“Avoid them?” Brett offered with a chuckle.
“I could be so lucky. You’ve met my brother.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” And he thought he had family problems? He didn’t envy her a brother like that one.
“He’d tell you the same thing. We scare him—my sister and I.”
“No way.”
“Absolutely, especially Freddie. Crazy, huh?”
“Hard to imagine.” Brett immersed himself in her blue gaze and sank below the surface like a scuba diver exploring the warm depths of a tropical reef. Estie’s smile lit up his world, and he fought this overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and carry her to bed where he’d make insane, passionate love to her all night long. And never ever be the same man again, for better or worse.
He broke her spell by bringing up the reason he was here. “So tell me about Yappy Hour and what part I play.”
Estie eyes lit up. She picked up her iPad, opened up an app, and showed him her carefully planned out spreadsheets and notes. He blinked a few times, amazed at how nothing was left to chance.
“We’ll do it at the grange in Maple Valley with a good-sized banquet room area. Adults only because there’s alcohol, and the dogs we’re trying to adopt out aren’t all kid safe. You’ll pose for pics with the guests for a small donation, while the staff and I match people with their new pets via a speed dating-type thing. It’ll be great fun. You’ll see. Seattle Singles Club is one of our sponsors, along with Seattle-4-Pets, and of course, my dear brother.” She pointed at each item in turn in her careful notes.
“Tyler’s supporting this?”
“Well, his foundation is. Tyler works with veterans in several ways, and one way is his pet therapy project to help with PTSD.”
Brett could’ve been blown up with a roadside bomb. “Tyler? Tyler Harris? The same guy who’s my teammate?”
“Tyler’s not anything like he seems.”
Brett digested this information for a moment. “And you? Are you like you seem?”
“How do I seem?” She leaned closer to him, as if she couldn’t help it.
Brett leaned closer, too. He feel her breath on his face, could almost taste those red lips, almost—
Someone knocked on the door. Brett jumped backward. Risky yelped and sprinted behind the couch, scared of the noise. Dozer growled and Marilyn sighed. Spock and Jim turned their backs on the entire episode, tails switching.
With a guilty start, Estie jumped to her feet and hurried to the door, swinging it open.
A tall, thin man wearing a huge frown on his face slipped inside and stopped. He stared at the two of them, suspicion narrowing his eyes. He swung his gaze to Estie, a gaze full of disappointment and recrimination. “Estie, what’s going on here?”
Estie swallowed, her face bright red with remorse written all over it. “Richard, this is Brett Gunnels. Brett, Richard, my fiancé.” She went to the unhappy man and clutched his arm. “Brett’s helping me with Yappy Hour, like I told you.”
Richard didn’t look one damn bit convinced. His gaze swung around the room and settled on the three dogs. “Did you get more animals?” He looked horrified.
“Risky belongs to Brett.” Estie released Richard’s arms and he backed up a few steps, all bristly like a porcupine. Estie glanced at Brett, her eyes pleading. “Brett, I’ll call you. Okay?”
His first instinct was to stay and to hell with Richard, but something in her expression stopped him cold. He knew when it was time to retreat gracefully. Brett coaxed Risky out from behind the couch and half dragged, half carried him to the door. He stopped, unable to resist a final jab at her fiancé. “Bye, Estie, I’ll call you about the details.”
She managed a sad smile, as if she regretted that he was leaving. “Bye.”
Brett left, holding his head high, yet feeling guilt. He’d come a fraction of an inch from kissing a woman he had no business kissing and almost been caught in the act by her fiancé.
He opened the back car door for Risky, who couldn’t wait to get inside, and spent a few minutes calming the shaking dog. He felt a bit like a mutt with his tail between his legs himself. Leaving Estie to fend for herself with her angry fiancé went against Brett’s protective instincts, but what else could he do? She’d clearly wanted him out of there, even though he’d caught a glimmer of regret in her blue eyes.
