The moments that we do spend together, at night in the house or on the field after a game, are always my favorite times of the day. Leo has become a real source of joy for me. We are constantly laughing and bullshitting about football, and everything about him makes me happy. I find myself pathetically counting the hours until he gets back, keeping busy by writing reports and doing some online scouting for Ryan.
But I’m happiest when Leo comes home and I have company. Especially because that company comes in the form of a hilarious and unbelievably sexy NFL player who seems to get me on every level.
I kind of miss going into an office every day, but Ryan thinks that would look like a conflict of interest while I’m “engaged” to Leo. So, I continue to remind myself that this fake-fiancée thing is a massive, however unusual, career stepping stone, and hey, things could be a lot worse for me. Even still, the house feels particularly large and empty on this Saturday morning.
“What should we do today?” I press my face against Tebow’s cold, wet nose. “We could go lay on the beach and read like we have for the past three days.”
Tebow stares at me blankly.
“Yeah, I’m not really into that either, bud.” I slide open the heavy glass door and breathe in some salty air. “Smells like Mom and Dad’s house.” I look down at my loyal companion, who is smiling widely at the ocean.
I gasp slightly with excitement at the realization of how I want to spend my day. “Let’s go see Mom and Dad! I’m sure the boys will be over. They’ll be watching the college games and consuming an ungodly amount of food and beer.”
Tebow barks in agreement. I shut the sliding door and lock it, smiling to myself at the thought of how Leo always makes fun of me for my obsession with locking doors.
“You’re so paranoid, Monroe,” he always says. “How many enemies do you think I have?”
I let the Leo-induced smile sit comfortably on my face as I guide my dog to the garage and into my Jeep.
We drive up to West Palm with the windows all the way down, and I laugh at Tebow’s silly tongue flapping around as he takes in the summer air.
My heart feels light with the Florida sunshine pouring down on me. The sky looks so blue, and the water is as clear as crystal. Thoughts of Leo come and go, but instead of my usual instinct to push them away and force myself to think about something else, I hold on to the feeling of freedom given to me by the ocean breeze, and I let myself think about him all I want.
I reach a red light and shoot a quick text in the family group chat while my car is stopped. “Tebow and I are coming over for the games and some fam time! See you soon!”
Drew responds instantly. “Awesome. Luke, Olivia, and I are here, too. Can’t go wrong with free beer and Mom’s wings. Stoked to see ya!”
I chuckle and put the phone down when the light turns green.
Luke and Olivia, the perfect couple. They met on move-in day of freshman year at UF and have been inseparable ever since. Usually, seeing them together gets me a little jealous, thinking about the fiery failure that was my college sweetheart relationship in comparison to their flawless one. But not today. Today, I’m happy they love each other so much and beyond happy I didn’t end up marrying that cheater.
Thinking about them couple, I’m guessing my efforts to keep my little secret just within the family were probably in vain, seeing as the two of them don’t pee without telling each other about it. Oh well.
As soon as I pull the Jeep in front of the beach house and park it, my mom comes rushing out the front door.
“Frankie, my dear!” She wraps me in a warm and comfortable embrace. “This is such a wonderful surprise.”
I lean close to her ear. “Got a little stir crazy in the mansion.”
Tebow bounds out of the car and runs around the yard frantically.
My mom squeals like a child at the mention of Leo’s house and loops her arm through mine, giving me a squeeze. “I need to hear everything. Spare no detail.”
My mind flashes to the kitchen counter once again. Sorry, Mom. I’ll have to spare a few.
We walk up to the beach house arm in arm, and I’m greeted by a beaming Luke and Olivia.
“Little sis! So glad you’re here.” Luke pats my back.
“Hey, Liv.” I smile and hug sweet, beautiful Olivia. She’s particularly effervescent today, overflowing with giggles and smiles.
I walk into the living room where my dad and Drew are too invested in the Alabama game to peel their eyes from the television to say hello to me.
