I knew Killian was from Texas, but I had no idea he was from the middle of nowhere. Our flight from San Diego to Lubbock takes more than four hours. You’ve never heard of Lubbock? That’s because it’s in the fourth quadrant of hell. It’s hot as hell, dry as dust, and everybody who lives there thinks money can buy anything.

Killian’s brother Caine picks us up from the airport. The two of them look so alike it gives me the creeps. And they’re not even twins.

We drive for two hours, but when we get to their house, my jaw drops, and I can’t close my mouth again. The place looks like a plantation straight out of a book or a movie. In fact, it reminds me of that old movie Gone with the Wind. Mac made us watch it one night. It sucked.

But that’s exactly what Killian’s house looks like. It’s an enormous white thing with columns. Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian—whatever they’re called. I don’t know but, you know, columns!

I mean, I’m used to a certain level of wealth, but this… Normally that kind of property comes with an aristocratic title. Not in the United States, of course. But in British movies.

“Welcome to our modest home,” Killian says mockingly.

“Modest indeed,” I say.

He slaps me on the back laughing. “That’s what you get for owning the biggest cotton farm in the biggest connected cotton farming district in the world—the South Plains.”

“Fuck, man. I had no idea you owned a plantation. Where’s Uncle Tom’s cabin?”

He runs his hand across the stubble on his scalp, looking awkward. “That’s where the slaves used to live.” He nods to a building behind the house that looks like a stables. “Not that exact structure, but the location. The actual slave quarters fell apart, and at some point the stables were built there.”

“Fuck.” I rub my chin. “I was joking. I really wasn’t expecting that. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “The American South’s past is inexcusable. But even the free state of California sent a pro-slavery senator to maintain the balance and block the abolitionists back then.”

“Wow, that’s fucked up, man.”

“You said it.” He looks around as we walk across the dry earth toward the house. “My great-great-grandmother Augusta—no idea whether that’s enough ‘greats’ or too many—but she fought for the abolitionists and helped slaves escape.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“What do you know about that part of our history?”

I shrug. “Just what you learn at school.”

He kicks a few pebbles with his foot. “Well, after the Revolutionary War, the North abolished slavery, and the Georgia Trade set in. Hundreds of thousands of slaves were brought from the upper South into the deep South, including Texas. As you can see, it’s actually way too dry here for cotton farming. The area was only able to keep up thanks to its extensive irrigation and slaves. Augusta had seen slaves getting whipped and abused as a teenager. I think that does something to you. No idea why others didn’t feel the same, but she found it disturbing. But before slavery was abolished, she was shot by some angry farmer because she was hiding slaves.”

“Damn.”

“Yup. But she’s the only Hastings to behave like that. The others were less chivalrous, I’m afraid.”

I shrug. “Who can claim one hundred percent virtuous ancestors?”

“What did yours do?”

I shrug again, feeling inadequate. “No idea. I think they were probably thieves, cutthroats, and vagabonds.”

He smiles. “You’re right, I can see all that in you.”

I move to punch him in the side, but he dodges my fist. “Asshole.”

“Watch your language. Here in the South, people still have manners.”

At that moment, the door opens, and a large, chubby woman with flaxen hair comes out. “Oh, my boy! I’m so happy you’re still in one piece!”

Killian runs his hand over his face looking kind of embarrassed before he allows her to squeeze him against her giant bosom. This all-American boy’s mother looks like she could single-handedly carry one of those tree trunks they made us carry around in groups during training.

“Mom, this is my buddy Hunter. Hunter, this is my mom. Inga.”

As soon as he has uttered that sentence, she pulls me into her arms. Her mighty breasts take my breath away.

“So nice to meet my baby’s friend,” she says, as she releases me from her embrace. Back on solid ground, I can see she really looks like an Inga—Swedish somehow. “Come on in. The heat is horrible. Have some sweet tea. Dad’s getting the barbecue ready.”

We step through the screen door into the spacious house. I scurry after Inga Hastings, who keeps chatting away during our hike through the house. She has a broad Texan accent, swallowing the Gs, making As out of Is, and over-articulating her Ss and Xs. Killian does it too, but it’s not so pronounced.

“Daddy, look who’s here!” Inga calls out as she steps onto the porch on the back of the house.

The man lifting his gaze to greet us looks like an older version of Killian and Caine. The man smiles good-naturedly. “Calm down, Mama, or he’ll never come back.”

Killian smiles as he hugs his dad. “Hey, old man.”

“Hey, boy.”

His proud smiles stings. For the last twelve weeks, I’ve tried to forget that Dad kicked me out. That he wants nothing to do with me anymore. But seeing a proud father’s smile hurts me deep in the gut. Fuck.

I take a deep breath and try to get rid of the lump in my throat. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake. And yet…I’m close to tears because I miss my dad that much.

“Sweet tea?” Inga asks.

I nod, trying to smile, but I think I fail miserably. “Yes, please.”

She hands me a glass, and I drink it down in large, greedy gulps before my taste buds recognize a sugar shock. Fuck! This is pure sugar! I can almost feel my teeth starting to rot. Who would drink this stuff?

I can hear Killian laugh. “Your face, man!”

Oh dang. Is my face going to stay this way forever? Or worse: Do they all hate me now because I’ve insulted the champagne of the South? Good job. Nice.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

Inga puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. If you’re from California, where everybody is such a health fanatic, it’s normal you don’t know about the good things in life.”

I don’t know whether I would call this stuff good. But it’s definitely sweet.

Killian’s Dad shakes my hand. “Hey, I’m Dan. How are you doing?”

“Very good, sir.”

He grins. “Just call me Dan.”

