I nodded. “Soup. You said you were soup people.”
“Butternut squash people, to be exact.” She winked and then in a husky voice added, “With a dash of bacon.”
“I don’t think dash has ever sounded so sexy.”
Harley hummed while she familiarized herself with my kitchen, and when she realized she’d need to go to the store, she kissed my cheek, grabbed my keys, said she’d be back, and then left me alone with my thoughts, with my sadness.
I took a shower then walked around my apartment like a zombie. Out of my control. All of it.
What the hell was I going to do without my dad?
It broke a piece of me.
It severed my heart.
And made me feel like I was just one second away from cracking; all my life I’d looked to him, and now I felt lost. Out of focus. Afraid.
Damn, I was so afraid.
And I wondered if I’d ever be the same without that man in my life, without his words of encouragement, without his crude jokes and ability to demolish an entire tray of cookies.
Lost in thought, I lay down on the couch.
It felt like minutes later when I was getting softly woken up.
Harley stood over me with a bowl of soup and the best-smelling bread in the entire universe.
I ate, and then I had another bowl and then I told her that if I wasn’t already half in love with her—the food would have done it.
She sucked in a breath.
I cursed the magic food.
“You mean that?” she asked in a small voice. “I mean we’ve only known each other a few weeks.”
“Yeah, well.” I put the bowl down. “Kinda feels like longer when you go through shit like this together, huh? It either kills a relationship or bonds you more.”
Her smile was weak and then she got up and left.
Shit. I messed up. Again.
Within seconds, she emerged from down the hall and handed me something.
Frowning, I looked down at the plastic stick in my hand.
Two blue lines crossed a little window.
Two.
Blue.
Lines.
“I suspected,” she whispered. “I was afraid to tell you—”
I devoured her next words with my mouth, lifted her onto the table, and braced the side of her face with my hands. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah.” She gulped. “Remember that first night?”
“I think it’s impossible to forget.”
It was only the second time I’d seen her blush. “I was afraid it was positive, afraid you’d run, and then all of this happened.” She sighed. “I pushed the suspicion back, thinking my body was just under an insane amount of stress, and then you came back and we were happy, and I thought, Oh great, just one more thing on his plate.” Her eyes met mine. “One more thing you can’t control.”
Our foreheads touched. I let out a long sigh. “You know, if there’s anything this last year has taught me, it’s that some of the best things in life can’t be helped or controlled.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Like you,” I whispered against her lips. “Like our baby.”
“Our baby,” she repeated with a smile.
“Yeah.” I kissed her softly on the mouth. “Ours.”
“Are we telling your dad about this?”
I nodded my head and laughed. “He’s going to kill me, call me an idiot, and then try to live just a little bit longer to feel that baby kick.”
“I hope so.” She touched her flat stomach.
“Thank you.” I lifted her off the counter and carried her over to the couch, careful to lay her down so that I was holding her, not heavily pushing against her frail body.
“For getting pregnant?” she teased.
“Sorry to break it to you but that’s all on me . . . it just . . . God, Harley, it felt so good to be in your arms, to have nothing but you surround me, I’ve never felt that way about anyone before, I think the first time I’ve ever fully relinquished any sort of control was that moment in your arms.”
She sniffled.
I looked over her shoulder. “Is the unbreakable Harley crying? Should I tell Grandma?”
She elbowed me in the stomach. “That was really sweet.”
“It’s true.” I kissed her neck. “So I guess you could say that the very first time I lost control—I wasn’t given one gift.” I pressed a hand to her stomach. “But two.”
She turned in my arms and kissed my mouth, her hands tugged at my hair and then my shirt.
Clothes were off in seconds without our mouths ever leaving one another.
And then, I was home.
In her arms.
And I had to imagine that this was exactly how it was supposed to happen for me, because in that moment, it seemed impossible for it to be any other way.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
MILLER
Preseason Game 2
San Francisco vs. Bellevue
Home Turf
Favored Team: Bellevue Bucks
Coach stomped into the locker room, took one look around, and cleared his throat. “Men, normally I wouldn’t be giving a speech before a preseason game, and if I did, it would center around playing your heart out to secure a spot with this program. But today, after this last week, I feel like some words are warranted.” He turned his attention to Jax. “When one of us hurts, all of us hurts, that’s what brotherhood is about, we suffer together, we stand together, so when we walk out there, I want to see unity, I want the world to know what type of team they’re cheering for. This goes beyond football. This, men, is life. You never know who may be watching, who may need to see their heroes stand tall. Play like heroes today, and you’ll win.”
Nobody made eye contact.
Probably because it was one of the best speeches any of us had ever heard, and every damn one of us had tears in our eyes.
Jax stood.
We followed.
And then he did something I’d never seen him do before—he reached for Sanchez on one side, then looped his arm through mine.
