by Cari Quinn
“All the same things you mentioned. He’s the bad boy, I’m the good girl. Except I’m not nearly that good, and he’s not that bad.” She hesitated, straddling the best friend vs. TMI line. “So, ah, we do stuff in bed.”
“I should hope so. Otherwise, I’d be lecturing you for a different reason.”
“I mean, we play games. Roleplaying stuff. We use blindfolds and toys. And last night, he spanked me.” And she probably doesn’t want to know the rest.
“Wow, you certainly went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. I didn’t start using blindfolds and toys with a lover for at least six months or so. Though my first sexual experience was at the water tower in the center of town, so I guess I can’t talk. Anyhoo. You’re okay with all that?”
“I am. I’ve always wanted to explore, and it’s Bryan who made me feel comfortable doing it. Everything feels right with him. I’ve known him so long that aside from a bit of nerves on my end, it seems almost natural to fall into the roles we have.” She rubbed her sore eyes. “This is weird. We shouldn’t be talking about this. He’s your brother.”
“Did I or did I not tell you about the hot wax incident?”
“Yes.”
“The tying up in the barn incident?”
Jill’s lips twitched. “Uh-huh.”
“The yoga studio sex that—”
“Okay, stop bragging. I get it. You and Cory are freaks. What’s your point?”
“You haven’t been sharing any dirty stuff with me. Which means you’re overdue. I’ll pretend it doesn’t involve Bryan. We’ll call him Thor.”
“Thor?” Jill couldn’t stifle her giggle. “Well, that is surprisingly accurate.”
“Eww. Eww. Stop. No descriptions of body parts. General terms only. So what kind of roleplaying?”
Jill had made it halfway through the story when her apartment buzzer rang. “Hang on. Someone’s here. Be right back.” She dropped the phone and pulled on her robe before hurrying to the door.
Please be Bryan. Please be Bryan.
She opened the door and glanced down at the white florist box lying on the dingy carpet. Picking it up, she searched for a card.
Thank you for the most amazing week of my life.
Oh God, he’d sent her flowers. How unbelievably romantic. She popped the top on the box and grinned at the two dozen red roses tucked in the tissue paper. She lowered her head to sniff them, then rushed back to the phone, cradling the box to her chest. “Guess what?” She snatched her cell off the bed and let out a delighted laugh. “He sent me a sweet card and roses—”
“Oh no,” Vic whispered. “Not red. Tell me they aren’t red.”
“Why? Red roses are gorgeous. They mean love, right?” Jill tacked on another laugh, weaker this time.
Beneath the vibrant, perfect roses lay one withered, dying one at the bottom of the box. The florist must’ve accidentally missed it.
The dead flower wasn’t a metaphor for anything. It was just some petals and a stem.
“Jill, how many are there?”
“Two dozen. Why?”
“Maybe it means something different now. Maybe I’m wrong.” Vic continued babbling. “Please let me be wrong. He could be trying a new thing. What do I know, anyway?”
A lump formed in Jill’s throat. “What is it, Vic? Just say it.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. So sorry.” Vic lowered her voice. “Bryan used to send red roses to women he dated when he was breaking things off.”
Chapter Eleven
Late Friday afternoon, Bryan paced up the hallway outside of his agent’s office. He’d been waiting for half an hour to speak to Hank, but the guy was on some urgent teleconference and couldn’t be interrupted.
It had been six days since he’d left Haven. Last night had been Vic’s rehearsal dinner, and like the coward he was, he’d sent his friend Cade to stand in for him as a groomsman. True, wedding rehearsal stand-ins weren’t the usual practice, and none of his friends and family actually knew Cade, but he’d done it to show that he cared about his sister and didn’t want to disrupt the flow of the ceremony. Cade had been surprisingly sketchy on the details of the night, but he’d agreed to stick around through Saturday just in case Bryan couldn’t get back in time.
