Chapter Eight
JAX
I woke up with a pounding headache.
Harley.
What the hell kind of name is Harley anyway? For a girl? I made a mental note to add her to the list of girls I would never speak to again. All she did was insult not only me but my occupation the entire damn dinner. It bothered me that I was still thinking about her, just like it bothered me that the minute she walked in the restaurant I had done a double take and nearly tripped over my own feet before sitting at the table.
Her eyes were an electric blue that cut straight through me like a knife, and it was for that very reason that I made myself stare right back. I was rarely challenged in any area of my life, football included, so for her to look at me like I didn’t matter? Like my job didn’t matter? Like I was just another dumb football player? Pissed me the hell off, mainly because it made me realize how highly I must think of myself—of what I did.
Humble pie tasted like shit.
My phone buzzed, and I wiped my face and grabbed another blanket from the couch and flipped on the TV. I was still at my parents’; thankfully I’d grabbed some clothes from the apartment last night, the empty apartment that Kinsey was missing from.
Not the first time, probably not the last.
Besides I knew she was safe. She’d been with Miller.
My phone buzzed again.
With a grunt, I looked at the screen.
I didn’t recognize the number. And only a few key people in my life even knew it to begin with.
I swiped and looked at the text.
Unknown: I just wanted to formally apologize for sticking my foot in my ass last night. I watched the championship game last night on ESPN Classic. Apparently the football gods were angry and wanted to prove me wrong. You were good. Would you believe me if I told you it was physically painful to type that?
The hell?
Unknown: PS—your ass still looks fat in those pants though.
I barked out a laugh.
And reread the texts.
The girl had balls of steel.
I found myself smiling down at my phone like I’d just been given an Olympic medal for perfect passing, and started to type.
Me: I’m surprised you were even able to type that apology—or was it more of a statement?—without dying. Must have been just about as painful as the realization that my ass doesn’t look as good as I thought it did in black.
There, that sounded good.
And I was still staring at my phone.
“Jax?” Mom called out. I was downstairs in the family room, making the couch my home because of last night and Mom’s text that Dad wanted to talk to me. I made Kins think I was pissed at her—I just didn’t want her to know the details, the gory ones, the ones that would keep her up at night. Dads, big brothers, men, that was our job. It was how I was raised. I took the role my dad gave me very seriously. We were built to take on the burdens. I’d grown up that way, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my dad down now by making it hard for Kinsey to sleep at night because she was so worried about him. It wouldn’t make things better or easier for her. If anything, she could get sick again. So I gave my parents strict instructions that shockingly enough they’d listened to.
I get details.
Kins gets the happy.
The end.
“What’s up?” For some reason I hid my phone, as if I was a teen looking at porn, then mentally scolded myself. I was thirty-two, not thirteen.
She finally made it down the rest of the way and into the room. Her silvery-brown hair was piled on the top of her head in a short ponytail, and she was wearing her ever-present Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt and yoga pants.
With a frown, she scrunched up her nose at the TV. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what was on.
I heard moaning.
Oh, good. HBO. Good one, Jax.
“I don’t get you and your sister’s obsession with this show.” She sighed and shook her head.
“Don’t let Kins hear you say that. Ballers is her jam.” I made fake air quotes as my mom grinned and chucked a pillow at my face. “Hey!”
“I like it when you stay here.”
“Me too.” I looked around. “Reminds me what life would have been like had Dad not forced me off my ass and outside. I’d probably still be right here in this spot, living in your basement and asking you to do my laundry.”
“Not likely.” Smiling, she winked. “I would have killed you before then.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
“We need to talk.”
Yup, feeling thirteen alright.
My phone buzzed twice.
Had she texted back?
Why did I care?
Why was I literally losing focus that fast over a stupid text that might or might not even be on my screen?
“You look stressed.” Mom patted my hand.
“Not at all.” Lie. I lived in a constant state of stress, sleep, stress, sleep, repeat.
Her lips rubbed together and then she said the words I’d been dreading for the last few months. “Honey, I think it’s time for us to call hospice.”
I sucked in a breath and stared down at her clenched hands. A tissue was wadded up between her fingers, her wedding ring glistening back at me.
Unfair.
It wasn’t right.
He’d played college ball.
Still ran marathons.
My dad was healthy.
Hospice?
“We need to tell Kins, honey.” Mom’s voice broke. “It isn’t fair to her. I told her to come visit Friday, I keep sending her the happy texts that you wanted, but honey, he’s not getting better, he’s not—” Her voice ended in a sob. “Honey, he’s not going to.”
“You don’t know that,” I said with a whisper. “The doctors said—”
“He doesn’t want to do chemo anymore. He . . .” She shuddered. “He wants to live, honey, but not this way, with constant sickness, the numb feeling, tiredness, pain.”
The chemo had been killing him, slowly eating him from the inside out. I put on my strong face and pushed down the anger, the sadness, every feeling that would betray my voice, the way I stood, the way I talked.
“I understand.” I nodded and pulled my mom in for a tight hug, hating the fact that I wasn’t shaking because I was sad. I was shaking because he was losing the battle, and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do in this universe to help him win it.
She pulled away and wiped under her eyes. “Well, no more sadness. Tell me how dinner went last night.”
I groaned at her subject change. She was always good at redirection, she’d say things like “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you for winning that game, did you know that Lola’s granddaughter just got a job near town? Isn’t she pretty?”
“Wow.” I chuckled. “Nice, Mom, real nice.”
“The dinner?”
