by L. M. Carr
Ed, the lead production manager, whisks Julian away to prep him. Sadly for Roz and Michelle, nothing needs to be done to his hair since it’s already perfect, parted on the side and gelled. His scruff is nicely trimmed, his face tan.
“I’ll see you soon,” he calls over his shoulder.
“How’s Rence?”
My smile fades when I turn to look at Sam. “He’s fine.”
Sam shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’m really hoping Julian can get him to come to the team now that he’s a free agent.”
Stunned, my eyes widen and my mouth drops open. “Julian wants Rence to play for him?”
“Yeah, and he’s willing to do almost anything to make it happen.”
Outrage and indignation cause a rush of adrenaline to spike within me. Could it be possible that Julian is just playing a game? Getting close to me so he can get to my brother?
“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I spin on my heels and walk to the production room, grabbing my phone from my purse. Immediately, my fingers fly across the screen, texting Rence, telling him I need to talk.
A few minutes later, my phone rings.
“I’ve only got a few minutes,” I explain quickly when I answer.
“That’s fine. I’m just about to go through security.”
“Security?”
“I’m heading out of town for a few days.”
“Where you going?” I ask, glancing at my watch, noting the time.
Rence chuckles. “None of your business. What did you need to talk to me about?”
“Is it true he wants you on his team?”
“Who?”
“Julian,” I hiss, looking around quickly.
Rence exhales deeply. “Look, there’s a lot to consider. Sure, they’re offering a shit ton of money, but we’ll see.”
“Are you kidding me?” I grind out. “Why would Julian want you on his team after what happened?”
“That’s a good question.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Rence. You’re one of the top defensive players in the league, but why you? You guys have way too much history.”
“Wait a minute... How do you even know about this?” he asks. “I know I never mentioned it to you.”
“My interview with Julian is today. Sam just told me,” I reply, deliberately neglecting to tell him about the recent reconciliation between Julian and me. Although that may turn out to be short-lived.
I promise to call him over the weekend, then end the call.
“Ten minutes to roll,” a producer calls as I walk back out into the studio.
I find my seat as the production crew rechecks the lighting and adjusts the cameras. I glance at myself on the monitor. I look nervous and agitated.
“Can we get makeup in here for a touch-up?” I hear someone call, but I’m lost in my own personal nightmare right now.
Roz reapplies some makeup to conceal my reddened cheeks as Julian walks in and sits in the chair across from me. I exhale sharply and shake my head.
He furrows his brows, signing. Is something wrong?
Biting back my words, I lift my hands. Why didn’t you tell me about Rence?
His mouth opens, then closes, his finger gliding over his lips. “Addison…,” he sighs quietly.
I sign, Tell me!
Tight-lipped, Julian shakes his head, then moves his hands quickly. I thought you already knew. We haven’t really talked about him, but I was planning on telling you when I knew for sure.
But what about the past?
A deep line creases his forehead as his expression hardens.
“All right, folks. Two minutes,” Ed announces.
Sam walks over. “What the fuck are you doing, Julian? You having a seizure or something?”
He pulls his eyes from mine. “No, I’m fine.”
“Sixty minutes, then we need to head over to the restaurant. Most of the shareholders will be there and they want to meet you,” Sam says, stepping behind the camera.
Julian leans forward in his chair. “How did you get so proficient in sign?”
I stare at him. “I minored in it at USF.”
“She would’ve been proud of you.”
Mentioning his mother tugs at my heart.
For the next forty-five minutes, I sit in front of Julian, questioning him about his football career, beginning with his time at Clemson to the year he entered the NFL draft. Maintaining a professional demeanor, I chronicle the time from his injury to his tenure as an offensive coordinator. We banter about his creative offensive plays that earned him the nickname “Play Maker”.” But I’m a journalist, so I have to ask the tough questions. While I’ve already mentioned his collegiate years, I want to know more.
Now, it’s personal.
“So, in 2001, you opted to go to Clemson even after you committed to the University of Alabama. Tell me about that decision.”
I’ve gone off-script, but I don’t care. I want to know the reason he chose a different college when he could’ve attended with Rence. It was one way I would have been able to see both him and my brother at the same time. He’d always said it was because they offered more money on his scholarship, but I knew that wasn’t true.
Julian scratches the back of his neck before he speaks.
“Well, it was a very difficult time in my life. I guess I needed a fresh start. I didn’t want people to pity me for being the guy who’d lost the love of his life.”
I blink away the moisture pooling in my eyes and swallow. “You were close to your mother.”
“Is that a question?” he retorts sharply.
“No. Merely an observation.”
“She was everything to me. She was all I had.”
I swallow hard and refrain from telling him that he had me.
“You entered the draft in 2005 as the number one pick. How’d you feel about that?”
He smiles. “Like I’d won the lottery. Football is everything to me. It isn’t just a game. It is part of who I am.”
“But your career on the field was short-lived.”
