Played: A Novel (Gridiron Series Book 4)

by Jen Frederick

  “Damn,” I curse softly.

  “When were you planning on telling me about this?” He looks distressed.

  I feel low. “When I got another job.”

  “And how is that going?” he asks.

  We both know it's going nowhere so I don't bother to lie. “I'm thinking of applying for a secretarial position or maybe volunteer as a docent.”

  He laces his fingers together on the table. Concern is written all over his features. “Why is it that you don't want my help? Are you ashamed of your dad?”

  I rear back in surprise. “No. My God, why would you say that?”

  “You go by Martin. You hide that I'm related to you. You don't ask for my help and don't even tell me when you quit your job. What's so terrible about being my daughter?”

  It had never occurred to me that I would hurt my dad's feelings by trying to succeed without using his connections.

  “You won't even share your art with me.”

  If I was surprised before, it doesn't even begin to compare to the shock that strikes me at his new revelation.

  “How do you know?”

  “You left it out during the holidays. I may have sneaked a peek.” He leans forward, full of parental earnestness. “Why haven't you showed it to me?”

  I drop my guilty, shamed eyes to my hands. “I don't know. I'm…scared.”

  He makes a hurt sound in the back of his throat. God, Fleur was right. I was a coward. A self-centered one at that.

  Stiffening my spine, I push the notebook across the table. Jeanette has brought us steaming piles of roast beef on homemade mashed potatoes. I dig in, surprisingly hungry despite how intently my dad is inspecting every page.

  He flips through the book slower than it took to draw some of the pages. Finally, he sets it aside and picks up his fork.

  “It's very good.”

  “You're saying that.”

  He slams down his fork. I jerk upright in surprise. “You always do that, Ara.”

  “Do what?”

  “Downplay yourself. You are a woman of worth. Your art is good. I don't believe it is studio ready, but it will be with more work. It's obvious you only spend a little time on this instead of immersing yourself completely. You need a few classes perhaps and a lot more practice, but you have talent. You'll go nowhere, though, if you don't start valuing your own work. Now, eat your dinner and we will talk about where you should go from here.”

  Meekly, I pick up my fork. “Yes, Daddy.”

  Inwardly, though, I'm grinning wildly. Dad liked my work and I know it's a truthful, unvarnished opinion because he didn't say I should immediately submit it. He recognized that it had flaws and told me to keep working.

  It's what he'd say to anyone.

  After dinner, the first thing I want to do is tell Ty. I hug my notebook to my chest and race off to find him.

  “He's not here,” Remy says at the front door of their house.

  “Is he working out again?”

  “No. He said he was going for a walk. He needed some fresh air or something.”

  My face falls. Is he having second thoughts? “Okay, will you tell him that I stopped by?”

  “Yeah, but Ara…” Remy stops, licks his lips.

  “What?” I prompt.

  “The combine is a big deal for him. Don't mess with his head too much, okay?”

  Chastened, I nod. “I promise. I'll fix it all.”

  Remy daps my fist and closes the door.

  I have really fucked up, I realize. If I lose Ty, it'll be my own damn fault and no one else's.

  30

  Ty

  “Ara stopped by,” Remy informs me when I get home. “She looked real sad that she missed you.”

  “Yeah?” It took me all of five minutes to throw my combine shit together so I went for a short walk to figure out what I needed to do about Ara. Knox kept buzzing me. He can sense I’m upset, but I don’t think he has any answers.

  The only people who can solve this are her and me. Ara agreed to marry Weasel, not because she loved him, but because the khaki-wearing dude was the exact opposite of her dad. And while I’m not an artist, I do have a singular passion for football.

  That scares her to death. Solution: a full frontal assault.

  The only thing that will break through for her is committed, direct action. I have to show her I'm as dedicated to making this thing between us work as I am about football. And that we can still have a great friendship that's made better by seriously awesome sex. The last part is in the bag, frankly. It's the first part that'll take effort.

