Holding (Moving the Chains Book 5)

by Kata Čuić

  I’m not about to fist pump the air even though she can’t see me. This doesn’t mean I’ve won. She said it herself—permanently ending things with her ex has nothing to do with me.

  She startles when she turns around to find me watching her.

  Even though this is my house, I feel like shit for eavesdropping. Especially when trust is the foundation Tori and I have built our entire relationship on.

  “I’m sorry he ruined your Christmas.”

  She shrugs. “He didn’t ruin mine. He ruined his own.”

  We stare at each other in silence for a few minutes. Our families are at each other’s throats, but it feels like battle lines are being drawn between us, too. I can’t figure out why.

  I’ve given my all. She’s obviously not afraid to sleep with a guy who’s capable of murder, so my sins aren’t what’s holding her back. There’s nothing more I can do, even with Ben out of the picture.

  I pat the cardboard boxes on the kitchen island. “I got rum for the eggnog, whiskey for hot toddies, and some boxes of pre-made shots for the hat game. We can still turn this thing around, Peaches.”

  I’m not talking about Christmas with our families at all.

  Maybe she knows it because she walks steadily toward me and throws her arms around my waist then burrows her face against my chest. It’s a gesture so familiar, my response is automatic.

  I wrap my arms around her back. One of my hands plays with her hair like it can’t help but do anything else. I have no control over the way I love her. It’s a fucking miracle I denied it as long as I did.

  I was so convinced she’d be the worst kind of distraction, but the truth is…fighting this thing between us was way harder than giving in.

  “I knew you could handle this madness, but I’m dying to hear how you got our parents out of the kitchen.”

  She chuckles against me. “I told them they deserved to relax for a change and that their adult kids could take care of everything else.”

  I can’t believe that worked. It’s too simple, too easy. “Where are they now?”

  She lifts her face away from me with a grin. “In the hot tub, enjoying the snow while staying warm.”

  If anyone ever doubts Tori’s PR prowess, this day alone should be the biggest selling point on her resume. “Are we…trying to fix up our parents?”

  The smile slides off her face to be replaced with an expression of horror like I’ve just suggested they’re in our bed, banging. “God, no! My dad will always be hopelessly in love with my mom! He still talks to her first about everything even though she isn’t physically here!”

  I can’t relate. Not even a little bit. My mom never dated again, thanks to a hefty helping of PTSD where men are concerned. Maybe Mr. Russo’s devotion to his dead wife makes him a safer bet for a friend in my mom’s eyes.

  “Should I fix some drinks and serve them?”

  Tori gives me the smile I’ve learned means she’s honestly happy and not faking it. “That would be really nice, Mike. I genuinely do think they’ve earned having a relaxing holiday. We should all do whatever we can to give them that.”

  That’s how she got everyone to do her bidding. She was just…herself. Honest almost to a fault, but one of the most genuinely caring people I’ve ever met.

  So, for the rest of the night, I’m at her service. She gives orders, and I carry them out. No miraculous peace treaties are signed between our siblings, but the booze does its job. They all pass out in heaps of bodies in front of the television. A silent night after all.

  Long after Tori’s gone to bed, our parents are back out in the hot tub for round number two. She’s convinced nothing will ever happen between them, but I’m not so sure.

  Snow still steadily falls from a moonless sky. The silence doesn’t muffle their conversation the second I step out of the sliding glass door, but at least I’m not hearing moans.

  “I hope I’m not being too forward, but…how did your wife die?”

  Of course, Mom doesn’t want to be too forward. She’s learned the hard way how to mitigate anger.

  Tori’s dad sighs. It’s not the pleasurable kind, thank God. “Cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry,” my mom murmurs. “That must have been just as hard on the kids as it was on you.”

  “It was a nightmare,” he admits. “Kelly raised the kids mostly on her own while I was deployed. Suddenly, I had a two-month old baby girl and five older boys whose attitudes were in the toilet because they were too young to understand why their mom just gave up.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mom says.

  That makes two of us.