With a sigh, he put his car in gear and drove onto the country road. Several minutes later, he walked into his own house. Bongo shouted out a “fuck you” greeting and Blackjack, his ancient black cat, lay claim to his lap as soon as Brett sat his ass in the chair.
He’d just missed valuable film-room time and for what? To fall deeper for a woman who would never be his? To spend too much of his spare time obsessing over what he couldn’t have instead of finding a way to achieve his lifelong dream?
Brett certainly had had his moments of idiocy over the years, but this might be his shining moment. He flipped on his stereo, finding a country station, while Risky lay with his head on Brett’s thigh. Blackjack purred on his lap. In the background, Bongo sang along to the songs, making up his own lyrics, most of them obscene.
He could always count on his animals to love him.
Chapter 5
Blitz Attack
The next evening, Brett ran the film again, studying every aspect of the game in slow motion. Estie’s words came back to him; how he’d reacted to the play, how he’d tipped off the defensive backs by zeroing in on a receiver, and how they’d nailed Ramsey as he tried to haul in the ball. Everything she said was spot on and in full HD living color in front of his face.
He was trying too hard and forcing the ball, instead of keeping calm and poised in the pocket, while relaxing and letting the game flow around him. He looked like a deer in the headlights, and he imagined his panicked expression didn’t exactly instill confidence in his teammates. Even so, they had had his back, each and every one of them.
He wanted to deserve their unwavering loyalty.
Brett rubbed the back of his neck, but nothing relieved the tension or the pounding headache behind his eyeballs.
The door to the film room opened, and he glanced toward it.
Oh, hell no. This had to be his penance for a crappy game.
He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. He must have fallen asleep and was having a bad dream because he swore Harris was hobbling toward him on crutches. Only it wasn’t a bad dream, even though Harris in the flesh pretty much did qualify as one. The bastard was grinning this evil grin, like a hyena bearing down on a wounded zebra.
“It’s me, Gun—your worst nightmare.” Tyler Harris leaned on his crutches, his smirk spread from ear to ear, while those blue eyes glowed with a maniacal intensity directed squarely at his prey.
“Tell me about it.” Shit, he’d always known the jerk could read minds.
Harris lowered himself into the seat next to Brett, laying his crutches across the chair in front of them. “You and I are gonna be doing some studying. I’m making you into a premier quarterback.” He jabbed at his chest to emphasize the I.
Bruiser, sitting to the left of Brett, chuckled and elbowed him, while Brett made a mental note to beat the shit out of his buddy later.
Brett opened his mouth to turn down the asshole’s offer then snapped it shut. Harris might be a lot of things—good and bad—but the man knew football, was a Zen master at reading defenses, and had eyes in the back of his head when it came to would-be sackers on his blind side. As much as Brett hated to admit it, he needed Harris’s knowledge and experience. Could learn from it. Now was not the time to give into stubborn pride.
Harris rubbed a hand across his face, drawing Brett’s attention. He looked tired, worn out, and if those tension lines around his eyes and furrows in his forehead were any indication, in pain.
Harris sighed a deep sigh of frustration. “I want to be out there so fucking bad. I can taste the blood in my mouth, hear the pads smacking together over the roar of the
crowd, smell the freshly mown grass. Oh, yeah, I want that. But right now, the team doesn’t have me. They have you, and I am going to be living the rest of my season through you, and it will fucking be a season to be proud of. Got it, Gun??”
“Yeah, I got it. You’re going to be the pain in my ass.” Brett leaned back and closed his eyes, but when he opened them, Harris hadn’t gone away.
The man chuckled and motioned to Zach and Derek, standing in the doorway. Both guys entered the room. “You don’t just have one; you now have three pains in the ass.” He looked past Brett to Bruiser. “Or is that four? You in, buddy?”
“Hell, yeah, wouldn’t miss it,” Bruiser grinned.
So much for a guy’s best buddy sticking with him to the bitter end. He’d just thrown Brett to the ravenous hyenas and joined the feeding frenzy.