  “Yeah. She was almost crying.”

  “Now you’re overselling it.” I take the stairs two at a time.

  “She was,” he yells after me.

  It doesn't matter if she was or she wasn’t. That she came looking for me is a good sign.

  “You got everything packed?” Remy says at the door.

  I throw my duffle on the bed. “A month's worth of underwear, socks, extra shoes.” I point to the garment bag. “And one suit. What else are you bringing?”

  “My agent's got everything covered. He said to just get on the plane and bring my ass to the hotel.”

  I arch my eyebrows. “Is that normal?”

  Remy shrugs. “Don't know, don't care. My guy is still interested in repping you. I told him all that shit being said about you is fake news.”

  “All the shit? There's more than Rhyann and my agent?” Make that former agent.

  Remy suddenly shows interest in the carpet.

  “Remy?” I prompt, my tone a bit hard.

  “Well, just stuff about you being difficult to coach.”

  “Oh fuck.” My heart sinks. Uncoachable is the kiss of death. I can feel my draft status sliding downhill.

  “It’s nothing, bro.” Remy gives me a weak smile. “Oh shit, is that my phone?” He skips away.

  There was no phone call, but I let him go. He doesn’t need to get caught up in my drama. Instead, I grab my own phone and call Knox.

  “Real talk,” I say after he answers. “How much is it going to hurt me to arrive at the combine with no agent?”

  My brother takes a moment to consider his reply before answering. “I don’t know. I think if you hadn’t had the issues with your exes, it’d be okay. The agent’s there to smooth things over—be the good angel to the devils that are out there. Most of the agents at the combine are going to be working out the contracts for their existing roster of athletes. Is my guy getting cut or an extended, that sort of thing.”

  “Remy tells me the word out there is that I’m uncoachable.”

  “No way,” Knox fires back to my relief. “That’s bullshit. Where’d he hear that?”

  “His agent.”

  “He’s just saying that to build Remy up. That shit,” he fumes. I don’t know if Knox is talking about Remy or Remy’s agent. “Here’s what you should do. Kill on the interview portion. It’s at night because they want to catch you when you’re mentally weak. If you put in a great performance, all the rumors will be brushed aside. After you’re done with all the workouts, you can stick around and case out the agents. They are all going to be there, including mine.”

  It sounded like a decent plan. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

  “Whew. Ty Masters taking advice from his little brother. It’s a miracle. Hold on while I write this down.”

  “Shut up, asshole,” I say laughingly. Having a plan takes the weight off my shoulders, but Knox’s next words weigh them down again.

  “So how are things with you and Ara?”

  “They’re working themselves out.”

  “I can come down after the combine. We can run her through another twin test. I’ll make it easy on her.”

  “Seriously, bro, you’re hitting me with that now?”

  “Just trying to distract you,” he teases, but he’s only half joking. “Look, let’s get it over with. I know it’s bugging you.”

  “It’s really not. I don’
t think about that.”

  “Come on,” he wheedles. “It’ll be fun. After it’s over, we’ll all laugh about it.”

  “Like you and Ellie do?” Ellie purposely failed the twin test and it hurt Knox bad. I have serious doubts they laugh over this.

  “Okay, so maybe we don’t laugh about it, but you won’t feel good about Ara until you do. I want your draft day to be perfect. Having Ara by your side, getting drafted fourth—”

  “First, you mean,” I interrupt. Jackass put me one behind him.

  “First, fourth, what does it matter? Here’s my plan. I’ll wear your glasses—”

  “No.” I bang the phone against the desk a couple of times. “Shit, we’re breaking up.” I replace the phone at my ear. “I’ve got this. I promise.” The phone beeps. I glance at the screen. It’s Ara. “I have to go,” I tell my brother. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Buzz me if you need anything,” he says.

  I say goodbye and then switch over. Only it’s not Ara on the phone. It’s Fleur and she’s crying.

