Summary:
Kelly Cannon is satisfied with his life. He has friends, a wonderful family, and a great job. But his love life has reached a new level of pitiful. Why? Well, his heart decided to break all the rules. Don’t fall in love with a straight guy. And definitely don’t fall in love with your best friend.
NFL standout Britton “Blue” Montgomery has pressure coming at him from all sides. From his father, who’s only interested in Blue’s football career. From his coaches, who just want him to play without getting injured again. From the fans. From his agent. And from his mother, who has popped up on the radar after leaving his family years before. And now his relationship with Kelly is on shaky ground, and that frightens Blue more than anything.
When Kelly admits he’s in love with Blue, bonds are tested, and Blue has to decide what’s really important. He doesn’t want to lose the number-one person in his life, but the cost to keep Kelly close might be more than he’s willing to pay. It’s a good thing his nickname is the Blueprint―it’s time to draft a new set of plans.
Summary:
A year ago, Kelly Cannon couldn’t imagine he’d end up with his formerly straight best friend. It’s hard to believe he can finally kiss Blue anytime he wants…as long as they’re in private. And there’s the rub. Despite Kelly’s promise to wait until Blue is ready to come out, he’s tired of sneaking around. The cracks in their relationship are starting to show, and there might not be enough spackle in the world to fix them.
Britton “Blue” Montgomery may not be the physics brainiac his boyfriend is, but he’s not stupid. He knows Kelly isn’t completely happy, but he’s not ready to be the poster boy for bisexuals and gays in the NFL. He just wants to keep his head down, play the game he loves, and go home to the man he adores. Is that too much to ask?
With the truth slowly coming to the surface, Blue must make a choice. If it means losing Kelly, there’s no decision to make. He has to find enough courage to face the music and hope they’ll survive the fallout.
Man. Happily-ever-afters may not be just for Disney princesses, but they sure are a lot of work.
NFL tight end Andrew McAdams isn’t thrilled to be sidelined with an injury. He’s even less thrilled about his legal troubles. Community service is the only thing standing between him and jail so...yeah. That’s a no-brainer. It's not all bad news, though. He gets to work with Jesse Fox, who is as gorgeous as he is guarded. And there's no rule saying he can't do his hours and have a little fun. Right?
Wrong. Jesse may have to put up an athlete using his center as a "get out of jail free" card, but that's where he draws the line. And who cares if Andrew is unexpectedly sweet and thoughtful? The people in Jesse’s life think he should get a life outside of charity work and find love. And maybe he will. But it won't be with a playboy NFL player wearing an ankle monitor as an accessory. Besides, anyone who dated someone like that would be thrust into the public eye. Jesse has worked hard to become someone else—someone better—and he's not about to dig up the past.
That's just not a game he's willing to play.
Too bad it’s not in Andrew’s nature to give up on something he wants. It may have started as simple attraction, but now it’s much more than that. He doesn’t just want Jesse for now…he wants Jesse for always.
And that's not a game he's willing to lose.
The Blueprint #1
Chapter 1
Kelly
IT WAS a strange time to fully understand and appreciate Einstein’s genius. His theory of relativity was a very real thing, a very tangible thing. His theory was the only thing that could explain why a car ride that normally took thirty minutes seemed like a three-hour march through hell.
As I stared out the passenger-side window, barely seeing the passing landscape, I reminded myself to drop a line to my old physics professor and tell her about my recent foray into time dilation. Her students didn’t need to pore over tiny printed text or complete elaborate lab reports. Fifteen minutes in a car with an ex was a remarkably effective teaching tool.
I glanced over at the stony face of my ex-fiancé, Robert—also known as a suspect in my future murder. To be fair, he’d only been my ex for three minutes. I kind of just broke up with him.
He didn’t take it well.
I reached out to turn down the air a pinch, and he snapped, “Don’t touch anything in my car.”
“It’s dual climate control.” Despite my words, my hand froze in place. “I’m just a little hot.”
“And that’s my problem how?”
“You’re being an asshole,” I snapped.
He laughed, the sound grating and unpleasant. “I think that award goes to you tonight, Kelly.”
I dropped my hand in my lap.
I went back to staring out the window, but I didn’t see a thing. Instead his epic proposal played like a looped film reel in my mind. And I do mean epic. Like I had been stuffing my face with popcorn at the Heat game, and suddenly I was on the jumbotron kind of epic.
My cheeks stuffed with popcorn like a hoarding squirrel, I listened as the announcer from hell said something in a voice that boomed through the arena—something about love and forever and… I don’t know. Everlasting future? Okay, so sue me. I didn’t remember it all. I was too busy trying to learn how to teleport instantaneously.
I shut my eyes hard and opened them and… fuck, still there. Only this time Robert was getting on one knee. “Marry me, Kelly Holden Cannon, and make me the happiest man on Earth.”
At least that’s what I thought he said. Things suddenly started to go in slow motion. And who the hell told him my middle name? I struggled to swallow popcorn as my eyes darted side to side as though I were playing pinball inside my skull. I tried to recall what I had done in my past to get front-row tickets—“guest of honor” tickets—to this shit show. I had a lot to choose from.
There was that time when I was in elementary school and I stole candy from the Circle K by our house—a lot of candy. Then I split the stash with my sister Kennedy and my best friend, Blue. We stuffed ourselves and threw up all the way home. I winced. That’s how we found out Blue was allergic to nuts. My mother had to take him to the hospital, and then we had to explain why he had several pounds of Peanut M&M’s in his stomach. Not my finest moment. Or his. Or the doctor’s—especially when Mount Blue erupted unexpectedly and spewed colorful bile all over the doctor’s shoes. Blue still hated Peanut M&M’s, and I always made sure to buy him a king-size pack on his birthday.
Then there was the time when Kennedy broke my PlayStation and didn’t show the least bit of remorse. In retaliation Blue and I baked her a batch of chocolate-chip cookies with ex-lax instead of chocolate. And then there was that time Blue and I…. I swallowed the last of my popcorn. When I really got down to it, I probably would’ve been a better child without Blue’s influence.
The more I reviewed the past, the more I realized that, yes, I was an awful person, and I did deserve a humiliating public proposal.
I looked into Robert’s eyes and realized the arena had gone deathly silent. I probably paused a little too long. Somewhere along the line, we’d had a serious—eighteen-wheeler-with-no-brakes kind of serious—breakdown of communication. I guess I’d been too busy going along with the flow to question anything.
There was no way I could say anything but no. So, in keeping with my general brilliance, I said yes.
Now. Before you turn on me, let me just say I did it for Robert’s sake. The only thing worse than being dumped was being dumped in front of the entire BankAtlantic arena. So to be kind, I said yes, and sweet Mary and Joseph, the spectacle of it all. The jumbotron lit up like a Christmas tree on steroids. The crowd roared. The cheerleaders danced, shook their pom-poms, and kicked their spandex-covered legs like Rockettes.
