I reach up over her head, and easily grab the bottle she was reaching for. I hand it to her before backing away. “Height has its privileges.”
Forcing myself to back away is harder than it should be.
Natalie’s cheeks are tinged pink. Her eyes meet mine through those long lashes. “Thanks, Brady.”
My hands itch to touch her again, but I know better than that.
“You should try to get some sleep, Nat. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah. Cooper said you guys are going to meet us out after dinner with your dad. There is supposed to be a party a few streets over from here. We’ll all be there.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Night, Natalie. Sweet dreams.”
“Night, Brady.”
I’ve never given up on a goal or a plan, and I’m not ready to start now. Staying away from Natalie Sinclair might be my biggest challenge yet.
Shit.
5
Brady
When Cooper and I get out of my Baltic Blue Range Rover five minutes before seven this morning, the thermostat is already reading 95. I can feel the humidity in the air clinging to my skin before practice even starts and know it’s gonna be another hard day.
As the temperature rises throughout the morning, so do the tensions between the team. They all come crashing down when we practice a running play with Darby Stafford in his new position as left tackle. He is next to Cooper, who is also in his new position as tight end, which happened to be Darby’s old position.
I hand the ball off to our running back.
He goes left toward Darby and Coop.
Sebastian, our defensive end, splits the double team of Darby and Coop and tackles the running back for a loss of yards on the play.
So, when he gets in Darby and Coops faces and yells, we all know we’re screwed.
Coach Maxwell has been watching us all day. It’s as if he knows we were at our boiling points and is just waiting for us to tip over. Maxwell’s in his early forties, with slightly graying dark hair and a strong, lean build. He’s a few inches shorter than me. For a football coach, he’s almost reserved. Until he isn’t. When he loses his shit, we all take notice immediately because it doesn’t happen often. It does happen today, though.
Coach’s entire face is dark red, and the vein in his forehead is bulging. “What the hell happened out there! Do you either of you want to tell me how Beneventi broke through both of you and caused a loss of yards? If that happens in a game, that could be the difference between celebrating a win or carrying your sorry selves off my football field. Well! What do you have to say for yourselves!”
That’s the exact moment the afternoon goes down in flames. Darby steps forward and answers Coach first. “Just saying Coach, but maybe Sinclair here shouldn’t be in the tight end position. His last name doesn’t seem to be getting it done.”
Cooper spins on Darby, grabbing him by the facemask. “You got something to say to me, asshole, say it to my face.”
Coach grabs both of them by their Jerseys and drags them to the middle of the field. “We are one team, gentlemen. We win as one, and we lose as one. I don’t give a rat’s ass what your last name is. I don’t care that Sinclair’s dad is a football coach, just like I don’t care that Stafford’s grandfather is a huge donor to the school. You earn your positions on my field, and you can lose your positions on my field. Now, I would like everyone to thank Mr. Stafford and Mr. Sinclair today. They are the reason that you will all be doing up-downs until I say you are done.”
The grumbling starts right away. Up downs are right up there with torture at this point in the week. This is the absolute last thing any of us feel like doing at this point, but we don’t have a choice. Coach blows his whistle, and we start the first of what end up being 100 up-downs.
The rest of the day goes better than the morning, but I wouldn’t call it good.
By the time Murphy, Sebastian, Cooper, and I exit the locker room, the tension in the air is still hanging heavy. Everyone’s tired, but Murphy is determined to get us hyped up. Clapping his hands together as we approach our cars, Murph leans back on his black Escalade and smiles. “Alright, men. Today was a shit show, but tonight we party. Tiffany’s house. Be there or be home jerking off by yourself instead of getting your dick sucked by a hot little cheerleader.”
Groaning, I lean on my car across from Murphy’s. “Come on, Murph, man. Aren’t you over that crew? They spew nothing but nasty shit constantly. Most of them don’t even care who they are hooking up with as long as you play football. Have some standards.”