  Alarm jolts me to my feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ara’s dad has been in a bad accident. She needs you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Packing, but she's a mess. Ty, I don't think she should drive down to the hospital. It's three hours away and her eyes are so swollen from crying, she can barely see. I'd drive her but I'm subbing for my teacher tomorrow,” Fleur wails.

  “I'm on it.”

  “Oh, God, I didn't mean you. Don't you have to go to the combine?”

  My heart pounds. Abandoning the combine is crazy. My reputation is already low. If I don't show up for my interview tomorrow, word will spread and I'll be marked as pariah. I can already see the draft numbers tumbling and my signing bonus growing smaller.

  But Ara low key thinks I'm the same as her old man. This is my opportunity to prove that I'm not.

  “I can catch up. I'll drive her down and come back. There's a flight at—” I pause and quickly type in an internet search. Results pop up. “There's a flight tomorrow at six that should get me to Indy in time. I'll just be late. There's nothing official until the morning.” This isn't exactly true. I have an interview tomorrow evening with the GM of Denver, but I'll text him and ask him if we can do it early the next morning.

  “If you're sure.”

  “I'm sure.”

  I pause briefly by Remy’s room to inform him of what’s going on. “Can you take my stuff with you? Just check it through and throw it in my assigned room.”

  “Man, you can't leave,” Remy says, getting to his feet. “I'll get Nichole to drive her down.”

  “No, it's got to be me.” I feel a sense of surety. This is the right decision.

  “You've got an interview tomorrow,” he balks.

  “I'll reschedule.”

  “Are you nuts? They're not going to reschedule. They're going to write you off as a flake! Uncoachable will be the kindest thing they’ll say about you.”

  “If they're going to do that, then I don't want to be on the team.” I wave goodbye and leap down the stairs.

  “You're fucking crazy, man. You can't leave,” Remy yells after me.

  I let the slamming door behind me supply the answer but meet with the same resistance from Ara.

  “No, absolutely not,” she says when I show up at her bedroom door. She doesn't bother to look up from her suitcase. “Go home.”

  “Ara.” She throws another pair of socks into her case. “Ara.” Her head disappears into the closet as she rummages for her black heels. I pull them from underneath her bed and set them on top of the socks. She hunches over.

  I go over to her, picking her up. Tears hang onto the end of her eyelashes. Her cheeks are wet. I brush my thumbs over her face and pull her in for a hug.

  “You need me.”

  She sags into me, one sneaker squeezed in her fist. Never very heavy in the first place, she feels lighter than the weights I curl with. Panic sets in. Ara's always strong. She withstood nearly two years of abuse from Van Asshole, but the news about her dad is cutting her off at the knees.

  “You have the combine,” she mumbles into my chest. “So you're not going.”

  “Lots of players don't go to the combine and still get drafted.”

  “Not in the top ten.”

  “Yeah, even in the top ten.” I have no idea if this is true. I wrestle a shoe out of her hand and toss it aside. “I'm coming. End of story.”

  She picks herself up off the ground. “I really don’t want you to come, Ty. I’ll feel guilty every time I look at you. You’d resent me for the rest of your life if you missed the combine.” She brushes me aside to go into the bathroom.

  Fleur appears at the empty doorway, wringing her hands. “You can’t let her drive herself.”

  “I know. It’s fine,” I say soothingly. “It’ll all work out.” Although I don’t have the first clue how it will. I need to call Denver guy. Fuck, I really wish I had an agent now.

  I drag a hand over my mouth. I’m not out of options. I corral my frantic thoughts. First, fix the combine thing. I dial my brother.

  “Need a goodnight kiss?” Knox says as he answers.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Oh?” Surprise colors his voice. I never ask for favors, not even from my twin. “I’m on it. What do you need?”

  “I need to borrow your agent.” Quickly I explain what’s going on. “Ara’s dad is hurt and I’m driving her down to the hospital.”

  “Oh, shit. Is he okay?”

  “No word yet.”

  Knox falls silent.

  “What? No lecture?”