Robert grabbed me, and I briefly hoped he was going to throw me out of the stands for a mercifully quick death. It turned out he just wanted to give me a tight, exuberant hug. Other people in the stands proceeded to hug us with congratulations. Some beer-bellied guy that I thought looked like a textbook homophobe fist-bumped me so hard I spilled beer on my favorite Miami Heat hoodie.
And then there was the car ride home. I waited until we reached the parking lot to break it off, just so I could explain in private how getting married was a bad idea. At that point Robert began vacillating between awkwardness, recrimination, and cold anger. For my part I wondered how long I would survive if I opened the car door and made a run for it. If you jumped out of a moving car, I thought you were supposed to roll. Because I wasn’t 100 percent sure, I stayed put.
I pressed my tongue behind my teeth and dragged the metal ball of my tongue piercing back and forth as I wondered how I should broach the subject. Gently, I finally decided. Gently was the key. “Maybe we should talk about—”
“Do you know how embarrassing this is going to be?” he exploded.
My breath whistled through my teeth. Apparently we weren’t going to talk about it. We were going to yell about it. “Rob, I’m sorry, but I thought we were on the same page. You kind of blindsided me here.”
“Blindsided you? Where else was this relationship going to go? We’ve been seeing one another for two years.”
“Off and on,” I said defensively.
“More on than off,” he said. “You’ve met my parents. We went on vacation together. You were telling me how, if you were married, it would look better for tenure—”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to do it,” I snapped. Yes, I did work at a private, exclusive, family-oriented college. And yes, being the single one meant I got excluded from a lot of things. But I didn’t take marriage lightly, and I certainly wouldn’t use it to get a leg up in a career. “We never said anything about getting serious.”
He ignored me, and his driving grew a bit erratic. “I mean, fuck, Kelly, you could have told me—”
“I didn’t know you were going to do this. You’d better believe I would have stopped it.”
“Great. That’s just great. That’s a fine comfort now that the entire tricounty area is going to be laughing their asses off at me.”
“For God’s sake, Rob, no one is going to remember us. In a few weeks, we’ll just quietly tell our family that we decided not to—”
“People are waiting for us at your house. For an engagement party.” He sped through the tunnel at sixty miles an hour, gripping the wheel tightly. The tunnel lights illuminated his face clearly for the first time since we left the arena, and irritation wreathed every feature. “Everyone is waiting to wish us a happy fucking engagement.”
It was a moment before I realized I was just staring at him with my mouth hanging open. I snapped it shut. “Maybe we should just let them believe—”
“Fuck everyone else, Kelly!”
We didn’t speak again until he slammed on the brakes in front of my house and made his back tires to squeal obnoxiously. Under the streetlamps, his cheeks were ruddy with emotion. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
No, you didn’t.
Hell, I realized two weeks into our relationship that we weren’t a good fit. He was overbearing, and he always thought he was right. He critiqued everything from the size of my condo to my mode of dress, and he was always irritated when I had ideas of my own.
I was never ambitious enough for him, and he was always annoyed that I was happy teaching at a smaller private college instead of using my doctorate at an Ivy League school. But Westbrook’s well-respected science program was a huge draw, and I loved the fact that the department encouraged their professors to build time into their schedule for research. The diverse, supportive campus culture, the huge LGBT community, and emphasis on tolerance were just the icing on the top. But none of that mattered to Robert.
Different things were important to us, and sometimes it seemed like he was a little… superficial. He cared about appearances. Money. His high-paying career as an architect. Hell, whenever we went out with his friends, he tried to dress me like his own personal Ken Doll, which roughly translated into him trying to cover up all my tattoos and piercings.
I didn’t know why I didn’t leave him before. Maybe I wasn’t invested enough to really care about his issues. I guess I just wanted someone to fill that lonely space in my life, not anything as distracting or painful as love. As I looked at his rapidly reddening face, I realized something else.
He knew that just as well as I did—all of it.
I never misled Rob about who I was and what I wanted. Clearly I hadn’t been the only one feeling the distance grow between us. Instead of initiating a breakup, Rob apparently decided marriage would bring us back together.
His mouth tightened. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
I decided to spare us both and not ask, “Him who?” I guess Blue had been between us since the beginning. Worse yet, he didn’t even know it. To him I was just his best friend, the guy next door, the guy he grew up with. The guy he could trust not to perv on him.
“To think I was excited when I found out he was your best friend. The great Britton Montgomery.” Robert laughed humorlessly. “All of my friends were so fucking jealous that we get access to the skybox and seats on the fifty-yard line. But I’ll tell you what, you can keep all that free swag if this is what comes with it.”
I started to feel a little less guilty. Talking shit about Blue was a good way to get on my X-list. “Leave him out of this,” I growled.
“Finally. Some fucking emotion.” He gave me a mocking look. “Does he know that you want him? That you don’t just love him as a friend? That his nonthreatening gay best friend wants nothing more than to be fucked by the big football star?”
I stared at him, jaw working. He smiled at my pissed-off silence. “Does he know that you love him? That you want to be with him?”
I gritted my teeth. It was probably poor form to reject someone’s proposal and punch him in the face. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
“We could’ve had something real.” He shook his head. “And you want to throw it all away on someone who doesn’t even know you’re alive.”
“I think you’re overstating things a bit.”
“Oh, he loves it when you’re up in the stands. Loves to come and crash on your couch and eat your food and borrow your shit. He loves it when you look up to him like you worship the ground he walks on.”
“Robert.”
“Like you’d suck his dick if he even gave you a scrap of—”
“Robert, stop.” I stared at him in a way that let him know I was dead-ass serious. “Before you say something I can’t forgive.”
He stopped, but it was clear he had a lot more to say. He rubbed his neck. Finally he said, “We could’ve had something, you know. We would’ve been happy.”
There was some truth to that. If I tried hard enough, I could almost see our life together. His perpetual bossiness would negate me ever having to make any hard decisions. We’d live in Robert’s overpriced townhouse downtown, with its beautiful views of the city. We’d have dogs—Scotties, probably. Rob loved Scotties.
We’d have perfectly good sex. Even though he’d never let me fuck him because that would be giving up too much of his precious control. And his weird “daddy” kink I sometimes indulged—if you were dicking me down good enough, I could manage to call you daddy every now and again, if that’s what turned your crank.
Between my job as a professor and his work as an architect, we’d make more than enough money. We’d have friends. Family. Vacation photos of us in brightly patterned swim trunks, drinking margaritas and toasting the camera in humid, exclusive places. We’d be good together. Happy together. Comfortable together.
And fuck love.
And there was the rub. Despite my bitterness about the subject, deep down inside, I think I was waiting on the fantasy, still hoping for the impossible. And I wasn’t willing to compromise. I sighed inwardly. I was as delusional and optimistic as any Disney princess. It was going to look fantastic on my eHarmony profile. I’d use Snow White as my fucking avatar. She found seven men. Surely I could scrounge up one.
There was nothing else to do but get out of the car. I closed the door behind me and stood there on the curb, hands jammed in my jeans pockets. They were so worn and holey that one of my fingers poked through the fabric.