  “She was diagnosed when she was five months pregnant with Tori. We just thought her symptoms were from a difficult pregnancy. By the time the doctors realized what was going on, the cancer had already spread. She had to choose—fight the fight of her life or forfeit Tori’s life.”

  My mom gasps.

  I suddenly feel like I’ve been catapulted back in time to when I read all about Tori on the internet. If I thought then that it was like finding out about her life without her ever telling me, hearing this now makes me feel like a freaking chump.

  I poured out things very few people know to her, trying to bare myself. All so she would finally trust me. She can’t even tell me this? I had to find out by eavesdropping on another conversation that wasn’t meant for me to hear? Did I spill my guts for nothing?

  I let myself back into the house as quietly as possible and creep up the stairs to my bedroom.

  Tori’s sound asleep on her stomach as usual. Her red hair and pale skin are noticeable against the gray sheets even in the dark. The thing is…I still want her here. Still can’t imagine going back to an empty bed.

  I’ve tried everything I can think of. I have nothing left in my playbook. As much as I hate admitting it, I need advice.

  There’s only one man I think might be able to give it to me.

  I scroll through my contacts as I walk down the hall to the home office.

  He picks up on the fourth ring, just as I’m preparing to leave a lame voice mail, wishing him a happy holiday.

  “Hey, buddy. Merry Christmas.” His voice is raspy.

  I pull the phone away from my ear to double check the time. It’s only eight in Sacramento.

  “Same to you. Did I wake you?”

  “Yeah,” he croaks. “We had a rough day with YiaYia, so we’re all exhausted.”

  Evie’s family was always my family, too, thanks to the whole adopted siblings thing. I’m kind of ashamed this is the first I’m hearing about her grandmother having trouble. Maybe if I wasn’t so caught up in my own life, I’d still know everything about my friends’ lives.

  “What’s going on with YiaYia?”

  “She’s ninety-six, Mike,” Rob whispers. “Honestly, we’re all kind of surprised she’s hung on this long without Papou. It’s way worse around the holidays though.”

  “They really are your family now, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah?” He says it like he can’t understand the question.

  After the family feud I refereed all day, I’m jealous of Rob for something other than football.

  “I’m sorry I gave you shit at Papou’s funeral.” It feels weirdly good to get that off my chest. “I’m sorry I gave you shit about a lot of things.”

  This isn’t why I called, but maybe I need to secure my own Christmas Eve truce before I get down to business.

  “Who is it?” Even in the background, it’s obvious Evie woke up, too.

  “It’s Mike.” Rob’s voice is muffled like he’s covering the phone with his hand. “He wanted to say Merry Christmas.” More rustling in the background. The sound of him kissing her, sheets rustling. “Go back to sleep, baby.” His voice sounds clear again. “Hang on. Let me go down to the kitchen, so I don’t wake everybody else up.”

  I’ve been in Rob’s townhouse in Sacramento. He doesn’t have to go down to a kitchen. Everything’s on the same level.

&
nbsp; “Where are you?”

  “Ironville.” He yawns. The distinct, familiar sound of stairs creaking filters through the line. “We flew in this morning. I’ve gotta head back tomorrow afternoon, but Evie’s going to stay until Sunday morning.”

  Another punch of jealousy hits me square in the chest. He talks about their joined lives like it’s no big deal that they juggle cross-country travel in between grueling season schedules.

  I close my eyes and picture him walking down the stairs of the old Papageorgiou house, into the outdated kitchen, sitting at the worn table I sat at many times. He belongs there now. I don’t.

  I don’t feel like I belong in Albany in this giant house that’s empty most of the time either.

  “Are we gonna breathe at each other for half the night, or are you gonna tell me why you really called?”

  I bark out a short laugh. “I said the same thing to Alex when he showed up here a few weeks ago. Swap out drinking for breathing. He was the only one getting shit-faced.”

  Damn. I miss my friends. I miss the break I had for a few years when life was a hell of a lot simpler, and I knew exactly where my place was in the world.

