Page 116 of The Game Plan
I watch from my seat as the guys walk into the kitchen. “Wildflower, this isn’t your kitchen anymore.” He pauses, pressing a kiss to her temple before looking around the room. “Riggsby!”
“Jacobs!” Brynn hisses. “You wake them, you take them.”
Cody mimes zipping his mouth shut as Crew and Tyler join the group. My eyes land on my husband as he claps Crew’s back. He’s still in a CTU football polo, khaki shorts, and tennis shoes. His hat has been flipped backwards, and I fully take him in, how sexy he is. Our eyes meet across the kitchen, and my thighs clench at the sight of him.
His lips lift, but it’s not a full smile. It’s not the same smile he had when the three idiots came barreling through the door. It’s not the same smile he used to give me, before the baby, before this anxiety has me wound so tight.
“Hey,” he says softly, eyes flicking over me like he’s checking for signs of distress.
“Hey,” I echo. “Did you have fun today?”
He nods and leans down to kiss my cheek. The contact is brief, gentle, as if I’m a fragile sculpture waiting to break.
“Where do you want these?” Quinton asks as he raises the large paper bags from his favorite barbecue restaurant.
Bret looks around. “Wanna eat outside?”
“Let’s do it,” Crew answers, sliding open their patio door. We spill out into the backyard, and nostalgia hits me. When Brynn and Chloe lived in this townhouse, they’d host Sunday dinners—a way for all of us to gather throughout the school year overhome-cooked meals. I didn’t attend many, but I loved the ones I could make.
Paper plates are passed around the table while Quinton pulls out to-go containers. My eyes widen at the amount of food he’s ordered. Pulled pork, brisket, and pulled chicken. Mashed potatoes and gravy, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, fresh green beans with ham, and sweet corn. A huge container of cornbread. It’s a feast, but I guess we are feeding five athletes.
“How was golf?” I ask, scooping out a serving of macaroni and cheese.
Grant, Cody, and Quinton’s eyes bounce around each other before bursting into laughter.
“That good?” Brynn muses.
“I finally found Quinton Boyd’s weakness.” Cody chuckles. Heads whip in Q’s direction, and he shrugs.
“I don’t believe it,” Crew chimes in. “Q doesn’t have a weakness.”
“Years later, and you’re still obsessed with him,” Brynn jokes with a roll of her eyes. Crew had a little bro crush on Quinton during his freshman and sophomore years. He was like Q’s little puppy, always at his heels, watching everything he did.
Our conversation dies down as everyone eats. It’s always a good sign that the food is good when no one wants to pause their eating. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Cody leans into Brynn’s space. With his thumb, he dabs at her mouth.
“You’ve got a little sauce…right here,” he says, wiping it away from her face. “Can’t take you anywhere, Wilder.”
She blinks, then quirks her eyebrow at him. “Did you seriously just wipe my face with your thumb?”
He winks at her. Brynn laughs, and Quinton groans. “That better be the last time you touch my wife, or it’ll be the last thing you touch.”
“You’re so touchy, Q,” Cody says, totally unfazed. “I’m just keeping her looking like a smokeshow.”
Brynn blows him a kiss, and Quinton growls. “Watch it, Jacobs. You’re lucky I know your shit is harmless.”
“Mostly.” Brynn smirks.
Their banter is flirty and chaotic. It’s oddly comforting. I’ve missed this. The ease, the noise, the way we all pick up right where we left off.
Eventually, we clear the dinner table, and the girls wake up. They’re passed around while we carry on with margarita refills as we watch the guys pull out cornhole boards. Crew and Cody against Quinton and Grant. The two grumps versus the two golden retrievers. Tyler disappeared after dinner, claiming he had a new pregame ritual he had to do. I think he’s off to get laid, and I’m disappointed he hasn’t brought her around to our chaos. But I’ll respect his privacy.
I wish I could feel that light again. But even in a room full of people, I feel heavy. The weight of the world is crippling me with unbearable pressure. One of these days, I’m going to snap and bring down everyone in my wake.
Brynn slides beside me, nudging a glass of water into my hands. She must’ve sensed I was at my tequila limit, which is funny, because a few years ago, we didn’t have a limit. We’d walk around parties with a bottle, dancing our hearts out. I think that’s what happened the night we broke Quinton’s coffee table.
“You doing okay?” she whispers, eyes fixed on the yard.
I nod quickly, but she doesn’t call me out on it, just squeezes my arm. “We’re here. You don’t have to hold it all tonight.”
