#Heart (The Hashtag Series Book 6)

by Cambria Hebert

  It was hard to sit still and watch, though.

  This shit was in my blood. It wasn’t just a job. It was a way of life.

  “So you get a front row seat to all my problems, but when it comes to yours, I get locked out?” he said, barely breathing hard as we jogged.

  I gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you think you have enough shit to be worried about right now?”

  “You’re my best friend, Rome. If something’s going down, I’m entitled to know about it.”

  “Thought I was the entitled one,” I drawled.

  A dark look crossed his face, and he swiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Don’t fuck with me. You’re not the only one who worries about his family.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me. It’s not a big deal.”

  He barked a laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause you always act like I yanked your tighty whities up your crack when I make a joke.”

  “Dude, tighty whities are for dweebs.”

  Our snickers trailed behind us as we curved around the track.

  Once we fell silent and B said nothing, I knew he wasn’t going to let this go. “There’s some, ah, hard feelings on the team.”

  “Ah, Gamble’s new golden boy’s making people jealous. Damn, Rome. I thought you wouldn’t have that problem for at least a couple years.”

  I glanced at him, surprised.

  He barked out a laugh. “You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t know this was going to happen.”

  I felt kinda naive in that moment. I didn’t fucking like it.

  “I guess I thought a bunch of grown-ass men in a national football league were better than that shit.”

  “Do you still believe in the Tooth Fairy, too?”

  Shit. Now that I said it out loud, it did sound goddam ridiculous. In a profession where star power is rewarded with money, where touchdowns and titles earn you prestige, and you’re only as hot as the media and others perceive you to be, I knew better.

  In football, emotions run high; careers can literally be made or broken in a single game. Top picks and positions get paid obscene amounts of money that would keep small countries flush for years.

  “I just wanna play the game,” I said. “Politics and passion don’t mix in my gut too well.”

  “How much money was your contract for, Rome?”

  I wasn’t offended he asked. Hell, Braeden could ask me anything, literally anything, and I’d tell him. I might have been reluctant to tell him about this, but it wasn’t because I didn’t trust him. I was surprised he was asking, though.

  We never talked money because money didn’t factor into any part of our relationship.

  “Thirty million,” I replied, point blank. “Plus a signing bonus that was over ten mil.”

  He whistled between his teeth. “Yo, Rome. Can I borrow twenty dollars? My pocket’s feeling a little light.”

  I laughed. “I tell you I just made over forty mil on a four-year contract, and you only ask me for twenty dollars?”

  “What do you think I am, a gold digger?”

  I laughed again and veered off the track toward my duffle and water. Braeden followed behind and snagged his water off the floor, too.

  “Money like that, you must be the starting quarterback. The front man for the team.”

  “It’s looking that way. Final decisions won’t come down ‘til after the draft.”

  “Bet the guy you’re knocking out of the top spot is pretty fucking pissed his meal ticket just got smaller.”

  Braeden was a lot of things. Sarcastic. Hotheaded. Dark.

  But there was one thing my best friend was not.

  Stupid.

  I lowered the water. “Yeah, Blanchard isn’t too happy with me right now.”

  Blanchard was the starting quarterback for the Knights. Had been for the past three years. In those three years, the team had never been to the Superbowl. They’d only been in the playoffs once.

  It wasn’t that he was a bad player. He was the opposite. He was good.

  But I was better.

  I was also younger, more driven, and the media liked my smile.

  Who could blame them? It was a fucking brilliant smile.

  “He gonna be number two on the roster, then?” B rubbed a towel over his sweaty head.

  “Yeah, but he’s only got one year left on his contract, and the third quarterback on the team is performing well. I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes number two.”

  “Rowan, right?” B asked.

  I nodded, unsurprised he knew who all the quarterbacks were.

  “I met him when I was at one of your games. Good guy.”

  I agreed. “There was some tension at the end of last season and post season before I came home. Blanchard hasn’t exactly kept it hidden that he isn’t happy I basically walked in and took his job.”

  “You worked for that spot,” Braeden growled. “‘Specially after everything you went through and almost didn’t get to play at all.”

  I felt my mouth tilt up. Everyone always called me the alpha. But B was just as much one as I was.

  “I’m not giving it up. The team’s good, B. With a little bit of fine tuning, a few adjustments to the roster, and you on the field with me, I know we could get to the Bowl.”

  “And we will.”

  I held out my fist and we pounded it out. Braeden dropped onto the ground to stretch out his legs and back. “So how bad is it with Blanchard? Is he someone I’m gonna have to deal with?”

  My mouth flattened. “Blanchard’s my problem. Not yours.”

  “Your problems are my problems.”

  “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything. You can’t afford any trouble right now. You gotta be squeaky clean for the draft. No team’s gonna draft a PR liability. And with—” I slammed my teeth together, not finishing the rest of my sentence.

  “And with Robert Bettinger running around yelling murder, my career might be over before it begins.”

  Fuck! I remembered thinking the exact same thing when I broke my arm. That it was over before it began.

