Fraternize

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I clenched my fists harder.

  And worried that the look on his face would break me.

  Because I knew that it could have easily been me, the guy whose fucking heart was split in two because he hadn’t gotten the girl.

  I took a deep breath and made my way toward Miller. Jax eyed me cautiously, but he didn’t tell me to stop.

  “So . . .” Miller didn’t even need to look up to talk to me. What? He could smell her on me, or what? And why the hell did that make me so damn happy? “Are you going to wear that smug grin the entire practice, or are you at least going to let me punch you in the face and dirty you up a bit?”

  I smirked harder. “You can try.”

  He glanced up, his eyes pensive. “You treat her good.”

  “She deserves better than my best, man.”

  He sighed, shoulders slumping. “God, you’re so hard to hate when you say shit like that.”

  “I’m a very likeable guy. Ask anyone.” I shrugged. “We good?”

  “Is she crying anymore?” he asked.

  “No.” My expression went from smug to serious. “If she were crying, I’d ask you to punch me in the nuts and run me over with your SUV.”

  He laughed. “That idea really does have merit, but yeah, I think I’ll pass on touching your nuts, man.”

  “How disappointing.” I held out my hand.

  He took it and stood.

  Chest to chest.

  Man to man.

  The field was quiet.

  And then Miller patted me twice on the back and gave me the most awkward hug I’d ever received in my entire life, before rolling his eyes and shoving me back so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet. “Don’t fuck up.”

  “Not planning on it.”

  “Good.”

  “Hey, did we just have a moment?”

  “Go to hell, Sanchez.” He grinned.

  I fell into step beside him as we walked toward Jax, who finally let out the breath he’d apparently been holding in.

  “You girls done talking?”

  “Yup,” we said in agreement.

  “Ready to get the shit beat out of you?”

  “I better not.” I pointed my helmet at Miller. “Come on, don’t let me get hit, Miller. My face is too pretty for that.”

  “Not my job!” He put on his helmet.

  Practice started with a hell of a hit midair as I caught one of Jax’s insane torpedo passes.

  “I think you bruised my spleen, asshole,” I huffed when Xander helped me up and grinned.

  “Yeah, well, I wanted to do a solid for Miller.”

  “Huh.” I made a face. “So, nobody’s Team Sanchez?”

  “Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” Miller frowned.

  I burst out laughing.

  Earning shocked looks from the O-line like I’d just grown two heads, but all I kept thinking about was Em’s face and how she’d said she would have kicked my ass in high school. Yeah, I think my ass deserved kicking.

  “What?” I glared at all the guys. “Can a dude not laugh up in here?”

  “Two months ago, a dude laughed during practice, and you literally told him you were going to rip his head from his body if he didn’t get his shit together,” Elliot said in a calm voice. “So, you tell me.”

  “Is this what happens when you get laid, Sanchez?” This was from Jax.

  I gave him a murderous look.

  One shared by Miller.

  “Oh hell!” Jax yelled. “Joking! I was joking!”

  I grabbed Elliot. “Blitz his ass.”

  “Um, he’s our QB.”

  “And I’m one of your captains. Blitz.”

  The play was called, but the bastard knew it was coming. He slid before he could get hit and then flipped me off from the ground. “Bastard!”

  The entire team laughed.

  Including Miller.

  And that’s how the rest of the practice went. Play after play, we worked our asses off and laughed our asses off.

  It was the best practice I’d ever had.

  Miller was on his game too.

  Things felt right.

  They felt good.

  And that’s when I panicked.

  Because nothing in my life had ever felt that good before, which meant one thing. The other shoe was about to drop. I hoped to God it was on Jax’s head and not mine.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  EMERSON

  “Wow.” Kinsey crossed her arms. “You didn’t stop smiling the entire practice, even when Coach Kay did a surprise weigh-in at the end of all that conditioning.” She paused. “Must have been . . . magical?”

  I scowled to try to hide my smile and failed. “It was . . .” I sighed, trying to find the words. “Unexpected.”

  “Whoa there.” She jogged to catch up with my stride as we made our way through the parking lot. “What do you mean unexpected? This is Grant Sanchez. One should expect greatness from that guy. I mean look at him.”

  Amazing timing as always. The guy was supermodel-gorgeous as he strode through the parking lot with Miller. Both of them were wearing sunglasses. Miller had a tight T-shirt on while Sanchez was wearing a leather jacket that hugged every part of his body in all the right places.

  And his jeans . . .

  Ripped in all the right places. They were probably illegal in most states, not that I cared. He was mine.

  Mine.

  “Stop sighing,” Kins whispered under her breath. She tilted her head. “Then again . . .” She whistled. “Damn, those two together are completely lethal. I wonder if they’d be okay with a little ménage moment, nothing crazy, just, you know—”

  I cupped my hand over her mouth.

  She nodded as if to say, Yup, I deserved that. Sorry.

  “Curves.” Grant stopped in front of me and then scooped me into his arms and pressed a hard kiss to my mouth before setting me back down. “Afternoon.”

  “Well . . .” Kins fanned herself. “Where’s my kiss, Miller? I think it’s only fair every football player greet his cheerleaders with such adoration.”

