Page 126 of By His Play

Crawling back into bed with her, I accept her embrace once she’s finished, and in only seconds, she’s asleep.

If the only thing that comes out of all of this is that she finally gets some rest, then I can live with that. Rest and food, then she’ll be able to start healing. Hopefully.

I lie there with her sleeping in my arms for the longest time, but eventually, I need to move.

Slipping from beneath her, I make sure she’s still out before pulling on my sweats and silently leaving the room.

I clean up and then head for the kitchen. I’m washing our plates from earlier when my cell buzzes in my pocket.

Assuming it’s either King—because he’ll have been told the latest by now, no doubt—or Kian, I pull it free.

But to my surprise, it isn’t my brothers.

Instead, it’s my teammate.

Drying my hands, I swipe the screen and then walk out to the backyard to ensure I don’t wake Effie.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” I greet.

“Yeah, good. The usual,” Brax hedges.

I like it here in St. Louis. It’s quiet and peaceful. But it’s not home.

It’s not Chicago.

Brax was just finishing up his rookie year as a Chief when I was drafted. We hit it off immediately, and he was more than willing to hand out advice when he thought I needed it.

He’s a good guy. Effie likes him too.

There was a moment when they first met when I wondered if there could be something there. But clearly, I was wrong. As far as I know, he never asked her out, and there has never been anything between them.

I couldn’t have stopped them if they did. I had—have—no claim on Effie. She’s my best friend, and up until yesterday, nothing further had ever happened between us.

I’ve always wanted her to meet someone.

Did I want it to be one of my teammates? No, not really.

My stomach sloshes with something unpleasant at the thought.

“How are things there?”

I let out a heavy sigh, which I’m sure is enough to answer his question.

Slipping through the bushes, I lower my ass to the swing seat where I found her earlier.

“Yeah, you know.” I scrub my hand down my face, trying to decide how much I want to divulge.

“The media is still full of stories,” he warns.

My stomach knots at the reminder that I’ve still got to deal with all the false news that’s spread through the country like a disease.

I’ve been running over things to say to put an end to it all, but it all sounds ridiculous.

I can’t say that my best friend lied. I refuse to throw her under the bus like that.

She did it for a good reason. But I’m not sure the rest of the country—the jersey chasers—will be as understanding as I was.

So, if I can’t tell them the truth, do I tell them we split up? But then, that’ll cause another truckload of drama to surround both of us.

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