I stand directly in front of the screen, blocking their view. “Hi, guys.”
“Frank-o, move, we can’t see the game.” Dad waves me out of the way.
I tsk and shuffle into the kitchen to find a beer (it’s afternoon, right?) and chat with my mom. I pop the cap off of a Yuengling bottle and take a cool, refreshing swig. “Need any help, Mom?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Well, aren’t you just so chipper today?”
I set the glass bottle down and try to keep from smiling. “What do you mean? I’m just normal Frankie.”
She lifts a suspicious eyebrow. “Whatever you say. As if I haven’t been able to read you like a book for the past twenty-six years.”
I shrug off her comment. “Let’s go watch the game. There’s only a few minutes left in the first half.”
I plop down on the couch, and Tebow quickly hops up to snuggle. Dad is in his throne of a recliner, as usual. Drew is perched on the edge of a sofa cushion, gripping a beer and yelling something about the Crimson Tide. Luke and Olivia are cuddled up in the corner of the L-shaped sectional like a couple of teenagers, whispering to each other.
I wait for the wave of bitterness and tinge of jealousy that would normally hit me at the sight of the world’s most perfect relationship. But it doesn’t come. No bitterness today. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I am different.
Drew stands up and claps his hands. “Decent first half, boys. Momma, are those wings almost ready?” he shouts into the kitchen.
“Yes, and your darks are drying,” she calls back with a tease in her voice.
I raise my eyebrows and stare at my second-oldest brother, chuckling. “You brought your laundry to Mom and Dad’s? How old are you again?”
“Hey, lay off. The machine in my building is broken,” he says defensively.
“I’m sure it is, sweetie.” My mom winks at me and rubs Drew’s back.
I look at Drew, his shaggy hair and tattooed biceps accentuating his careless attitude. Drew is the only one of us who’s never been in a serious relationship. I shift my gaze over to cautious, levelheaded Luke and his perfectly supportive and agreeable, darling wife. Suddenly feeling an emptiness in the room, I ask, “Hey, where’s Eric? We need the whole Monroe clan.”
My mom sits on the couch between Drew and me. “He’s on some big date, apparently. Met some girl he really likes, and he’s at a bar watching the game with her today.”
Drew groans. “Damn, everyone’s getting shacked up but me. It’s really gotta be like that, doesn’t it?”
“Hey.” I turn to him. “I’m only fake shacked up, remember?” I hold my hand up for a high five. “We single people gotta stick together.”
“Single, my ass,” Luke mumbles under his breath.
I turn my attention to their obnoxious corner of cuddling. “What are you talking about, Luke?”
He detangles himself from his wife for probably the first time all day. “You’re doing that Frankie-has-a-crush thing. That face. Bouncing around and smiling constantly and coming to hang out with us for no reason.”
“Oh my God, Luke. I’m not allowed to just be happy around my family without getting accused of some secret romance?” I wave my hand at him. “Please.”
My mom comes back into the living room wielding a giant platter of Buffalo wings. “I did say you were glowing an awful lot.” She sets the plate down and puts both her hands on either side of my face, turning my head toward Dad. “Isn’t she jus
t glowing, John?”
My dad examines me for a nanosecond, then turns back to the ESPN halftime report. “Yes, she looks very healthy,” he says gruffly.
“Healthy?” I interject.
Luke puts his hand up. “You’re falling for this guy, aren’t you, Frankie?”
“What? No. You’re out of your mind. It’s just a weird job I’m doing to make my boss happy and increase my chances of one day being an agent.”
Drew wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Get off her back, Luke. Just because he’s a jackass NFL player doesn’t mean Frankie’s just automatically gonna fall head over heels in love with the guy. Have some faith in her.”
I send Drew a telepathic thank you. “He’s completely right. I’m not falling for Leo. That’s ridiculous. He’s a total player and everything I swore I’d stay away from. Now drop it please.”
Luke narrows his eyes. “I’m not buying it, but whatever.”
The second half of the Bama game starts, providing a seamless end to this stressful conversation.