The rest of the players followed suit as we linked arms all the way down the tunnel and out onto the field.
Screaming made it hard to focus on anything but the fact that when the world saw us walk tall out onto that field.
They saw unity.
Hope.
They saw a brotherhood.
And I’d never, in all my life, been so honored to be a part of it.
Jax, in that one second, solidified himself as the only leader I wanted to follow, and I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt the exact same way, that I would rather take the hit than have any harm come to him.
So when we won the coin toss.
When our defense shut them out and it was our turn to take a spot on the field, I turned to him and said, “Trick play?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Does this mean you wanna throw again?”
“They won’t be expecting the same thing again.”
“Nope.”
“Your dad’s watching.”
The huddle grew silent.
Sanchez was the first to speak. “Double Dr Pepper on two.”
Jax looked up at him and nodded.
Sanchez bumped his fist and ran to his position on the field.
When the ball was snapped, I ran toward Jax, blocking the center before Jax turned on his heel and threw the ball to Sanchez.
Sanchez caught it while I followed Jax’s route, hitting everyone in his path with as much violence as I could muster.
I knew the exact moment the ball was sailing toward Jax, his eyes lit up, his focus was trained. One guy stood in our way. I took him out so hard that he flipped onto the ground backward.
Jax caught the ball.
Made the touchdown.
And saluted Sanchez.
And in that moment, it was more than football to me.
More than a game.
It was something
I’d never forget.
Something I would teach my kids and their kids and whoever the hell would listen to me: that life isn’t always about the big moments, but the smaller ones that lead up to them, the truly important parts of your life are the ones that you a lot of times want to ignore, they’re the pain, the agony, the anxiety, the bad.
But they have a purpose.
Everything does.
That big moment was incredible.
The moments building up to it, painful.
And yet I could stand there and look around the stadium and whisper to myself, “It may hurt, but it’s good. Life is good.”
“Mr. Miller, Mr. Miller!” Marco was waiting for me in the locker room right along with his mom. “You played so good!”
“Thanks, man.” I gave him a high five just as Sanchez walked around the corner.
Marco’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Grant Sanchez! Best receiver in the league!”
“Hey, look at that, he knows my official title.” Sanchez winked down at him then knelt. “You have fun today, my man?”
“So much.” Marco did a little dance. “Hey, can you sign my football?”
“I’d sign a thousand footballs for you.” Sanchez shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal when we both knew it was.
I slapped him on the back and then grabbed Jax so Marco could meet him.
Jax was already on his way over to me. “The infamous Marco, good to see you again.”
“Oh, hey!” He pointed at Jax. “You were at the hospital too. Are you sick?”
“Nah, man”—Jax knelt down—“but my dad is.”
“Oh.” Marco’s smile fell. “When my daddy died he told me that it’s really important to eat your vegetables.”
Jax’s eyes widened. “Wow, really? I’ll have to make sure to do that.”
“Know what else?”
“What?”
“He said to treat every day like it’s your last because you never know if it will be. I bet your dad is doing that right now, huh? I bet he watched your game and was so proud and screaming and yelling like I was. I bet he cried too. Because that’s what dads do when they get proud, they cry.”
Jax’s eyes filled with tears. “I believe you on that one, buddy.” He put his hands on his hips. “You know, you’re pretty smart.”
“Duh.” He rolled his eyes. “My mom always says so.”
“Well then.” Sanchez chuckled while Marco’s mom blushed, you could tell she’d been through a lot. Her face was tired. Exhausted, really.
“So.” I split my gaze between him and his mom. “The guys and I thought it would be really cool for you to have season tickets, what do you think about that?”
“Really?”
“Yup! Only on one condition. You see those boxes way up high?”
He nodded his head vigorously.
“You have to sit up there where it’s nice and warm, and you have to promise to eat as much food as possible.”
“I’m in!” He clapped his hands while his mom mouthed a “thank you” to us, and wiped at some of her tears.
Life without a husband, with one child sick, I couldn’t even imagine.
And then it hit me. All this time I’d been focused on myself and on what I couldn’t offer Kinsey rather than what I could offer. I’d been angry over my past, irrational over my mom, over losing Em even, and yet this little kid was giving me a run for my money, humbling me to such extremes that I wanted to punch myself.
When they left, I was still thinking about it.
When I got home, Kinsey was there waiting with a glass of wine.
I blurted out, “Do you think I’m selfish?”
She frowned. “What? Where did that come from? You’re one of the most selfless people I know!”
“No.” I shook my head. “I wish that was true. I think when it comes to you especially, I’m the most selfish man alive.”
