by Peyton Storm
“Diva,” she winked and took the car keys Carter offered. Once they closed the door behind them, Carter turned to me, and all playfulness was gone.
“Presley, I love you. I do. But I’m also a man. To be honest, if I were a different kind of man, I would have laid you out on the first hard surface I could find and fucked you breathless.”
His blunt words caught me off guard.
“Carter—”
He stepped forward and stopped me short.
“There’s a lot in the air right now. Matthew and I, whatever it is going on between you and Greyson. I don’t know where the chips will land, but I do know that we’re in this for life, you and me, even if not in my bed. And before you assume it’s only about Paisley, or even my bisexuality, let me tell you, it’s not. Yes, you gave me a daughter, but it was just a handful of years ago when I couldn’t imagine loving any other girl but you.”
Our relationship had never been conventional. My so-called friends back then would often hint that Carter would eventually leave me for a guy. Like his sexual preference somehow overrode his integrity as a person. Their “concern” was not only unwarranted but insulting at best. Carter and I were nothing if not upfront and honest with one another from day one. Outside of my father, Carter was the most outwardly caring man I knew. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and right then was no different. But his words hung in the air as I struggled to counter.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.” Honesty. Always honesty.
“Let me stop you right there. Never say what you think you’re supposed to. Only what you feel, in here.”
My skin tickled under his touch as the back of his forefinger brushed down the center of my chest.
“Carter?”
“Yes?”
“You really do have great hair.”
The most perfect smile spread across his face before he lunged forward, scooped me up and lifted me off my feet. The familiar laugh rang through the room. Like father, like daughter.
“We’ll see you soon. Behave,” he teased and grabbed Paisley’s swimsuit from the end table on his way out.
Chapter 24
Greyson
Dax yammered on, non-stop, the entire way back to the hotel. He made sure to scold me about lining up recipients before the ink was even dry on my charity details. It was in the early stages, sure. And maybe I did jump the gun a bit. But it felt right.
“You’re not all asshole after all,” he mumbled, “I mean, you’re a good ninety percent, maybe even—”
“Okay!” I get it.”
Dax lived to rag on me, but that goofy-ass grin said the mushy fucker was proud of me, which led to a goofy-ass grin of my own.
“What’re we eatin’, kid?”
Kid. Fucker acted like he was twenty years older than me or some shit. The second he mentioned lunch, though, I knew exactly what I was in the mood for.
“Surf-n-turf.”
Dax was all in.
“Get the app pulled up to lead the way.”
Only the place I had in mind wouldn’t be on any app. I wasn’t even sure they technically had a license to sell food in the first place. I figured it best to keep that little nugget of information to myself. For the time being, at least.
Dax and his fucking truck. Once we got down by the jetties, I swear it felt like he brought us down to ten miles an hour. Gravel? He bitched. Sand? He bitched harder.
Mickey’s had the best food on the coast, hands down. Even though it was named after the couple’s toy Chihuahua. I just hoped they were still up and running. I could actually taste their gumbo and sweet cornbread, the closer we got. It was crawfish season, too. Shit, I needed him to drive faster. We finally cut the corner, and I actually found myself sighing in relief.
“Tack! What the fuck is this shit?”
“Okay, fine. It’s not very big but just wait til you taste—”
“Fuck you, Tack! It’s a rusted-out RV with some faded ass picnic tables in front.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it, Princess. Come on, my treat.”
Reluctantly, Dax threw the truck in park, but not without giving me the side-eye, of course. The parking lot, if you could call it that, was packed. Mickey’s was a lunchtime hotspot for most of the local plant workers. Uncle Jake’s favorite was the chicken fried steak. He ate it at least twice a week, right up until his last day. I missed him.