  “From me? No way. I’d do the same thing you’re doing.” I hear some rustling. “I can handle things from here. You take care of Ara.”

  “Have your agent call me.”

  “No need, bro. I’m going to the combine as you.”

  That solution hadn’t occurred to me. My first instinct is to protest. This is my opportunity to set records and show teams what I’ve got. I’ve been training for this for the last several weeks, abstaining from all the best foods, not drinking, working out several hours of day. Knox, on the other hand, is in full off-season mode. Before he went to visit the parents, he was cruising the Mediterranean with Ellie.

  “How’s your conditioning?”

  There’s a beat of silence. “It’s decent.”

  “I can’t be decent at the combine.”

  “It’s better than not being there at all.”

  “Fuck that’s true.” I drag a hand down my face. “Okay. You’re my best option.”

  “It’s a good thing that Ara and Ellie aren’t on staff otherwise this would not work.”

  “Yeah,” I huff out a relieved laugh. Then straighten from the wall. “What do you mean, Ara and Ellie.”

  “Ahhhh…” There’s a prolonged bit of silence this time.

  “What do you know?”

  “So I’m guessing she hasn’t told you yet.”

  “Told me what?”

  “Ara’s going to pass the twin test, bro.”

  “What?” I shoot a glance toward the closed bathroom door. “What are you talking about?”

  “Last time I was up there, I called Ara. She recognized it was me from my voice.”

  A tingling sensation shoots down my spine. “There’s something called caller ID, bro.”

  “Nope. When I arrived, I wore a pair of glasses, just like yours and she laughed in my face. Knew immediately it wasn’t you.”

  “Then why the fuck did you say we had to do the twin test?”

  “So you’d feel good about her.”

  “I don’t need that to feel good about her. I already love her!”

  The bathroom door opens. Ara steps out. She still looks pasty. “I’ll be ready in five,” I tell her.

  She doesn’t answer but instead disappears inside her bedroom. I move down the hall and hiss into the phone. “I’ve got to go.”

&n
bsp; “I’ll do my best at the combine for you,” he says.

  “Not your best, asshole. Do the best.”

  “Got it! Aren’t you glad we’re identical twins?” he says. He’s far too excited about this. As for me, there’s a rock in my gut that says this is a major, major mistake.

  Ara re-appears, this time with her suitcase. I reach for it. “Let me help you.”

  She takes my hand and pulls me over to the sofa.

  Behind us, Fleur says, “I’m going to my bedroom and put my headphones on.”

  Ara pushes me down. “Ty. I heard what you said,” she begins.

  “About the twin test? Look, I don’t care about that shit.”

  She places a finger over my lips. “No. That you love me.” Her lips curve up a tiny amount. They tremble at the corners.

  I run a hand over her small head. I want to tuck her against my side and block all the bad stuff from hurting. “I do love you,” I say. My voice is hoarse with emotion. “This isn’t really the way I thought I’d tell you though. I envisioned more flowers.”

  “And a horse maybe?”

  A chuckle escapes. “A horse and a sword. Maybe even some banging battle armor.”

  She brushes a hand over my shoulder. “I like the battle armor you wear on the field. It’s very hot.”

  “Yeah?” I arch an eyebrow. This is the first I’ve heard that seeing me in a football uniform turns her on.

  “Yeah.” She captures my hand and presses it to her cheek. “I love you, too. I’ve loved you for a long time but was too scared to tell you. And that fear kept us apart for too long. That fear kept me from showing Dad my drawings. And that fear is going to result in the two of us making a big mistake today.”

  “Me supporting you isn’t a mistake.” Her skin feels cold beneath my palm. I draw her closer.

  “There are lots of ways to support someone, Ty. In this case, you need to go to the combine because if you don’t, I will always, always worry that you resent me for it. Don’t put that burden on me.”

  Her hazel eyes plead for me to understand.

  “If you’re worried about the combine thing, don’t. Knox is going to cover for me.”