My mom yells for me from the kitchen. “Frankie, sweetie, could you come here and help me with this potato salad?”
I hop up off the couch, welcoming the excuse to escape Luke’s skeptical and overly protective older brother crap.
“I didn’t know you were making potato salad.” I smile at my mom.
Her expression is dead serious. “I’m not.” She says quickly, “Now, tell me what’s really going on. Do I need to worry about you getting hurt again?”
I sigh. “No. Leo and I are…friends. I really like him, just as a person. He’s fun to hang around with, and he’s hilariously entertaining. I’m enjoying the fantasy life for a bit, that’s all. Please don’t worry, Mom. I can totally handle myself, and he’s not the type of guy I’m gonna go for.”
“Okay.” She puts her hand on my arm. “I’m trusting you.”
“I want something real. You know that. And I’m well aware that I’m not gonna find it with a twenty-eight-year-old pro athlete.”
Saying those words out loud sends a small ripple of disappointment through me, but I push it away fast.
The rest of the afternoon is a typical Monroe family game day and, despite the occasional looks of skepticism from my oldest brother, is exactly the fun, college-football-filled Saturday that I needed.
When the game ends, Drew and I go outside for a little bit of beach football.
He tosses it to me. “Do Luke and Olivia seem extra lovey-dovey to you today?”
I snort and throw the ball back. “Have you ever met Luke and Olivia? They don’t seem out of the ordinary to me.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Drew turns suddenly to the sliding door that leads from the living room to the back deck to find Luke standing in the entrance. “Speak of the devil. Come play, bro.”
“Actually…” Luke fiddles with his fingers. He looks almost…nervous? “Could you guys come inside for a minute?”
Drew and I share a mutual look of confusion and follow Luke back into the house.
Luke and Olivia stand in the kitchen, holding hands and beaming with smiles.
Olivia looks up at her husband, then back at all of us. “We have an announcement to make.” She draws in a breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The room is silent for a beat, the words hitting all of us.
“Oh my God!” My mom squeals and rushes to engulf both of them in her arms.
The air is filled with happiness and hugs and congratulations for the next several minutes. Luke and Olivia hold each other, joy and love emanating from them.
I wrap my arms around my brother and squeeze him tightly for a long time. “I am so happy for you guys,” I say softly.
“Thanks, sis. You know I’m always just looking out for you.”
Emotion rises in my throat, and I feel suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for my wonderful family. I pull away from Luke and turn to my sister-in-law.
“Livvy.” I kiss her cheek, and she hugs me tight. “You two are going to make some seriously awesome parents.”
Amidst the happiness and excitement, I am struck by an unwelcome tinge of envy. Not my typical “perfect couple” bitterness, but a different kind of envy. Olivia’s smile glows with joy, and Luke looks like he could burst with how happy he is.
A voice in my head whispers, I want that. I brush it off and attribute it to my annoying biological clock, which is clearly set wrong.
When I say goodbye to my family, their smiles seem all extra bright today. Tebow and I drive home as the sun sets, emotions mixing and changing and twisting through me so rapidly I turn on the radio for distraction.
In between the joy, adrenaline, slight jealousy, touch of guilt for the slight jealousy, and heaping pile of overwhelmed, only one thing shines through my mind as clear as the sparkly ocean to the left of my car: I can’t wait to see Leo tonight.
SIXTEEN — Leo
Three. Not one, not two, but three separate times I fucked up in today’s game. And on our home field. I grit my teeth and clutch the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. I hate screwing up. I hate losing. I know exactly why my hands and my head were not in that game at all.
It’s been five years to the day since Dad died. I swallow a pound of sadness and back the Mercedes out of the stadium garage. It was my rookie season. Five years exactly, and I can’t even have a decent fucking game in his honor.