“Okay.” Just in time, I manage to swallow the “sir” I was going to add—it’s like a damn reflex now. It’s not easy to forget what they’ve been drilling into us for the past twelve weeks.

We sit down at the outdoor table, and Inga brings me a glass of unsweetened tea that tastes so much better. Thank God.

“So, boys, what are your plans while you’re here?” Dan asks.

“Get some rest,” Killian and I say simultaneously. He puts out a fist for me, and I bump mine to it.

Dan grins. “Back in the day, the young fellas were not like that.”

“When was that?” Killian asks coolly. “1912?”

“You brat!”

Again, the word stings. Dad used to say it to us, too. God, I miss him. I miss Carey, and I also miss Mac. It was so good to see her again, even for that one moment.

The evening with Joey and his family and Carey was nice. But Mac was missing. She’s always missing. I don’t even know how I’m going to do this. This sensation in my chest. It hurts. Around my heart.

God, I’m such a pussy. But hey. Never mind. It is what it is. I love her. And love makes you turn to mush. A mushy lump of dough or something…

Maybe I should give Dad a call…

No, seriously? Do I have to be the one to call him? Can’t he call me? He kicked me out, so shouldn’t he be the one apologizing to me?

No idea, man. No idea.

Fact is, I miss my old man. And what I miss even more than that is us. Our family.

And that brings me back to Mac. Mac hugging my Dad. Mac moaning as my Dad fucks her.

Apart from my career plans, there are other reasons why I can’t be at home. Why did I have to fall in love with the one woman I can’t have? How fucked up is that?

I listen to Killian tell his parents about boot camp, about all the guys we met, about the stuff we had to get through. But my mind is somewhere else.

In San Diego. With a curvy brunette who happens to be the sexiest woman alive.

Why, oh why, can’t I fall out of love with her?

* * *

That evening, I call Devon, who ended up going to Georgetown. None of our teammates understood why he went to a university known for its academic clout instead of accepting one of the many football scholarships offered to him by amazing colleges.

But I get it. It’s the kind of man Devon is. It’s what kept him from endlessly going to parties and fucking tons of women, what makes him the mature adult he is. Sure, it would be cool to play professional football someday. But what about all the risks? You could get injured. Like Darryl Stingley, who broke his fourth and fifth vertebrae. Or Kevin Everett, who injured his neck so badly he ended up paralyzed. After a few months, he was able to walk again, but he could never play again.

And it doesn’t even have to be serious injuries like that. Just the intense strain pro football puts on your body can cause trouble after you finish your career. No, Devon didn’t want that. Not for Ava, and not for his family. But who knows? Maybe the Georgetown Hoyas can actually win some games with him on their side.

He’s a smart man. Smarter than me. Because I’m fully aware that I’m walking into a ridiculously dangerous career. And I’m doing it anyway.

“Hey, man! Great to hear from you,” Devon calls down the phone.

“How are you doing?” I ask, grinning. I forgot how good it is to talk to him.

“Great, man, can’t complain.” I can hear a female voice in the background, and Devon says, “It’s Hunter.”

Rustling, ruffling…and then: “Hunter, you bastard! Why didn’t you call us? I didn’t think you’d survived boot camp!”

Ava.

I grin. She’s definitely my second-favorite girl. “I’ve missed you, too, Mother Hen!”

“I’m definitely a mother hen when I’m worrying about you, asshole!”

“Ava, Ava!” I clucked my tongue. “What kind of language is that?”

“Exactly the kind you deserve!”

I hesitate. She sounds so serious. “Did you really think something had happened to me?”

She snorts. “You’re such an idiot! Of course not. Mac kept me up to date.”

Huh? “But Mac didn’t know, either.”

“You’re family to her. You and Carey. Did you really think she wouldn’t make sure she knew how you were doing? If so, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

Love floods my heart. Mac had said she stalked me, but I thought it was a joke. But she actually had. The realization feels good.

“Okay, now we want to hear it from your side,” Ava says. “What’s it like playing soldiers?”

I tell them all about boot camp, about Killian and Joey, about all the stuff I had to go through, the fight between body and mind. I don’t tell them I finished top of the class, because I don’t think it matters.

And that makes me realize that the past twelve weeks have brought about a fundamental change in me. My individual success no longer matters much. It’s more important that I passed along with my friends. The team is more important than the individual. Maybe our DI’s irritating methods weren’t all that wrong after all.

“Get your ass to Washington soon, and give us a call!” Ava says. “And I promise, if you don’t, you’ll live to regret it.” I hear Devon laughing at her threatening tone.

“Dude, help me out here!” I call down the line.

“You started it,” Devon shouts. “Defend yourself, soldier!”

Ava laughs. “It’s cute how you two seem to think being five-foot-two and weighing 110 pounds I’d be able to beat a giant.”

“That’s because we know what you’re capable of,” Devon says, then I can hear kissing sounds.

“Okay, I’m out of here. You two do what you want. But use a condom.” I can hear them laughing as I hang up. Crazy people. The best kind.

Talking to them makes things feel easier and harder at the same time. Easier because I really like them. Harder because I want what they have… And I will never, ever have it. Why does love have to be so complicated? I mean, even with them, it was complicated in the beginning. They went through some difficult times, but at least they got a happy ending. Or a happy beginning, more like. Because they’re going to spend a lot more time together.

While I… Well, if it really is impossible to fall out of love with someone, then I’m damned for all eternity. Damned to love someone who doesn’t love me back. Will it ever stop? Will my feelings at least grow weaker?

I don’t know. But at the moment, I feel like my longing for Mac—and if you ever tell her I used the word “longing,” I’m going to kill you—is getting stronger every day. Fuck. I’m finished.