Harris sprawled in the plush seat as best as his recovering knee would let him. He snatched the remote from Brett’s hands and zipped it back several frames. The rest of the gang settled into the big upholstered chairs around him, stretching out their legs. Murphy opened a bag of chips and passed it around, as if they were at the fucking movies or something.
“Okay, see the outside linebacker? Jeff Olson? He’s onto the Packers in this play. See how he adjusts his guys? He knows they’re not running the ball. The QB gave himself away. Can you see that?”
Brett studied the screen, frowned, and studied some more. He’d seen something, just hadn’t been able to completely put his finger on it until Harris pointed it out.
“He drops his left hip every time he’s going to hand off.” Brett tried not to smile.
“What adjustments would you make if you were the QB here?” Harris nudged him and pointed at the screen.
Brett mentioned a couple different options, drawing a few nods from Harris.
“All valid options, but that’s not what I’d do.”
“And I bet you’re going to tell me what you’d do.” Blowing out a long breath, Brett settled into his seat ready to take his licks like a man.
“Damn right I am. This team was Super Bowl bound when I bit it. Now it’s on you, and you are going to take them the rest of the way.” Harris turned toward him and poked Brett in the chest, which royally pissed Brett off. He didn’t like being touched like that, but he held his temper in check.
Harris didn’t seem to notice or care that he’d crossed a line, not that there were any lines with Harris. “You, my man, need some tutoring and a confidence boost. I’m going to see to it that you get both, or I’ll fucking kill you trying.”
Brett believed every word Harris said.
And then some.
* * * * *
The weather was cold and crisp, a rare December Seattle day without rain, and Estie was spending the afternoon with her badass older sister. Freddie was the only person Estie knew who could wear white on a horse and never get a speck of dirt on her. In fact, as she walked up to her horse she looked like a model doing a fashion shoot rather than a woman who could rope and ride better than any man. She rode a Harley whenever the weather permitted, and sometimes when it didn’t.
Even though Freddie could be harsh, Estie valued her opinion because Freddie told it like it was.
Figuring she might as well get it over with, Estie took a deep breath and jumped off the high board into the shark tank. “Freddie, I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Do what?” Freddie, the eldest and scariest of the Harris siblings, swung her long leg over the saddle of her black quarter horse gelding and settled in.
Estie waited to answer until they’d ridden out of the barn area and into the woods. Part of her ran for cover, while the braver side insisted she needed to get some balls, figuratively speaking. The coward won.
Their horses walked side by side down the logging road. Regret for opening her mouth surged through her. She clamped her trap shut, hoping her sister would be distracted by the beauty around them and forget her rash words.
No such luck.
“Do what?”
Freddie never forgot anything or allowed herself to be distracted from the subject at hand. Freddie had the same laser focus as their brother, which meant Estie didn’t stand a chance, and she’d stupidly brought this on herself.
“Estie?” Freddie prompted with a note of exasperation to her voice.
“Marry Richard.” Estie stared between Annie’s ears at the road ahead, dappled by winter sunlight shining through the trees. She could feel her sister’s shrewd gaze on her.
“Why not? You two are perfect together.”
“Seriously? You really think so?” Estie couldn’t help feeling a little insulted, but maybe it looked that way from the outside.
“Does it matter what I think?” Freddie laughed. Her sister took no prisoners, scared the crap out of even the strongest man, and emasculated those not smart enough to run like hell when she got her claws into them. Lots of people lumped Estie in with her, but Estie considered herself the nicer sister—not that that was saying much.
“Actually, it does. Why do you think he’s perfect for me?” Estie ground her teeth together, not thrilled about her sister’s assessment.
“I didn’t say he was perfect for you. I said you’re perfect together. He’s used to being controlled and you like to control.”
“And you think I should marry him?”
“Not really, but you seem to think you should. Estie, you like everything in a perfect little package, no surprises, no deviating from the plan. He’s part of your plan, and come hell or high water, you’re going to follow that plan.”