I could feel eyes on me as we walked over the gravel towards the sliding window to place our order. I never knew how to act in these situations. It was something Dax insisted I work on, but I just wanted to play ball. The PR stuff, I wasn’t sure I would ever get the hang of it. If I walked through with my chest puffed out with some sort of “look at me” bullshit, I’d be a dick. If I walked through, head down, avoiding eye contact, also a dick. That was me. One extreme or the other. Middle ground always escaped me, but it was something I continued to work on with my therapist. In the end, I lowered my cap and walked straight ahead. The second the window pulled back, though, gone was my low profile.
“Well I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Greyson Tack Thomas.”
Mrs. Shirley had one of those voices that carried. Not two seconds later, Mr. Shirley—Buddy to the locals—came barreling out the front door.
“Look at you! Ya big son of a bitch! Welcome home!”
Buddy was a small man, though it didn’t stop him from attempting a bear hug. Dax included.
“Get’cher ass in here, boy! You too, City!”
Dax had been generous when he called their establishment an RV. It was more like a compact camper. When we stepped up, it creaked under our weight and sliding my ass into the breakfast booth where Mrs. Shirley had already started plating, took some maneuvering. Dax looked completely out of his comfort zone, but Mrs. Shirley had a certain quality about her, and like me, he did as he was told.
Their space consisted of a fold-down bed, a bathroom that I wasn’t sure could hold me, the small dining area where we were seated, and a mini kitchen. What little lounging space they did have held a full-size refrigerator and one large chest freezer.
“Peach cobbler will be ready in a tick darlin’.” Mrs. Shirley was aces.
Buddy joined us as Dax and I both devoured everything that was placed in front of us. “That’s it, kid, eat up. So tell me, you think Houston’s gonna make the call?”
As a draft prospect, it wasn’t good form to have a preferred team. Not out loud anyway. Even though I had gone out of my way to try and forget this town, Presley…Carter, I continued to say a silent prayer that it would be Houston to draft me. That had always been the dream. It would probably mean falling to the second round, but I was okay with that. I just wanted to wear their red, white, and blue.
“We’ll see,” I quipped and tossed back another fried oyster.
Buddy chuckled. “It’s in the cards. Time for ya to come home.”
Home. The idea was both inviting and terrifying all at the same time. Just as I glanced over to Dax, only to spy him inhaling yet another big bowl of gumbo, Mrs. Shirley placed a big plate of chicken fried steak in front of me. An extra side cup of white gravy to boot.
“He was a good man, that Jake,” she mused, “and so damn proud of you. He’d be so pleased to know you’d come home.”
Heat rushed down my spine, my breathing turned uneven, and I dropped my head in an effort to hide the sudden twitching of my left eye. It was no use.
“Now don’t you go getting upset. I didn’t mean no harm. Your uncle understood. He knew why you needed to go. You loved that girl, but space was what you needed. He always said you left a boy, but you’d return a man, and here you are, just like Jake and your mama would have wanted.”
All I could do was nod. Any attempt at words would lead to me choking on my tongue. Dax spoke up, asking for a refill of sweet tea. He met my grat
eful nod with his own. He knew an attack was at the brim. Once we’d had our fill, and then some, I thanked Buddy and Mrs. Shirley both for their hospitality. Once I left Ocean Falls, it wasn’t like I had really kept in touch. For them to welcome me with open arms was an amazing gesture. A true testament to the people of the small town.
When I reached for my wallet, Mrs. Shirley stopped me dead in my tracks. “Nonsense. Your money’s no good here. Just do us proud in the draft. We’ll all be watching.”
The realization that the entire town, as small as it was, was counting on me...well, it was a lot to take in. I only hoped I could deliver.
“Yes ma’am,” I promised and stepped outside for some much-needed beach air.
Determined to do the right thing, I shook hands, posed for some pics, and signed a couple of napkins. These were hometown, middle-class Texans who worked hard and cheered harder. They loved their football, and I was primed to be the first hometown boy to be drafted into the NFL. It was the absolute least I could do. Thirty minutes later, Dax and I were headed back to our hotel.