“Shut the fuck up, QB. They can’t spew anything when you keep their mouths busy. I’ll take easy, less work for me to do.” Murph climbs into his car and revs the engine. “Catch you later, assholes.” You can hear his laughter as he pulls out of the parking lot.
Throwing his blue and gold gym bag into the back of his Hummer, Bash stops to look at Coop and me. “One of these days, a chick is going to do him dirty. I hope he doesn’t go down in flames, itching, and scratching.” Bash follows Murphy out.
Coop and I climb in the Range Rover. Adjusting his Notre Dame baseball hat, Coop stares out the window. “You know Darby better than I do. Do you think he’s going to be a problem?”
Taking my eyes off the road momentarily, I look his way. “No. I don’t think he will be. He’ll fall in line. He’s always been a team player. I don’t think that will change. Left tackle is still a good position, even if it’s not what he wanted.”
Coop nods but doesn’t say anything else.
“You going to the party tonight?” What I really want to know is if he’s bringing Natalie.
“Yeah. I promised Tiffany I’d go. I gotta do dinner first. Dad wants to take Nattie out tonight. Welcome her home.”
“Are you and Tiffany a thing now? Be careful, man. She’s a clinger.”
“Nah. We’re just having some fun.”
“You bringing Natalie with you to the party?” I try to sound casual, but I hate how much I want him to say she’ll be there tonight.
“That’s the plan. Is your sister going? It’d be nice to introduce Nat to Chloe. I’m sure she’d like to know another girl before school starts. Especially one I haven’t already hooked up with.”
“I think she’s going. Once she hears your sister’s going to be there, she won’t be able to miss it. She told me before she can’t wait to meet the female version of you. I have to say, I think Little Sinclair is a significant improvement.”
Coop regards me for a moment, before shutting me down. “No.”
6
Natalie
It’s barely been a full day since I moved into this room, but I’ve done a pretty good job of making it a little less fit for a princess and a little more me. Pictures of me, Cooper, and Declan line my shelves, along with a few of my friend Luca and me when we danced Sleeping Beauty last year.
Earlier today, I went in search of the boxes that I had shipped from California last week. I found them all in the spare room down the hall. There’s a dark wood bed and dresser set in there too. I think that must be Declan’s room for when he comes home to visit. I hung my favorite twinkly lights in the gauzy fabric surrounding my bed. My goal is to feel surrounded by stars at night. Not sure if that’s gonna work, but it’s worth a try. I have a few fashion sketches given to my mom years ago that are now framed and hanging over my bed. Gorgeous gowns sketched out in beautiful jewel tones. She wore the four different dresses in a New York fashion week event. They add a nice pop of color to my white and grey room. I’ve got Lewis Capaldi singing from my MacBook and my favorite buttercream scented candle burning.
There is still more to do, but it’s starting to feel like home.
I’m nervous about talking to my dad about dancing tonight. So, I text Luca to give me the courage I need.
Nattie: Hey how’s the new company? *Gif of James Corden learning ballet*
Luca: It’s fantastic.
A whole new group of uptight bitches and dudes who hit on my boyfriend right in front of me.
Nattie: Sounds like heaven. *Winking eye emoji*
Luca: What’s up buttercup? How’s Philly treating you? Did ya eat a cheesesteak yet?
Nattie: Nope. But I’m telling my dad I want to stop dancing tonight.
Luca: That outta make big daddy Sinclair stroke out. Have fun with that. Then send a pic.
Nattie: Your weird crush on my dad is NOT helping. I’m nervous already.
Luca: Don’t judge. He’s a total DILF. Pull up your big girl panties and do it. Then find a hottie and do him too. That should make you feel better after breaking your poor dad’s heart.
Nattie: You’re an ASSHOLE!!!
Luca: Yup. But you love me. Tell him tonight. Love you. Gotta go.
I hate that’s he’s right. I just have to rip the band-aid off and tell Dad.
