy even went above and beyond to help bridge the gap between Sandra and Bowie Jane as Sandra surprised me and sent a costume that she’d picked out. She didn’t go out and buy it and mail it from Singapore, but rather had it delivered from Amazon, which was fine. It showed she was thinking about her daughter and wanted to have some involvement. It was a Dorothy costume from The Wizard of Oz, not something that Bowie Jane would’ve been interested in. She never liked the movie and this year, she really wanted to be Hermione from Harry Potter. Mazzy took her out to buy the robes and wand and even got a crimper to do her hair like Hermione’s. But when that Dorothy costume came in, she had to navigate with Bowie Jane how to be gracious with her mother for the gesture while also wanting to dress up as the character she wanted to be. Mazzy talked it out with Bowie Jane and helped her be a part of the solution and ultimately Bowie Jane decided to wear the Dorothy costume to school and Mazzy even arranged a FaceTime call with Sandra that morning so she could see her. Then for trick-or-treating that night, she wore her Hermione outfit, and Mazzy bombarded me with photos and video of the evening.

While I missed Bowie Jane terribly and hated I couldn’t be a part of that experience—one of the sacrifices of being a professional athlete—I felt more a part of it with Bowie Jane than I ever had before. Sandra never did anything to make me feel included and I never realized it until Mazzy went above and beyond to do so.

At the bar, I can tell the bartender recognizes me, but he plays it cool. “What can I get for you?”

I order a local beer and while he pours it, I glance around. There she is, fifteen feet away, standing at the edge of an alcove that leads to a hall where the restrooms are. She’s talking to a waitress, that lovely smile on her face that’s always so open and inviting.

Through no will of my own, my feet move her way. Mazzy’s gaze comes to me, as if she could feel me approaching, and her eyes sparkle with welcome. I move past the woman she’s talking to and pull her right into a hug.

When we separate, the waitress touches Mazzy’s shoulder. “I need to get back to work. I’ll catch you later.”

“See you, Sonya,” Mazzy murmurs with a smile before turning back to me. “You made it.”

“I made it.” I grasp her hands and hold out her arms so I can take in all of her. “You look beautiful.”

She looks like she belongs here. She’s rocking an off-the-shoulder black sweater paired with a pair of skintight, black leather pants. Sexy as fuck. But she dresses it all down with a pair of black high-top Chucks. She’s a mixture of folk singer and rocker chick. Her hair is full of wild curls that she must’ve put in herself because it normally falls in loose waves around her shoulders.

“You look very handsome yourself,” she says, tugging playfully on my black Henley. “This totally shows off all your chest muscles and might be distracting to me tonight.”

“You’re an utter distraction all the time,” I mutter, and then glance back in the direction the waitress just went. “Friend of yours?”

“Old high school classmate that I just happened to run into.”

“Nice,” I say with a nod. “Bet that was cool to catch up.”

“Not really,” Mazzy says, her nose wrinkled. “She was a total asshole mean girl bully back in school and was horrible to me.”

My head whips back around, looking for the woman. I find her taking drink orders from a table of men. Pretty girl, dark hair and eyes, voluptuous and flirty. I turn back to Mazzy with narrowed eyes. “I don’t like her.”

She laughs and it possesses me to kiss her. Both hands to her face, I pull her to her tiptoes and slide my tongue into her unsuspecting mouth. My girl moans ever so softly and I let one hand slide down her back to pull her closer. Her hands grip into my shirt and she kisses me with passion.

So much passion that it’s with reluctance I know I must pull away but… just a few more seconds.

“Let’s go, Archer,” a male voice says, and I recognize it as Leo’s.

Mazzy sighs and steps away from me, shooting a glare at Leo who just came out of the bathroom. He bumps her hip playfully with his and I know this is a byplay of them being close friends since they were kids, but I don’t fucking like it at all.

In fact, I want to punch him.

But I hold my tongue because I don’t want to cause a scene. Mazzy’s back before me, going to tiptoes and pressing a quick kiss to my mouth. “See you later.”

I watch as she walks to the stage, talking easily with Leo. Yeah, don’t like that fucker.

Turning back to the bar to get my beer, I see King and Atlas leaning casually against it and smirking at me. When I reach them, Atlas grins. “That was some kiss you gave your nanny, dude.”

“Is that a perk of the job?” King asks.

“Shut the fuck up,” I reply, pushing past them to throw a twenty on the counter and take the beer the bartender left.

He looks at me. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Foster.”

“So, seriously,” King says with a backhanded slap to my arm. “What’s the deal? We all know you hired a hot nanny but none of us figured you hired her first and foremost because she was hot.”

Her looks had nothing to do with it, although admittedly, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But I don’t feel like defending myself, especially when Mazzy is getting ready to sing. “It’s nothing, okay?”

Atlas cocks an eyebrow. “That didn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s not newsworthy,” I reply before taking a sip of my beer. Mazzy didn’t want the scrutiny so I try to quell it. “Two adults having a mutual good time. Not a big deal and it doesn’t interfere with her job.”

I downplay it because it’s the easiest way to get them to shut up. I don’t want them asking questions about the depth of my feelings for Mazzy. Not that I mind sharing with my mates, but I sure as shit don’t have things figured out completely and it’s complicated.

