Done, I grabbed stuff to brush my teeth. The tube had been cleaned, no more caked-on mint paste around the lid. "Shit." Was Elle pissed at me for not keeping my shit clean? I'd make it up to her–maybe buy her a massage session or something. She deserved more after dealing with my ass last night.
I brushed my teeth and still reeked of booze.
"Damn." One whiff of me and Elle would throw my ass out of the house for sure. Before heading to the living room to apologize for acting like an ass, I had to clean up.
A shower relaxed the tension throughout my muscles. My legs shook, and my stomach groaned the longer I stayed under, and so I finished up quickly.
Too exhausted to bother with clothes, I wrapped the towel around my waist and headed to the kitchen where I figured I'd find Elle. I imagined she'd be pissed and disappointed–hell, I was too–but I'd take care of it.
Once in the living room, the silence hit me. The room was empty and so was the kitchen. I headed back to the bedroom, searching for my phone when the doorbell rang.
"Dammit." I returned to the living room and swung the door open.
"Hey, son." Dad stood outside my door, dressed in jeans and a collared shirt, not a suit and tie as he should've been, considering it was a work day.
"Dad," I said, poking my head out the door searching for Elle's car.
"You always answer the door in a towel?"
My eyes dropped to my waist. "Uh, no. Come in." I opened the door wider to let him in. "Give me five to dress," I said, already walking away. "Have a seat."
"Will do. Take your time."
In the bedroom, I hunted for the phone then checked for any missed texts or calls from Elle. None, so I threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before calling her. Three rings later and it went to voicemail.
I sent a text instead. Spud, I'm sorry! When no reply came, I went back out to meet Dad.
He stood by a wall of pictures Elle had added of our families and us. My stomach reminded me of the need to fill it. "You hungry?"
Dad lifted his chin. "Starved. You want to grab a bite?"
"Ah, sure. Have anything in mind?"
"Whatever," he said.
"All right, I know a place."
Keys and wallet in hand, and we were out the door. Dad opened the passenger door and climbed in, and I rested an arm on the roof of the car, leaning my head down. Elle didn't have classes or work on Monday. She also wasn't texting me back or calling, and now Dad showed up? Hungover and hungry was not the best combo when I wanted my brain to work properly.
Dad stepped out, clasping his hands on the hood. "Want me to drive?"
I scratched an imaginary itch on my cheek. "Um, don't think so. I'm good."
As I bent to get into the car, waiting for him to do the same, he chuckled. Elle's disappearance along with Dad's surprise visit started to add up. So as not to jostle the banging in my head any more than necessary, I eased out of the driveway.
Going for the direct approach, I asked, "Why are you here?"
Dad's chuckle a moment ago grew into a hearty laugh. A sharp pain lanced both temples. I gritted my teeth until the throb eased. "Came to see how my favorite son's been holding up." He grabbed my shoulder and squeezed.
With a sideways glance, I studied his profile. He smirked. Nope, didn't believe him.
Rounding the next corner, the restaurant came into view. I pulled in and parked. Not wanting to play along anymore, I said, "Cut the shit, Dad. Why are you here?"
His eyes darkened, and his jaw ticked. "Son." He closed his eyes. When he looked back at me, they were calmer. "Can't we have a simple conversation without one of us yelling obscenities? We've been on good terms for a while now."
I opened my mouth then closed it, legitimately stumped. We had worked through our differences. Guess old habits die hard. "Sorry." I stuck out my hand as a peace offering.
Dad held my hand with a firm grip for a second before letting go. "How about we eat first?"
Inside, I leaned against the dingy white cinderblock wall while we waited in line to order. When I pulled away, my shirt stuck to it. People obviously didn't come here for the clean environment. Bacon grease, pickles, onion rings, and other smells just about did me in. Dehydration along with hunger pains didn't mix well.
The line moved pretty quickly. We ordered the same double-stuffed burger and two large fries with drinks.
"No, I got it," I said, blocking him from paying.
"Good boy," the lady complimented, nodding to me.
Dad laughed then said, "Yes, ma'am. He is."