Now, I am sitting at my vanity in a strapless, pale blue sundress, fitted to the waist, then loose to my knees, and my favorite nude espadrilles from J. Crew. I’ve got a small rose gold chain with a pink stone resting on my collarbones and matching hoop earrings in. My blonde hair is down in loose waves, and mascara, eyeliner, and a little gloss finish off the look. I’m just starting to scroll through my Instagram when there is a knock on my door. Quickly checking myself over in the mirror, I open the door and find my dad.
Luca wasn’t wrong. Joe Sinclair is a handsome man. He’s forty-five but looks ten years younger. His dirty blonde hair is cut close to his head. Cooper and I both have his pale blue eyes and coloring. Declan takes after our mom, with chocolate brown hair and eyes so blue they are nearly violet. Dad’s shoulders are broad, and his strong arms give the best hugs. I hadn’t heard him come home and hadn’t realized how much I miss him until he is standing in front of me. I’m pulled into his chest and start to cry.
“Oh, honey. I missed you too. Please don’t cry.” His arms tighten their hold, and I breathe in his unique smell. Irish Spring and Dad. The overwhelming feeling of being safe and loved envelopes me.
“I can’t help it, Daddy. I missed you.” He doesn’t let me go for a long minute, and I manage to pull myself together. I hate being a crier. If I get mad, I cry; sad, I cry; overly happy… more tears.
“I missed you too, Nattie. I’m so glad that you decided to come with me this year. Let’s grab Cooper. We have reservations in thirty minutes, I’m starving, and I want to hear all about your ballet workshop. Tell me everything I missed this summer.”
We take two cars into the city because Dad has to go back to the football complex after dinner to go over a few things with his coaching staff. I ride with Dad in his massive, silver Ford F-350, with Cooper following behind in his red Jeep Rubicon. We drive into the center of the city to the Four Seasons Hotel. It’s beautiful, full of glass and marble. Very chic and modern. Enormous white and purple floral arrangements sit on every surface. The smell of lavender is inescapable.
We are escorted up to the 59th floor by a concierge who couldn’t do enough for my father as soon as his name was mentioned. The restaurant, Jean-Georges, is beautiful. White linen tablecloths line the tables. Massive floor to ceiling windows overlook the Philadelphia skyline, showing off the skyscrapers’ white lights and the dome of City Hall. I can just make out the view of the Delaware River in the distance. It’s breathtaking.
The smells of expensive steaks and heavy sauces linger in the air and make my stomach rumble. Servers come in and out of the kitchen dressed in black and white, carrying meals that look like they should be on the cover of a magazine. I know my dad’s assistant must have made this reservation for him. He would be happier at the local diner eating meatloaf and mashed potatoes than in a fancy restaurant like this. This is more Mom’s style.
Dad and Cooper haven’t stopped talking football yet. I nod my head and throw a smile out when they look my way, but this is their conversation. My nerves have been ratcheting up all evening, just waiting for the topic to switch to dance.
When they come to clear away our plates, I’ve decided if I don’t talk to him now, I’m going to lose my nerve. Whether that’s a bad thing is yet to be seen. Checking my phone for the time, I sit up straighter and roll my shoulders back, bracing for the conversation to come.
The idea of telling him that I’m ready to throw away my pointe shoes makes me want to vomit. I mentioned it to my mom once this summer, and she told me I would be wasting my life, took a Xanax, and went to bed.
That’s her usual answer to stress.
Deciding there’s no time like the present, I jump in at the first lull in the conversation. “So, Dad, I wanted to talk to you about something.” My father turns his head to me, pinning me with his eyes. I forge on. “I’m ready to move on from ballet. I don’t want to take class anymore. I’ve decided to stop dancing.” Jesus, I need to shut up before I ramble off a freaking cliff.
“What are you talking about? You love dancing.” That’s from Dad.
“Are you kidding? You love dancing.” That’s from Cooper.
A server walks up to our table with a platter full of sample desserts, hears the raised voices of my father and brother, and turns away. It would be comical if it wasn’t my life.
“Actually, I love you guys, and Mom, and Declan. I don’t love dancing. I realized this summer that I kind of hate it. Maybe not dancing exactly, but everything that goes with it.”
