“Enough about me and what I’ve been up to since January. What have you been doing? I mean, of course, besides all the conditioning and training and shit.”
He blinked once, and then his face cleared. “I moved. I bought my farm and moved there. I’m all settled in as of about six weeks ago.”
“Gideon!” I couldn’t hold back the huge grin that covered my face. “That’s awesome! I’m so happy for you. Is it everything you hoped it would be?”
He nodded. “And more. It’s like having my own world, a little oasis where I can just be me. I don’t have to worry about doormen or neighbors or if there’re reporters outside my building’s door. I’m out in the country, and no one bothers me.” He was quiet for a beat, and then added, “I haven’t told anyone this, but I actually named the place.” One of his muscled shoulders lifted “I call it Peaceful Meadows. I even had a fucking sign made with the name on it.” He wagged his head, but at the same time, I saw the contentment there. “How lame is that?”
“Not one bit.” Acting out of impulse, I took a step closer to him and reached up, hugging his neck hard before I eased back. “It’s perfect, and I’m so flippin’ glad for you, QB. Have you had the team out to visit? What do your friends think?”
His eyes shuttered. “No. I haven’t invited anyone there—the only people who’ve been on the property besides me are the workers who came to install the security systems, the movers and a couple of landscapers.”
“Gideon.” I pressed my lips together and gave him a reproachful look. “Why not?”
“Because it’s my place. Didn’t you hear me a minute ago? It’s my refuge. I don’t want any of those guys coming over and critiquing how I did things or telling me I need a bigger television or offering suggestions about how I use the grounds. It’s none of their business.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the ocean. “Besides, if I invite them over, then they’ll feel like they have to ask me to their houses in return. And that’s just a whole mess of shit I don’t need to think about.”
“What about the whole team player deal? As the quarterback, aren’t you supposed to be an example for the rest of the players?” At this point, I was just poking the beast. I knew full well that Gideon wasn’t going to budge on this, but teasing him was too much fun to miss.
“Corey Iverson’s my co-captain,” he answered, finality in his tone. “He and Ellie do a good enough job on setting an example off the field. My job is to lead the team on the field, in the locker room, during training camp . . . and I do.” He cast me a sideways look. “None of us wants to live in each other’s pockets. We spend enough time together as it is.”
“All right, all right.” I pretended to surrender. “You know best. I was just thinking that it’s more fun to enjoy something like a new home with others, like your friends or your family.” I paused. “Have your parents or your sister been down to see Peaceful Meadows?”
His bottom lip jutted out, and it was honestly the most adorable expression I’d ever seen on a grown man’s face, mostly because it was so ridiculous. Gideon wasn’t trying to look cute on purpose, but gazing up at him, I had a sudden vision of what he must’ve looked like as a toddler, when he didn’t get his way or when someone had scolded him.
“No,” he answered me finally. “Not yet. Everyone’s busy, and between mini-camps and other training, I haven’t been around enough to make their trip worthwhile. They’ll come for games in the fall. That’s time enough for them to see it. The farm isn’t going anywhere.”
“But—” I began to argue—again, just for the hell of it—but Gideon reached out to grip my arm, his eyes resting on something beyond me.
“Shhhh.” He lifted his chin, gesturing for me to glance over my shoulder. When I did, I saw Leo and Quinn walking hand-in-hand toward the water. Leo was carrying something in his other fist.
“Ah.” I nodded. “Quinn told me about this. Did you see the empty chair at the ceremony, the one with the rose on it? That was for their friend, Nate, the one who died last year. Leo and Quinn put the flower there along with a few other sentimental things from Nate, and they decided they’d toss them into the ocean afterward, as a thank you and a good-bye to Nate.”
“Oh.” Gideon slid his fingers down to tangle with mine. “I don’t think they’ve seen us. Maybe we should walk away, give them their privacy.”