“You.” I let out a small laugh. “If you must know, the girl that Kins set me up with . . .” Mom’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah, by the look on your face you’re already planning my wedding and getting ready to hand me condoms with holes in them.”
“I would never give my son condoms.” She put her hand over her heart.
“Mom! You gave me condoms last year!”
“You aren’t married yet! I need grandbabies!” she yelled. “I was trying to be encouraging. Dr. Phil says that—”
I plugged my ears.
She jerked my hands away. “So? It went well then?”
“She insulted me.”
Mom didn’t seem fazed at all.
“And my friends.”
Not even a flinch.
“And basically told me that I had no muscle whatsoever.”
Mom tilted her head. “Well, you are quite lean.”
“You don’t even know her and you’re taking her side! This is why I don’t bring girls home! You’d have us married before she walked back out the door!”
“What’s so wrong with marriage?”
“Who’s getting married?” came my dad’s raspy voice.
“Oh, Ben, isn’t it wonderful?” Mom yelled.
Dad was at the top of the stairway grinning from ear to ear.
“Go back to bed!” I ordered him.
“I want a sandwich!” he yelled.
“At least he has his appetite back.” I gave my mom a hopeful look.
She stood. “This isn’t over yet. Why don’t you bring your young lady to family dinner this Friday? When Kins comes?”
“We don’t do Family Dinner Fridays anymore,” I said in a deadpan voice. “We stopped those when Kins moved out.”
“Good news, Ben!” Mom yelled but was grinning at me the whole time, “We’re doing Family Dinner Fridays again!”
“Hooray!” I clearly got my sarcasm and all-around demeanor from my dad.
I did a lame fist pump and then shook my head slowly at my mom. “Not happening.”
“Happening.” She poked me in the chest so hard I was afraid her nail was going to impale itself on my skin. “Now be a good boy, and call that girl.” Her expression changed from happy to sad in an instant. “You know, it would make your dad feel good to see you settled down.”
“You’re using a sick man to manipulate me. That has to be against the rules somewhere.”
She shrugged. “I’m a mom, I make the rules. Bring her. Make your dad happy. How hard could it be?”
Hard.
Hell.
Dad poked his head around the corner. “Where we at on that sandwich?”
“More good news!” Mom started walking toward the stairs. “Our son is bringing home a girl!”
“Huh, and all this time I thought he was gay.”
“Love you too, Dad.” I flipped him the bird while my mom’s back was turned and received one in return as she glanced back at me to give me a thumbs-up.
I almost felt sorry for the poor girl that would have to sit at our dinner table. If you didn’t grow up with the crazy, it was a bit hard to get used to.
I grinned, just thinking about how Harley would handle my parents.
Probably perfectly fine.
She could insult every damn thing to their faces, and they’d still be so excited a breathing female walked through the doors that they’d welcome her into the family with open arms. Just what I didn’t need.
And yet, when I grabbed my phone and saw another two texts from her, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like.
I quickly put her name in and added the number she’d been texting me from, then read the script.
Harley: Hate to break it to you but with pants that tight, even Grandma could see that ass.
Harley: She says hi by the way, big fan.
Jax: At least someone in the family likes me, maybe I’ll take her out instead of you.
Harley: Correction. It was a setup. You didn’t even know I was going to be there, so that’s not a real date, QB. Besides, I’m vegan.
I rolled my eyes.
Jax: Shocker.
Harley: I was kidding . . . I like meat.
I nearly choked on my tongue, because my imagination definitely went there, and tried to think of a response.
Harley: All meat.
Jax: I literally have no appropriate response to that text.
Harley: You’re a guy.
Jax: Not apologizing.
Harley: Wasn’t asking.
Jax: Go out with me?
The minute I sent the text I wanted to crack open my phone and find a way to take it back.
What the hell was I doing?
She texted back immediately.
Harley: Why? Didn’t get enough of my charm last night?
Jax: If that was you being charming . . . and honestly, I don’t know. The only thing you have going for you is you have a nice ass, unlike myself.
Was I really having to convince a girl to go out with me?
Harley: Aw, a compliment. Okay, QB, I’ll go out with you on one condition.
Jax: What’s that?
Harley: You have to bring a signed football for Grandma, she’s literally trying to wrestle the phone away from me right now and asked if you were into older women.
I shuddered.
Jax: Tell her if I was—she’d be the first woman on my list.
Harley: She said she either had a stroke or a . . . never mind, I’m not finishing that sentence.
Jax: Things just got weird.
Harley: I live with her. You have no idea.
I glanced at the stairs and chuckled.
Jax: I think I actually do . . . oh, and our first date is you meeting the parents. Suck on that, yoga girl.
Harley: I’m like the parent whisperer—watch me work, QB.
I would have texted her all day had my phone not rung. Had Miller not been up my ass about getting in a workout.
I hung up as quickly as possible and shot off a text to Harley. Like she wasn’t some strange blind date from last night—like she was a girl I could actually see myself dating.
Damn it, Kins.
Karma was kissing my ass.
Jax: Gotta go build some muscle since someone said I wasn’t big enough. FYI, some of us make up for our lack of muscle in other areas, just saying.
Harley: Go get em, QB. PS, I’m well aware of that fact. Your uniforms are freakishly tight. Either football turns you on or you’re packing. I saw front and back. Grandpa pressed pause. We’re very dedicated . . . fans.
I laughed.
Hard.
Then stopped.
Because I suddenly realized it had been a long time since a laugh that real had passed my lips.