by Teagan Kade
I insert my earphones, blast some music off the first playlist I find on my streaming service, and open my book to where I left Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.
But I only pretend to read. My insides are twisting with guilt. Kieran is going to want to talk about the wedding and I don’t know what he’s going to say. Even with his assurances he doesn’t regret it, only the way it happened, I don’t know how I’ll answer if he asks me if I was drunk. If I thought to stop it.
Because the truth is, I did say the words, I did object, I did raise some protests, but in my heart, I wanted it. He proposed. I didn’t take him seriously, but the first time he insisted that he meant every word, I allowed myself to want it.
And I’m not sure if I should have done more to deter him. Plus, if he finds out I wasn’t even drunk… Well, I don’t even want to think about it.
The next several hours crawl by. At one point, Coach Allen switches seats with Leroy, who’s sitting next to Baylor. They talk for several minutes. Coach Allen sends a chilling look at Rachel, then at me, but once he returns to his original seat, Baylor looks... lighter, like a heavy burden is taken off his shoulder.
I’m glad.
Once we arrive, I try to slip out under the radar, but Kieran stops me.
“Hey, stranger.” He smiles that heartbreakingly beautiful, dimpled smile of his. His bottle-green eyes sparkle. In contrast with the late autumn colors that surround us, he looks like a fitness model.
“Has anyone ever said you look like the hot guy from that show about the small Texas town that’s obsessed with high school football?” I ask him before I realize how random the question must come across to him.
“Er… No.”
“And Coach Allen reminds me of their coach, too,” I continue, because I can’t stop myself from babbling.
“Is everything okay, Joey?”
I look into his eyes. Into my husband’s lovely eyes. The thing I want most in the entire world is to throw myself at him. To have him take me home and comfort me for all the things he thinks are plaguing me—Baylor, mostly—and to retreat into our bubble. I love it when the whole world falls away and it’s just the two of us.
But I don’t trust myself to remain calm. I don’t trust my nerves. My anxiety is an ancient problem and this current set of circumstances hasn’t made anything easier.
“I think I should take a couple of days to myself,” I finally say. “I think we could both use some space. It’s been an... eventful weekend, to say the least.”
I don’t have the courage to meet his gaze after I say it, so I simply turn around, get in my car, and drive the hell on home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KIERAN
I must have exhausted all the flower supplies in town over the next several days after we came home. Joey returns my texts maybe once a day and she’ll make polite conversation when I approach her during practices, but otherwise, it’s radio silence—again.
I can’t shake the feeling she’s second-guessing our marriage altogether. Why the fuck did I have to tell her I ‘regret how it happened, but not that it happened’? It must come as a distinction without a difference to her because she isn’t responding to any other gestures I make. I want to talk—to really talk, to tell her how much I love her.
None of this is helping my focus during practice. Coach Allen notices, and he’s been riding me hard because of it. What’s worse is that Baylor is so pissed off at me and at himself and the entire Rachel ordeal he’s taking it out on me on the field, throwing his weight behind every tackle, toss, or training drill.
“Ease up, would you?” I say after the millionth tackle over the course of the ten days it’s been since we got back.
We’ve had one more game since Vegas, but it was a home game. And we lost, in part because Baylor’s beefs with Desmond and me really threw the team in a disarray. We’ll be the 1979 Tampa Bay Buccaneers soon.
“You two, get your asses over here!” Coach Allen barks from the side lines. “Now!”
Baylor removes his helmet and jogs over to the coach. I stroll, struggling to catch my breath.
“Do I need to make myself clearer than I did after last week’s loss? Do I have to permanently bench the two of you for the rest of the season? Do either of you realize the ass you’re each making of yourself right now? Does it take a goddamn miracle to expect my players to bring the commitment and professionalism that I bring to practices every single day?” Coach Allen hammers the ball into the ground. “This is unacceptable.”
“Sorry, coach,” Baylor and I say in unison.