Dad crumples his napkin on the table. He scrunches his eyes, the fine lines around them appearing. His lips are turned down, and I know he is disappointed. I hate that, in his world, you don’t give up. And that’s what he thinks I’m doing. Cooper leans back in his chair as if to avoid being an active participant in the argument that is about to begin.
My father leans both arms on the table and his blue eyes holding mine at attention. “Nattie, I don’t understand. Last year you were begging us to go to a ballet school in New York. What’s changed?”
“Daddy, I was never actually begging for that. Mom was kind of pushing that on me. I’m not sure what exactly changed. I just know that it doesn’t make me happy anymore, not how it used to.”
“I am tired of dedicating all of my time to it. I’m tired of watching every calorie that goes into my mouth. I am tired of the nasty girls that hate me because I’ve gotten the role they want. I just want to enjoy the last year of high school and figure out what I want to do with my life after I graduate.”
The server comes back and quietly slips the small, black leather billfold with the check on the table, giving me a momentary reprieve. He looks at me with a slight smile, as if to say good luck, then quickly walks away.
My father’s voice is deep and louder than I’d like. “Ballet is no longer what you want to do with your life? To do anything well, it takes dedication and practice. It’s years of hard work. Ten thousand hours to be considered an expert at anything you do.”
I’ve heard this speech so many times throughout my life. I wish I could yawn with the sense of exhaustion it brings.
Dad’s not done yet. He pulls his credit card out of his wallet, laying it in the billfold and signaling to the waiter. Speaking to me now without the eye contact he held a minute ago, he tells me, “You have to understand how disappointed I am that you are just going to give up and quit. Not everyone else has the God-given talent you have. I don’t want to see you waste it now and regret it later.”
Looking at Cooper for help, I’m let down when he refuses to meet my eyes too. My shoulders drop, and all of the bravado I forced on myself at the start of this conversation is gone. “I don’t understand, Dad. This is my life. Not yours. I don’t want to do this for the next ten years just because I’m good at it.”
Cooper puts his hand on mine, and I mistakenly think he’s about to back me up. “But you’re not just good, Nattie, you’re great. Do you want to give that up?”
I clear my throat and can feel the tears starting. Damnit. “Please listen to me. This isn’t a decision that I ma
de on a whim. The fact that you both can’t imagine your lives without football, isn’t a good enough reason for me to live my life in pointe shoes.”
My voice is wavering, and I decide I’m not ready to break just yet—deep breath. “Ballet has always been my escape. While you guys have spent your lives on a football field, I’ve spent mine on a stage, and I am done trying to escape. I want to live my life.
“I want to find something that makes me feel the way ballet used to make me feel. I want to have a life. I want to enjoy my senior year. I want to date and go to parties and prom. You’ve gotten to do all of that, Cooper, but I haven’t.
“Daddy, can’t you be happy that I am deciding this now and not after I’ve missed the opportunity to go to college? Most parents would be thrilled that their child is telling them they want to give up dancing and go to college.”
Shit. Wrong thing to say. The red comes back to my father’s cheeks. “Natalie Grace Sinclair, I have watched you dance your entire life. It was obvious from the time you were a little girl in a pink tutu that you were meant to be on a stage. I don’t want you to do anything that you are going to regret. I have not raised my children to be quitters, and I do not accept this.”
Raising my voice to my father for the first time tonight, I stand from my chair. “You’re not hearing me. I am not going to regret this, Daddy. I am not quitting. I have gotten everything out of ballet that I am going to and want to pursue other things. That’s not quitting. It’s switching directions and deciding what I don’t want to do with my life, so that I can find the thing that I do want to do, instead of just knowing what I don’t want to do.”
“Lower your voice right now, young lady. That is all still to be determined. This conversation is not over; it is on hold. I’m going to have to discuss this with your mother, and we both know having to discuss anything with your mother is not something that I want to do. In the meantime, you may not want to work with Madame Irina the way that we had planned, but I want you to find a local ballet school and take a few classes.
All In (The Kings of Kroydon Hills Book 1) Page 3