“Robert.” I looked at his irritated face and felt a little helpless. “I need you to know that I am sorry.” At that point I wasn’t really even sure what I was apologizing for. For my inability to love him? For turning down his proposal? For loving someone else?
I might as well have saved my breath.
He pulled off with a godawful squeal and then stomped on the brakes. As the bright-red lights popped on and he reversed, my heart thumped harder.
Oh Christ. He’d decided that yelling wasn’t enough, and my picture was going to be on the news. Probably my employee-ID picture where I’d been hungover and midsneeze. The news always used the worst photo they could find.
He came to a stop in front of me, and his Lexus rocked a little. He held out his hand with a glare. I looked at him blankly for a second before I realized what he wanted.
“Oh. Sorry.” I worked the ring off my finger and grimaced a little as it stuck on my knuckle. I laid it in his palm, and he stuck it in his pocket.
“I hope you’re very happy being Montgomery’s one-man cheer squad for the rest of your life.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Keep barking up that tree,” he said with a scowl. He peeled off without another glance.
I stood there for a moment, thoroughly exhausted with everything. At least the night couldn’t get any worse. I stumbled up the front walk and unlocked my door with the key code. I would kill for a cold shower and an equally cold Diet Coke. And then—
“Surprise!”
I blinked at the roomful of our friends. Shit. I’d already forgotten about the surprise party. I looked around, mouth agape, and took in the colorful streamers and the big-ass banner that read Congratulations in splashy neon letters.
“Hey, bro.” A voice came from my left, and I swung my head around.
“Kennedy?” I gaped. “What’re you doing here?”
My sister came forward and punched me in the shoulder. “I’m here for your big gay engagement.” When I didn’t laugh, her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? I might’ve let my only chance at love and marriage squeal off in a silver Lexus with Georgetown plates. Judging from Rob’s speed, he was probably supersonic by then. Exiting our atmosphere, T-minus pissed the fuck off.
I sighed wearily and looked over the decorated room. They’d gone through a lot of trouble and effort, and despite my weariness, I was touched. I glanced at the buffet table that creaked and groaned with delicious food, and my despondent gaze lit upon a giant dessert creation that lurked behind two silver warming dishes.
My stomach growled, clearly unperturbed by any of the night’s horrific events. Yes, life sucked, and I was clearly determined to die alone. I might be a little in love with my best friend, who was straight and, luckily for me, clueless. But there was cake—chocolate cake with what appeared to be creamy, double-chocolate buttercream frosting.
Sometimes it really was about the small things.
A Deeper Blue #2
CHAPTER 1
Kelly
TRUE LOVE.
It’s that moment in romantic movies we subconsciously wait for, that moment that makes our hearts fill, however briefly, and makes us sigh an audible awww. The actual details of the moment vary. Sometimes it’s a slow, gradual thing when you realize you’ve been in love all along, and it washes over you like a gentle, calming wave. Sometimes it’s like a knockout punch straight to the jaw, and you realize all those little moments of “like” were love masquerading all along.
Whatever the catalyst, it’s that moment when everything just falls into place like a magic jigsaw puzzle. Someone usually gets kissed then, but it’s not just any kiss. It’s one of those steam-up-your-glasses kisses, the kind you seldom actually experience in real life. “The End” splashes across the screen, and a catchy tune comes on and reminds us of sunshine on a cloudy day, and everything is hearts and candy and roses.
But has anyone ever put a microscope to the poisonous concept of true love? Who the hell created a romantic ideal that none of us can possibly hope to achieve without the assistance of an irritated Hollywood producer, a harried crew, and perfect lighting? Clinging to such a fairy tale is practically dangerous, people.
All this talk of belonging together and “your true half equals my true half” and blah the fucking blah. Before you know it, you’re looking at your relationship and realizing your true half is kind of annoying. And True Half leaves the milk on the counter a lot… even though he’s been repeatedly warned.
True Half also spends a lot of money on shoes and a lot of time in the mirror. In fact, if you have to smell True Half’s dirty damn socks one more goddamn time because he never remembers to put them in the hamper, you’re going to slice True Half into fucking True Quarters.
But how can you leave your one true half? He’s your one chance at happiness. Maybe if you kill your one true half, the universe will give you another. You start reviewing True Half’s life insurance policy and googling the best way to end a motherfucker, and that, folks, is how people wind up on Dateline.
Before you go thinking I’m just the bitterest Betty who ever bettied, you should know a few things. I’ve recently gone through a lot of upheaval. Up until a year ago, I was secretly in love with a guy who’s been my best friend since we were kids, a friend who identified as straight—or at least we thought he was straight until he started to develop feelings for me that weren’t strictly platonic.
We started dating, but because of the nature of his career as a tight end in the NFL, we haven’t told many people. Connor, my good friend and coworker, knows. And Blue’s teammate Ivanovich. Oh, and Carly, Blue’s ex-girlfriend, who walked in on us fooling around. I told him to always change your door code when you break up with someone. Otherwise you get caught giving your secret boyfriend a blowjob on the kitchen island, and let’s face it, no one needs to see that.
A year later I’m at home watching the love of my life on TV at a hospital charity event. Blue and two of his teammates donated a “day in the life” to a couple of auctions, giving fans a chance to spend the entire day with their favorite NFL player. All the proceeds go to a worthy cause—building a new wing on a nonprofit children’s hospital.
I watched as he and Ivanovich schmoozed with a reporter and managed to answer her questions and flatter her at the same time. They were pros, laughing at all the right times and smiling with just the right amount of sincerity. You could tell that, even though they did that kind of thing all the time, they were genuine. Blue could give an interview in his sleep.
When I complained about how irritating reporters could be, he just gave me one of those amused smiles. He thought I was being ridiculous but cute and reminded me there would always be certain positives and negatives that came with being a professional athlete. And if playing the sport he loved meant he had to make nice with a couple of intrusive reporters every now and again, then that’s what he’d do.
Reasonable bastard.
He was sex personified in a tailored black tux, and from the look of things, someone had styled his dark blond hair back and away from his face. I knew it couldn’t have been him. I had convinced him to grow it out a bit, but he still had no idea how to manage his own hair. His idea of styling was to rub a towel over his freshly shampooed head and call it good.
I bet he smelled as good as he looked too. He was probably wearing that expensive cologne his brother got him for his birthday. And on his arm was the very lovely Carly Taylor, his date for the evening. Her sheer black dress was a perfect foil for skin that was as perfectly sun-kissed as any good California girl. I think they check for it at the border. A cloud of curly blonde hair surrounded her lovely face and floated around shoulders as sharp as razor blades.
Did fake dates need to be quite so close to each other?
I gritted my teeth. Blue and Carly had come to a mutual agreement that involved her getting publicity and Blue avoiding detection. So everyone was happy. I stuffed my face with another mouthful of popcorn. I was trying to understand how the guy who’d been willing to set fire to everything and come out for me six months ago was on a fake date to protect his image, but I was still happy. Perfectly freaking happy.
