“Brady, can we throw the ball around?” Liam asks, grabbing the football from the bench by the back door.
Both Brady and Liam are giving me a pleading look. The same look. The same everything, really, I’m starting to realize.
“Sure, go on out there, you two,” I say, taking a head of broccoli out of the reusable shopping bag. The boys head out to throw passes. “I’ll just be here slaving away.”
Brady hesitates by the back door until Liam says, “She’s just joking. She likes to chop vegetables all night long.”
“What a weirdo,” Brady says, ushering Liam out the door. Then he looks back and winks at me.
It isn’t long between Brady and Liam disappearing out the patio door to me hearing laughter coming from the backyard. The football sails past the sliding doors separating the patio from the kitchen.
I move down the counter a little so I have a view of both of them while I unload groceries. I often think of how amazingly proud Lucy would be of the smart little kid Liam has become.
Even before he was born, he was so loved and wanted. Sitting by my sister’s hospital bed, it didn’t really hit me that she really might not make it until she made me promise not to tell Brady about Liam.
I wanted to keep her promise. How can you deny a dying wish, after all? And up until now, keeping it hasn’t been a problem.
He lived his life, oblivious to Liam and I, and we lived ours. But now our lives are starting to entwine a little more every day.
As much as I loathed the thought of being in the same room with Brady when I first took this job—and feared Liam and Brady being in the same room—it feels different now. If I’m being honest with myself, seeing how amazing Brady is with Liam, the ease they have with each other, I wonder if I’m making the right decision by keeping this huge secret from them both.
The stir-fry is sizzling in the pan, and the brown rice is boiling away, giving me a chance to chop veggies to have at the ready in the fridge. I chuckle, thinking that Liam is right—I do love chopping stuff. I also love having a fuller house, like it was when Gigi and Pappy were still alive.
I walk to the back door and catch a glimpse of a shirtless Brady. He’s all ripped biceps and glistening chest in the evening sun. Suddenly, I remember sitting in that hot tub last night, alternating between wanting him to go away and wanting him to take me in his arms.
When I jumped out of the tub, there was a split second there that I considered running straight at him instead of away from him to the safety of my room. Pushing the thought of my body pressed against Brady’s, I open the door and step out.
“Time to eat, guys,” I say. Liam tosses the football onto the chaise lounge as they both head in. “A little hot for you out here?”
“Not used to the humidity,” Brady answers as he throws his t-shirt back on. “It’s going to turn to fall at some point, right?”
“Texas seasons are a little different than what you’re used to in New York,” I say. “It’ll get slightly less hot for a few days soon, then summer will come roaring back.”
“So…don’t get my wool coat out just yet?” Brady jokes, grabbing a plate and loading food onto it. “Or pack up my muscle shirts?” Brady flexes his biceps while Liam laughs.
All I can think about, though, is what a shame it would be to cover up those strong arms.
“No, definitely don’t put away your...your sleeveless shirts,” I manage to spit out.
“Can I eat in the living room?” Liam asks, oblivious to how Brady and I can’t seem to look away from each other. “The game’s about to start.”
Of course, any mention of sports, and my spell over Brady is broken.
“I vote yes,” Brady says, already heading into the living room with Liam. “It is for research, after all.” Another wink.
“Pay attention, Liam,” Brady says as he and Liam settle down beside each other on the couch, as if they’ve done it every night of Liam’s life, and I sink into the recliner just inches from Brady. “We’re going up against them week nine, so I’m going to need your advice, buddy.”
“They’ve got a good quarterback,” Liam says, “but not as good as you.”
“Thanks to a certain team nutritionist, I’m getting better every week,” Brady jokes. “Her smoothies would make a star athlete out of anybody.”
I smile at the compliment, realizing that Liam gets his ability to charm me into a later bedtime or an extra scoop of ice cream from his dad.
I don’t know that I’ve ever called Brady that. I know I’ve referred to him as the sperm donor. The man who killed my sister, sure.
But Liam’s dad? That seems a little too personal. A little too real. But that’s what he is.
I’m beginning to think a little more each day that it’s not fair to keep father and son apart. Promise or not, is it really my place to keep Brady from the truth about Liam?
My napkin falls to the floor, and Brady and I both reach for it at the same time. Our hands meet, followed closely by our eyes. As I look into his deep, blue eyes, I think how he can’t possibly be the same college kid who broke my sister’s heart into a million pieces.
The action on the TV breaks our gaze. I place the napkin securely under my plate. He might not be that same irresponsible kid, but I have no doubt he’s still the same hothead quarterback who just last season spent every night partying.
There might be glimpses of a mature man every once in a while, but I’m still not convinced that it’s enough to betray Lucy. These are the times when I could really use my big sister’s advice. The irony is that, if she were still alive, this would be her headache to deal with, not mine.
“Take your plate to the kitchen if you’re finished, Liam,” I say.
“But it’s the last quarter, can’t it wait?” Liam whines.
“I don’t care if it’s the last quarter, or the eighth quarter, for that matter,” I say, going into stern mom mode. “Take your plate in there now.”