“Get used to it, kid,” Dax noted, before exiting the elevator and heading towards his own room.
I, myself, took a right at the elevator, swiped my key card, planted my ass on the couch, and stared at my phone, hoping to find a message from Presley. She hadn’t sent a text, called, nothing. I could only imagine what she had to deal with once I left. Paisley seemed to be a bright kid who was sure to have a million questions. And then there was Carter. I was sure he had some words as well.
I confirmed my video session with my therapist for first thing the next morning and then hopped in the shower. Dax was coming by my room later so we could order in and talk about team interest and charity details. I kept my shower short and sweet. If I’d spent any more time under the hot stream, my mind would have drifted towards her. Instead, I quickly toweled off and grabbed the room service menu. Dax showed up just as I was cutting into my ribeye. Considering the lunch we’d had, I ordered a side salad to go with and ordered the same for Dax.
He’d been contacted by five teams, all wanting me to come workout, and holy fuck, Houston was one of the five. Given the interest so far, it was becoming obvious that wherever I landed, it would be in the south. With my current location, it’d be easy to travel back and forth to different camps. Ocean Falls suddenly became our command center.
“Alright kid, we’ve got three days to kind of reset and refuel. I’ll get a couple sports massages booked, and we’ll hit the local facilities to keep you primed and ready to go. As far as your drills go, you’re golden. You’re stacked in ability. You need nothing more from me, in that regard. Just do what you do.”
He took a couple minutes to pick the tomatoes from his salad before he continued.
“Now, you and I both know you’re gonna get hit with some hard questions. This year’s draft is flooded with defensive ends. And while you’re, without a doubt, the crème of the crop, you do come with some baggage and uncertainty. These owners, GMs, and coaches, they gotta know they won’t be seeing their top draft pick’s mugshot splashed all over social media. Full disclosure, Tack.”
Full disclosure. I owed him that much. Telling him what happened with that punk bitch reporter at Presley’s house wasn’t easy. I braced for his wrath...only it didn’t come. Once I’d finished explaining, he took a few seconds to mull it over, nodded once, and just like that, subject closed.
Still, full disclosure was easier said than done. Few players were open and honest about their mental health. In most circles, being labeled the troublemaker was a better option. I hoped to help erase that stigma, open the communication within the league, but first, I’d have to tell my own truths.
“Alright, I’m gonna head back to my room. Gonna get started on booking our rooms in New Orleans. We’re keeping Weezy, though! I just don’t want to put that many miles on her, so we’ll rent.”
Ha. City boy was gonna end up buying his own truck, I just knew it.
I’d just barely made it back to the couch when he came knocking again. I glanced around the coffee table, thinking maybe he’d left something behind. Nothing as far as I could tell. His knock became more urgent, so I figured it must be his phone that was MIA. That or he couldn’t get into his room. But when I yanked the door open, it wasn’t Dax on the other side.
“Carter.”
“Greyson.”
I stepped aside so he could make his way in. What a fucking day.
Presley
Outside of Paisley, some of my favorite days spent always seemed to include Belle. You hear of people feeling their crush was out of their league, and in many ways, at least when we first started hanging out, I felt the same about Belle. I couldn’t understand why she’d be willing to slum it with the likes of me. On paper, we didn’t add up. Belle was homeschooled and started college classes at fourteen while I got knocked up in high school during a would be, ill-advised threesome. NASA signed her paychecks while I was content in just making ends meet.
I knew there was talk around town. Even a glimpse at Paisley and anyone—actually, make that everyone—knew who her father was and that he came from money. I’d been one of the lucky ones. I never had to fight in court, nor had my daughter ever gone without. Carter deposited money, in excess, monthly, and instead of living extravagantly, I put every single penny that I didn’t absolutely need aside for her future. That didn’t stop the locals from whispering, though.
