Chapter Twenty-Six
EMERSON
I’d wanted to tell Sanchez no.
I was exhausted, and I knew he had to be exhausted too, and yet, he wouldn’t stop texting me about all the partying we were going to do.
And with those texts, pictures of movies and food . . .
The guy had enough energy and adrenaline for an entire football team, maybe that was why he was one of the captains.
Watching him on the field was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I remembered all of the cheers and felt like my performance had been good, but honestly, my focus hadn’t been on the cheers or crowd pleasing. It had been on him.
Sanchez.
The way he commanded the field.
The way he and Miller seemed to read each other’s mind.
I’d always watched Miller play, even when I hated him, I’d watched. He was cold, calculating.
And Sanchez . . .
He was like a football professor out there—light on his feet, cracking jokes. When they’d been near our side of the field, the big screen had caught him grinning at the guy trying to block him and mouthing, Watch this. Only to outrun the defensive player, jump over another, and run into the end zone for a touchdown.
I’d about died when he took a bow in front of the goalpost, and Jax snapped a pretend picture while Miller jumped into the air and slammed his hand across his back.
Football.
God, I forgot how much I loved football.
My stomach clenched. Dad and I had watched all the games together. He’d loved college ball and I’d loved watching professional football. We’d always get into arguments about the purity of the sport. But since his decline, he’d been doing more sleeping than watching.
I shook it off.
Because today, regardless of my reality, was a really good day.
And an awesome game.
Ugh, maybe I did say awesome too much.
I wasn’t sure if it was that I was finally cheering for the Bucks, or that Miller was out there, or that maybe, just maybe . . . things were starting to feel better.
When I thought of the past, it was painful, and it upset me, but I found myself more often thinking about the future.
And weirdly enough, it was Sanchez’s face that I saw in that future, which scared me to death because it had always been Miller, even when I hated him, it had been Miller.
And now. Now I was confused. And tired.
And apparently being forced to hang out with the one guy I was having a hell of a time saying no to.
All bets were off if he offered a foot massage.
With a sigh, I pulled up to my apartment building and turned off the Honda, my eyes glancing around the parking lot and landing on a familiar car.
A car that had Sanchez on the license plate.
A loud car that did not belong next to broken windows and trash.
Panicked, I ran all the way up the three flights of stairs to my apartment and shoved the door open.
Only to see Sanchez playing checkers with my dad.
My. Dad.
“Damn it.” Sanchez rubbed his hands. “Okay, your move, old man.”
“Hah!” Dad clapped his hands and made a horrible move that should have lost him a checker.
Sanchez ignored it, which meant he’d lost his own checker.
I dropped my bag to the floor as my tear-filled eyes glanced around the bare apartment with its faded carpet and white walls.
Pictures lined the table near the family room.
Dishes were piled in the sink. Sometimes Dad couldn’t get to them.
A smell I couldn’t identify wafted from the kitchen, where Connie was busy making coffee and grabbing Dad’s medication while trying to make herself scarce. She gave me a glance that said more than words would. Good day. Her smile lit up the room. I sagged in relief.
“How was the game, baby?” Dad asked without looking up from his checkerboard.
Thank God. He was at least lucid. “I, uh . . . well, we won, thanks to Sanchez and Miller.”
Nervousness washed over me as Sanchez turned around and tilted his head toward me, a smug grin spread across his face. “You checked out my ass.”
Dad coughed.
I felt my cheeks flame red. “What?”
“Honey!” Dad burst out laughing. “Is that appropriate for a football cheerleader?”
“No.” Sanchez shook his head in disapproval. “And I’m sure she’ll be punished, sir.”
I scowled.
He winked.
“Good,” Dad agreed. “Now, your move, Grant.”
I waited for them to finish their game. They talked football, they talked about their love of steaks, and when my dad finally called it quits because he was tired, he stood and shook Sanchez’s hand. “I’m glad she has a good friend like you.” He frowned. “Her last friend who played football . . .” He shook his head. “That was bad. She cried a lot.”
“Dad,” I said in warning.
“What?” He released Sanchez’s hand. “You did, after that loss and well, what followed.”
The room felt thick with tension.
“Anyway, you deserve a good senior year.”
I froze.
Sanchez didn’t skip a beat. “I can’t wait to take her to homecoming.”
“Homecoming!” Dad yelled. “Of course! How silly of me. You just had the big game, honey. We didn’t get him a corsage!”
“Dad—” My voice broke. “That isn’t . . . necessary. He’s allergic.” It was a horrible lie.
Sanchez mouthed, “It’s okay.”