He wasn’t supposed to get back in time. Hank had flat-out told him “forget it” when he’d suggested spending the weekend in Pennsylvania. It was necessary he be around as needed to demonstrate his commitment to the Mariners. They would be taking a chance on him at a high rate of investment, after all. In their eyes, he was still a boozing, womanizing, injured quarterback.
AKA yesterday’s player du jour.
This arrangement was looking worse and worse. His sister needed him, and instead of being there for her, he was stuck in Maryland. And he had no plan to get back.
He’d had meetings with Bannion and the rest of his assistants and various suits all week long, along with more conditioning workouts than he could count. Every time he had to perform like a trained monkey for his agent and the Mariners brass, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He didn’t need this bullshit. He was only a few years away from thirty. Yes, he had plenty of good playing time left in him, but the clock was ticking. Even if he got re-signed this time, the next time his contract came up for renewal, he might not be so lucky.
“Townsend, get in here.”
Bryan headed into Hank’s glass and chrome office and slumped in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “About time. I was about to go get a burger, onion rings, and a milkshake.” He’d had no intention of doing any such thing, but he drew unholy amusement from rankling his agent.
“You can’t afford to let up on your conditioning. You’re making the grade right now, but if you do anything to upset the balance—”
“Fuck the balance, Hank. What kind of money are we talking?”
Hank frowned. “We haven’t completed talks yet. Just know that things are progressing, and all indications are good you’ll be compensated handsomely. Assuming you don’t slip up.”
Slip up. Like he was a child about to stick his thumb in the peanut-butter jar. “I want to go to my sister’s wedding.” He’d talked to Vic twice this week, including last night before the rehearsal, and she hadn’t bitched him out at all. She’d barely even raised her voice. She felt guilty for what she saw as her role in driving him away and was trying to tread gently.
He didn’t want her to tread gently. This entire week in Maryland had proved he was trying to slide back into a life that didn’t fit him anymore. He’d always justified everything by his love of the game. But the hoops they were making him jump through were showing him exactly how much else he had to put up with—and how small of a reward playing had become.
Pretending he was in great shape didn’t help. He was in fucking pain. His knee was supposed to be fully healed by now, but it wasn’t. A little self-masochism was fine. Going home every night to ice the shit out of his knee—and then writhing through half the night—was taking it too far.
He needed his fucking nurse. Needed her soft kisses, needed to see her trusting blue eyes trained on his, needed her sweet laughter. Most of all, he desperately needed her to tell him he hadn’t irrevocably damaged the best thing in his life by walking away when he should’ve stood and fought.
Hank sighed. “I already told you that isn’t possible.” He steepled his hands and flashed his shark-like smile. “Besides, you know how it is with weddings nowadays. You miss one, give it a year or two and they’ll probably get divorced and hitched to someone new.”
Bryan leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. “Just because you’re used to dealing with Hollywood types doesn’t mean you know one thing about my sister.”
“Okay, okay. Have it your way.” Hank leaned back, palms up. “I’m just saying you shouldn’t make it into a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. I should be there. She only has one brother.” And I have to prove to her—and myself—that I’m the kind
of man who can be trusted.
Most importantly, he had to prove that to Jill.
This week without her had been hell. He hadn’t slept, and he’d barely eaten. A big part of that had to do with his grueling rehab and workout schedule, but just as much of it had to do with Jill. He hated how they’d left things. She deserved so much more than flowers and a card. She deserved the world. Maybe he wasn’t the man to give it to her, but he damn well intended to try. He wasn’t a fucking quitter, not when it mattered this much.
A week ago, he’d have seen leaving football as quitting. But she’d taught him he was more than that. Now he saw leaving football as knowing the time had come to pack up his outfit—erm, uniform—and get the hell out of Dodge while he could still walk and could still tolerate watching ESPN.
Okay, so he wouldn’t get crazy. ESPN had never done him wrong.