Connor glanced my way and sighed. “Don’t make me confiscate the bowl.”
“And risk losing that hand?” I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you needed it to teach… and beat off.”
“Don’t make me slap you. I’ve been itching to do it anyway, since you drank the last beer. It would take very little to push me over the edge.” He glared and waved at the TV, where the sports part of the news had ended and a woman with a shellacked hairdo was reporting gleefully about some dirty local restaurant. “You know none of that with Carly was real.”
“Those roaches in that wok are very real.” I squinted. “Haven’t we been to that restaurant?”
“Kelly.”
I sighed. “I know Blue’s not cheating on me, for God’s sakes.”
“And you know he’s coming home to you.”
“I know that too.”
“So what’s the problem?”
The problem was I should be the one with him at the charity event. Not because I particularly liked the attention or even wanted to be well-known enough for reporters to hound me. Frankly, after six months of dating Blue, I realized that anyone who wanted to be famous didn’t know what the hell they were asking for. The reporters were nosy, insistent, and had a knack for twisting Blue’s every word, and the fans were almost as bad in a different way. They were handsy and aggressive and never seemed to understand the words no or enough.
But I wanted to support my partner in the things that were important to him. He was proud of his charity work, and that made me unbearably proud of him. I wanted to be with him at the event, to celebrate the culmination of something he worked hard at.
I should also be in the photos his assistant, a fast-talking, überefficient whirlwind named Penny, would post on his Instagram. Once again, not because I particularly wanted to. I could do without a bunch of strangers critiquing my everything, but I should be in the pictures, because he was mine and I was his, and that was something to be proud of.
Not something to hide.
“Wait a minute.” Connor scrunched his nose a little as he thought, and I waited patiently for his revelation. He finally shook his head. “I think we have eaten at that restaurant.”
I glared at him. Maybe I was wishing for too much—a perfect relationship and an eatery that didn’t have rat droppings. Maybe I should just be happy I had Blue. I had him in ways I never thought I would, and we were happy together. Maybe I should stop wishing for the fairy tale and enjoy what I actually had… which, in case I didn’t make that perfectly clear, was pretty damn great.
That true-love business was messing with my mind. In the movies true love would conquer everything, even the potential disapproval of Blue’s father, the NFL, and all the haters. Everyone would dance at our wedding as Natalie Cole’s “This Will Be” played in the background over pithy commentary. But that wasn’t reality. Perfect true love was for suckers.
Okay. That’s all. Carry on.
I understood why he wasn’t ready to come out. I got it. No, really—I got it, but sometimes it really pissed me off. He was still the same player he always was, and that wasn’t going to change whether he liked to sleep with dudes or not. Well… dude singular. It better be dude singular. But that just got me thinking about Blue on the road with Carly, and the less I thought about that, the better.
It wasn’t as though we’d given the team a chance to step up to the plate and rally, but I know how they treated me as his best friend. With only a few exceptions, most of Blue’s teammates just tolerated me.
I think it helped them that I ticked several stereotypically gay boxes. I didn’t know jack about sports, and I definitely didn’t play any. Physically I wasn’t a gladiator. Their tall, powerful bodies dwarfed my middling five-ten frame. I dressed neatly, and I was an unapologetic Gaga fangirl—not one of her monsters, but close enough. And the last time Connor and I had taken our happy asses to one of her concerts, we wore glitter on our eyelids and pants that were too tight to sit properly. Even with half-sleeve clockwork tattoos and several piercings—eyebrow, tongue, and several down my ear—I still fit close enough to their image of gay that it didn’t overly tax their brains.
But Blue was supposed to be one of them—a gridiron giant, a big tough guy who could take you in a fight. He was the guy they invited to their bro parties, and he was their brother on the field. He could take a killer hit and push back even harder. If he was bisexual, what did that mean? Were the gays and bisexuals just like us? Were they all just people after all? Oh, the fucking horror of it all.
I sighed. When I gave Blue my heart, it didn’t have strings or conditions, and this late in the game, I wasn’t going to craft any. I’d loved that guy since we were in second grade, loved him when he hadn’t loved me—at least not that way—and that was never going to change, even if I wanted to wring his neck and then that of his media-loving fake date, Carly. Did I happen to mention that they’re exes? No? Must’ve slipped my mind. Thinking about it made my blood pressure spike.
I shut off the TV, and the room went dark with only illumination from the streetlights. “I wanna go out.”
I heard something go bump and a heartfelt curse. Then there was a little snick, and a table lamp came on. When I looked over, Connor was near the side table, rubbing his shin and giving me a dirty look. “Out where?”
“I don’t care. You can pick.” I pushed off the sofa and shook out all the kinks from sitting so long. My knees made noises that should only be heard in a bowl of Rice Krispies. “All I care about is getting my dance on and my drink on and not necessarily in that order.”
“Your wish is my command,” he teased.
“God, I love the sound of that.” I headed for the stairs. “When he gets back, I want you to spend some time teaching Blue that phrase.”
“Done deal.”
“Now come up here and help me cram my junk into something way too small and tight.”
“No thanks,” he called after me. “I choose life.”
I paused at the top. It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen each other naked before. Hell, we’d done much more than just look. We hadn’t gotten much further than hurried mutual hand jobs, but still. It wasn’t like Connor to be shy. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“No offense, but Blue kind of loses his overall laid-back vibe where you’re concerned. In fact, he kind of turns into one of those vampire-shifter types. Mine, mine, mine and all that. So as much as I’d like to see your ass again, I’m gonna have to take a hard pass on that.”
I rolled my eyes. That was so very dramatic and so very like Connor. “He knows we’re just friends.”
“Still.” He shrugged. “I like a lot of things wedged up my ass, but a size-fourteen Nike will never be one of them.”
FIVE MINUTES after we arrived, I was already jonesing to leave.
The music was deafening, and every place I went, it seemed like someone brushed up against me. I nursed an overpriced drink at the bar for a while and pondered the exact day I became an old crow and why none of my inconsiderate friends had bothered to have a funeral for my youth.
Sometimes I headed for drinks with some friends to a local bar called Schmitty’s, and I certainly enjoyed that, but this…. This club scene was something else entirely. The strobe lights pierced my skull like an actual knife, and if someone blew a whistle one more goddamned time, I might lose it. As though to test my resolve, some blue-haired guy in booty shorts and boots blew a whistle shrilly, and some guys on the dance floor sent up a cheer.
“Hey, cutie.” I glanced behind me to find a guy giving me a smile that was a little too practiced for my taste. He was attractive in a slick, club-kid kind of way, and I couldn’t have been less interested.
When he took my raised brow for interest and tried to get me to dance by grinding on my ass, I decided enough was enough. Clearly I wasn’t going to get any younger or hipper by standing there and wishing I were home in bed.
“Sorry, not tonight,” I said, going for a smile in case he was crazy.
“What?” he yelled over the pounding beat of the music.
“I said sorry, not tonight.”
“Yeah, this does feel right.” He grinned. “The name is Eric. What’s yours?”