Tears spilled onto my cheeks.
Dad frowned. “Why are you crying, baby?”
“Um, sorry, I uh—” I didn’t know what to say, how to make it better, how to get my dad to understand without causing him to get too upset, or how to get Sanchez to truly get that we were on shaky ground with my dad. Whenever he had episodes, he’d get emotional and seeing me cry was almost always a trigger.
“I just miss you, that’s all.” I settled for the truth. I did miss him. All of him. The dad who used to make me pancakes before every game, his version of carbing up. The guy who watched football every weekend with me. The brilliant professor who never let me settle. The man who promised to stay by my side when the only boy I’d ever loved broke my heart. That man was gone. And while I’d been grieving the loss of him for the last few years, it suddenly struck me.
I would never have that man back.
I choked back another sob and quickly pulled my dad into my arms. “I love you, you know that right?”
“Honey,” Dad chuckled and hugged me right back. “It’s just a dance, and I’ll always be here, waiting.”
Yes. Physically. He would.
Mentally . . .
Connie, with her ever-present good timing, swept into the room, ready to take him back to his chair where he was typically the most comfortable and able to sleep.
“Wait.” Dad snapped his fingers and grabbed a ten-dollar bill out of his back pocket. “It’s all the cash I have. You kids enjoy yourselves. Treat her right. She’s all I have.” Dad’s eyes filled with tears. “I . . . sometimes, I get confused.”
“Don’t all men?” Sanchez shrugged. “Especially in front of a pretty girl?”
Dad’s gaze softened. “She’s beautiful like her mamma was.”
“I bet.” Sanchez didn’t look away from me once. He reached out, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it so tight I felt myself start to tear up again.
“So, tonight.” Dad looked between the two of us. “What was . . . tonight again?”
My heart clenched as a choking sensation wrapped around my neck. His good moments never really lasted that long anymore.
Please God, don’t take him like you took everything else. I subconsciously touched my stomach, only to see Sanchez glance down at my hand, his eyes pensive.
I jerked my hand away quickly.
“Homecoming,” Sanchez said smoothly. “I’ll have her home on time. No worries.”
“Great!” Dad clapped his hands. “And what about her dress?”
“At my place.” Sanchez shrugged, the lie falling way too easily from his lips. “It was closer to the restaurant.”
“That’s right.” Dad nodded a few times. “Well, love you, honey.” He kissed my forehead and yawned, then walked back to the living room and sat while Connie brought him water and his pills.
Sanchez leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Grab some stuff, stay with me tonight, alright? No arguments.”
“Give me a few minutes,” I answered, quickly going to my room and packing a bag.
Connie walked in and closed the door behind her, leaving Sanchez alone with my dad in the living room. “He had a good afternoon, but things . . .” She swallowed. “Things are progressing pretty fast, I thought you should know.”
“His doctor’s appointment?” I asked. The one I couldn’t take him to because of the practices. “How did it go?”
She was silent, and then, “I think we need to discuss possibly putting him in an adult care facility.”
“Nursing home,” I whispered. “We can’t afford it.”
“There are programs, state aid.” She reached for my hand. “I’ll help you for as long as I can, but it’s aggressive, and I can only do so much.”
“I know.” I fought to keep the tears in. “Thank you, for everything.”
“He’s charming.”
“Dad?” I asked confused.
“No. The tall good-looking football player currently filling up the living room with his muscles.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Go, have fun.” Her grin grew as she made fake air quotes. “At homecoming.”
I choked back a laugh. “Thanks.”
“Seriously.” She pulled me in for a side hug. “You deserve all the good things in this world. And that’s exactly what your dad wants for you. I’ll text you updates and call if I need you, alright? Go dance the night away.”
“Okay.” I tossed a few more things in my bag. “Maybe when I get back we can talk about . . . the nursing home.”
“Live a little before then, alright?”
Live.
Is that what was happening with Sanchez? Is that why he was breaking down all my defenses? Because he was forcing me to forget the past? To live?
Within minutes we were outside in his car.
I was too embarrassed, too devastated, and too sad to say anything as he pulled out of the parking lot of my building and sped onto the freeway. I was worried about the future, about my dad’s decline, and it suddenly struck me that part of the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was because I was afraid that somehow, this would change the way Sanchez viewed me, and I hated it.
Which meant only one thing.
I was starting to really care for him.
In a way that made my heart clench in my chest.
But this was Sanchez.
His car cost more than my entire apartment building.
“I’m pretty sure that your dad loves me,” he said triumphantly, breaking the tense silence with his smooth voice. “I mean what’s not to love?”