“I understand that,” Hank said. “Believe me, I do. I’m a family man myself, and I think it’s admirable that you are so close to your little sister. But fact is, a man has to pick and choose his priorities.” Settling into his lecture, he edged forward on his chair. “When you look back at the end of your life, what would you rather remember, Bry? A wedding that was over in two hours or a chance to help get your team back to the Super Bowl?”
Bryan clenched his jaw at the usage of the nickname Bry. Only Jill called him that. “I’ve been asking myself the same question all week. I’ve been wondering what kind of man has an argument with his sister and then deserts his woman before his sister’s wedding, thereby proving every bad thing anyone’s ever thought about him. The money I stand to lose isn’t enough motivation, so I made a choice to come back for the game I love. Only problem is, there’s someone I love more.” He rose and slid his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “So consider this me bowing out of consideration for another contract. I’m done. Finito.”
Hank lurched to his feet. “We’re talking millions, Townsend.”
“You are. I’m done talking.” He headed for the door, already debating when he could get his dog and back on the road to Haven.
He was pretty sure he’d never been a hurry to get back there before, but hey, first time for everything. The double whammy was that he was heading back to a woman, too. If she would have him.
“Fine, you can go the wedding,” Hank called.
Bryan halted. Then he shook his head. “Nah. Too little, too late. I appreciate all your help over the years. Maybe Yorn needs a new agent.” He saluted Hank and shut the door behind him.
Halfway down the hall, his phone went off. He pulled it out, hoping as he always did that it might be Jill. Instead it was Vic.
“Yo, sis.”
A long pause. “Let me guess. You just signed for ten million and a pink pony.”
“Black.”
“A black pony? Can you even fit on a pony, you big lug?”
He laughed, relieved beyond measure that she sounded like the same ol’ Vic. They still had a lot to work out between them, but at least they could laugh with each other. “You brought up the pony, not me.”
“You sounded perky. You haven’t sounded perky all week. Last time I talked to you I thought you were about to curl up in the fetal position.”
“I did that before you called, smart ass.”
“So what’s with the change of attitude then? Has to be that you signed for mega bucks, to which I say congratulations, I’m happy for you, and guess what, your little sister’s having a baby, so you should plan on tricking out your niece or nephew.”
He stopped. Opened his mouth and closed it. “You’re pregnant?”
“Pickles and chocolate ice cream have been my staples for two days. You do the math.”
It felt good to laugh that hard. “God, I missed you, Vic.”
“I missed you, too. I’ve missed you for the entire time you’ve been in Maryland, and I miss you even more now knowing that I so colossally screwed up.” She made a sound that crept suspiciously close to a sob, and he fisted his hand. “Don’t mess up the best thing in your life because I don’t know how to mind my business and shut the hell up when I’m hormonal. You’re plenty good enough for her. You’re good enough for anyone.”
“Vic—”
“I’m serious. I know you think that because you re-upped with the team and you’re hours away that you can’t make a go of something long-distance with Jill. But you can. You just have to open up to her first. Trust that she loves you. Not just the football player. You. She wants you to be happy and do what you love. It’s not about stifling you, it’s about sharing who you are with someone else so you both become better.” She paused. “Hello? Did you hang up?”
“I was looking for the recording app on my phone. Pretty sure I’ll need some of this later when I get back home.”
“You—what?”
“I’m going to have a niece or nephew. You really think I’m going to waste the opportunity to spoil the shit out of them? Hell no. If it’s a boy, watch out. I’m creating an NFL-replica field in your backyard.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If I’m perky—which I’m not and never have been, thank you very much—it’s not because I signed for millions. It’s because I walked away and didn’t sign one damn thing. You’re talking to an official free agent, and man does it feel good.”
“Wait, what?”
He had to laugh. His sister usually talked until his brain threatened to revolt, so he loved when he caused her to do a full stop. A rare gift. “I’m not playing football anymore. The five million dollar payout is officially off the table.” He gripped the phone tighter, his smile growing. “I’m coming home.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely serious.”
