Players Game 01 - Fraternize

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I was defenseless.

  Because every time I tried to erect a wall, he made me feel stupid for having one in the first place.

  “You touched your stomach,” Sanchez said in a low whisper. “Back at your dad’s. You touched your stomach, not like it was growling, not like you were hungry.” His forehead pressed against mine as he reached for one hand. “I want to know all of it.”

  “All of what?” I fought so hard to keep a smile on my face, the practiced smile that hurt like hell and made my lips twitch.

  His face fell. “Alright . . . if that’s how you wanna play it.” He started climbing off the jungle gym.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  He shrugged. “To eat some McNuggets.”

  “Sanchez.”

  He didn’t turn around as I tried scrambling after him. But then my foot caught, and I squealed.

  Suddenly, I was in his arms, my cheek against his chest.

  His heartbeat was steady.

  Firm.

  Maybe if I kept listening to it, I wouldn’t be so afraid of the next few words out of my mouth.

  Maybe they wouldn’t be real anymore.

  Maybe this time it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

  “I was pregnant.”

  Nope.

  Still hurt.

  Like being stabbed in the chest.

  I told him everything.

  “Look at me.” Sanchez wrapped his bulky arms around my body. “You were a kid, hell sometimes I think we’re still kids. That was six years ago, Em. But just because it was a long time ago doesn’t make it hurt any less. The past is a bitch, especially when we’re having a weak moment in the present.”

  “What do you know about weak moments?”

  His grip around my waist tightened. “I loved her.”

  “Who?”

  “Jacki Jones, communications major, gorgeous, funny—and to top it all off, she seemed to actually like me, Grant Sanchez, and not the wide receiver in line for a number one draft pick.”

  I felt myself relax. “What happened?”

  “The usual.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “She tasted fame and got addicted. The first game I started in, I was so nervous I was in the bathroom puking before Jax came and told me to hold my shit together . . . I played well, really well, and when the game was over all I wanted to do was go to my apartment and sleep. Emotionally exhausted, I just wanted to decompress you know? She didn’t. Threw a fit because I wouldn’t introduce her to my teammates, cried because she said I was ashamed of her, manipulative little witch. The minute I introduced her to my teammates, things shifted, and not for the better. She started hanging out with them without me, asking them to call in favors, basically she networked her way through every guy, using me as her in. Did I mention we were engaged?”

  Tears gone, anger surged through me. “What a horrible person!”

  “Yeah well, she was really good at manipulation.” He shook his head. “She made it seem like she was doing everything for me, for us, and it’s no secret that I grew up really poor. My parents busted their asses to put food on the table so I rarely saw them. She gave me attention that I never realized I craved until our relationship started to shift.”

  “What happened?” I was glad the focus was off me, but his expression, the anger was still burning beneath the surface right along with the hurt.

  “She was cheating, with Thomas.”

  I gasped, “How are you guys even friends?”

  “He denied it.” Sanchez shrugged. “And I had to choose between letting it affect the way we play or forgetting it for the betterment of the team. I broke up with her and decided I was better on my own.”

  “I’m sorry.” My voice cracked. “You don’t deserve that.”

  “I think a lot of people would disagree with you. Haven’t you heard? I’m a man whore.” His smile was sad.

  “You want them to believe that.”

  “Or, I’m just really, really manipulative.”

  “No, you’re not.” I said it so fast that I surprised myself. “Don’t cheapen our friendship.”

  His smile lit up my world. “I knew you’d finally give in.”

  “Trickery.”

  “The best.” His lips grazed my ear. “Curves, know this.” His breath was hot on my neck. “If you need to cry, I’ll hold you until you’re done. Sometimes the only way to get over things is to walk through them, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it on your own.”

  My breath hitched in my chest. “Does that mean you’re going to walk with me?”

  “That’s all I’ve wanted since meeting you.” He pulled back and gripped my hand. “You know, other than sex.”

  I laughed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that right?”

  “But, I did just make you laugh, when minutes ago you were crying. I hate those tears, Curves. Never want to be the cause of them, ever.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I’m not.” He said it so sternly that I sucked in a breath.

  “I think I need to use that hand now . . . maybe on your chest, possibly that shirt.”

  “Let it go.” He squeezed my hand. “Like in Frozen, but without the singing.”

  I nodded, and after a shaky exhale, unlocked that little box in my head with the memories of a baby I lost—along with the best friend I ever had.

  “I lost my best friend and my father all within the span of a year.” My voice was hoarse. “And then a baby I never got the chance to meet.”

  “Come here.” He held me while I cried and when I felt exhaustion set in, when I imagined he’d pull away, bored with my tears, I looked down at our joined hands.

  And when I was done crying, when I was done sobbing all over his chest and apologizing and basically telling him that I wasn’t the girl for him, he’d kissed me and told me we needed to eat.

  Right. Because food was going to solve things.

  And oddly enough, once I had salt and some nasty-tasting soda in my system, I felt better.

  He’d turned on the heat in the car and held my greasy McDonald’s hand. And kissed my knuckles.

  “You need to tell him,” he whispered.