“Aww, mom,” Liam protests while dragging his feet—and holding his dirty plate—toward the kitchen.
“Aww, mom,” Brady mimics, grabbing his plate and mine, and following Liam.
Yep. Keeping this secret—and my promise to Lucy—is getting harder and harder every day.
Brady
I glance over at myself in the mirror as I push the barbell up, focusing on my breathing so that I can make it to eighteen reps and finish my set.
I’ve been told in the past that my bench press form isn’t so great sometimes; I get distracted by my damn good looks, so I always double check when I’m lifting.
That, and it never hurts to boost the old ego a bit.
Lookin’ good, Brady, lookin’ good.
I smirk at my own reflection and get back to concentrating on my lift, taking a deep breath. I exhale as I thrust upwards, careful not to lock my elbows.
I lower it down again—almost done, just six more—when I see coach walking by. I quickly look away. Maybe if I act like I don’t see him, he’ll keep going.
But no such luck; he catches a glimpse of me and nods, walking over. I continue to pretend that I don’t see him and instead look straight up at my grip on the bar and the spinning blades of the gym’s ceiling fan.
“Brady!”
I can hear him call out, but I’ve got headphones in so I keep staring straight up, avoiding him.
“Brady!”
He’s more insistent this time and walks right over, yanking one of my ear.
“Coach, what the fuck?”
He looms over me with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning.
“When I’m talking to you, you answer. Hear me?”
I growl and lift the bar up to the barbell rack, huffing as I slide forward and sit up, glaring at him. I point exaggeratedly to my headphones, and I scoff, rolling my eyes.
“Headphones! I didn’t hear you. And you know,” I snap in between panting and catching my breath, “for a football coach, I think you need to respect your players’
workouts more, not interrupt them and whine when they don’t answer you right away.”
“I saw you ignoring me, Brady. Don’t start with that shit.”
“Uh huh. Anyway, what is it?”
His eyes narrow at me, and he tilts his head, nodding at my water bottle.
“What’s in the bottle?”
I look at my bottle, then back at him. I give him a bewildered expression.
What is this? A damned interrogation?
“Uhhh, water?”
“Last time I checked, water wasn’t orange.”
I glanced back at the bottle again and nodded, then back to coach with a defiant smirk.
“Yeah, Izzie gave me some flavored vitamin mixture to add to my water. Is that a problem?”
He shakes his head and looks at me skeptically, glancing around the gym to make sure no one else is watching or listening.
“You two seem mighty friendly all of a sudden.”
“Oh, yeah,” I scoff, taking a drink. “We’re best pals now, don’t you know?”
“Brady, don’t sass me. Do I need to remind you that she’s an employee and is off limits?”
Seriously, what an ass. If I wasn’t in such hot water, I’d clock him right in the jaw for talking to me like that. Who does he think he is?
He’s the asshole who essentially gets to decide if I get to keep playing football or not, that’s who. And he knows it, the son of a bitch.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
I stand from the bench and throw a sarcastic smile in his direction before I grab my towel, wiping my face as I walk towards the cardio section.
He follows me at my heels like an insistent puppy and continues to berate me and stare me down as I adjust the settings on the treadmill.
“Listen up, kid,” he scolds. “I know she’s a pretty young thing, and you’re this hot-shot football player who thinks he can do whatever he wants, but you’re skating on thin ice here.”
I roll my eyes and hit the start button, reaching for my headphones as I start to jog on the belt. But before I can grab my headphones, he yanks it from my reach and hits the stop button, looking me in the eyes.
“I’m serious, Brady. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Okay, seriously? What’s your problem? I haven’t done anything, and we’re just friends.”
As much as I’d like the last part of that sentence to be a lie, it was in fact completely true.
Sure, I’d flirted and dropped hints, and even invited her and the little guy to stay with me, but nothing’s happened. As cocky and hot-headed as I am, I really do need this contract to stay intact. Football is way too important for me to risk losing it.
He huffs and rubs his jaw, clearly frustrated.
“Really? And she and the kid are staying with you because you’re just friends?”
“Coach, c’mon,” I snap. “Everyone on the team—including you— knows that her house is infested with termites right now. She needed some place to go.”
He laughs and looks at me up and down, bracing himself against the treadmill as he shakes his head at me.
“Yeah, and you’re the poster boy for helping people out of the goodness of your heart, right?”
“Would you rather her go to some sleazy motel and have her job performance suffer? How do you think she’s gonna make all those fancy muffins and shit for our diet plan if all she’s got to work with is some dingy microwave and a toaster oven? This is for the benefit of myself and the team.”
He leans back and crosses his arms again, skepticism all over his face. His gaze narrows into mine, and I can tell he wants to believe me, but doesn’t—not yet.
“And the fact that our dietitian is an attractive young blonde has nothing to do with it? I’m not blind, Brady, I see the way you look at her.”
I smirk and shake my head at him.
“Have you seen the way the rest of the team looks at her too, coach? It’s not just me. Plus,” I add with a wink, “just because I’m on a diet, doesn’t mean I can’t take a peek at the dessert menu.”
