Page 9 of Hot Shot
“If the offer to play for the team, the Rogues, is real. I’ll take it. Do you have a contract here?”
“Don’t you want to know the deal? Talk it over with your agent?”
“He dropped me.”
“Oh.”
“Are you the assistant coach. Is Walker head?”
I nod. “Yes, to both.”
“Then it’s three yeses. I want on your team. When do we start?”
“Bran, you should…” What am I doing? Am I going to talk him out of what we want? “Before you agree, I’ve got a condition. I want to head home and do some training with you.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We stay here. For the next week. We stay here and clear the stuff between us before we go anywhere else.”
“And if I say no to doing that?” Is he trying to blackmail me with his agreement to join the Rogues?
“I’ll sign a contract after you give me the week.” He steps closer and everything in me wants to retreat but I’ve got nowhere to go.
“Bran.”
“Please. Give me the week.” He swallows hard, rakes a hand through his hair. “It’ll take me that long to explain everything.”
“I don’t need to know?—”
“You do. Most might not, butyou, yeah, you deserve to know. You deserve everything and once I’ve explained things, if you can still bear to look at me, I’ll join your team and play the hardest I’ve ever played. I’ll do it for you because I owe you.”
“You owe me noth?—”
“Everything. I owe you everything.”
Branton
“Let’s eat. Food first. Make decisions on staying after.” I move around her and open the fridge. “I’ve got leftover lasagna or beef stew.”
“Is the stew your mom’s recipe?”
“Would it be anything else?” I glance over my shoulder to see her smiling. I could stare at that smile all day.
Fuck, I have stared at it all day. Often enough for it to be etched in my memory. It’s that memory above all others I couldn’t bring myself to think about since everything went to shit because I know I took it away from her.
I didn’t witness it, the sadness my actions caused her, because I’m a coward and had no idea how to explain Celeste, but I knew about it.
Her brothers, two of my closest friends before my life took a detour, made sure I knew about the stripping of Blake’s smile. About the sadness and hurt I inflicted.
“Bran?”
“What? Sorry. Stew, right?” I force a smile, the action stiff and foreign but I hope it’s enough to derail any questions. I meant what I said, I want to enjoy a meal with her before we tackle anything else, before I confess the mistakes I made.
“Yes, I can never pass up the opportunity to have your mom’s food, especially her stew.” Her smile is sad this time. Like me, she’s probably remembering the woman whose love language was feeding you, a language she excelled at.
“I’m sure mine isn’t the same, isn’t as good, but it comes close.” Turning back to the fridge I grab the container of stew and move to the stove where I pour the fragrant beef mixture into a saucepan and light the burner. “How hungry are you? There’s probably just enough for two if you’re not starving.”