  She was teasing, but something in Miller’s face changed. I looked between the two of them, then elbowed Sanchez.

  “Shit.” He heaved. “Sorry, got hit a lot today. What? Why are you elbowing me?”

  I slammed a hand over his mouth.

  Kinsey yawned. “Alright, kiddos, we officially have one more day until game three of the season against—wait for it—” Sanchez did a midair drumroll. “The hated Pirates.”

  “Boo.” Miller gave everyone a huge thumbs-down. “Patrick Hennesey can kiss my ass.”

  Sanchez gave him a high five. “If that kid buys one more exotic animal and tweets about it, I’m going to set him on fire.”

  “Graphic.” Kins frowned. “Even for you, Sanchez.”

  “He has a tiger and a python he named after his dick. Kid needs to be taken down a few notches.”

  “Weird, I feel like there’s someone in this group who has a picture of his naked body on—”

  Sanchez silenced me with a kiss. “What was that?” he whispered.

  “Nothing, totally . . . nothing.”

  “Sanchez, Miller!” Jax ran out into the parking lot. “Coach wants to see you both.”

  Grant froze next to me, while Miller gave him a worried look.

  “It’s fine,” Kinsey said loudly. “Guys, you’re adults. It’s fine. I’m sure it’s just about the game on Sunday.”

  “Right . . .” Sanchez repeated. “The game.” He turned and kissed me on the head. “See you at home?”

  “Yeah.” I frowned. “Let me know if—”

  “It’s going to be fine,” he assured me, but his look said he was worried, which in turn, had me worried enough to look to Miller for some sort of comfort.

  Instead, he was pale, like they were going to get cut from the team or something, even though I knew that was completely ridiculous.

  “Let’s go.” Kinsey locked
arms with me. “I rode with Jax. Take me to your sex kingdom before he locks me in my castle again.”

  Sanchez frowned and pointed between us. “Sex kingdom?”

  “Yeah, apparently, you don’t suck in bed. Well done, Sanchez. Maybe one day they’ll have trophies for that sort of thing, but for right now, I’m just going to give you a solid high five. Off you go!” She shoved him toward Miller, who was laughing behind his hand.

  “It’s going to be fine, right?” I watched them walk away, my stomach filled with dread with each step they took.

  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s about game stuff.” Kinsey frowned.

  “And that one percent?”

  She gulped and whispered. “You.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  MILLER

  General Manager Jackson Mills was in Coach’s office.

  “Shit,” Sanchez hissed beside me. “That’s not a good sign.”

  “It could be nothing,” I lied. I knew it was something. You didn’t just pull in the GM for nothing. I knew we were too good to cut, so that meant they were pissed about something.

  “Gentlemen . . .” Jackson pointed to the chairs. “Have a seat. This won’t take long.” The man was a silver fox, could make money in his sleep, and had five kids by way of his equally attractive Southern belle of a wife. I liked him—a lot. But from far away, not up close; it felt like I was getting called into the principal’s office, only a hundred times worse.

  Coach eyed us both and frowned. “You two getting along alright?”

  “Yup.” We both answered quickly and then chuckled.

  “He’s the best tight end in the league.” Sanchez shrugged. “What the hell isn’t there to like?”

  “Oh . . .” Coach nodded. “So you’re gonna play it that way, hmm, Sanchez? How about the fact that you’re supposedly dating his ex-girlfriend—someone who also happens to cheer on the Bucks Squad.”

  Sanchez gulped.

  I felt myself completely pale as I raised a shaky hand to my face and swiped my chin.

  Jackson noticed my reaction. “This affecting the team, Miller? Because according to a disgruntled player, you guys have been at each other’s throats for the past two months. We don’t want a repeat of what happened last time you decided to get serious with a woman, do we?”

  “Us?” Sanchez pointed between him and me, not missing a beat. “With all due respect, sir, we’re professional athletes. Whatever shit was between us was not only handled off the field, but completely taken care of. I think my track record has proved that, I mean we have back-to-back championships.” He leaned forward. “I’m assuming Thomas is the little shit that said something, which should tell you everything you need to know. He’s pissed and trying to put the blame on drama that doesn’t even exist, drama that a few years ago he helped initiate by sleeping with my fiancé. And yet I’m the one getting called in here, seems a little . . . dramatic, wouldn’t you say, Miller?”

  “Very.” My voice was hollow, my heart thudded angrily against my chest. Sanchez didn’t deserve this type of shit.

  “Happy to hear it.” Coach rubbed his hands together. “You satisfied?”

  Jackson nodded. “For now.”

  “Great.” I stood, thanking God that it hadn’t gone worse, and had just made it out the door with Sanchez when Jackson called out.

  “One more thing.”

  Sanchez gulped, lowering his head and cursing before turning around and flashing a smile. “Yeah?”

  “The policy still stands.” Jackson’s eyebrows rose. “You play like shit, and the first thing to go is going to be the excess baggage.”

  Rage tore through me. I knew exactly what baggage he was talking about. I was seconds away from losing it when I saw a shift in Sanchez. He went from calm to completely murderous, like he was seconds away from charging both men and doing something that couldn’t be undone.