"Your order will be out shortly," the lady said with a smile.
"Thank you." I tucked my card in its slot then folded my wallet in my back pocket.
Dad found a booth toward the back, away from the slew of high school kids scarfing their lunch before rushing back.
I sucked three-quarters of soda down within seconds, filling the emptiness. I took out my phone, seeing if I'd missed a call or text. Nope.
I texted Elle again: Elle! Pick up your goddamn phone.
Regret hit after I pressed send. If she weren't pissed before, she'd be when she read the last text. As if trying to erase the guilt away, I rubbed the heel of my palm against my eyes.
"Problems?" Dad tilted his head.
"Elle," I said, exhaling, rolling my shoulders back.
"Hmm."
I cocked my head, my mood turning darker. "Got something to say?" I sat back, folding my arms over my chest, and waited for whatever smart-assed comment he handed me.
"She's usually around. Doesn't seem like something she'd do." He waved to my phone. "Not answering your call or text message, she's a responsible young woman."
"I know." I frowned, inspecting my screen. "I'm worried."
"Things okay between you two? I thought you were going to talk to her?"
"Yeah, we're good. And we did talk; we took a weekend trip." I shrugged. "Last night I acted like a jackass." My leg jumped under the table. "And during our trip, I tried talking to her, but she–" I ran a hand over my face. "For the first time in my life I'm afraid of fucking up."
The waitress slid our burger baskets onto the table. "You guys need any ketchup?"
"No, thanks, we're good," Dad answered.
"Okay. You fellas enjoy your burgers."
"Looks good," Dad said. He took a bite.
"Thanks. Now, back to the problem."
By the time I'd finished, our baskets were empty. "Say Elle decides she doesn't want everything that goes along with my career? During football season I'll be gone–a lot." My skin stung when I scratched the stubble along my jaw.
"And you told Elle all of this?" He never broke eye contact, never showed disappointment, only concern.
"No, sir." That wasn't true; we talked, just not in depth. "In a roundabout way." I squirmed as if he were grilling the little kid I used to be.
"Let me get this straight," Dad started, leaning back in the booth and getting comfortable, as if he planned to stay a while. "You worry about leaving Elle behind and alone. Do you think she's going to smarten up and move on?" He placed an arm on the table and bent forward. "Or do you believe you're not good enough to marry her?"
Each question he ticked off didn't settle well. Maybe I shouldn't have chosen greasy food. Son of a bitch, he was right. "Yeah, guess so. I think–" I shifted in the booth, un-suctioning my legs from the vinyl. The underlining reason, the one I was ashamed to admit, flowed out of my mouth. "My relationship with Kellie wasn't great, and as much as I love Elle, I don't want to destroy us the way I did with Kellie."
Dad laughed. He. Fucking. Laughed.
"What the hell are you laughing for?"
"You." He adjusted his position in the seat. "First of all, you were born to play football, son. The best I've seen, and I'm not saying that because you're my kid." He sobered up, his dark eyes deepening. "But continue pulling shit like you did last night and everything you've worked for up until this point will be ruined. Football, a car
eer, and Elle, the woman you've asked to marry." His stare hardened. "As for what you had with Kellie, I wouldn't give it another thought. You two never had what you have with Elle." He grinned. "She's your tomorrow."
He had me up until the end. "What?"
"She's the person you can't wait to be with. The one who makes going to bed sweeter because she'll be there the next day."
Grinning, I said, "She's my tomorrow, huh?" I slapped his upper arm. "Not too bad, Dad."
"Another thing, you've got to nail down which agency to go with."
"Let's do it. Now."
Dad examined me with measured hesitancy. He steepled his hands on the table. "You sure?"
The apprehension I'd bottled up–which agency would represent me best, who wouldn't screw me over–washed away. Time to buck up and make my own decisions. "Absolutely." The tension in my neck was released. "Let's go with Nancy Ferguson's agency, specifically Derrick Carter. Just something about him I trust." As soon as the name left my mouth, it felt right.
Dad nodded with appreciation. "Good pick, son." The corner of his eyes crinkled. "I'll have the lawyers contact them in the morning."