I laughed, thankful for his sarcasm, and then a tear escaped, followed by five more; they were hot as they slid against my cheeks.
Sanchez jerked the car over to the shoulder and put it in park. “Are you okay?”
“No—” I hiccupped. “Yes—” I shuddered. “Maybe. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Sorry?” he repeated in a confused voice. “Why the fuck would you be sorry?”
“Because it’s hard to keep up with him sometimes. I love him so much but he’s not that man anymore, he’s like a shell of his former self, and you would have loved him, the guy who raised me. This person I live with, it’s not him, and sometimes he knows it and I know it kills him just like it kills me. I feel like I’m constantly waiting for the good days that are fewer and fewer.” I cried harder. “Add that to the fact that you had to suffer through the peeling paint, small apartment, and the weird smell.” I shook my head.
“Curves, a weird smell? Really?” he asked gently.
“Like old hot dogs.” I covered my face, only to have him pry my hands away.
“I like hot dogs.” He tilted my chin toward him then swiped his thumb across my lower lip. “Know what else I like?”
“Football?” I sniffed. “Cookies?”
“I was going to say you,” he whispered. His eyes were so pretty it hurt to look directly at him. “And I don’t care if you live in a fucking tent by the river and have to use a fishing pole you made out of scraps in order to have a nice meal that isn’t a hot dog, alright?”
I nodded.
“And I’m fully aware that the ten dollars your dad gave me has more meaning than any thousand-dollar dinner or bottle of wine I could ever buy you. That’s not how a guy like me earns a girl like you.”
“A girl like me?”
“A girl like you.” His eyes, those gorgeous eyes, zeroed in on my mouth. “You better believe I’m going to take you to the best meal that ten dollars can buy, and you’re going to eat it, and then later we’re going to thank your dad for the best homecoming ever, alright?”
“Why?” I wiped my cheeks. “I thought all you wanted was sex? Why were you at my house?”
“Oh that.” He grinned with a half-shrug. “I was going to wait for you naked in bed.”
I gasped.
“Holy shit, I’m kidding. I just wanted to pick you up and take you on a real date. Don’t get those panties in a twist, Curves. Not before I have a chance to peel them off.”
“Moment gone.” My stomach flipped as a million butterflies tried to escape and launch themselves in his general direction.
“No.” He kissed me across the lips. “Moment not gone.”
“You win,” I said breathlessly as he sucked my tongue and then touched my forehead. “You kiss too good.”
“You taste better than I kiss, trust me.”
“Highly doubtful.”
“I’m not a liar.” He kissed me again, this time harder. His hands slid down the column of my neck as his fingertips danced along my pulse, and with one last tug on my lower lip, he pulled away and winked. “Hungry?”
Not for food.
“Sure.” I gulped.
“I know that look.” His grin was always so easy, so sexual, so predatory and yet exciting that I wasn’t sure if I should look away or kiss him again.
“What look?” I folded my hands in my lap.
He threw his head back and laughed. “I can’t wait for that day, Curves.”
“What day?” I played with a piece of my hair as he pulled the car back into traffic and hit the accelerator.
I tried not to stare at him. I’d been trying not to stare at him ever since Miller came stomping back into my life all angry and accusing.
The minute my best friend had come back . . .
I’d been trying to ignore my feelings for this new friend.
Because I’d put him in the user category, and I refused to allow myself to be used again and then discarded as if I meant nothing.
I wasn’t sure my heart could take it a second time.
So I’d pushed him away.
But Sanchez wasn’t the type I could ignore for long.
And he’d just broken me down enough to gain my attention.
Because he’d accepted my dad, made him smile, and actually pursued me, waited for me, rather than just trying to sleep with me. Somehow it had turned into this lingering joke, and yet, he never pressured me.
It was like he truly wanted more.
It was enough.
Enough, to get my eyes to linger a little bit longer on the strong line of his chin . . . on the dimple on the right side of his cheek . . . the way his shoulders and neck were so huge that his shirt looked like it was in pain trying to stretch over his taut muscles.
His olive skin almost glowed with excitement.
And when he smiled, that easy side smile that made a girl choke on her tongue—I looked away.
“The day,” he finally said, “when you can’t take it anymore.”
“Take what?”
“This.” He slid his hand down my thigh. “The heat between us, the way it feels when we touch. Damn, just being near you drives me insane. And humans are only gifted with so much patience before they snap. I hope to God that I’m around when you do.”
“You think I’m going to go crazy for you, huh?” My voice sounded way too excited about the idea, and my heart decided to skip a few beats while my body cheered yes!