Carter came from old money, so the fact that Paisley and I lived in a simple two-bedroom made for some delicious town gossip. Belle claimed she was oblivious to it all due to homeschooling, being sheltered and all. I only half-believed her; this was the one instance where, if she were lying, I loved her all the more for it. I wanted to be Belle when I grew up.
And we, Carter and I, wanted more for Paisley, even though it didn’t seem that way to those on the outside looking in. While my upbringing had been simple, Carter spent a lot of time resenting the money he’d been born into and how it shaped his family dynamic. Paisley would never want for anything, but she would be grateful for everything.
Deep thoughts aside, I joined Belle in gawking at my TV screen.
“I mean, Team Damon, obviously, but Klaus is completely underappreciated.”
One of my favorite things about Belle? She always thought out loud. She grabbed the remote, paused our binge-watching of supposed teen vampires, and asked the hard questions.
“So, who’ve ya done lately?” she questioned, and miraculously, she did so with a straight face.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
I could not believe she’d ask me such a question. And then again, yea, I could. Not because it was Belle. Okay, a little because it came from Belle. But also because of things she’d witnessed as of late. Was there something between Greyson and I? Yes. Between Carter and I? Also yes.
Belle nodded along as I explained my position. I knew she believed attraction is mostly biological and, therefore, out of one’s control, so she barely even flinched when I told her about mine and Greyson’s time, or times, together as well as what happened with Carter.
“What do you want, Presley?”
When I responded that I didn’t know, she smiled wide, squeezed my hand, and reassured me like only Belle could.
“Nor do you have to. Don’t let either of them push you into a decision you’re not ready to make. Hell, who says you have to make one at all?”
A devilish grin lit up her face.
“Ya know, I think Greyson’s a little afraid of you.” I was only half joking.
“I mean, I do bring that big dick energy, so….”
We both burst out laughing. It was the type of belly laugh that lifted any and all weight off my shoulders and left a stitch in my side. Carter made the right call in calling Belle over here; he always did.
We finis
hed up with our teen vampire binge session and began taking dishes and what snacks we didn’t inhale back to the kitchen.
“You look tired, sweetie.”
Belle was right. As much as I needed her company, and more importantly, her wisdom, I needed sleep more. Carter would have Peanut for a few more hours. Long enough for me to squeeze in a much-needed nap. Belle helped me load the dishwasher before she headed out.
“Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all. This may be a bad time to ask, but what do you want me to bring to the BBQ?”
The look on my face had her backpedaling; she’d get with me later. I stumbled towards my bedroom after double checking all the locks and window blinds. Carter had a key, so no worries there. I shot him a text anyway, letting him know I was going to nap and to thank him for calling Belle when he knew I needed her most.
“Sweet dreams,” he replied.
I thought to text Greyson too, but I decided to let things settle a bit. Like Belle said, there was no rush. My bedding still smelled like him and lulled me straight to sleep.
His lips danced across the base of my back. He stilled for just a moment before running the tip of his nose up the base of my spine and snuggled in behind me. My back arched as he filled me, nudging me towards the other. He greeted me with a flick of his tongue that pebbled the skin of my throat. Carter’s hand slipped between us to fall in rhythm with Greyson’s slow pulls from behind. When one gave, the other received. Not one inch of me remained untouched. Ice-blue eyes drifted shut when I reached to pull him closer, to savor the taste of him on my tongue. My name tumbled from Greyson’s lips, a lullaby as he rocked me. They cradled me close, treasured and whole.
A gasp ripped from my lungs when I shot straight up, clutching my comforter tight. What the hell kind of dream was that?!
I hobbled my way out of the bed to grab an ice-cold bottle of water and rounded the corner, just as my crew returned home.
“Mommy!” Paisley ran to me with full force. She was hopped up on sugar, and her mouth could barely keep up with her brain. She had so much to tell me. There had been a pony, “bunches” of balloons, along with icing and sprinkles galore. She bounced back to Carter, who dropped down to greet her eye to eye.