  That was all Zach’s fault, too.

  Okay, to be fair, Braeden’s situation wasn’t all Zach’s fault.

  Only like 99.5% of it.

  “That’s not going to happen,” I vowed. Which reminded me… “Get you’re shit. We gotta go to my dad’s office.”

  He needed to be made aware of this situation before rumors started flying.

  Braeden began tossing his stuff in the bag.

  “You’re beating yourself up over this.” I nudged his shoulder.

  “It’s my career. You of all people know the stakes.”

  “You know I’m not talking about football right now.”

  His shoulders slumped enough that I noticed.

  “Ivy’s worried, man. I am, too.”

  “She came to you?” His voice was somber.

  “To talk, but she never said anything to me about that night. About Zach.”

  I could hear the bewilderment in his words when he said, “I didn’t know she’d seen that night. She was so in and out. I honestly didn’t think she knew.”

  “Have you talked to her at all?”

  “We talked… after the bruises…”

  “Today?” I pressed. “After Robert was at the house?”

  He shook his head once. “No. She ran out of the house so fast this morning I barely had time to tell her good-bye.”

  “You’re scared to talk to her.” I observed.

  He scoffed.

  “All this time you’ve been feeling shitty for the choice you made that night. You’ve been haunted by Zach and by seeing Ivy so broken.”

  He looked up at me like he was surprised I knew.

  “I’ve been there with Rim. Seeing them hurt at Zach’s hands. It’s the worst fucking thing in the world.”

  “That’s the thing, Rome. I don’t feel bad for the choice I made. In all honesty, I’d make the same choice again. That’s what h
aunts me the most. I don’t feel guilty.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “I let him die, and I don’t even feel bad. What the fuck does that say about me?”

  I stood there silent, digesting his words.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Coach was right. I am a fuck-up.”

  “You were a fuck-up long before Zach died,” I mused and gazed off down the field at the goal post.

  The. Goal. Post.

  The one I found Rimmel dangling from. The one I was yanked off and broke my arm. I hadn’t been back to this stadium since that night.

  “This doesn’t make you like him.”

  Braeden had a deep-rooted fear that on some level, he was just like his abusive father.

  “I know.”

  I must have looked shocked, because he smiled. “I let the hold he had on me go.”

  “Princess is good for you.”

  “Dude, why the fuck do you keep calling my girl princess?”

  “Drives her nuts.” I laughed.

  His teeth flashed, bright white against the dark stubble lining his jaws. “Then by all means, carry on.”

  “Talk to her. I’d bet my forty mil that Ivy will stand by you. And shit, maybe if you talk to her, she won’t wake up with bruises anymore.”

  “I put another bruise on that girl—even by accident—and I want you to kick my ass. Like a serious ass whooping,” he intoned.

  “With pleasure.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and turned toward the exit. I knew damn well Braeden hadn’t meant to leave those bruises on Ivy. I also knew he’d sleep with toothpicks holding his lids open before he ever did it again.

  “I’ll talk to her,” he said as we left the stadium.

  “B?” I called across the roof of the Hellcat before he got in.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s gonna be the bomb having you with the Knights.”

  It wasn’t a done deal, Braeden and me on the same team, but it would be. I knew it just the same as I knew Rim and I belonged together.

  I just hoped to God my brother didn’t walk into the middle of a turf war when he finally made it to the team.

  Chapter Twenty

  Braeden

  She was late.

  I’d barely heard from her all day.

  She was late.

  My foot bounced against the floor as I tried not to panic.

  The last time I couldn’t get ahold of her, she’d been kidnapped.

  I started to get up but then sat back down.

  Ivy wasn’t missing or kidnapped. I knew this. She texted, said she had to stop in at the boutique after classes. I knew where she was.

  It didn’t matter. I would worry until she walked in the door.

  Damn, being paranoid sucked donkey balls.

  Seconds but what felt like hours later, she walked in.

  I leapt up over the back of the couch and went into the entryway.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling.

  I caught her around the waist and pulled her close. She hugged me back and didn’t try to pull away. When I finally let her go, she stripped off her coat, and I hung it on a nearby hook.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked, bending down to pick up Prada and snuggle her.

  I shrugged. “Busy.”

  “We’re alone?”

  Now why did that sound like something she didn’t seem thrilled about?

  “Just me and you.”

  “I’m starving,” she announced as the dog licked her face and she giggled.

  “You miss lunch again?” I frowned.

  She shook her head. “No, but I haven’t eaten dinner. You eat yet?”

  I felt like an ass for saying yes. I probably should have asked her if she wanted to go out tonight, since everyone else was busy. Would have given us a chance to get out for a while.

  My mom always said you should never stop dating your girl, even after technically you were past the dating stage.

  I used to roll my eyes and wonder why the hell she thought I cared, but now as I remembered the advice, I knew she was trying to teach me how to treat a woman right.

  “C’mon,” I said and reached for her coat again. “I’ll take you out to dinner. You pick.”