Sanchez shrugged. “I admire self-control, Curves. After all, this isn’t going to be a one-night stand, and I have a feeling that you’re going to make me work for it in bed. But don’t worry. I’ve been really focusing on my own self-control. I’ll take care of you long before you have a chance to take care of me. So yeah, do I think you’re going to go crazy? I’m counting on it. Betting on it. Praying for it.”
“Be honest. Is that why I’m staying with you?”
“Hell yes.” He laughed. “I’m not letting you lose your shit around Miller, proximity and all that. It’s going to be me, all me.”
“Selfish much?”
He took the exit and pulled up to the stoplight. His gaze burned into mine. “When it comes to you? Yes. I fucking am.”
And that was it.
We drove in silence the rest of the way to wherever he was taking me.
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head when he pulled up to a McDonald’s and, without asking what I wanted, ordered enough McNuggets to kill a person.
He spent all ten dollars on the dollar menu.
And when the smell of McDonald’s filled the car, I felt a strange, eerie sense of déjà vu fill my consciousness.
I wasn’t sure what I would have done had he parked and said we should eat. Instead he drove another mile and pulled into a parking lot in front of a giant playground.
“Rule number one, never eat a hot McNugget. That shit burns your tongue straight off.” He opened the car door and glanced over his shoulder. “You coming?”
“Where are we?”
“Park. Slides. Keep up.”
The door slammed.
I scrambled out my side and had to jog to keep up with him as he made his way toward a huge jungle gym and started climbing to the top.
“Wait!” I called after him, but he was too busy having, apparently, the time of his life. It was already starting to get dark, and okay, even though I was a cheerleader, I was never the flyer, meaning I didn’t really appreciate heights and, like I said, the jungle gym was huge. “Stupid, Sanchez,” I grumbled, slowly making my way up the metal bars.
When I finally got to the top, he gave me a disappointed look. “Curves, that took you at least six minutes.”
“It’s tall!” I argued.
He frowned and looked down. “Baby, did you need a boost?”
“Screw you!” I yelled, wanting to throw something at his face.
His head fell back as he laughed at my expense. “You’re a cheerleader. Don’t they fly?”
“That’s like me saying, ‘You’re a football player. Can’t you throw?’”
He frowned. “Honey, I hate to break it to you, but we can all throw.”
I grumbled and tried to cross my arms, then nearly fell through the bars in my own sad attempt to protest.
“Come here.” He reached for me.
“No. I’m safer here, thank you.”
“You’re safer out of my arms than in them?” He tilted his head. “You sure about that?”
“Stop that. Stop making sense.”
His laugh was infectious as he made his way over and then straddled the bars in front of me. He leaned in for a short kiss before pulling back. Moonlight lit up his face enough for me to suck in a breath at his masculine beauty.
What was happening?
What was I doing?
This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.
“The McNuggets,” I blurted. “They’re probably getting cold.”
“It’s been eight minutes. Give the McNuggets a break.”
“Stop defending them.”
“Curves.” His tone was serious. His eyes searched mine, like this was about more than nuggets, about more than a simple one-night stand—it was one of those moments where you know a serious talk is coming and you want to avoid it because you know it’s going to be a defining moment, one where you have to make a choice, a choice I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
“What?” I was snapping. I never snapped. But he was prying; even his body language was evidence of that. I wanted the Sanchez that teased about sex back.
At least that guy I could turn down. I could fight.
This guy?
I was defenseless.
Because every time I tried to erect a wall, he made me feel stupid for having one in the first place.
“You touched your stomach,” Sanchez said in a low whisper. “Back at your dad’s. You touched your stomach, not like it was growling, not like you were hungry.” His forehead pressed against mine as he reached for one hand. “I want to know all of it.”
“All of what?” I fought so hard to keep a smile on my face, the practiced smile that hurt like hell and made my lips twitch.
His face fell. “Alright . . . if that’s how you wanna play it.” He started climbing off the jungle gym.
“Wait, where are you going?”
He shrugged. “To eat some McNuggets.”
“Sanchez.”
He didn’t turn around as I tried scrambling after him. But then my foot caught, and I squealed.
Suddenly, I was in his arms, my cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady.
Firm.
Maybe if I kept listening to it, I wouldn’t be so afraid of the next few words out of my mouth.
Maybe they wouldn’t be real anymore.
Maybe this time it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“I was pregnant.”
Nope.
Still hurt.
Like being stabbed in the chest.
I told him everything.