"Thanks."
The man who I thought never looked at me, never paid attention to detail, pegged me without batting a lash. He'd also highlighted how fucked up my head was and told me to wake up. Man-up. Before we left, I had to know something first.
"Elle called, didn't she?"
The smirk, a Daniels' trademark, graced the edge of his mouth.
Elle's interference made me love her more. I grimaced. Time to grovel.
Elle
A mom soothed her crying daughter outside the women's dressing room. As I quietly admired them, my phone chimed again. I clenched my jaw, turned, and focused on the rack of gowns next to me.
"Phone's not going to answer itself." Tisha nudged my arm.
"I'm so pissed!" I hit ignore on the tenth call from Tristan.
"Um, yeah." Alyssa shook her blond hair, whipping my face with it in the process.
"You won't stay mad for long," Tisha chimed in, always the cheerful one.
"Hey, I will."
Alyssa sprayed perfume when I went past her. "You won't."
The extra-sweet scent tickled my nose, and I sneezed. "Y'all have little faith in me."
Alyssa and Tisha both laughed. "None."
Assholes!
"Are y'all going to the formal this weekend?" Tisha looked between Alyssa and me.
I blurted my answer before Alyssa could talk me into changing my mind. "Nope."
"Oh," she said, shoulders slumped. "I can't believe you're skipping out. It's the last one."
"No amount of guilt would get me to agree to go to that stupid thing." I raked my bottom lip between my teeth when she pulled out the puppy dog eyes. "Besides, I never wanted to rush." I shoved Alyssa's shoulder. "She made me."
"You love it, Elle." Alyssa bumped past me, upset.
Tisha leaned in when Alyssa walked away. "Is she mad? She's been acting off lately."
I left Alyssa alone, giving her time. She'd talk when she was ready. "She's fine. Don't worry about it." My phone buzzed again, but I sent the call to voicemail.
"Elle, Bret called," Alyssa said.
"What'd he want?" As if I hadn't already known.
"Get home. Tristan's going ape-shit crazy." She waved her hand in the air.
"Will you be okay, shopping by yourself?"
"Pfft, you should know me better than that."
"Yeah, I do. Shopping is therapy," I said, knowing Alyssa would pick up the innuendo. Alyssa's nostrils flared, but she kept quiet. I said my goodbyes and headed home.
Hopefully, Mr. Daniels was able to get through to Tristan. It made me sick that he wouldn't let me in. When I pulled into the driveway, Tristan opened the door and stepped onto the porch. His large frame took up the entire space. Unshaven and hair mussed, he looked worn out.
Keys in hand, I stepped out of the car and waved. "Hey," I said, and took a few steps before tripping over a rock and landing in the middle of the yard.
"Hey there, Grace." Tristan leaned over me, a smile playing on his lips.
"Um, yeah."
Tristan pulled me up, bringing our bodies together. "I'm an ass," he admitted, spreading a hand across the small of my back.
"Agreed." I attempted to glare, though I lacked conviction. The girls were right.
Tristan's lips met mine, and he softly skimmed his tongue across them, making me melt into him more. Satisfied, he nipped at the skin before pulling away.
"I'm so sorry," he offered.
"Let's get inside, okay?"
Tristan shut the front door, and I dropped my purse and keys on the end table next to the loveseat. My feet ached from shopping, and I kicked off my heels.
Tristan circled an arm around my waist. "I know you can take care of yourself."
"I know you think that–"
"Spud, shut up and just listen." He leaned back to judge my expression before smiling. The first easy-going grin I'd seen since our weekend getaway.
I conceded with a smile, too.
"I want to know, if something happens, I can provide for my family. It wasn't until life happened and reality hit me in the face that I realized that ball wasn't just about playing the game I loved. It was about providing a life for us both." One hand dropped to my stomach. "For all of us," he finished, and this time, tears brimmed both our eyes.
"I understand, Tristan." I covered his hand on my stomach with my own. "I do."
"I promise not to shut you out again." The sound of Tristan's voice felt like the sweetest caress.