Plus… Mazzy is getting ready to sing and I want to be front and center for her.

I grab my beer and head back to the table. Mazzy and Leo are on their stools with guitars in hand, the noisy din of patrons filling the air. I want to tell them to all shut the fuck up and listen.

Leo adjusts his microphone slightly and by the time I’m taking my seat not ten feet from Mazzy, Leo is introducing himself.

King and Atlas join us as Mazzy leans forward, her eyes landing on me, and I get a smile that I know is just for me before she glances around at the crowd. Her voice is confident and strong. “Hello… I’m Mazzy Archer.” That husky tone washes over the room and when I look around, I see a lot of appreciative male stares. Hell, they’re coming from all the guys at my table. “Thank you for indulging us tonight. I promise we won’t make your ears bleed. While we have a planned set, we do take requests. Write them on a napkin and throw them in the guitar case and we’ll check them out. All green-colored bills are appreciated as well.” She leans over and pats Leo on the shoulder. “We got to keep this guy in ramen and cold beer.”

Some woman yells from the back. “I’ve got ramen and cold beer at my house.”

Leo looks for the source of the comment, grinning, and Mazzy laughs into the mic. “I bet you do. Okay, here we go folks. Hope you enjoy.”

Mazzy taps her hand on the front of her guitar, setting a beat, and they both start playing the familiar tune of “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica.

“Dude,” Rafferty says appreciatively. “I love this song.”

And then to my utter shock, the circular stage starts a slow, clockwise rotation and I realize that everyone seated around the perimeter will get to see them perform.

“That’s fucking cool,” Camden mutters.

“Very cool,” I agree.

Leo takes the lead with his rough, gravelly voice, and Mazzy goes high register to harmonize. I don’t mind the rotating stage, finding every angle of Mazzy just as good as the prior. I get fucking goose bumps from their unique spin on the song, and the guys at the table all look stunned, as do many of the patrons.

When they finish, the entire place erupts in cheers and applause, more patrons who’d been standing in clusters moving closer to listen.

Mazzy goes solo on the next song, singing “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish while Leo beats percussion on the front of his guitar. It’s a song I would’ve never thought could be slowed down and paired with an acoustic guitar to make a haunting ballad, yet she nails it. When she finishes, everyone stands up to applaud and she renders a bashful smile, murmuring “thank you” into the microphone.

The rest of the playlist hops genres and their covers are so artistically unique, it’s hard to pick favorites. Leo and Mazzy join together to harmonize “With or Without You” by U2, but the song that gets me the most… that tells me just how special Mazzy’s talent is, is when she sings Aerosmith’s “Dream On,” except she takes Steven Tyler’s gritty rock with high-pitched emotive screams and sings them with the clarity and sweetness of an angel on high. Leo adds an echo to some of the lines but it’s mostly Mazzy.

“Jesus,” North mutters when the last note fades and I’m surging out of my chair, clapping hard and filled with pride. He joins me, as do all my teammates, as do all the patrons in the bar who are as blown away by Mazzy’s performance as I am.

My girl blushes and ducks her head slightly. Leo grins, leaning sideways to whisper something to her and she nods at him with a laugh. He loops an arm around her neck, pulls her over to him, and kisses her forehead.

And I see fucking red.

I start for the stage, snapping as all logic leaves my head. I’m going to kill him for touching her. I’ve been witnessing it over and over again, not liking it at all, but it should be me pressing affectionate kisses to her head, not some other man.

Someone grabs my arm but I shake him off, then I’m grabbed by both arms, directed back down into my chair.

It’s Camden bent over me, face in mine. “You need to chill the fuck out.”

I lean to the left, past Camden, to see Mazzy staring at me, her mouth dropped open in shock.

“She’s still singing so don’t embarrass her,” Camden says, garnering my attention again. “I don’t think anyone knew what you were about to do so it’s cool now but keep your ass in that chair. If you got a problem with him, you do it after the show.”

All the air rushes out of me as I realize what a dumbass I almost made of myself. I look around and no one seems to be paying attention to me, so I nod at Camden. He moves to sit down in the chair to my left, and I wonder how pissed Mazzy is, but I look at Leo first.

The fucker is amused but he won’t be after the show. We’re going to have words.

Movement catches my attention and I see Mazzy hop off her stool, holding her guitar by the neck as she moves my way. My body tightens as I take her in, but her expression is inscrutable. Is she going to ream my ass? Break up with me because it’s obvious I have a problem with her best friend?

She does neither—thank fuck—instead taking my chin with her fingertips, bending down and placing a kiss on my mouth. She looks me in the eye. “He’s a friend. That’s all. But if it bothers you, I’ll ask him to stop.”

And she means it.

She has my back.

And suddenly… I’m okay with it because she’s willing to stop a part of their friendship that they’ve probably done since they were kids. She’d change it for me and that right there tells me all I need to know.

I have no reason to be jealous of this guy.

Locking my hand over her wrist, I whisper, “I’m good. It’s all good and you don’t have to do anything of the sort.”

The smile she bestows upon me is slightly skeptical but also amused, just like Leo’s. I’ll let them both have that.

Mazzy tugs free and returns to the stage.

King leans over and claps me on the shoulder. “Casual, my ass,” he taunts. “You are fucking whipped.”