  “I can’t.”

  “Not now, Em. But soon. He needs to know.”

  “I know.”

  “Em?”

  “Yeah?” I was afraid to look directly at him, but his gaze was like a tractor beam, pulling me toward him even when I was too afraid to look into his eyes.

  “I’m so fucking sorry.” He gripped my hands tightly. “It wasn’t your fault the baby died, and it wasn’t his—it was life, nature. And it’s okay to still be sad about it, even years from now, but it will still be okay. Loss is loss, allow yourself to feel it so you can deal with it.”

  I never realized I needed permission to mourn, permission to feel sad, but I did.

  Just. Like. That.

  I felt released of the guilt and the shame.

  That was it.

  Released.

  But even after saying all the words—I still had that heaviness in my heart because Miller deserved to know—everything. By putting the past in the past—we weren’t really ever able to move on toward our future. We both deserved that peace.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MILLER

  It was the postgame party—which meant I basically had to go even though I wasn’t one to party. Sanchez and Em still weren’t at the bar and I didn’t want to leave without at least saying good-bye.

  Right. I was that big of a loser that I was waiting to say good-bye to two people who probably couldn’t care less about the fact that I even waited in the first place.

  “You gonna drink that or just stare longingly into it like you want to make it your bitch, but the nice kind?” Kinsey’s voice sounded from behind me, and then her hand patted my shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, all love sucks.”

  “Wow, thanks,” I said with fake enthusiasm. “I really needed that pep talk after
scoring my first touchdown.”

  She plopped down in the seat next to me and grinned. “You’re welcome.”

  Jax glared at me over her head.

  “Ah, your brother’s giving me the warning stare.”

  “Just stay the agreed upon five feet away from me at all times, and he won’t rip your face off.”

  “I can’t imagine Jax being violent,” I admitted, finally taking a sip of my beer.

  “Jax?” She burst out laughing. “My brother? You clearly don’t know him very well. Then again, I don’t think anyone does. He’s . . . reserved, calculated, and yes, it takes a lot to piss him off, but push him too far and yeah . . .” She made an exploding motion with her hands. “It’s not pretty.”

  “Huh.” I stared at the guy who looked like he would be more likely to coach a high school football team after retirement and volunteer at a children’s hospital. “If you say so.”

  “I know so.” She rolled her eyes. “Care to test it out?”

  “What? You mean like sitting at the four-foot parameter instead of the five? Living dangerously, hmm?”

  “That’s me.” Her shoulders slumped. “Dangerous.”

  I eyed her drink. “Is that a Shirley Temple?”

  With a scowl, she plucked the cherry between her two teeth and shrugged. “I like a clear head.”

  “Cheers to that.” I put down my beer, picked up my water, and clinked glasses with her.

  “It’s really too bad.” Her blue eyes examined me from head to toe like she was taking stock of every single muscle that coated my body.

  “What is?”

  “You.” She pointed her straw at me. “You’re hung up on Emerson, which, don’t get me wrong, I get it. She’s beautiful, genuinely kind, hilarious, besides she’s got an ass.” Her shoulders slumped even more. “Which is probably why most of the good guys look at me and pass right on over the backside.”

  “Wait, back up? Why are you so depressed about asses?”

  “I want one.”

  “Emerson’s ass?” I asked, confused.

  “Just an ass.” She threw her hands in the air. “And not the kind that you’re thinking. You know, controlling boyfriend-types. I want an actual ass.” She stood and slapped her own backside. “You know? Like look, there’s nothing here to grab!”

  I started choking on my water as she wiggled her ass in front of me; my eyes found it really damn hard to look away with each movement.

  And then Jax was marching over to us, his fists clenched.

  “So, what do you think, Jax?” I said smoothly. “Your sister said she wants an ass.”

  Jax’s mouth opened then closed then opened again. “Say what?”

  “You should feed her more so she can have one. That’s what good brothers do.”

  “I think I’m confused.” Jax’s eyes narrowed. “Weren’t you just checking out her ass?”

  “Nothing to check out.” Kinsey sighed and sat back in her stool. “But thanks for proving my other point. Even if I had one, no guy would touch it because every time anyone breathes in my direction, you come sprinting over. Maybe I’ll switch teams? Find myself a nice girl. Or a cat. Maybe both?”

  “Enough.” Jax’s voice had a hard edge to it. “I wish I drank during the season.”

  I handed him my water.

  He glared. “Wow, thanks so much. I’ll be sure to drown my freaking sorrows.”

  “Oh, you’re right. I think I see part of that temper.” I looked around him to Kinsey.

  She winked. “Told ya.”

  “I’m too exhausted for you both to be ganging up on me. Have you seen Sanchez yet? I wanna talk to him before I head out.”

  “About what?” I asked, curious.

  “Ah, you know.” He set my water down. “The stupid bet the new guys make about the cheerleaders in preseason. They bag them and then win a trophy, or whatever the hell it is now. I know he likes Emerson, but none of the players have ever taken it into the season. He’s doing a hell of a lot for just sex and as much as I love the guy, Thomas has been talking shit behind his back about how he’s turned into a pussy and we don’t need that sort of drama during the season.”

