Chapter Five
JAX
The bastard wasn’t answering his phone.
Of fucking course.
I looked at the picture again. I couldn’t stop looking at it—everyone in the world could see my sister attaching herself to Miller like she was under the impression she needed his lungs to aid her in her next oxygen fix.
The call went to voice mail again.
With a growl, I slammed my hand against the granite countertop and glanced back at the TV. There wasn’t a chance in hell I could watch last season’s tape and take notes.
Options.
I took a calming breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth, repeated the process five more times before I calmly took a seat on the couch and let the soothing sound of the clock in the background pass time.
The silence buzzed.
I clenched my fists.
My fault.
I’d told them to pretend to date.
I needed to stop jumping to conclusions. Calm the hell down, and think about what could possibly possess two people who, this morning, looked ready to kill one another, to kiss—like that.
I closed my eyes.
Then snapped them open and grabbed my phone again, this time looking at the angle of the picture. Someone had been there.
Another teammate would look the other way or give Miller a high five, either that or start writing his obituary.
But Anderson.
Asshole Anderson was devious enough to take a picture, and post it wherever he could, in order to what? Get Miller in trouble? Get me kicked off the squad after I figured out who took the photo and kicked his ass? The season hadn’t started. Management already had their hands tied up with bigger dilemmas than their star player kissing one of the cheerleaders.
Jealousy?
Or maybe, he was trying to call their bluff?
Maybe he didn’t believe they were in a relationship, God knows he was aware of how I felt about Kins dating a football player.
And if he didn’t believe it.
He wouldn’t stay away from her.
I fell back against the couch and groaned.
I refused to take the chance that all of my focus would be taken away from football and Dad—and onto the slight possibility that Anderson would ruin her life again.
My chest clenched.
And my thoughts jumbled, focusing in on dark memories of carrying Kinsey when she was a child into the house, the blood, her screams. And years later, when she was dating Anderson, the emptiness on her face was haunting. The controlling bastard should be in prison.
I took my sister’s life, her heart, seriously. Some might say too seriously. But those people could go to hell, because they didn’t know her like I did—they didn’t know her pain, they didn’t share it.
Because I’d been there to pick up the pieces all those years ago.
When she’d been abandoned.
Lost.
Hurt.
When he’d verbally abused her until the girl I knew no longer existed.
When she’d been a shell of the woman she was now. Watching everything she ate like it was out to attack her—when she stopped coming to holidays altogether because the guy was such a sadistic controlling bastard that he refused to let her see her family for fear we’d tell her the truth—he treated her like a slave, and made her thank him for it.
I hated how much of myself I saw in him.
And the preseason started in two weeks.
Two. Weeks.
I unlocked my phone and dialed Miller one more time.
“Yo.” He sounded out of breath.
“Yo?” I repeated. “Yo? That’s how you answer the phone after shit like that picture hits the media? Yo?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, were you expecting me to answer it with an explanation? You asked me to do this, and at the first sign of actual dating you’re barking up my ass?”
He was too defensive.
The arms on my hair stood on end.
I decided not to touch it.
Because if I knew anything about my friend it was that he was only defensive when he was hiding something.
I just hoped to God it had nothing to do with my sister.
“Look”—I cleared my throat, tried to sound more relaxed—“I’ve been thinking—”
“When are you not thinking?”
I chuckled. “For someone who just had his tongue down my sister’s throat, you’re not in such a good mood. I wonder why that is?”
“Not because I enjoyed it. That’s for sure,” he said quickly.
“Oh?”
“Hell no! She’s your sister, man. Now what were you thinking?”
“Dinner.”
He paused and then, “You called me because you’re hungry?”
“Yes, Miller, I called you so you’d bring me food.” I rolled my eyes. “No, I thought it would be . . . fun.” I choked on the word. When was the last time I even had fun? “Fun,” I repeated, forcing myself to sound more relaxed even though my free hand was clutching the couch cushion with such force my fingers were going numb. “For us all to go to dinner.”
“Us?”
“You, me, Sanchez, Emerson, Kins . . . You know, all of us.”
He was hesitating. Why the hell was he hesitating? There was talking in the background.
“Is someone there?”
“NOPE!” he yelled. “Sorry, had to turn the TV down, so loud and annoying . . .”
“Okay . . .”
“So dinner . . .” He coughed and then coughed louder.
“Dude, are you getting sick? You better not have given Kins anything!”
“Glad you care more about her than me, that hurts, man.”
“She’s blood.” I paused, winced, and then added, “You’re replaceable.”
“Noted.”
“Dinner?” Was that the third time I’d said it? I’d lost track.
“Sounds great, but you’re bringing a date.”
I froze. “The hell I am!”
“You’ll be going stag, and I guarantee that Kins won’t agree to go with me unless you bring a date. You know how she’s been lately, trying to matchmake you.”
“She’s ruining my concentration and she knows it!”
“Fun.” Miller snorted. “You can barely say the word without scowling, may as well try having it, all-American quarterback Heisman Trophy winner.”
My throat went dry. “You know I hate it when you bring up that shit.”
“Real friends show friends their trophies.”
“Repeat that slower and tell me how it sounds, Miller, I’ll wait.”
He barked out a laugh. “Man, just bring someone!”
Sweat started pooling on my forehead. I didn’t date. I couldn’t. Women didn’t date guys like me. They wanted to fuck them, get the starring role in the next movie they were after, suddenly get pregnant, and then laugh all the way to the bank. In all my time in football, there hadn’t been one single situation where I’d felt comfortable enough to ask a woman out without being fearful of her having the wrong intentions.
“I don’t have time to find a date,” I mumbled. “It’s already two, and you know I like to eat early.”
“God, you’re such a grandpa, you do realize there’s something other than the early bird menu, right?”
Of course I knew, and I had money to do whatever the hell I wanted, I just didn’t want to get stuck in a crowd where all the women did was stare, hike up their skirts, write their numbers on napkins, or just corner me and ask for sex. I wanted something real.
Something like my parents had.
A pang so jarring, it sucked my breath away, hit me square in the chest. “Miller . . .”
He must have noticed the change in my voice, because he quickly added. “Let’s at least do five thirty, send out a group text, and maybe you’ll get lucky and between now and then, someone will show up on your doorstep.”
“Hate to break it to you, friend, but I’m not really into paying for dates, or strippers, or prostitutes.”
“Ah, you like them for free?”
“Bastard.”
“Jax?”
I stared up at the ceiling, chest tight with anxiety over the very idea of taking a girl out on a date. I hadn’t dated since college, and that had been a complete disaster. Girls hit on me so much and in such cheap and desperate ways that my focus on football sharpened, because it was the only thing that gave me peace, the only thing I could trust wouldn’t just stay because a big paycheck was coming.
“I’ve got her.”
I exhaled.
And then did it again. “I know, man, I’m sorry I’m acting so crazy, I don’t know what’s wrong . . .” I knew. I just didn’t want to admit it.
My dad’s body was dying with each dose of chemo.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
To keep the hero from fading into nothing.
Or stop fearing that this might cause Kinsey to break down physically and emotionally like she did in the past. Knowing Miller had her back gave me a tiny bit of peace.
“Good,” I whispered.