Frankie is quiet. I assumed she would be completely unaware of the hurricane of emotions swirling through my mind, and I’m hoping she just thinks I had a bad game, but I can tell she’s worried and has a very clear sense that something is off tonight. She’s usually an endless chatterbox after every game, like the world’s sexiest windup toy, giggling about touchdowns or passionately venting about how Those refs were on some new bullshit. I always smile. Her vibrant energy never fails to intensify the joy of a win, or amuse me enough to forget about a loss.
But not tonight. Frankie’s so sweet and empathetic, she took one look at me after the game and knew. I hope she doesn’t think I’m shutting her out. I’ve just never been one to bitch and whine about my feelings, especially when it comes to Dad.
“Sorry,” I mumble, breaking the tense silence.
Frankie turns to me, surprised that I’ve spoken. Her eyes are full of pure kindness as she places a gentle hand on my knee. “Don’t beat yourself up. Everyone has a bad game now and then.”
Of course she would assume the only thing going on with me is the bad game. She has no idea about the distraction and pain that caused that bad game. Most of the guys on the team don’t even know about my dad. I don’t need to burden Frankie with a sob story. She’s not wrong, either. I played a terrible game. So I’m just gonna leave it at that.
“I know. I’ll shake it off.” I turn to her and force a smile. “Thanks.”
“Is that all that’s bothering you? Just a couple missed passes?” Her voice is slow and sympathetic, sounding far more concerned than curious.
“And a fumble. Don’t forget the fumble.” I squeeze her hand, trying to bring a smidge of humor into the heaviness of this car ride.
“Well.” Frankie flips her hand around and threads her fingers through mine, which sends an unexpected wave of comfort through my body and mind. “The fumble was because of a bad pass. That Chase Kennedy, he really needs to learn how to throw a football.”
We both laugh, and I keep her hand in mine. She is the physical embodiment of sweetness, and suddenly I am struck by the overwhelming urge to dump my entire dead-dad story on her, to just pour out every emotion and thought and regret, because somehow she would make it better.
But that’s not who I am. I never open up to other people. I’ll deal with it on the field.
The rest of the car ride is relatively silent, but definitely not in a bad way. I never let go of Frankie’s precious hand, and she never pulls it away.
“You should get some rest,” she says, giving my fingers one last tender squeeze as I pull the car into
the garage.
She’s definitely right, but the prospect of lying in my bed by myself, letting my mind race with thoughts of disappointing my late father, makes me feel sick.
I step out of the car, and Frankie walks around from the passenger’s side.
“We could watch a movie,” I suggest quickly, surprised by how desperate I am for her company tonight. I always deal with shit on my own. What’s going on?
Her expression flickers with joy, and I’m sure mine does the same in response.
“Okay!” She follows me into the house. “How about The Blind Side? Or maybe Remember the Titans. Or Rudy! That’s a good one.”
I stop and turn to her. “How about a movie that’s not about football?”
“Oh, of course.” She frowns sympathetically. “I wasn’t even thinking.”
“I know,” I assure her. “What was that one you told me about when we first met? About the hooker?”
She snorts. “You want to watch Pretty Woman?”
“Yeah, you said it was kind of like us, right?” I’m surprised by how naturally the word us leaves my mouth in that context. “And I’m assuming there’s no football in it.”
Frankie hurries off to her room and shouts over her shoulder, “Pretty Woman it is! I brought my DVD copy, so you’re in luck. I’m just gonna put my pajamas on.”
“Oh shit,” I remember. “We’re gonna have to watch it in my room. I don’t have a DVD player anywhere else.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“Uh, because it’s not 1993?”
“Fair enough.” She laughs. “I’ll meet you in there.”
I head to my room and change into sweats, trying to understand why the hell watching a dumb romantic movie with her sounds like literally the best thing on earth right now.
Frankie comes into the doorway, wearing tiny plaid shorts and a Florida Gators T-shirt, with her favorite hound pattering behind her. Her face is glowing without a drop of makeup and framed by those painfully adorable librarian glasses. I keep my gaze locked on her, thinking that in that moment, I have never seen anything so perfect.
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