“Look at me.” Sanchez wrapped his bulky arms around my body. “You were a kid, hell sometimes I think we’re still kids. That was six years ago, Em. But just because it was a long time ago doesn’t make it hurt any less. The past is a bitch, especially when we’re having a weak moment in the present.”
“What do you know about weak moments?”
His grip around my waist tightened. “I loved her.”
“Who?”
“Jacki Jones, communications major, gorgeous, funny—and to top it all off, she seemed to actually like me, Grant Sanchez, and not the wide receiver in line for a number one draft pick.”
I felt myself relax. “What happened?”
“The usual.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “She tasted fame and got addicted. The first game I started in, I was so nervous I was in the bathroom puking before Jax came and told me to hold my shit together . . . I played well, really well, and when the game was over all I wanted to do was go to my apartment and sleep. Emotionally exhausted, I just wanted to decompress you know? She didn’t. Threw a fit because I wouldn’t introduce her to my teammates, cried because she said I was ashamed of her, manipulative little witch. The minute I introduced her to my teammates, things shifted, and not for the better. She started hanging out with them without me, asking them to call in favors, basically she networked her way through every guy, using me as her in. Did I mention we were engaged?”
Tears gone, anger surged through me. “What a horrible person!”
“Yeah well, she was really good at manipulation.” He shook his head. “She made it seem like she was doing everything for me, for us, and it’s no secret that I grew up really poor. My parents busted their asses to put food on the table so I rarely saw them. She gave me attention that I never realized I craved until our relationship started to shift.”
“What happened?” I was glad the focus was off me, but his expression, the anger was still burning beneath the surface right along with the hurt.
“She was cheating, with Thomas.”
I gasped, “How are you guys even friends?”
“He denied it.” Sanchez shrugged. “And I had to choose between letting it affect the way we play or forgetting it for the betterment of the team. I broke up with her and decided I was better on my own.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracked. “You don’t deserve that.”
“I think a lot of people would disagree with you. Haven’t you heard? I’m a man whore.” His smile was sad.
“You want them to believe that.”
“Or, I’m just really, really manipulative.”
“No, you’re not.” I said it so fast that I surprised myself. “Don’t cheapen our friendship.”
His smile lit up my world. “I knew you’d finally give in.”
“Trickery.”
“The best.” His lips grazed my ear. “Curves, know this.” His breath was hot on my neck. “If you need to cry, I’ll hold you until you’re done. Sometimes the only way to get over things is to walk through them, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it on your own.”
My breath hitched in my chest. “Does that mean you’re going to walk with me?”
“That’s all I’ve wanted since meeting you.” He pulled back and gripped my hand. “You know, other than sex.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that right?”
“But, I did just make you laugh, when minutes ago you were crying. I hate those tears, Curves. Never want to be the cause of them, ever.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’m not.” He said it so sternly that I sucked in a breath.
“I think I need to use that hand now . . . maybe on your chest, possibly that shirt.”
“Let it go.” He squeezed my hand. “Like in Frozen, but without the singing.”
I nodded, and after a shaky exhale, unlocked that little box in my head with the memories of a baby I lost—along with the best friend I ever had.
“I lost my best friend and my father all within the span of a year.” My voice was hoarse. “And then a baby I never got the chance to meet.”
“Come here.” He held me while I cried and when I felt exhaustion set in, when I imagined he’d pull away, bored with my tears, I looked down at our joined hands.
And when I was done crying, when I was done sobbing all over his chest and apologizing and basically telling him that I wasn’t the girl for him, he’d kissed me and told me we needed to eat.
Right. Because food was going to solve things.
And oddly enough, once I had salt and some nasty-tasting soda in my system, I felt better.
He’d turned on the heat in the car and held my greasy McDonald’s hand. And kissed my knuckles.
“You need to tell him,” he whispered.
“I can’t.”
“Not now, Em. But soon. He needs to know.”
“I know.”
“Em?”
“Yeah?” I was afraid to look directly at him, but his gaze was like a tractor beam, pulling me toward him even when I was too afraid to look into his eyes.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” He gripped my hands tightly. “It wasn’t your fault the baby died, and it wasn’t his—it was life, nature. And it’s okay to still be sad about it, even years from now, but it will still be okay. Loss is loss, allow yourself to feel it so you can deal with it.”
I never realized I needed permission to mourn, permission to feel sad, but I did.
Just. Like. That.
I felt released of the guilt and the shame.
That was it.
Released.
But even after saying all the words—I still had that heaviness in my heart because Miller deserved to know—everything. By putting the past in the past—we weren’t really ever able to move on toward our future. We both deserved that peace.