Chapter Twenty-Two
MILLER
Jax released a string of curses at the offensive line. “Fucking swear to the football gods if you miss another block I’m going to kick your ass!” Jax kicked the grass, and basically threw a tantrum that rivaled those of some of the worst quarterbacks in the league.
“Give us a minute,” I yelled at Jax.
Sanchez eyed me and told the guys to go grab water.
We both made our way over to him.
Sanchez held his helmet in his hand, his face was caked with sweat and dirt. The guy had caught every piece of shit Jax had thrown in his direction, nearly sacrificing his body in order to do so, and it was practice, not the big game.
“What?” Jax sneered at both of us.
Sanchez held up his hands. “Are you just that sexually repressed or did everyone just piss you off today?”
Jax stared down at the ground. “Sorry.”
I ran my hand over my sweaty head. “Man, I know things are bad with your dad, I’m headed over there with Kins later to—”
“The fuck?” Jax glared in my direction, dropped his helmet, and grabbed me by the jersey. “You stay the hell away from her mouth!”
I jerked away from him. “You’re the one who encouraged us being together!”
Sanchez grinned between the two of us. “Better than daytime TV. I’ll just be over here watching, carry on!”
“I know what I said.” Jax pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just, I didn’t think . . .”
“What?” I roared. “That we’d actually become better friends? That she needed someone other than you to help her through this?”
His body gave a little flinch.
It was enough.
“Holy shit.” Unbelievable! I threw my head back and laughed out, “You’re jealous!”
Sanchez’s eyes widened until I thought they were going to pop out of his head and roll toward Jax’s feet. “Whoa! Time out! You’re boning your sister?”
Jax groaned. “Could you just . . .” He shook his head. “Not be yourself for five minutes, Sanchez?”
Sanchez looked between the two of us. “Fill me in, then.”
I looked to Jax, his lips were sealed.
Fine.
“It was on the news last night.” At least that part was true. “Kinsey and Jax aren’t biologically brother and sister. She’s adopted.”
“At eleven years old,” Jax finished in a hollow voice. “She was supposed to come over for dinner, I found her in her house . . . she was bleeding, she’d tripped on some glass and there was blood everywhere, her parents were gone, needles littered the floor like trash.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple slowly bobbed up and down like he was trying not to cry. “She said I looked like an angel.”
Sanchez, for once, was quiet.
“She used to call me Captain America, lame, I know, but ever since that moment it’s been me and her, my parents tried but couldn’t have any other kids and it just seemed . . . meant to be, you know?”
“Are you?” Sanchez asked him point blank.
“Am I what?” Jax didn’t look at me.
“Jealous? Are you jealous?”
Jax blew out a frustrated curse and kicked the ground, the rest of the team had already started to run back out onto the field. “I’m jealous as hell . . . because she looks at him the way she used to look at me, like he’s her hero, and all I’ve done in the past few months is mess up, protect her, piss her off, protect her, piss her off—”
“Maybe,” I interrupted, “it’s time for you to just . . . let her live.”
“Yeah.” He licked his lips. “I used to be better at this shit.”
“What? Being a decent human?” Sanchez just had to say.
“Nah, being a good brother, and then with my dad getting sick and . . .” His eyes were unfocused. “Everything else . . .” He shrugged. “I can’t lose her too.”
“You won’t,” I promised.
He didn’t look like he believed me as he put his helmet back on and walked toward the huddle.
Sanchez elbowed me. “If we had our own reality show moment that would have been killer—just imagine, violin music, soft crying in the background—money shot.” He sighed.
“Who are you?” I shoved him back.
He just laughed and said, “Grant Sanchez,” like that made more sense than any answer.
“Hey!” He grabbed my arm. “Serious moment . . . do not, and I repeat, do not fuck with him right now.” His eyes grew serious. “He has enough shit on his plate lately and if you . . . if you hurt her . . .” He rolled his eyes. “God, I feel like such a dick for even saying this, but if you hurt her, if he finds out about Vegas, if he as much as sniffs in your direction and finds out that you aren’t just replacing him for now but planning on doing it in a more permanent way . . .” He shuddered. “I know you somewhat have his permission, whatever the hell that means, but it looks to me like he’s still on the fence about you guys and that’s without him knowing what went on between you two. If you hurt her, there won’t be a far enough place for you to run where he won’t chase you down and bury the body, and I’m too young to go to jail for you, man.”
“Was that a pep talk?” I hissed.
“Yeah.” He shot me a cocky grin. “How’d I do?”
“Shitty!” I was tempted to dislocate his jaw with the back of my helmet.
“Can’t win ’em all.” He shrugged and, with a wink, ran off to the huddle. I followed slowly behind him, guilt gnawing its way through my uniform the entire way.
I still smelled her when I breathed in.
I felt her on my fingertips.
Yeah, I was in no position to judge Jax.
Because when she looked at me like that, all I wanted was to be worthy of it. And almost every single time, it felt like I did nothing but fall short.