  Rob chuckles like the same regrets are rolling through his mind. “He didn’t exactly seem eager to bury the hatchet with me at dinner, but he said he wouldn’t hold a grudge. Do you think he’ll really show up?”

  “Yeah.” I don’t even hesitate. “For her? He will.”

  “Yeah.” Rob sighs.

  “How the hell did we get here?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve, and I still don’t know why you called.” Rob chuckles, but this one sounds more relaxed. “So, do you want the long answer or the short version?”

  I already know the facts. I’m looking for something…deeper. Time to cut the shit. “How did you do it?”

  “Do what? Fuck up my whole life in just a few seconds? Multiple times? Well, it all started when I saw the most beautiful girl in the world for the very first time…”

  I used to think that whole idea of love at first sight—of Templeman’s unicorn—was such bullshit. Now? I’m not so sure. The goal is clear, but for the first time in my life, hard work on my part isn’t enough to reach it.

  “What’s going on, Mike? Trouble in paradise that online pictures aren’t showing?”

  Damn, he’s good. Then again, that’s why he’s an elite quarterback. The man can read shit most of us don’t even see.

  “Wait a minute. How do you know about me and Tori being more than meets the eye?”

  Rob laughs. “Are you kidding me? Evie’s been gushing about you two like a full-fledged fangirl ever since those first pictures were leaked. She’s convinced you finally found the one. I should thank you, honestly. It’s kind of a nice break between all the shit we usually deal with.”

  Great. No pressure or anything.

  “I, uh…” I cough away my hesitation. No point making this call if I’m not going to actually do anything with it. “I can’t get there, Rob. She won’t let me. I’ve tried everything. I’ve told her shit only Evie knows, so she’ll believe I’m really in this, but…She’s a blocked route. Over and over again.”

  I know damn well he can’t call an effective play if he doesn’t know the opposition like the back of his hand. So, for the first time in my life, I tell someone who doesn’t need to know…everything.

  By the time I’m done, silence stretches between us for so long that I pull my phone away from my ear and check the screen to see if the call dropped.

  “Jesus Christ, Mike,” he finally says.

  Embarrassment and shame threaten to strangle me, but I’ve pushed through tougher setbacks before. “I bet you’re really pissed about all those times I acted better than you, huh?”

  “No,” Rob rushes. “I’m not judging you. If anything, I’m happy you and Evie had each other all this time. I’m grateful as fuck you’re in her corner. Hell, I’ll breathe easier tonight knowing you’re the man who will have her back if anything ever happens to me.”

  Yeah, I will. Forever.

  That’s not the point I’m trying to make here though. “I need to know how you did it. Me and Evie? We have walls for reasons. How did you break through hers even after all the shit you two went through? No matter what I do, Peaches won’t let me in.”

  “Peaches?”

  I can almost hear the lightbulb turn on in his mind.

  “Oh! Tori! You call her Peaches?” He laughs. “Holy shit, that’s adorable.” Then he mutters, “Oh my God, I sound like my wife.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.” Focus, Falls. Tell me how to get there.

  It takes him a few more beats to control himself. He’s still chuckling when he says, “You’re a professional football player, so act like one. Work as hard as you have to. Push through the pain. Achieve the goal.”

  My cell is going to crack from the pressure of me squeezing it since I can’t strangle him through the phone. “Aren’t you listening? I can’t! I need a better play! So, be my fucking quarterback again and call one!”

  Rob’s hysterical laughter only makes me angrier. “I accept your proposal. I’ll be your quarterback until the end of time.”

  “You know what? I’m sorry I wasted both our Christmas Eves by calling you.”

  “Wait!” He wheezes through laughter. “Wait! Don’t hang up! Come on, you gotta give me this! Call it a Christmas gift! You admitted you acted better than me for years. You never come to me for advice, so you obviously really need it.”

  Fine. It’s true. I would probably be gloating, too.

  He sighs, all traces of laughter gone. “There is no secret play, man. Only a goal nothing can change. Football is a game, but this is real life. When your time on the field is done, who do you imagine beside you? Who do you want to be there? If you can picture an empty rocking chair, then let it run its course.”