“You love her that much, huh?”
It took him a minute to get the words out. “Yeah. Guess I do.”
“Oh man, you’re going to make me cry again.” She sniffled. “For the record, the main reason I was such an A-1 bitch about the whole thing was maybe because I was a little jealous that my two favorite people might love each other more than me.”
Damn, now she was really turning the screws. “You’ve been my favorite girl ever since I pulled the heads off your Barbies and flushed them down the toilet. Not gonna change,” he said gruffly.
“Such a softie.” She let out a watery laugh. “I swear to you, Bry, I don’t think you’re like Mom and Dad. I think you’re like you, and you’re awesome.”
He cleared his throat and stepped out of the cool darkened building that housed Hank’s agency into the sunshine. “So how long can I milk this hurt feelings thing?”
Her giggle soothed him immeasurably. “At least a few months. Why?”
“Help me get my girl back.”
“You mean, like concoct a plan?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Any ideas?”
“Yeah. Don’t ever send her red roses again, you dolt.”
He grimaced. “Not one of my finest moments.”
“Not one of mine either since I told her what it meant. Sorry.”
“Jesus, Vic. Do you hate me?”
“Of course not. It just slipped out.” She huffed out a breath. “Fine, you get a big bonus for putting up with a double dose of your pain-in-the-ass sister. Six months. Six months of milking the hurt feelings and you don’t have to solo babysit the kid for a year. Though you and Jill are totally being the godparents, so don’t even try to wiggle out of that one. Final offer.”
“I’ll take it.” He grinned and shielded his eyes from the sun as he started walking up the street to his truck. He had a lot to do and not much time to do it in. “Now help me with Jill.”
“Okay. So if I were a guy who wanted to prove I loved her, I’d show her in front of a lot of people.”
“Dude, I already know about you and Cory’s thing for outdoor sex. Not happening. I still have a rep in the public eye.”
Vic snort-laughed. “I don’t mean that. Pervert. I mean she needs a
declaration. Something sweet and heartfelt and public so she knows you’re saying in front of the world that she comes first in your eyes.”
“Huh. Okay. I’ll think on that. In the meantime, don’t let her leave the wedding until I arrive.” Now that he was clueing Vic into his surprise for Jill, it might get messy when he clued Jill into his surprise for Vic. The other surprise, assuming no one knew yet that their dad would be in attendance. “I might be late, but I’ll get there. Just don’t let her know I’m on my way.”
“You’re coming? Really?”
“Do you honestly think I’d miss my baby sister’s wedding?” Bad enough that he almost had. Thank God he’d come to his senses.
“No. I didn’t think you’d miss it for anything, which is how I knew I’d really hurt you.” She sighed. “I’m just really glad you’re coming home, Bry.”
He jogged down the ramp to the parking garage, sore knee be damned. If the stars aligned, he might get his personal nurse back soon. “Thanks. Me, too. See you soon, Vickster.”
…
What kind of woman kept the flowers their lover had used to dump them with? A not-too-bright one, maybe. Or one who was desperate to maintain even that small link with him.
Bringing her full circle to not-too-bright.
The morning of Vic’s wedding, Jill stared at the wilted roses on her kitchen table and debated putting them out of their misery. She’d sort of forgotten to give them their plant food and water them properly, and they were showing their wear. Eh, who was she kidding? The other eleven were now dead like the first one. At least she hadn’t shoved them in the garbage as she’d been tempted to do after Vic’s explanation.
Even days later, she couldn’t quite believe such an incredible night had led to their breaking up. She still hadn’t finished scraping her heart off the floor.
That didn’t mean she was taking his behavior lying down. She understood he had a career that took a lot of his time and involved miles of physical distance. She had no desire to try to hold him back. His commitment to excellence at football was only one more thing she loved about him. She intended to tell him that when she drove down to meet him after the wedding.