“That’s a good idea.” I allowed Gideon to lead me in the opposite direction along the water and then up the beach, taking a round-about route back toward the reception tent. We were both silent, but as we came near enough to hear the music again and step into the light that spilled out from the gathered doorways of the tent, Gideon spoke.
“I’m glad we got a chance to catch up. Guess I’ll see you around, the next time we’re both roped into coming to one of Taylor’s major life events.” He huffed out a half-laugh. “Though, I guess, with you moving to the West Coast, you won’t make it back for many parties anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I took in a deep breath of salty sea air. “My family’s still here, in New Jersey, so I’ll be back to visit fairly often. And who knows how long I’ll stay out in California? Could be I’ll be back in a few months. Maybe I’ll totally screw up the job, and they’ll fire me.” I said it lightly, but I’d been fighting off an undercurrent of anxiety ever since I’d told Kara Crocker yes. I hoped I wasn’t going to disappoint her. Leaping from the relative safety of politics—something I knew and found familiar—into a brand-new field was scary.
“You won’t.” Gideon sounded sure. “You’ll be fine. You’re one of those people—you know, the ones who just seem to shine whatever you do.”
I was flattered but surprised, too. “How would you know that?” I asked, tilting my head.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a sense I have about people, and about you in particular. You’re not the kind who accepts failure. You’ll work hard enough to be successful.” He offered me a half-smile. “And you can tell me all about it the next time we cross paths, which will probably be in a couple of years. By then, you’ll probably be running the non-profit for the Crockers. And I bet you’re married by that time, too. Maybe even a kid on the way.”
I raised one eyebrow. “I had no idea you were a fortune-teller, QB. Care to speculate on what you’ll be doing then?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be the best damn quarterback in the entire league, at the top of my game, with a couple of rings on my hand.” He grinned at me before adding, “But my rings won’t have anything to do with marriage. They’ll all come from winning the big game.”
“Your humility is something to behold,” I remarked dryly. “But somehow, I don’t doubt that you’re absolutely on target about your future. Mine . . . the jury is still out.”
“Time will tell.” He glanced to his left, away from the ocean. “Anyway, until then—good luck, Sarah. Have a great life.”
“Are you leaving the wedding, or just leaving me?” I was oddly sad at the idea of either case.
“I’ve done my bit, showed up and hung out long enough. I’m going to head back to the hotel so I can get an early start home tomorrow morning.”
“Anxious to get back to Peaceful Meadows?” I held his hand a little tighter. “I don’t blame you. But hey, just for old times’ sake, how about giving me one dance before you go?”
Gideon grimaced. “Really? A dance? Why?”
“Because I’m asking you for one.” I tugged his hand, urging him back to the tent’s doorway. “Because, as you said, it could be a long time before we see each other again. And just because it’s a nice thing for two friends to do, and even though we’re only friends of convenience . . . oh, hell, Gideon. Indulge me. One quick slow dance, and then you can vanish into the night and go live your solitary life.”
For a couple of seconds, I was sure he was going to shoot me down and say no. But finally, he nodded, letting out a long breath.
“Fine. Just one dance, thoug
h—and no funny business on the dance floor.”
“Funny business,” I mocked. “Like what? You think I’m going to manhandle you? Feel up the goods? Embarrass us both by dry humping you in the middle of the other dancers?”
“I can’t predict what you might or might not do,” Gideon grumped. “Let’s just go dance and get it over with.”
“Oh, you sweet talker, how will I keep from falling in love with you on the dance floor?” I batted my eyes at him and affected my best Southern belle.
“That I don’t know.” Gideon cracked a smile, and I called that a victory. “But give it your best shot.”
6
Gideon
“Well, if this isn’t a rare treat.” My mother set down her coffee cup on its saucer and beamed up at me. “Breakfast with my favorite son.”
“Huh. It’s probably worth noting that I’m also your only son.”
“That’s immaterial. I’m convinced that you’d be my favorite even if you had ten brothers.”