She couldn’t deny that. “We’re good partners.”
“Marriage isn’t a business, or it shouldn’t be. Relationships are messy, emotional, and unpredictable.” Freddie narrowed her eyes. “Like it or not, that’s the deal. Richard lulls you into thinking you can have an ordered, controlled relationship. I’ll bet you he’s not nearly as compliant as you think he is.”
Freddie had never been long on sympathy, not one damn bit. She pretty much told it like it was and didn’t care if she stepped on toes doing it.
She shot a glance at Freddie. “I know him better than his own mother does.” Estie combed her horse’s mane with her fingers so it lay flat on one side of her neck. But the opinion Freddie has just expressed had crossed her mind.
“Estie, I don’t know what the deal is. Not really. But for whatever reason, you’ve convinced yourself that you need Richard. That he’s safe. First, you needed him when he propped you up after Dad died. Then you needed him as a business partner because of what happened to Tyler’s finances. No one blames that on you, except you, by the way. Stuff out of your control—yes, out of your control—created that situation, but now you’ve lost faith in your abilities and convinced yourself that you need Richard. Then you turn a decade-long friendship into a romantic relationship for the same damn reasons. It’s fucked up, but that’s how it goes.” Despite her reputation for being blunt, Freddie had never voiced her opinion so strongly. Estie stared at the trees at the side of the road so her sister wouldn’t see the tears. Annie and Ebony’s hooves clip-clopped on the hard packed dirt of the logging road. Freddie reached across the distance between them and patted Estie’s shoulder in a rare sisterly display of comfort and affection. Not that it lessened the truth of her sister’s words.
Her carefully planned life was fucked up. Her future was starting to deviate like a rebellious teenager and taking a path she’d never planned. She needed to get it back on track, starting with crushing her insane attraction to Brett.
Because she didn’t really want him; she just thought she did.
Chapter 6
Illegal Use of the Hands
On top of everything else going on in Brett’s life, this had to happen at the worst possible fucking time.
Brett stared at the three-page eviction notice in his hand. He glared at the paper. Yeah, he smelled a rat when one scurried into his territory. He’d been a great renter, kept the place
immaculate. Now he had thirty days to move out. Thirty days he didn’t have while the Jacks were making a run for the playoffs.
The place had been sold out from under him and he hadn’t even known his former teammate had put the house up for sale. The former teammate who now played for a team vying for a playoff spot with the Jacks.
The asshole was trying to screw him over.
Brett needed to find a home for him and his furry family while working sixteen-hour days. He’d also lose his animal sitter, old Mrs. Styles, who took care of his animals during the week. She loved all animals and didn’t care a bit about Bongo’s cussing because she couldn’t hear. Even better, she liked the extra money in her pocket for her brandy and her Saturday night bingo sprees at the casino.
Brett sat down on the bench in the locker room and focused on the far wall, the paper still clenched in his hands. The Jacks had lost another game over the weekend, but they still had one more chance, and that was all he needed. One more game in the regular season, one more chance to prove himself, earn a spot as a starting quarterback on his own team—with a lucrative contract.
Heavy, uneven steps echoed across the empty locker room floor. Brett bent his head, pretending to text message, and prayed the guy would walk on by. No such luck. A pair of large feet framed by crutches appeared in his line of vision.
Brett rolled his eyes and glared up at Harris. “Go ahead, chew my ass and get it over with.”
Harris glanced at his own iPhone, tapped a couple times on the screen, studied it, and then met Brett’s gaze. “You sucked the first half, then the second half you settled down and played a decent game. You’re getting better, but we’re running out of time. It’s”—Harris consulted his smartphone again—“Monday, late afternoon. We need to get started on the next game with the Rams. We’ll spend tonight going over yesterday’s game then we’ll start on the next opponent.”
Brett nodded, pushing thoughts from his mind of becoming the first NFL player under contract to be homeless.
Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) Page 6