Julian nods. “Thanks for the reminder,” he quips with a grin, but I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.
“What do you remember about that day?”
Julian shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath. “I remember everything up until the moment of contact. Then there’s nothing until I wake up in the ambulance.”
“You took a pretty hard hit. What was rehab like for you?”
“Not the best time of my life. I didn’t handle the road to recovery very well.”
I debate whether to ask the next question on my tongue, but I decide to go for it and lock my gaze with his. “Are you still angry that your career ended that day?”
“Angry? No. Disappointed? Yes.” He sighs. “Football is a contact sport. It’s physical. There’s always a chance you’ll get injured.”
“Do you harbor any animosity toward the player who hit you? Have you ever spoken to him about the incident?”
Julian shakes his head. “No to both. I’ve always said these guys are my brothers. You know what it’s like…” Julian tilts his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Haven’t you ever wanted to kill your brother even though you love him?”
I chuckle lightly. “Well, kill is a strong word, but yes, I have. But I would do anything for him. Would never let anyone hurt him.”
He nods imperceptibly, understanding the warning in my words.
In my peripheral vision, I see Ed hold up both hands, fingers spread, indicating I have ten minutes to wrap up.
“So, J. Mack…,” I utter the moniker his mother would have hated. “Is that a childhood nickname, or did you earn it somewhere else? Is there a significance behind it?”
He suddenly looks uncomfortable. “That was a long time ago. I don’t really remember.”
I lick my lips and lift my chin before pushing harder. “C’mon now. You really don’t remember?”
Clearin
g his throat, he glares at me. I notice the subtle shake of his head as defiance spreads across his face. “It’s not really something I care to talk about.”
“I’m sure the viewers would like to know,” I retort, smiling tightly.
He clenches his fists in his lap. “In college, I guess I was a bit of a player off the field.”
“Is that so?” I draw out slowly.
Julian’s hand rises to the nape of his neck. “The girls in college used to say, ‘J. Mac was great in the sack.’ I guess the name just stuck.”
Stunned by his admission, I clench my teeth. “Well, good for you, J. Mack.”
His hand slides down from his neck, curls into a fist and pauses at the center of his chest, circling slightly. The indiscernible movement wouldn’t be detected by anyone watching, but I understand immediately. I nod and blink slowly, accepting his silent apology.
In response, I raise my hand as if scratching my chest, mimicking the motion. Julian’s smile indicates I, too, am forgiven.
Changing the subject, I smile. “So, is there a lucky lady in your life right now?”
The dimple on his cheek appears when he grins. “Actually, there is. I hurt her pretty badly in the past and am hoping to God she’ll forgive me and take me back.”
“Wow, lucky girl!”
Ed signals five minutes left.
“I just have a few more questions.”
Julian clears his throat and nods at me.
“What are you going to miss most about Los Angeles?”
He laughs. “Definitely not the traffic!”
“Do you have plans to bring anyone from LA to Houston?”
“I actually want to bring a few people from California. My ultimate goal is to build a Super Bowl team, and in order to do that, I need the best. I’m keeping my options open, but if I make any decisions, you’ll be the first to know,” he explains, winking.
“Last question. If you could give one piece of advice, what would it be?”
A smile stretches across his face and his eyes twinkle with humor. “Growing up, I had a coach who always said, ‘When you do something, do it to the—’”
“‘Best of your ability and do it every day,’” we finish in unison.
I nod, remembering. “That’s great advice. Well, I’m sure the viewers would agree that Houston is happy to have you back. Best of luck to you on a successful season.”
“Thank you.”
His unrelenting gaze conveys more than the two words he has spoken.
“That’s a wrap,” Ed shouts. “Nice job, guys! Mr. MacIntyre, thanks for the interview.”
I remain seated as I study the man before me. I extend my hand. “Thank you for coming in.”
Julian leans forward to slip his hand into mine, squeezing it gently. “Thank you. You did a great job. You should be proud of yourself. I hope you got all the answers to your questions.”
“Most of them. I learned a lot at USF. They had a great journalism program,” I retort, still partly annoyed that he evaded my question about his decision to attend Clemson.
“AJ!” Wes shouts, walking around the cameras. “You nailed it!”
His voice jostles me back to the present. I immediately release my hold on Julian’s hand and stand. “Thanks again.”
“Ready to go?” Sam asks Julian.
Julian snaps his eyes to his agent. “Do I look ready?”
Sam blows out a huge breath. “The execs are expecting you to be on time.”
I know Julian has to leave, but I would give anything for him to stay a little longer so we can continue our conversation. Our exchange of text messages and quick phone calls while he was out of town never led to any deep discussions. Just superficial topics, the upcoming Pro Bowl, his realtor’s ongoing search for a place to live in Houston.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he mumbles.
“Looking forward to it. I might have a few more questions.”