My other eyebrow joined the first. “I don’t think so.”
“Joe? Awesome, my roommate’s name is Joe!”
He bumped up to me closer, and I sighed. He had to be ten years my junior, and clearly all his clubbing had made him stone deaf. I took his slender shoulders in my palms and spun him around to another guy on a stool next to me. Eric blinked for a minute and then started grinding on that guy, who looked pleased at the attention.
I spotted Connor in a shadowy corner booth, dark head close to another guy’s as they talked. It looked as though maybe his dry spell was over, and I decided not to ruin whatever he had going. I sent him a quick text to tell him I was leaving and to ask him to text me that guy’s info before Connor went home with him. He texted me back a couple emojis I couldn’t puzzle out the meaning to, and I shook my head. I decided to make a beeline for the exit.
When I finally got outside, the fresh air was like a balm to overheated flesh. My ears still rang from all the bloody noise, and with a curled lip, I glanced back at the club doors. There were too many people in there, too many smells and sounds—too much of everything.
I headed for the metro with my hands buried in my pockets. I was never more aware that I was in a different place in my life. There was nothing for me in the club. I liked soft couches and television and places where I could actually hear the person talking to me. Call me crazy. And there would never be any hookups for me. I had the only guy I’d ever really loved. I didn’t feel particularly sad about it. They were all in there looking for what I had already found.
A short metro ride and a four-block walk later, I let myself back into the house and tossed my keys on the side table. I took a quick shower to get the scent of the evening off me—body sweat from the crush of people, stale alcohol, and then the train—and pulled on some boxers. I headed to the bedroom, accompanied by the soft click of nails on hardwood as my dog, a rescue named Waffles, trailed behind.
Blue and I had gotten the brown-and-black mutt from the shelter six months before. We had no idea what kind of dog she was, but the vet was pretty sure she was part shepherd. We figured Blue would have a companion with him on his runs, and she could snuggle with me when she got back. But Waffles liked to chill—a lot—morning to night. She was also the undisputed queen of naps. Blue practically had to drag her out the door on his runs. Leave it to me to get a dog who loved sleeping more than I did.
As though to prove it, she jumped on the end of my bed before I could even get in it. I shook my head with a faint smile. Blue liked her to sleep in her own bed, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I fell into bed with the comforting weight of Waffles settled somewhere around my feet.
Blitzed #3
1
ANDREW
My mother was trying to get rid of me.
I watched her bustle around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on some pot roast dish that I wasn’t allowed to touch. It wasn’t anything that she’d said, per se, but there was definitely a nice of you to drop in, oh, is that the time vibe in the air. Usually, my brother and I had to use a grapple and hook to sneak out of her house. It was always understood that one of us wasn’t going to make it out. The one who did sent pictures to his fallen comrade while drinking a beer in his honor. But not today. Today, I had a feeling she was ready to punt me to the curb.
When I first arrived, I’d let myself in like I always did, dropping the mail on the table and complaining about traffic. And even though I popped in unannounced at least once a week to check in on her, my mother had looked startled as she poked her head out of the kitchen with an, “AJ! You’re here.”
“I am,” I’d agreed.
I raised an eyebrow as she came out into the living room. She was wearing navy slacks and a frilly white blouse, an apron tied around her waist and her hair pulled up in some fancy style I couldn’t name. No usual Saturday night yoga pants. She looked lovely. And nervous?
Despite the odd vibes she was giving off, I kissed her flushed cheek and proceeded to make myself comfortable in the kitchen. After a moment, she joined me and went back to manning whatever smelled so delicious on the stove.
And just like that, the irritation of my week fell away.
The farmhouse was a bit of an anomaly for the area—most of the homes were modern with clean lines. But it was my mother’s favorite style, mostly because it reminded her of some of the best summers of her life, helping out her grandparents on their farm in Iowa. After having my realtor scour the market with no results, I had one built. It managed to be both rustic and modern, with five bedrooms and a wide wraparound porch with the requisite porch swing. My parents had lived there for five years before my father…well, just before.
So even though he wasn’t here now, it was a place that he’d been. Little touches of him still existed here, including the lemon tree that he’d planted in the backyard. He hadn’t lived to see it bear fruit, but it was still his tree. When you added all of my mother’s kitschy décor to the mix and the fact that she was always cooking something, it became a place of refuge for me. I liked my house, sure, but my father had never been there and never would.
Here, I wasn’t Andrew McAdams, starting tight end for the Aventura Outlaws. I was just AJ, the youngest of my mother’s three kids. Emma lived in Maine, so she wasn’t around that often. But when she stopped by, she still thought I was the pesky youngest who’d always ratted her out to our parents. I took great delight in proving her right. My brother Grant had been a good frenemy growing up, and we’d spent a lot of time wrestling in our backyard. I wish we could say we’d grown out of that but alas, much to my mother’s chagrin, we had not.
When I was here, no one wanted anything from me…other than to do my chores. Yes. I still had fucking chores. My mother had told me more than once that she didn’t care how much money I had or if my head brushed the doorway when I walked through it—the trash needed to be dumped and the walkway needed to be swept.
Now that I thought about it, why did I love this place again? I squinted. Oh yeah. It was a place where I could go when I needed to leave my troubles behind, however temporarily. No football. No networking. No marketing. Here I could breathe and just be.
Usually.
I eyed my mother some more. She looked like she might be wearing makeup. It was hard to tell nowadays. Apparently, the idea was to look like you weren’t wearing any…by wearing just enough? A former girlfriend explained the principle to me, all the while patiently using a wand-type thing on her already long lashes. I’d tried to make my eyes nice and wide to indicate I was listening and interested, instead of sleeping where I stood like a horse in his stall.
“You look like you always do. Beautiful.” I’d tried not to sound impatient but shit, we were late. Again. And she was still in bikini underwear and a lacy bra. “I just don’t understand how that takes a half-hour. It doesn’t look like you did anything.”
“Exactly,” she’d said, nodding sagely as she brushed her lashes again and I trotted off to make myself a drink with arsenic ice cubes.
“So honey, how’re things going?” My mother asked, giving the pot a careful stir. Looked like she was trying to keep even her apron clean, which was weird. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be out celebrating the win with the boys.”
She sounded like she’d just picked me up from Little League practice. I would’ve smiled if I wasn’t busy mowing my way through a poundcake that I’d spied under the cake cloche.
“Nah. I didn’t feel like going out.”
What exactly would I be celebrating? That they took the W without me? It didn’t help that my backup, Keon Williams, put up some nice stats. Nothing ground-breaking. But solid. Most of us called him Texas because he was from Baylor University, and he was playing like he was never going to play again, which was…well, the smart fucking thing to do. I understood. In theory. In actuality, he was trying to replace me…which sucked big, hairy balls.
I couldn’t help but wonder if management was starting to plan their exit strategy on the mess that was Andrew McAdams. I was better than Texas, sure. But was I good enough to outweigh my recent legal troubles? My injury? How about my sexuality, which the media always had a field day with?