I press the start button on the treadmill again and snatch my headphones from his grasp, plugging them into the jack on my iPod.
“Look, coach, I get it,” I say as I pick up my pace. “She’s off limits, my contract depends on me being a good boy, football is life, everything for the team, blah blah blah…”
He glares at me, and I throw my hands up in a mock surrender, smiling. He’s clearly not impressed, but seems to be tired of arguing his point, glancing at his watch and shaking his head.
“Alright, Brady, but I’m watching you. Your contract is very clear, and you’ve got no strikes left.”
I roll my eyes and grin as I tease him, putting a headphone in.
“Really, coach? A baseball reference to a football player? C’mon, you can do better than that.”
“Ugh! You’re impossible.”
He turns and stalks off back towards the locker room, muttering under his breath as he goes.
I laugh and shake my head, getting back to my jog. I put the other headphone in my ear.
Sure, it’s a contract, but there’s always a loophole or way out of those things, right? There’s got to be, and once I find out what it is…
Touchdown.
Izzie
It’s bye week for the team and it’s also my birthday. Combine that with the fact that Liam is spending another night at his friend’s place, as well as Alex and a few of our friends being free?
It’s the perfect recipe for birthday shenanigans.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. Being the official dietitian for the San Antonio Rangers is basically my dream, but a girl needs to let loose and have a break with the girls every now and then.
I’m so excited to see them all, but I’m more than certain I’m going to be interrogated on why I haven’t done the deed with any of them yet. Or why I haven’t had sex with anyone yet for that matter.
And truthfully, sex just never was really the priority for me. I had Liam to take care of from the time I was sixteen. I didn’t have time to date, or try to figure out how all of that worked.
But now that I’m constantly surrounded by testosterone-filled, competitive, sweaty men, it’s getting hard to ignore my own curiosities. This week is so well timed; I’m getting so worked up all day watching Brady—I mean the team—and it’s just a much-needed break.
When I had called Alex and told her that I was free for the night, she suggested we get the girls together and go dancing, to which I wholeheartedly agreed. It’s been way too long since I’ve had some fun with them; plus it’s my birthday, a perfect excuse to let my hair down and get a little wild, if you ask me.
Speaking of letting my hair down, while I’m putting the last spritz of hair spray into mine Alex struts behind me and strikes a pose in the mirror, giggling. Then, she gives me an exaggerated look up and down and whistles.
“Well,” she teases, “don’t you look just like a snack.”
I grin back at her in the mirror and blush, putting down my hairspray and smoothing my dress over my frame.
“Thanks.” I chirp, my cheeks getting slightly rosy. “So,” I start, changing the subject, “where do you want to go?”
She shrugs at me with a smile and walks over to the bed, sitting down.
“I dunno. The girls and I figured that since it’s your birthday, we should go somewhere new and exciting. What about that hot new dance club that just opened last week?”
I whip around and my eyes light up, excited at the thought of trying some place new for a change.
“Ohhh! That sounds like a great idea!”
I skip over to the bed and sit down next to Alex, leaning over to pick up my new shoes that she gave me for my birthday and slipping them on.
“Thanks again for the shoes, Alex,” I say with a smile, “they fit perfectly! And they’re surprisingly comfy, too.”
I extend my leg and admire the heels, turning my ankle about and
chuckling as Alex oohh’s and ahh’s.
“Anything for you, Izzie,” she beams, “plus, it gave me an excuse to go shoe shopping and pick out these bad boys.”
She crossed one leg over the other and waved her foot, giggling and showing off her pair of brand new stilettos.
I roll my eyes and stand, giving myself one last once-over in the mirror to make sure I’m ready before turning back to Alex.
“Alright. Ready?”
She hops up and nods with a smile, grabbing her purse and pulling her phone out.
“Yep. I’ll text the girls to meet us there, you request the Uber.”
I pull up the app and set the destination, and soon after we make our way to the club.
I’m excited to meet up with the girls and have a carefree night of drinks and dancing, but my excitement quickly turns to apprehension when the Uber driver drops us off.
There are people queued up all the way down the street, and everyone in line already looks like they’ve been there a while; with impatient looks and irritated body language.
Uh-oh.
“Uhh, Alex?” I say, looking around for the girls, “Maybe we should head somewhere else, this place looks insane.”
Her eyes narrow as she scans the line, and they light up suddenly, spotting our friends about halfway through the throng of people.
“Nope,” she coos, “Look, just there.”
She points to the girls who are now waving at us, and I smile and wave back. We excitedly trot over and join them in the line, and Alex nudged my shoulder.
“See. Told you.”
“I don’t know,” I say, looking around at all the people standing outside, “everyone here already looks pretty fed up, and like they’ve been waiting a while.”
“Oh, come on, Izzie. It’ll be fine. And it’s your birthday! We need to do something special. A hot, new, sexy dance club is perfect.”
I sigh and smile back at her, nodding my head.
“Alright, Alex.”
We continue chatting, but after a while of waiting, our tone has gone from happy, to okay, to bored.
We’ve been in line for 45 minutes, and we’ve barely moved.
A Daddy for Mother's Day Page 11