Julian’s eyes crinkle with humor. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Chapter Eleven
After stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my head and another around my body, then walk into my room. I throw on a pair of leggings and a lightweight hoodie. The temptation to check my phone for any messages from Julian is almost unbearable. After the interview, my boss’s congratulatory words became white noise as I replayed the interview in my head. I’d fully expected a text or a phone call by now, but he’s been silent all day.
Exhausted, my plan for the night is to order Italian food and catch up on Netflix. With Naomi gone, the sound of my heavy footsteps echoing off the walls seems even more pronounced.
Forty minutes later, the speaker system by the door buzzes, notifying me that my food has arrived. I press the button to unlock the front door of the building, then chuckle to myself when I think of the usual delivery guy from Antonio’s. I wonder if he knows Naomi dubbed him “Dan the Man” after he returned late one night with a box of pastries in his hand and a stiff dick in his pants.
At the knock, I grab the cash and open the door.
“Hi.”
My mouth drops open and my eyes grow wide. “Julian?” I stammer. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see my girl.” He holds up the takeout bag. “I have food.”
I snatch the bag, then step into the hall, looking around. “Nope. Don’t see your girl anywhere.”
“Funny.” Julian places his hand on my abdomen and guides me back into the apartment, an amused look on his face.
Walking backward, I stop and turn from him when my feet feel the transition between hardwood and tile. I distance myself from him and hurry into the kitchen to gather dinnerware.
“Have you eaten?”
I get no response.
“Hello?!” I ask, glancing over my shoulder, catching him staring at my ass. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
My comment jars him and he looks up at me, a smirk on his face. “I don’t need to take a picture.” He taps his temple. “I’ve got an image of that perfect ass right here.”
I snort. “Are you hungry? There’s more than enough for two.”
He nods, striding over to where I stand with two dishes in my hands.
“I am hungry, but not for food.”
Julian extends his arms and places them onto the countertop, caging me in. He leans toward my neck and inhales, making my eyes close. “You smell good.”
“I just showered,” I reply breathlessly, desperate to maintain my composure, quickly losing the battle.
His body flush against mine, his erection presses into my stomach as he dots the skin of my neck with soft kisses until he reaches the corner of my mouth.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
My body stiffens and my eyes shoot open. I shake my head as I try to refute his words, but he covers my lips with his, staking his claim. I feel the flames ignite in the pit of my belly as he clutches my face, deepening the kiss. My lips part, welcoming his tongue into my mouth.
Kissing Julian is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt. I lose all sense of awareness as he continues his relentless, yet gentle pursuit to drown me in his affection. The feeling of his tongue tangling with mine adds fuel to the fire simmering in my core.
He lowers one hand to my waist, gripping it firmly to pull me even closer, causing my back to arch. Unable to stand on my weakened legs, I raise my arms and rest them on his shoulders. A loud crash suddenly stills our kiss.
“What was that?” I mumble against his mouth.
Pulling back, a grin appears. “The dishes…”
I raise my gaze from his eyes and notice my hands empty, the plates shattered on the floor. I smile. “It’s your fault. You can’t kiss me like that when I’m in the middle of something.” I lower my arms and walk to the closet, grabbing the broom. “You turn my brain to mush.”
“And what about your body?” he asks with raised eyebrows.
I quickly sweep up the pieces and place them
into the trash, then put away the broom. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
Walking up to him, I press my flattened palms against his chest. “Move,” I demand playfully, needing to get into the cabinet for more plates.
Julian obliges and steps back. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
“How did you get up here anyway?”
“I was walking toward the building when the delivery guy showed up. So I thought I’d bring it in myself. He wasn’t too sure, so I gave him a big tip.”
“Dan’s a good guy,” I reply, removing the aluminum container from the box.
I grab silverware and set about arranging linguini and meatballs onto the plates, along with a piece of garlic bread.
Opening the fridge, I reach for the bottle of wine, then opt for two bottles of water instead. Although I could really use a glass of wine, I don’t want to be insensitive to Julian’s sobriety.
“Eat.” I push one plate toward him as I sit next to him at the island.
“I was getting there, but you stopped me.”
“Don’t be a perv!”
Julian chuckles, using his fork and spoon to twirl the long strands of pasta.
I grin and mimic the motion. “My mother would be proud of you.”
“Remember how Rence used to piss off your mom by slurping up pasta?”
I nod and take a sip of water. “He drove her crazy!”
Once again, silence blankets us.
“How’s she doing anyway?”
Memories fill my head. “She’s okay, I guess. I don’t really talk to her much. I can’t deal with her mood swings. Apparently, neither could my father. They got divorced after we graduated high school, but she still lives in the same house.”
“Sorry,” he exhales. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t. You weren’t part of my life then.”
“Addison…,” he murmurs, setting the utensils down and taking a long sip of water, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His clenched jaw reveals his frustration. “Okay. Let me have it.”
I furrow my brows. “Give you what?”
“Your hurt. Your anger. Your sadness. Let me have it all.”
I push the plate of food away and snicker. “You might need to rent a couple of dump trucks.”