Smirking, I meandered into the breakfast room, pausing to snag a piece of bacon from the sideboard, munching on it as I slid out a chair and sat down across the table from my mom. She quirked one eyebrow at me; she didn’t say anything, but her expression spoke loud and clear. She didn’t approve of me eating with my fingers or picking up food without a plate beneath it, but she wasn’t going to harass me about it, because I was only home for a few days and she didn’t want to argue, but at the same time, we both knew I’d been raised better.
Have I mentioned that my mother was a master of communicating volumes without using her voice?
“Is there coffee left?” I leaned over the table, reaching for the silver pot that rested on a trivet in front of my mom. Before I could touch it, though, she slapped the back of my hand.
“You have manners, Gideon. Use them, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I straightened in my seat, offered her my most winning smile and followed it up with a saucy wink. “Mother, may I please trouble you for a cup of coffee, please?”
“There’s no need for sarcasm,” she tossed back at me. “But yes, there is coffee left, and I’d be happy to pour some for you.” She drew another cup and saucer over to her, lifted the pot and tipped it over until the steaming liquid flowed out.
“Thank you.” I sipped the coffee and leaned back. “And don’t worry, Mom. I promise I behave myself when I’m out in the world.”
“I know you do,” she said serenely. “And home is meant to be a haven, where we can relax and forget some of the formality. But we shouldn’t use it as an excuse for rudeness.”
“Got it.” I used tongs to transfer a slice of toast onto my plate. “So . . . catch me up. What’s new around here?”
“Ah, well . . .” Mom cast her eyes upward. “Let’s see. Your aunt Jeannette and your father almost came to blows at Easter dinner.”
“Oh, God, what now?” My father’s younger sister was notoriously volatile, with a tendency to rebel against anything her family did.
“It’s this terrible CTE business.” My mother sighed and smoothed her linen napkin over her lap. “I—it’s not that I don’t have compassion for the players and their families. I’ve read the research, all the reports . . . and your dad and I are both on committees in the league to improve safety. We’ve funded studies to develop better helmets, and we—good Lord, of course we care about this. Our son plays professional football. How could we not?”
“Whoa. Mom.” I finished a bite of toast and held up my hand. “No one’s arguing with you. We’re on the same side.”
She shook her head. “I know. But I wish Jeannette realized it. We could work together. But she seems to cling to the idea that we’re the enemy. Sometimes I think she forgets that she isn’t twenty-two years old anymore. She acts as if she’s still that radical kid who got away with anything.”
“Was Dad really upset?” I nudged my plate away. I wanted another piece of toast, but then again, I was about to go into pre-season play. I had to stay lean and strong, and I couldn’t afford even one morning with extra carbs.
“You know your father. More than anything else, he was worried that the argument distressed your grandparents. But they were fine. They know their daughter, after all. Dad called Jeannette the next day, took her to lunch, and they seem to be better now.” My mom poured herself some more coffee. “But just be warned that she’s planning to organize some protests around different games this year, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up in Richmond at some point.”
“As long as she’s not on the field, getting in my way, I don’t give a damn.” I stretched out my legs beneath the table. “You know how it is. I’m blinders-on about the game. Nothing else exists.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that.” She patted my hand. “Enough about all that. Tell me about you. Do you have pictures of the new house? I’m dying to see it.” Shifting in her seat, she cleared her throat. “It’s too bad you didn’t have time for us to come down and visit before the season begins. I’d have loved to have helped you with settling in.”
“Mom, I told you before, I wanted to do this one myself. You made all the decisions when I moved into the condo. Now it’s my turn.” I hoped I sounded firm, like an adult and not defiant like a kid.
“I didn’t decorate the condo on my own,” Mom pointed out. “I had a lot of input from—Lilly.” Her hesitation over my ex-girlfriend’s name was barely discernible, but what was more surprising was that I didn’t feel the immediate churning of guilt and pain that I normally did whenever someone mentioned Lilly.