Only time would tell, I guess. That was tomorrow kind of thinking. Today, there was blueberry pound cake. It was my favorite, blueberry lemon with a vanilla drizzle. I reached for the other half and my mother smacked my hand with her stirring spoon. “That’s for company.”
“Hey, I make a living with these hands.” I huffed as I rubbed my injured knuckles. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m company.”
“You’re family, not company, and don’t you usually hang out with Everett tonight?”
My best friend, Everett James, was a running back on the team. He’d come from a small town in Georgia, and no matter how successful he got, he was still humble. His dimpled smile, brown eyes, and air of goofy puppy were an agent’s wet dream. That wasn’t just hyperbole. We had the same fucking agent and yes, he played favorites. Everett liked to downplay his engineering degree and lean into his goofy schtick, but he was smart as hell. That would serve him well when he was done in the NFL.
“Ev is out with the guys tonight,” I informed her, making another move on the pound cake. This time, she let me have it with a sigh.
“And you didn’t want to hang out with the guys?”
I tried to hide my grimace. The poundcake helped. I loved my teammates, even though they were noisy and mannerless enough to make a wolf pack stop and stare in shocked silence. But the longer I languished on injured reserve, the more cautious they became about what they were willing to say. No one wanted to talk about a future without football, or what I’d do if things didn’t work out.
Their backslaps became heartier, their platitudes more general. There was a fear in their eyes, and I understood it completely. But for a shitload of luck, your jersey number could join mine on the IR list. Zig when you should’ve zagged, and your ACL could be fucked, too.
“They’re probably just partying like they always do,” I said around a mouthful of cake. “I’m kind of over it.”
“It certainly sounds like a better time than hanging out with an old woman on a Saturday night.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Well if I find an old woman, I’ll test your theory. Until then, I guess I’ll just have to hang out with you.”
She laughed and leaned over to ruffle my hair, which was the same ash brown as hers. “Charmer.”
She’d always claimed I could charm just about anyone, a fact my brother had lamented over as we were growing up. I always took great pleasure in telling him to suck it up. I didn’t even have the dimples he relied on—heavily. It wasn’t my fault he didn’t bother to work on his personality.
My nose twitched as my mother passed me and I finally separated her scent from that of the food. She smelled like something flowery, like that perfume my assistant picked out for her last birthday and insisted that I buy. She called it her special occasion perfume and she only wore it for church and holidays and….
Something finally gelled up there in the old brain and I wanted to smack my forehead. No wonder she was cooking and cleaning, dressed up and smelling good. She had a fucking date.
I sat there for a few moments, mulling that over.
Picturing her on a date with someone other than my father was a little jarring. I mean, they’d been together for over thirty years. Some naïve part of me—the part that didn’t like to think about things like mortality and shit—had thought they’d be together forever. That reality went up in a puff of smoke on a motorcycle in the rain. There was no undoing any of that. He wasn’t coming back, and Lucas and Libby McAdams were no more. I didn’t want her to just rattle around in this big house, lost in the memories of better days.
But I wasn’t sure if I knew how to deal with someone else in my father’s shoes. In his chair. In his home. In our lives. I also knew, realistically, that it wasn’t up to me. She was obviously ready to dip her toes in the dating pool…maybe she’d already been swimming in it and I just didn’t know. All that was left was for me to be supportive or an absolute dick. In the end, she was my mother and I wanted her to be happy. And if she found a guy that made her happy, then…I guess I had to get on board.
No matter how much it hurt.
“AJ.” When I looked up, my mother’s brow was creased in concern. “I’m worried about you. I know it’s hard not being on the field, honey, but—”
“It’s just a preseason game,” I said with a shrug. “Nothing to get worked up about.”
“And the DUI?”
That was like a stab to the gut, and there was no keeping the emotion off my face. That Friday—hereafter known as Fuck, I Messed Up Friday—had been rough on several fronts. First and foremost, it was the anniversary of my father’s death. Then I found out that I wasn’t cleared for the upcoming season, and they were starting Texas instead. Frustrated, I proceeded to fuck up in PT and pushed myself way too hard. Reggie had been pissed as she checked my knee, and informed me in no uncertain terms that I’d pushed back my recovery.
So yeah. I went to a bar with a couple of teammates, had one too many, and got in my car to sleep it off. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed before a cop knocked on my window and shined God’s flashlight in my face—had to be, I still had damage to my retinas. Things went sideways quickly after that.
I swallowed. “He’d be so disappointed in me.”
“Oh honey, no.” She crossed the room quickly, just a whisper of noise in her ballet flats, and reached for my hand. She squeezed it then, unexpectedly strong for someone so small. “He would be worried about you. Not disappointed.”
I swallowed. “You sure about that?”
“Of course. You’re a charming rascal, but you’ve never been afraid to roll up your sleeves and work. No matter what mistakes you’ve made, you’re going to own up to them. That’s not easy, and I’m proud of you.” She paused. “And I know he would be, too.”
I worried about that…probably more than I should. I always tried to keep in mind what he would do and how he’d do it. He’d fucking loved life—every part of it. Every time I got down in the dumps or started complaining too much, I reminded myself of how much he would’ve given for another day. I couldn’t do anything less than live this shit to the fullest.
And I was glad my mother was doing the same.
“So where’s Brooks?” She asked as she went over to the cupboards. She opened one of the doors and stared into the perfectly organized space, her hand still resting on the bar handle. “He working late tonight?”
“Something like that,” I said evasively.
Probably. Since I hadn’t spoken to or seen him in over a month, I would be the last to know. I grimaced at the thought of telling her that we’d broken up—the latest in a long line of relationships gone the way of the dodo. My mother claimed that I only hooked up with people that I knew weren’t right for me, and there was nothing Libby McAdams liked better than being right.
“He never comes with you to Sunday brunch anymore,” she said with a little laugh. “I’m starting to take it personally.”
I laughed a little too heartily. “You know Brooks,” I said casually. “Busy, busy, busy.”
She made a noise as she found the bowls she was looking for—a heavy porcelain set she’d gotten from her mother—and pulled them down carefully.
“Another one bites the dust, huh?” She shook her head. “Grant owes me a hundred bucks.”
I slouched in my chair as I protested, “It wasn’t my fault this time.”
“I never said it was.” She arched a brow. “But I did tell you it wasn’t going to work.”
Fuck, she did. She’d thought that Brooks was using me from the beginning—I’d heard her and my brother discussing it on the patio like a couple of gossipy old women. Those bastards had even taken the time to make sweet tea. I’d been determined to prove them wrong. Maybe that’s why we lasted as long as we did.
“So. You going to tell me what happened?” She asked as she crossed the room and set the bowls on the counter. She pinned me with a sympathetic gaze, clearly ready to have a heart-to-heart.
I shrugged. “We got busy. Drifted apart.”
Her face told me she knew there was more to that story, but she didn’t call me on it.
Brooks and I had made it four months which, admittedly, was a lifetime for me. But to be perfectly honest, it never felt right. Never felt like what my mom and dad had before he passed. And the less right it felt, the harder I worked to keep it. At least, I had right up until I caught him giving someone else a blowjob in a club bathroom.