“Miller—”
“Hear me out. I want you all to myself. I wanted you when I shouldn’t have wanted you, when I sure as hell didn’t deserve to touch you, to take your heart, and then to promise you nothing but sex? To promise to protect you from Anderson and take you for myself? All of it. Selfish. Horrible. That’s not the guy I want to be for you, Kins. I can’t be him for you. I want you—but I need to want you in the right way, where if you walked out that door and said you wanted nothing to do with me, my feet would stay planted to this ground in order to honor what you really wanted.”
“You done yet?”
I sighed. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“You, Quinton Miller, next to my daddy and brother, are one of the best men I know. You are kind. Smart. Giving. Inspiring. You love with your whole heart even when you’re afraid it’s going to break all over again, and when I needed you most in my life, you were there. You know, when I was little, Jax was my hero. He was . . . everything. I placed him on a pedestal and got pissed when he tripped off it.”
“Stupid Jax,” I teased.
“Right? I learned a thing or two about pedestals, about perfection. Eventually you fail, and when you fail, you fall really hard, Miller. I don’t want perfect. I just want you. I want us. I want what we have, this burning violent uncontainable thing between us. That’s all I need. As far as you being selfish? Good. Because it means that you want me solely for yourself—and that works out great for me, I’ve been yours since that first kiss in Vegas.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” She said it slowly, without taking her eyes off mine.
I kissed, tasted her, craved her so much that it was impossible for me to stop kissing her.
“Hold my heart, Quinton Miller. I’m sorry it hurts so much right now. You deserve a heart that’s not mourning.”
I sighed. “Aw, Kinsey, my heart never stopped mourning, maybe our two hearts can help heal each other.”
She nodded.
“I was wrong.”
“About what?”
I slowly pulled her sweater from her body. “It’s going to be okay. It gets better. When you’re with someone you love. It gets better.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded and placed a hand on my heart. “I know.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
KINSEY
His kisses were like a drug. His hands, possessive, just the way they’d always been since that first time.
When his tongue circled around my belly button, I almost kicked him in the face.
“You’re beautiful.” Miller’s mouth covered mine. “So beautiful.”
“You sure you’re not too sore? You did get hit a lot today.”
“You’re worth it.” He winced a bit as he hovered over me.
“Nope!” I crawled out from underneath him and walked naked all the way over to the shower, turned on the hot water, and pointed. “In, now.”
“Bossy,” he grumbled, standing up and sliding off his pants until all I saw was mocha-kissed skin and abs, so many abs I was dizzy. “See something you like?”
“Somethings.” I shrugged. “Plural.” He stopped in front of me. My hands found his chest and then he was kissing me against the wall, lifting me into the shower, teasing my tongue with his. Hot water pelted against my back, wetting my hair as pieces stuck to my face.
“Love you.” His head fell as he nuzzled my neck, breathing me in before bracing a hand above my head and pulling me in to him.
My breath quickened when he thrust in and out. Steam billowed between us as we made love.
Love.
That’s what this was between us.
And in my mind’s eye it suddenly clicked into place.
Saved by the prince.
Protected by the king.
Given to the knight on his white horse—the one who claimed to have a broken heart—only to find out that it matched the very one I held in my chest.
Love . . . would be stronger than death.
I would make sure of it.
“Love you,” he said
again and again. I was lost in the sensation of his strong body, of the way he made me feel strong. “So much.”
Epilogue
MILLER
The funeral was three weeks later.
Not one.
Three.
I’d like to think that he fought a little bit harder because he wanted to see grandchildren. Cancer had spread everywhere until it was impossible for him to breathe without help.
And when it was time.
We were all with him.
Even Sanchez and Em.
The team was in the waiting room.
My family.
Six years ago, I’d lost my family, I’d lost everything.
And now?
I had around eighty people I called brother, a few I called sister, several I called friends.
One I would soon call fiancée.
I cried.
I had promised him I’d let myself.
I cried for him. I cried for my mom. I cried for Kinsey and Jax.
I cried for me.
For all those times I held the tears in for fear of looking weak in front of my dad, for fear that once I let go I wouldn’t stop.
And when dirt was thrown onto his casket.
I smiled.
Because he was at peace.
“Cheers.” Jax walked up with a bottle of whiskey and seven shot glasses, each of us took one and waited for him to pour. Once he was finished, he faced the grave and said, “To the best man who ever lived—may you live some more . . . and may there always be chocolate chip cookies.”
“And football,” Kinsey added.
“Whiskey.” Harley handed her shot to Sanchez, who took it.
“And Eddell.” I beamed, saying my mom’s name. “Say hi to my mom, she’ll be the one making the cookies.”
Paula pulled me in for a side hug after she took her shot. I looked down at her and smiled. “So about that ring . . .”
We didn’t win the championship.
We lost by a field goal.
I was too nervous to be pissed.
In minutes, I was going to be asking my girl to marry me, and all I had to show for it was a dirty uniform and a ring in my palm.
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