  Kinsey frowned down at the table. “Jax, I think whatever is going on between them it’s more than just getting laid. And you guys still do the whole bet thing?”

  I shifted uncomfortably.

  Jax’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit. Anyone can see he likes her, that’s not the point. I just want to know for sure, so it doesn’t mess up his game. No offense, but if she’s toying with him—”

  “Stop.” I stood, chest to chest with my leader, my brother. “She’s not like that, alright? So just stop.”

  Jax held up his hands. “Dude, I wasn’t trying to insult her or Sanchez.”

  “Really?” I snorted. “Because that’s what it sounds like.”

  “Let him fight his own battles, man, and let her fight hers.” Jax’s voice had a serious edge to it. “God knows she isn’t yours to protect anymore.”

  I wanted to punch him for saying that.

  But it was the truth.

  And I hated it.

  It was my new reality.

  The one where I watched the couple walk off into the sunset.

  The one where I wasn’t included in any future plans.

  Just then, Emerson and Sanchez walked in the bar, his arm was around her protectively like—like she needed protection.

  And when they walked toward us, he basically pulled her into his side to where I couldn’t even see her face.

  The hell?

  And that’s when it occurred to me.

  Sanchez wasn’t protecting her from the stares of other guys.

  He was protecting her from me.

  I just wished I knew why.

  And why the look on his face was so disgusted you’d think I’d just committed murder.

  “We need to talk.” His voice was hollow, gruff.

  “No.” Jax stood between us. “We all need to talk.” He jerked both of us away from the girls and shoved us outside.

  “Heads in the game, ladies,” Jax hissed. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you guys and Emerson, but you keep it off the field, alright? Don’t let drama destroy a good thing.”

  “I won’t,” Sanchez said in an honest voice. “Swear.”

  “Yeah.” I let out a rough exhale. “Me either.”

  “And Sanchez?” Jax shoved his hands in his pockets. “This thing with Emerson—it’s not about getting laid is it?”

  “Hell no!” he roared. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Whoa.” Jax held up his hands, backing into me and nearly running us backward into a parked car. “You know I had to ask.”

  “It’s not your place to ask about my personal life, Captain,” Sanchez sneered, his eyes finding mine before he slowly shook his head. “I know you may find this hard to believe, but I like her. I want to protect her from all this shit.” He waved his hand around before it basically pointed at me. “You guys know how bad the press can be. The last thing we need is for them to think I’m dating her because of a bet, especially with Jacki all over my ass after the game.”

  “She saw you guys kiss,” I mumbled.

  “Everyone saw them kiss, it was trending on Twitter,” Jax added, rubbing his hands over his face. “Look, you know that the coaching staff won’t care as long as you perform and we keep winning, but the minute this turns into a distraction, your ass is going to get called into that office.” He swore. “We have the day off tomorrow before practice Tuesday, let’s all just get some rest. You guys killed it out there today, but we have the rest of the season left and we need wins, not losses.”

  “Agreed,” Sanchez answered.

  Jax nodded and walked off.

  Leaving me and Sanchez together.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “What’s up?” I crossed my arms. “You look like I just ran over your brand-new puppy.”

  He cursed
and kicked the side of the wall with his shoe. “Nothing. Maybe I’m just having a temper tantrum.”

  “That’s not like you.”

  “Come again?” He jerked his head up, his eyes flashing. “How do you know me so well?”

  “I hated you all last year.” I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “Because you were good, and you were cocky—still are.” He rolled his eyes. “But now, this year, now that I have reason to hate you more, for taking something I thought was mine, I can’t.”

  “Why’s that?” He moved until we were chest to chest.

  “Because maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.”

  Guilt flashed across his face, so quick I almost missed it. “I wouldn’t be so sure this was the plan, man.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Look, we all need sleep. Emerson had a rough night. Her dad—”

  The guilt was back.

  “Her dad, what?” I was greedy for information, and I had no idea why.

  “He’s not well. I talked with the nurse before Emerson came home and when she refused to tell me anything I snooped while she was in the bathroom. He has really aggressive Alzheimer’s, and it’s only a matter of time before he has to be put in a home. As much as I’d like to think I have a lot of shit on my plate, she has more. I saw paperwork, it didn’t look good.” He scratched the back of his head and cursed again. “Was he sick when you two were in high school?”

  “No.” My voice sounded hollow. “Not even a little bit. They had a really nice house by the lake, he was a professor—”

  “Guys?” Kinsey poked her head out of the bar. “Emerson looks dead on her feet and she’s been here a grand total of ten minutes.”

  “I’ll take her home.” Sanchez started walking away, and I realized he meant his home, not hers.

  Kinsey let Sanchez step past her and then crossed her arms as she took in my pathetic state. “Did I miss a bro fight?”

  I snorted. “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Brothers that war together stick together. Don’t let this”—she lifted her hands in the air—“destroy the good. And you, Miller Quinton, are good.”

  “At football?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Football, and from what I’m seeing with this little love triangle drama, you’re a damn good friend.”