  “Didn’t you just tell me you already ate?” She gave me a funny look.

  “A man can’t eat twice?” I retorted. Technically, I couldn’t. I was on a strict plan until after my fate for the NFL was sealed. Twice daily workouts and a serious diet of protein, more protein, and healthy fats was pretty much my entire life.

  But fuck that.

  If my girl was hungry, I was gonna feed her.

  “I kinda wanna stay in. I’m exhausted.” Her face turned sheepish.

  She looked worn out, slightly pale with faint rings beneath her eyes.

  “Wanna watch a movie?”

  “Sure.” She smiled.

  I took her hand and led her toward the kitchen. “What’re you in the mood for?”

  “Grilled cheese.”

  What the…? I glanced over my shoulder and gave her a look. The response was immediate, like she hadn’t even needed to think about it. Ivy never ate grilled cheese. Too many carbs and fat she’d say.

  Made me wonder if she had a really bad day and what the hell happened.

  She must have noticed my surprise, because she shrugged. “I like grilled cheese.”

  “You’re in luck.” I guided her to the barstool and motioned for her to sit down. “Grilled cheese is my specialty.”

  “You’re going to make it?”

  “Hells yeah.”

  She settled in like she was getting ready for some show, and I was offended. “I can cook.” I scoffed.

  “You do make a mean protein shake, and ordering pizza is a real skill.” She nodded sagely.

  I grabbed the bread and slammed it on the counter. “Blondie, this is gonna be the best damn grilled cheese you ever had.”

  She grinned real toothy-like and put her chin in her hands.

  I chuckled and got to work.

  A few minutes later, I presented her a gooey, perfectly toasted, and melty sandwich on a paper plate.

  I might cook, but I sure as hell didn’t do dishes.

  “Behold the work of a genius,” I proclaimed.

  She lifted one dark-blond brow I knew was perfectly arched (she told me all about how to get the right brow shape… Yes, that was a long conversation I hoped to never repeat) and said nothing as she picked up half the sandwich.

  Orange-colored cheese stretched between the center, and she took a bite.

  A groan rumbled from her throat as she chewed, and it was fucking hot. Damn, sounded like she was having an orgasm in her mouth. It turned me the hell on.

  Ivy said nothing as she took another bite.

  And another.

  I watched her totally bemused as she basically destroyed the first half of my artwork.

  When there was literally one bite left to the piece in her hand, she noticed my silence and looked up. Her eyes widened like she forgot I was even there, and she winced. “What?” the vulnerability in her voice amused me.

  “My sandwich just blew up your world.” I grinned, then leaned across the counter, pushing my face close to hers. “Boom.” I motioned with my hands like a bomb just went off.

  She rolled her eyes but shoved the rest into her mouth.

  I chuckled and turned away to pull a glass out of cabinet and fill it with some orange juice. She was reaching for the second half of the sandwich when I set it at her elbow.

  She groaned again. “How’d you know?” Completely abandoning the food, she went for the glass.

  “Grilled cheese and OJ is like the perfect pair.” I teased. “If you’re a fa-reak.”

  I really thought she’d sling a comeback at me with perfect precision. She always did. It was one of the things I loved most about her. Ivy never held back. She gave as good as she got.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she pulled the glass away from her lips and averted her gaze, like s
he was suddenly embarrassed… or apprehensive.

  What the shit was this?

  I pushed off the island and went around to where she was sitting and slid onto the stool beside her. With one easy movement, I slid her off her seat and into my lap. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her ankles hooked around my back. I spun so she could lean her back against the counter edge and got a sudden flashback of the night we’d sat in the kitchen and she fed me ice cream.

  I’d needed her that night.

  She needed me right now.

  “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” I asked.

  She shook her head, the high ponytail she wore swinging with the movement.

  I snagged the plate and held the corner of the sandwich up to her lips. “Eat your dinner, baby.”

  “It really is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”

  “The secret is to use extra cheese,” I told her and winked.

  We sat there in the silence until the rest of the food was eaten, and when it was, I leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her lips. “This morning upset you.”

  Her eyes shot up to mine. “How’d you know?”

  “Because it isn’t every day someone accuses you of murder.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Why did it seem like that wasn’t what she thought I was talking about?

  “He reminded me of Zach,” she whispered, eradicating my train of thought.

  “I’m sorry he came here. I wish you didn’t ever have to think about that guy ever again.”

  “It was hard at first, you know? When I saw him, it was like a punch in the gut. Memories came flooding back. But then as he went on, the panic did, too. Sure, it was upsetting to see him and to hear the awful accusations. But Robert isn’t Zach, and what happened to me… I’m handling it.”

  I rubbed a hand down her arm. She was so strong, and I was so incredibly proud of her.

  “I don’t want you to worry about Robert. There’s no way in hell he’ll ever be able to convince anyone that you had any part in Zach’s death. You were his victim.”

  Her eyes widened, the ocean-blue darkening. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about what he’s going to try to do to you.”