I still wasn’t sure what angered me the most—that Brooks had cheated or that he hadn’t seemed to feel all that guilty about it. He’d offered to let me join, an offer that made his playmate splutter with surprise and embarrassment. I had a feeling the poor guy thought things were a little more serious than Brooks did. Easy come, easy go.
I stood and carried my plate to the sink. “Sorry I dropped in like this, but I knew you’d make time for your favorite child.”
She snorted. “Let’s go with that.”
“Ignored. And now I’m going to get out of your hair so you can finish getting ready for your date.”
“My…I’m not…well, then.” Her eyes widened as her mouth opened and closed a few times. “You’re…you’re not upset?”
“No,” I said honestly. “It’s going to take some getting used to, though.”
She ran a nervous hand over her hair. “Well, luckily, you have time. We’re not rushing into anything….”
“None of my business,” I said. “I trust your judgment. And by the way, Dad would be proud of you, too.”
“Oh.” She pressed her hands to her eyes and took a deep breath. “For God’s sakes, I just did my makeup. Stop it, already.”
I chuckled, giving her a big hug, careful not to wrinkle her blouse. When she was nice and relaxed, her head on my chest, her hand patting my back like she’d done when I was little, I lowered the boom. “So who is this guy?”
She gasped as she smacked my chest and pulled back. “I thought you said you trust my judgment and it’s none of your business.”
“About how your relationship goes, yes. But I think Emmie, Grant, and I should vet this guy…we need to talk to ’im. Let him know what’s up.” I bounced on my toes. “He deserves fair warning about what we’ll do to his balls if he even thinks about looking at you wrong—”
“Andrew Jason McAdams.” She looked like she was hiding her amusement. “I do believe that’s your cue to leave.”
She started towing me toward the front door and that didn’t work out so well…so she went around behind me and started pushing. She was about half my size and didn’t even reach my shoulder, but she was doing a pretty good job of it.
“So you’re not going to tell me who he is?”
“I’ll introduce you guys when the time is right,” she puffed. “And when I’m sure he won’t go running for the hills after being confronted with my six foot four boys.”
“Let the record show that Grant is only six feet,” I pointed out as she manhandled me into the foyer. Mom-strength was unreal. “And what if this guy is a serial killer? We won’t even know which direction to point the police. All I’ll be able to tell them is that when I left, she was making an awesome pot roast and wearing man trap clothes—”
“I wear this outfit to church, you heathen,” she said, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “Now get out. I don’t need you scaring him off by being all big and intimidating.”
I reluctantly headed out on the porch and as I turned, another question all cued up on my lips, she shut the door in my face. No matter. I stuck my face to the glass insert like a pucker doll. “So he’s like, small?”
She stuck out her tongue and I laughed.
I waited until I was in the car with the engine running to whip out my phone. I ignored a text from Everett inviting me to Warner’s after-party and called my brother. Grant answered on the second ring, sounding a bit harried. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Nothing much,” I said jovially. “How’re you?”
“Good.”
“And Kim?”
“Kim’s fine,” he said slowly. “Why do you ask?”
I understood his confusion. We were close, but in more of an I know you’re there when I need you kind of way. We were both busy, he even more so with the restaurant and his family. Small kids had a way of sucking up free time, and in-season, my schedule could get crazy. We made a point to get together at least once a week but rarely called each other just to chat.
“I ask because she’s your wife and I’m invested in her well-being,” I said starchily. “How’re things going at the restaurant?”
“Do you want to just spit it out or draw this out?” He demanded. “I have laundry in the dryer.”
“Well, pardon me for interrupting your fluff and fold party. I just wanted to check in on my only brother and his family.” I huffed. “I love you guys.”
“Good to hear,” he said dryly.
“So.” I picked at a loose thread on my pants. “How’re things?”
“I’m so glad you’re interested in the minutia of our daily life,” he drawled. “So here goes. Kim doesn’t think I’m helping out enough with the household chores, so I’ve taken over the laundry completely.”
My eyes widened because I loved my nephews, but damn could those kids generate a lot of dirty clothes. It was like a horrible magic trick that kept going even after you killed the magician. “She does work hard. She could probably use the help.”
Grant grunted. “Which is why I’m up to my elbows in muddy clothes. Who signed these kids up for football camp again, AJ?”
I cleared my throat because while Uncle AJ might’ve found the league, signed them up, and got them hyped about it, he wasn’t doin’ no stinkin’ laundry. “I dunno. I think it was Emmie’s idea.”
“Our sister, the accountant, with two left feet? The one who asked when the Cincinnati Bears were playing?”
I bit back a grin. Pete, her husband, was a football fanatic and a huge fan of mine. When they were dating, Emma had asked me for a crash course on football so she could impress him. Flustered and pretty sure she was sitting across from the man of her dreams, she’d jumbled and bumbled everything everything together, which just made him fall more in love with her. When he told us some of the things she’d said on their first date, we’d howled. We did our best never to let her forget them. I’d even worked some of that shit into my wedding toast.
Told you I was a pesky younger brother.
“Yes, that’s the one,” I confirmed. “You know Emmie and football.”
“Mhmm,” he said suspiciously. “Anyway, Liam is losing a tooth and Luke is pretty jealous, especially since he knows the tooth fairy is coming. They both like their teacher this year, which was expected since she’s a big softy who uses a good behavior sticker system liberally.”
“Uh-huh.” I was already bored out of my mind. “That’s cool.”
“Isn’t it? Let’s see, what else? Liam is going through a robot phase right now, and he’s punctuating pretty much every sentence with the phrase beep beep.” Grant chuckled. “In his mind, he thinks he’s emulating a robot, but he sounds more like a dump truck backing up.”
“Uh-huh.”
He launched into a story about the twins leaving their belongings at school, embellishing every detail until I wanted to scream. Nothing was worth this. Nothing. “I swear that classroom is like the Bermuda Triangle. So I said okay, you’re not getting any new lunchboxes until you bring the old ones back—”
“Holy fuck, you got me.”
Grant made a victorious noise. “So you’ll cut the bullshit?”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said crossly. “But I do love you guys, you know.”
“I know that.” He sounded amused. “Now get to it.”
I paused for dramatic effect. “Mom is dating someone.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Exactly. I don’t know who or for how long.”
“Who?” Grant sounded flabbergasted. “And how long has this been going on?”
“What did I just say?” I said exasperatedly. “You’re going to have to be a lot sharper if we’re going to do this stakeout.”
“Stakeout,” he practically yelled.
I shushed him frantically. “For God’s sakes, Grant. Your first assignment is to watch a fuckin’ spy movie. Take good notes.”
“I’m not spying on my own mother.”
“We can’t just have her going out with anybody. We have to check this guy out. You know, make sure he has Mom’s best interest at heart.”
“We have brunch tomorrow. And you’re coming,” he said before I could offer an excuse. I shut my mouth. “Maybe we can suss out some details then. You know, before we break out the spy goggles.”