  I grabbed his arm, digging my fingers into his tense biceps. God, I could feel the rage pounding through his body because it matched mine perfectly. That son of a bitch!

  It was a tie between which one of us was going to slip and rip the asshole’s face off first, and I wanted dibs.

  “Understood?” Jackson crossed his arms.

  A muscle twitched in Sanchez’s jaw. “Not really. No.” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t understand how my relationship with a girl I love off the field has anything to do with this team.”

  I sucked in a breath.

  His nostrils flared as he continued. “Guess that means we better not suck—since it’s my love life on the chopping block, yeah? I wonder how the media would react to that sob story. I’d hate to slip. God, can you imagine what Jacki would do if I gave her an exclusive?

  Damn, the guy had balls of steel. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stand by his side or let him go up in flames on his own.

  But hell, the respect I felt for him in that moment . . .

  “Watch yourself.” Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

  Sanchez visibly relaxed though I was still using every ounce of strength in my right hand to keep him from lunging forward and doing something that would get him kicked off the team. “I’m just saying . . .” He grinned toward Coach. “It was a good practice today. I think I smell another championship.”

  And just like that, the subject changed.

  And we were back on even ground.

  Jackson ran a hand through his silver hair. “You boys have done a good job so far.”

  “Just wait until Sunday.” Sanchez nodded.

  I let out a sigh. “Thanks for the talk, guys.”

  “Miller . . .” Jackson just wouldn’t quit, would he? “You sure you want to take Sanchez’s side on this? I’d hate to see something so unnecessary cause trouble with your spot on this team.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Really?”

  It was his turn to look pissed.

  “Maybe you don’t get this because you aren’t a player, but he’s my brother. I bleed for him. I war for him. I die for him.” I never realized how true my words were until they were out of my mouth. “So, hell yeah I’m standing by him. I’d be a bad team member if I didn’t. Just like Jax is going to stand by him, and Elliot by Jax. That’s what a team does. We win together. We lose together. Now . . .” I clenched my teeth. “Will that be all?”

  Jackson’s expression did a complete 180. “Good to hear it, Miller.” His smile was wide, friendly. “That’s the answer I was looking for.”

  “This is bullshit,” Sanchez said under his breath. I could feel his arm sweating. Either that or it was my fingers.

  “You’re both dismissed.” Jackson grinned wider.

  When we made it out into the parking lot, Sanchez shook his head and glanced back at the building. “What the hell kind of Jedi mind training did we just get put through? Because if he refers to Em as excess baggage one more time, I’m going to prison.”

  “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t jump over the desk and smash his face in,” I admitted.

  “I would have . . .” Sanchez shook his hands and snatched his keys out of his pocket. “Except some dick wouldn’t let me.”

  “Hah.” I rolled my eyes. “Next time I’ll just let you kill your career, cool?”

  “Did you mean all that shit?” He stared down at the keys in his hand then looked back up at me. “About bleeding? Warring?”

  “Sanchez, if you hug me, I swear, I really will kill you.”

  He threw his head back and laughed and then did something completely unexpected.

  The dick actually hugged me.

  And I hugged him back.

  “Now that . . .” He slapped me on the ass and ran. “Was a moment, Miller!”

  “You little shit!”

  He unlocked his car, jumped in and started it, then rolled down the window. “Seriously, though, thanks for helping me keep a cool head.”

  “Yeah well, I think we have a mutual girl who’s counting on you.”

  His face s
oftened. “Yeah, we do.”

  “Get out of here before you start crying, man,” I teased.

  He flipped me off and rolled up his window, and I smiled the entire way to my car.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  EMERSON

  I ran to my house to grab more clothes and check on my dad. I also needed to grab my laptop so I could catch up on some schoolwork. Dad said he was doing well, but I felt guilty the minute his eyes lit up when he saw me.

  I’d been spending almost all of my time either at practice, working, or with Sanchez. I’d been checking in on my dad every day, but I knew it wasn’t as much as I normally did. The texts from Connie helped and Dad always texted me with updates on what he was doing, even if the texts were jumbled and didn’t make sense.

  I’d opened my mouth to apologize, but Dad spoke first. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Oh?” I was almost out the door. “About what?”

  “Maybe it’s time you found your own place.” He smiled, it was one of his old smiles, the ones that he used to give me before his illness.

  And I wanted to cry.

  He was having one of his good days. Which meant he knew how old I was, and that I lived with him because I couldn’t bear for him to be on his own.

  “I’ll think about it,” I lied. I was afraid it would upset him, set him back if I moved in with Sanchez. And as it was, he barely noticed I was gone during his episodes.

  “Emerson.” He full-named me. Shoot.

  I turned on my heel and faced him. “Yes, Dad?”

  “I’m proud of you. You realize that, right?”

  “Dad.” My throat closed. I could only nod and whisper. “Thank you.”

  “He treat you well?” he asked. “The guy that let me beat him at checkers?”

  “He does.” I smiled sheepishly. “He really does.” My thoughts went into dangerous territory—love territory—a territory that Grant dominated in every way, amongst several others.