  Fuck. This really has been a waste. “That’s not my problem! I can’t imagine my life without her in it, but just because I imagine her there doesn’t mean she imagines me.”

  “No. You’re right about that.” Rob’s voice is more serious than it’s been so far. “Even if she doesn’t imagine you in a rocking chair beside her, you have to believe without a shadow of doubt that you’d be the happiest man in the world just to lay at her feet on the floor while she holds hands with someone else in that other rocking chair.”

  “I’m already there.” I blow out a breath of frustration. “So, what? You’re telling me I just have to be happy with whatever scraps she’s willing to give me?”

  That’s not brilliant advice. It’s just a fact.

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice full of annoying pity. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more, but it’s the truth. There’s no magic play for winning a woman because love isn’t a game. Her heart isn’t a prize. It’s a gift.”

  “Great,” I grumble. “So, I’m fucked.”

  “I’m about to give you some of the tough love you’ve been all too willing to dole out for years,” Rob says.

  I brace for a heavy dose of karma.

  “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re being selfish? Because from what you’re telling me, you expect her to open up to you just because you already have. You want her to do, be, and feel all the same things as you. She’s not you, Mike. She’s her. With her own baggage, her own experiences, and her own way of doing things. It’s not a competition. If you really want to be in it for the long haul, then you have to learn how to appreciate all the things that are different between you instead of trying to mold her into what you need her to be so that you can stay in love with her.”

  Shit. He’s right. I’ve said all along that love is the most selfish thing a person can experience. I fell into that trap and didn’t even realize it.

  “Bottom line is I need to back off and let her come to me in her own time?”

  “Pretty much.” Rob’s words come out all garbled in between the annoying sound of crunching.

  “What ar
e you doing?”

  “Eating all the special Christmas cookies Evie made earlier.”

  Aww, hell. She didn’t mail any to me. “I hate you sometimes.”

  Rob laughs then nearly chokes on a cookie. Good for him. “You already accepted me as your quarterback for life. No takebacks.”

  I hang up, knowing Rob and Evie will both always be in my life.

  Will Peaches?

  “Hey, babe. How’d the meeting go?”

  There is no reason Mike should sound so cheery after such a tough loss in the second round of the playoffs. Except painkillers. Lots and lots of painkillers.

  He’s lying on the couch in the living room, an ice pack on one knee that’s elevated with a throw pillow. A heating pad beneath his right elbow. He switches them out every twenty minutes, following trainer’s orders to the letter even though he needs my help for almost everything else.

  I haven’t been here even though this is where I’m most needed. For the past four hours, I’ve been stuck in PR department meetings to figure out how to spin the end of the season in the best possible way for the franchise and key players.

  The verdict isn’t pretty.

  At least we have a few weeks to prepare. Even David agrees there’s no point trying to run a media campaign while football fans are engaged with the other teams still on the hunt for a trip to the Super Bowl.

  Our players deserve a break—to rest, recuperate, and for our unlucky backup quarterback, to find a new team.

  I blink the tears from my eyes as I perch on the edge of the couch.

  Even though his gaze is glassy, Mike takes one look at me and knows I’m the bearer of bad news. “Are they taking away your scholarship? We did everything they wanted! It’s not your fault the team couldn’t seal the deal in that last game! We’ve been the picture-perfect couple for the media!”

  “They’re not taking away my scholarship,” I soothe.

  His heart races beneath my palm on his chest even though his expression is disturbingly blank.

  “When did you take your last pain pill?” His answer could make this difficult conversation either much easier or much harder.

  “Uh…” He glances at the fancy watch that’s monitoring all his other vital signs and reporting them directly back to the trainers. “About a half hour ago. Right on time. It’s definitely kicking in. I’m not hurting, but my brain is like mashed potatoes. You could ask me anything you want, and I won’t have any filter.” He winces the moment the words leave his mouth. “Should not have admitted that.”