“We’d use binoculars. You moron.” I huffed out a breath. “I knew I should’ve called Emmie instead.”
He chuckled. “I just think this is the better route to go before we get all Mission Impossible in Mom’s rose bushes. Wait, hang on.” I heard the murmur of a female’s voice in the background and Grant called, “No, I did the load of darks, babe. The towels are still in the hamper.”
I couldn’t help but smile at their domesticity. They’d met when Kim had been assigned his tutor in college, and they’d been together ever since. Well, except for a dark two months when they broke up after graduation and tried dipping their toes in the dating pool. They quickly found out what most singles already know—the dating pool is more of a shitty slip and slide.
“You’re such a good hubby,” I teased.
“Shut up.” He wasn’t the least bit offended, cloaked in the confidence of a man who knew he had it good. “And Kim thinks we should plant a baby monitor and see how the date is going…which lets me know that I’m now surrounded by madness.”
“Your wife is a fuckin’ genius.” I paused. “Except I don’t want to see or hear anything that could scar me for life. Tell her we’ll meet for coffee and hammer out a good plan—”
“You’ll do no such thing. The two of you are going to wind up in jail for familial espionage.”
“That’s not a thing,” I shot back. “And how would they even find out—”
“I’d tell them.”
“Fuckin’ snitch,” I grumbled.
He laughed. “So where’s Brooks? I haven’t seen much of him lately.”
Wow. My family was batting a hundred on picking topics I didn’t want to fucking discuss. “Busy. You know Brooks.”
He sighed. “Fuck. I owe Mom fifty bucks.”
I scowled. “You people are unbelievable. And she said it was a hundred.”
“Double fuck. I was hoping she didn’t remember the amount.” He cursed again. “Well, I’d feel bad about betting on my brother’s relationship—”
“As any decent person should—”
“But we all knew it wasn’t going to last.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“So if you’re not going out with Brooks, what are you doing tonight? And don’t say going home,” he added before I could even open my mouth. “You’ve been a fucking hermit lately.”
Well, forgive me for needing to work through some shit quietly. I’d trained hard this summer, worked my ass off in PT, and I still didn’t get my spot back. It was hard to be the good- time guy when you were feeling low…hell, I’d need a stepladder to get up to low.
“I have my reasons for that,” I finally said.
“Well, I know it can’t be about Brooks because as we’ve established, that shit wasn’t real. So it has to be about your knee.”
Leave it to Grant to cut right to the heart of things. “Maybe,” I admitted.
“Your injury is all but healed. This is just a temporary bump in the road. You know that.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“There’s a reason they call you Allstate, right? Every time you catch a fucking pass, the ball is in good hands. They need you out there.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Hell, I need you out there so I can make good on some of these fucking bets. Kim already told me she won’t love me without kneecaps.”
I laughed. “Who could blame her?”
It felt good to joke about it. I rolled my shoulders and winced at how tight the muscles felt there. Guess I was more stressed than I thought. It was just all too easy for one game to turn into two and then slide into three. Before you knew it, I’d be traded. Or cut. I was starting to look less like Allstate and more like an insurance company that won’t answer the phone after you get rear-ended.
“I guess I’m just worried,” I admitted.
“Because they won one preseason game? Sorry they couldn’t keep losing until you got cleared by medical,” he said exaggeratedly. “You’re going to keep conditioning and training and you’re coming off the IR list.”
“Or Texas will keep doing his thing out there.”
“Possibly,” he agreed, which was part comforting, part annoying. I liked that he wasn’t going to bullshit me, but fuck, where was the love? He chuckled at my silence. “Now stop channeling your inner hermit and go out with the guys.”
“How do you know—”
“Because they won. And the Outlaws don’t win shit without partying about it.”
“Ev texted me earlier,” I admitted begrudgingly. “They’re at Warner’s place.”
“I knew it,” he crowed.
“Maybe you could come with me.”
“To an Outlaws’ party?” He practically squeaked. “You serious right now? And what would I tell Kim, exactly? Hey honey, I need you to finish cooking dinner, clean up all those dishes, and handle bath time and bedtime with the boys so I can head out to a party with my brother. And yes, there will be models and actresses there.”
I heard Kim talking in the background but I couldn’t quite make out the words. “What did she say?”
“She said I could go.”
“See? You want me to pick you up or—”
“You know, sometimes I forget how long it’s been since you and Joy were divorced,” Grant said dryly. “Clearly you’ve wiped all the finer nuances of marriage from your mind. Like a prisoner of war.”
“Which means….”
“It means I’d better go before she removes the Waterford vase from the pedestal in the foyer and replaces it with my head,” he said dryly. “Now git. I have at least five more loads of laundry to get through.”
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “By the way, I use a laundry service. I’d be happy to pay for—”
“You know, AJ, sometimes just talking to you is enough.” His voice was unexpectedly warm for two guys who could sometimes get into an argument over which dip was the best. “We don’t need your money to love you.”
“I know that.”
“Then act like it.” He paused. “Besides, Kim would notice and kick my ass.”
I didn’t blame him for hanging up on me when I wouldn’t stop laughing. But the follow-up fuck you text message was a bit much. I grinned as I responded with a middle finger emoji. I knew they had bad times like everyone else, but they were buttressed by so much good. Truthfully, there was nothing Grant loved better than being at home with his family, and an Outlaw party couldn’t compare.
Growing up with parents that had a “dear God get a room” marriage, I’d always wanted that. Assumed I’d find that kind of love. When had I stopped looking?
Maybe after my divorce. My ill-advised marriage to my high school sweetheart had mostly been a “fuck-you, we know what we’re doing” to our parents and hadn’t lasted all that long. My more cynical friends swore Joy was trying to get her hooks in me before I got drafted, but I’d known better. We just weren’t right for each other. Getting married so young, we were bound to grow as we changed and learned more about ourselves. If you’re lucky and put in the work, you grow together. Joy and I had been better at growing apart.
Better yet, maybe I’d stopped looking sometime after my dad passed. Watching my mother try to recover and come up with some semblance of life hurt down to my bones. And neither Grant nor I could make it better. The only person who could make things better was interned at Pineview Cemetery. Why would I look to find a love like that? Why would anyone want to hurt like that?
I was getting melancholy as shit being alone with my thoughts. Grant was right and I needed to get out. I texted Everett that I was on the way to Warner’s place before I could change my mind, and tossed my phone in the cupholder.
Who knows? Maybe I’d even have fun.
S.E. Harmon has had a lifelong love affair with writing. It’s been both wonderful and rocky (they've divorced several times), but they always manage to come back together. She's a native Floridian with a Bachelor of Arts and a Masters in Fine Arts, and used to spend her time writing educational grants. She now splits her days between voraciously reading romance novels and squirreling away someplace to write them. Her current beta reader is a nosy American Eskimo who begrudgingly accepts payment in the form of dog biscuits.
The Blueprint #1
A Deeper Blue #2
Blitzed #3
Series
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