Page 9 of False Start
“Nextweekend? Why the rush?”
“Did you forget he knocked G up?”
I blew out a breath, pinching the bridge of my nose before I picked my phone up again long enough to type out a congrats text.
“What’s with the attitude?” Braden asked.
“I’m just tired of fucking weddings,” I grumbled, my chest tight with the words. “Excuse me if I’m not excited to shell out more money for a fucking suit, fly across the country during an offseason that’s already too short, and watch Clay and Giana stare into each other’s eyes all lovesick.”
It probably came off as me being an asshole, which was fine by me. But the truth was, I didn’t want to attend yet another event where one of my teammates was celebrating finding the love of his life while I continued to be the butt of every joke.
They’d given me so much shit when I’d shown up to our quarterback Holden Moore’s wedding without a date, making smartass remarks about me being in a relationship with Instagram. I’d covered up the sting of those remarks by fucking one of the bride’s cousins in the bathroom.
I was about to be in my rookie season in the NFL. I’d worked my fucking ass off to get here, and all I wanted to do was spend my summer getting bigger, faster,better.
But whether I showed it or not, these guys were my family.
So, if they wanted me to come to their weddings and baby showers and whatever else they were celebrating, I’d be there.
Braden knew as much without me having to say a word, which was why he didn’t judge me in that moment. He clapped my shoulder as if to tell me to shake it off before packing up his bag.
At the end of the day, I wouldn’t have made it through college without my teammates — even if I was a pain in most of their asses while we were there.
So, with a sigh, I wiped the sweat from my neck with a towel before nodding at Braden. “Guess we should book our flights.”
He gave me a knowing smile, slinging his bag over one arm. “I’ll take care of it. Just you?”
He asked that question with more curiosity than jest, but it soured my stomach all the same.
“Yep,” I bit out, already walking toward the parking lot. “Just me.”
Madelyn
My hands were embarrassingly sweaty as I sat at a corner table at Rains, quietly drinking my water and eyeing the door.
I prayed he wouldn’t show up.
Almost as hard as I prayed he would.
My stomach flip-flopped with every minute that passed, with every tall man who entered the restaurant. I expected him to let me down, to show up late or not at all. But then there was the small part of me that wondered if he still had a little bit of that innocent kid I’d babysat left in him, if maybe that kindness still existed.
I snorted internally at the termskidandbabysit.
He’d been fifteen, and I’d been seventeen — counting down the days to my eighteenth birthday.
A softness washed over me then.God, we were so young, so naïve. We had our whole lives ahead of us then. Endless opportunities. Endless goals to achieve.
At least one of us had followed through on those.
My throat was thick with my next swallow, a flash of the last time I’d seen Kyle Robbins before this unexpected run in hitting me square in the gut.
The hard set of his jaw.
The accusation in his eyes.
The secret I thought I was keeping written out so clearly on his face.
He’d never talked to me again.