"To me, what we have together mattered most–above football even." Tristan crouched until we were at eye level. "And what I don't want is for us to drift apart." He straightened his spine. "The way Kellie and I did."
Stunned, I had no idea he felt this way. I was in for the long-haul, and my heart sank knowing he had doubts.
The stubble on his cheeks pricked my palms when I touched his face. "First of all, you're going to kill it tomorrow. Your parents said scouts were all over you at the combine. You've got this." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. "And secondly, I love you, and I wouldn't end that. Not after everything we've been through."
"I know," he said, shifting. "Really. I do. And there's one other thing to get off my chest." He laced his fingers with mine, leading us to the couch.
Tension climbed up my spine. "What else is going on?"
Those full lips of his lifted in a half-smile. "Thank you for calling Dad." Tristan ran his fingers through my hair, skimming my cheek in the process. "I promise to be more open."
"I'm glad, because if we're going to make us work, you've got to communicate with me."
"Trust me, I get that now. And I finally picked the agent. Derrick Carter."
The pressure from smiling hurt, though I didn't care. I was so proud of the man he'd become. At that moment, I wanted so badly to start the rest of our forever.
"Wow." I tilted my head. "The guy who brought his son to watch you play? At the end of the game, he asked you for an autograph?"
Tristan nodded, a grin curving his lips.
"I'm so, so proud of you! So where's your dad? I want to thank him." I glanced past his shoulder to the kitchen. Mr. Daniels' bags weren't there.
"Headed home. Said he wanted to get a jump on the paperwork." He grabbed my wrist. His fingers stroked the sensitive area on the inside.
The woodsy cologne I loved so much wafted off his tanned skin, and I inhaled. "Thanks for letting me in that thick skull of yours."
"I really am sorry for being an overbearing jerk." Tristan nuzzled my hair.
I closed my eyes, thankful we'd gotten over the hurdle. "Forgiven." I backed up. "Hey, how 'bout a celebratory dinner?"
His chest vibrated against mine with laughter. "All right."
"You up for tacos?"
He nodded, and we headed to our cozy kitchen. We bumped into each other
any time one of us moved around. I wouldn't change anything about it.
Cutting board in hand, I placed it on the counter when Tristan knocked me out of his way with his hip.
"Hey! I'm perfectly capable of cutting vegetables." I pointed to the ripe tomatoes, jalapeños, and onions he'd added next to the cutting board.
Tristan ignored me and took out two Coronas. Popping the top off, he added lime and beer salt to mine and only lime to his. "Sit and keep me company." He grinned, offering me the beverage–which I took. "Tell me how your day went."
As I took a sip of my beer, the crisp tang glided down in a refreshing gulp. Since we were sharing, I figured he should know about my conversation with Rixon. "Remember when you and some other frat idiots pretended y'all were MMA fighters?"
"Not gonna let me forget that, are you?" Tristan chuckled.
I nudged his shoulder. "Oh, no. I plan on using this as leverage for a while, slugger."
Tristan shook his head.
"Anyway. So, Rixon called, asking questions."
Turning toward me, Tristan paused from chopping the onion. "And?" he probed.
I held up a hand. "Don't worry, I shut Rixon down, but my point is, you've got to be more responsible."
Tristan scowled, and I thought he would argue. He didn't.
"You're right." Tristan picked up the knife and went back to prepping dinner.
Grabbing the sour cream and guacamole dip from the fridge, I said, "Wow, maybe I should invite your dad down more often."
Tristan stopped mid-slice and slid over to stand in front of me. "Uh, negative."
Back on the counter, I picked up the lighter we use for the pit out back and a nearby candle. The lighter clicked, but no flame ignited. I shook it and clicked it again. Nothing. "Will you help me with this?"
I hopped off the counter, meeting him by the sink. I tried once more. Flame.
"Fuck," Tristan yelped, jumping back.
Quickly, I snatched the waterspout and sprayed, intending to only soothe the burn on his arm. Whoops! Tristan faced me with a blank expression and his hair dripping. I laughed. His drenched T-shirt stuck to his chest. "Um…"
Interception (Distraction #3) Page 16