“And you did a great job,” I agreed smoothly. “But I’m planning for this farm to be my home for a long time. I figured that’s where I’ll settle after I retire from football. So I want it all to be how I want it—my choice.”
“That’s all wonderful until you meet someone.” My mother leveled her gaze at me. “When you get married—”
“That won’t be for a very long time,” I countered. “By then, the house will probably need some refreshing.”
“Gideon, I don’t understand why you refuse to open yourself to someone new. You should be going out and meeting women.”
“How do you know I’m not?” I teased.
Mom ignored me. “The right kind of women. The kind who could become a wife.”
“Someday, I will. I’m sure.” Maybe.
“I hope someday doesn’t wait too long, son.” She shook her finger at me. “Your dad and I worry about you. You’re alone too much.”
“I like my privacy.”
“And that’s fine, but the need for alone time can so easily be misread. Already, the media talks about your single-mindedness and your focus—and that’s wonderful—but if you’re not careful, you could get a reputation for being stand-offish. Too good for your own teammates. And that’s not optimal, Gideon. It’ll affect more than just your image—it could hurt your team’s ability to play together.”
“I know.” My voice was tight. “I understand all of that, Mom. Believe me. I’m not going to do anything that would cause my team to suffer.”
She sat back in her chair, exhaling loudly through her nose while her lips pressed into a firm line. For a long moment, the air between us was silent and tense, and then she spoke again.
“Gammy and Gramps are celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary this year.”
It was such an odd segue that I frowned. “Okay.”
“Aunt Poppy and I are throwing them a big party right before Thanksgiving.” Mom tapped her finger on the table’s edge. “Dad and I checked the team schedules. You have a bye the weekend before Thanksgiving, and then you play Monday night the following weekend. The party is the Saturday before Thanksgiving.” Her eyes glinted like steel. “Put it in your calendar now, Gideon. Your attendance is non-negotiable.”
“Sure.” I lifted a shoulder. “Why would I want to miss my grandparents’ anniversary party? It sounds like a blast.”
“And it would be really
nice if you brought a date. As a matter of fact, we insist.” After dropping that subtle little bombshell, my mother rose to her feet. “You can let me know your date’s name when you decide. Oh, and this is a formal dinner, son. It’s not every day two people are married for sixty years, after all.”
Mom ruffled what passed for my hair as she moved behind my chair, heading out of the breakfast room. “I’ve got to get ready for yoga. I’m meeting Dulcie at the studio for an eleven o’clock class.”
“Nice breakfasting with you, Mom.” I pushed back my chair, too, standing up as I’d been trained. “I especially enjoyed the side dishes of guilt and pressure. Those go down smooth.”
“Part of the job.” She smiled at me, all sunshine and roses. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner. You’re spending the afternoon with your sister?”
“That’s the plan,” I replied. “I’m swinging by her place to see some of her new work, and then we’re going to cruise all the worst neighborhoods to meet up with our drug dealers and pimps.”
“You both have pimps? How equal opportunity of you.” With a wink, Mom turned out of the doorway, leaving me laughing. The woman spoke like the Queen of England and knew Emily Post forward and back, it was true, but she also possessed a wicked sense of humor—and I’d never yet been able to stun her into silence.
That didn’t mean I planned to stop trying. After all, it was my duty as her son.
“You really said that?” Gabby threw back her head and laughed. She was laying on the shabby old couch in the small corner of the loft that served as her living room. I sat across from her in an ancient wing chair, my feet propped on the scarred steamer chest that was supposed to be a coffee table.
“Yeah, but the point was, she didn’t even bother to pretend to be shocked. Mom just . . . rolled with it.” I wagged my head. “Gabs, I’m afraid Mom’s outgrown us. She’s not playing along with the let’s drive our mother crazy game anymore.”
Sway (Keeping Score Book 6) Page 11