For a moment, I’m reminded of the way things were when we had both been recruited to the team. Our rookie season. Although we are best friends now—or, were best friends until a short while ago—things didn’t start that way. Baylor and I used to hate each other’s guts. The competition between the two of us exceeded what could be seen as ‘friendly’ or even ‘constructive.’ Especially between two players on the same side.
Coach Allen rode our asses pretty hard back then as well. He’s got that same look on his face as he did during those times, the instinctive mistrust of anything that comes out of our mouths, especially if it’s in consensus, like our apology.
“I’m not buying it. Nothing will get better until you two work it out, so you know what I’m going to do? Banish you from this field until you get whatever the hell it is that’s got you two acting like the absolute knuckleheads I thought I had reformed worked out and done with.” He points toward the building where the kitchens, locker rooms, and staff offices are located. “Go, and only come back when you’re ready to be team players. I don’t care if you have to beat each other to a bloody pulp first, deal with it.”
Baylor immediately starts to protest. “But—”
“You and your sister have this pesky little trait in common,” Coach Allen says as he corners Baylor. “You think my orders are up for debate. No, sir, you and I are not going to debate the finer points of my decisions. Get your ass off my field and come back when you’ve done as I said.”
“Baylor, come on,” I start to say, but he glares at me, so I stop.
Baylor must have suddenly become hard of hearing, because he continues to challenge Allen. “Coach, with all due respect—”
Fuck. Here we go.
Coach smiles. “You know what my commanding officer in the Army used to say when one of us talked back and prefaced it with that ‘all due respect’ baloney? That it’s like using ‘but’ in a sentence, which you and, funnily enough, Joey are both prone to doing. Everything that comes after those words negate everything that comes before.”
He wags a finger at Baylor. “No, sir, you will respect my orders and do as you’re told, or you can bypass them altogether and leave for good. I’ve had it with you and this feud with Kieran and Desmond. At least Desmond is leaving after the season is over, but you and Kieran still have at least one more year in your contracts, don’t you?”
It’s the at least one more year that does Baylor in. He stops objecting after that, promptly shutting his trap like he should have done all along. Coach Allen wields incredible influence when it comes to the recruitment and contract negotiations. He’s also right that we’re up for renewal after our fifth year on the team, which is next year. If Baylor jeopardizes that, his only options may be signing with another team, which would take him away from his hometown and leaving Joey and their mom behind, or retiring.
In short, uprooting his entire life.
He charges toward the building. I trail behind him. Joey passes by us on her way to Coach Allen, shooting me an inquisitive look. I shrug because I really don’t know what to tell her.
I myself don’t know what awaits us once we get into that locker room.
I notice she’s still wearing her wedding ring, though.
That’s almost two weeks without taking it off. She might not want to talk yet, but at least she’s still got it on.
I’ll take it as a good sign. They’re in short
supply lately.
“So. I guess we need to talk,” Baylor says the minute the door swings shut.
It’s just us, rows of wood-paneled lockers generously installed at the behest of the team’s owner who has a weird shtick for a ‘certain aesthetic’ as Coach Allen likes to put it when we get news of yet another astronomically expensive redesign for some functionally useless element of our headquarters. That, and the unmistakable, alkaline stench of a male locker room.
Baylor stows his helmet and pads away, pulls an old undershirt on, and sits down on one of the center benches.
“Yeah, I think Coach Allen made that pretty clear,” I reply, putting my own gear away.
“Look, man, I don’t want to end up like Desmond and have to go find some other team to take me on because I’m no longer welcome here.” Baylor takes a deep breath. “It’s been tough these last couple of weeks. I’ve been a total dick and I know that. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Fuck, everything in my life is going to absolute shit.”
I lean against the locker directly in front of Baylor but don’t say anything yet. He’s obviously in a personal hell and I know it’s been difficult. I get it. Everything he thought was real went belly up in the span of a day. But he has been an absolute nightmare for months now, and he stood in the way of me and Joey for longer than that. He has to own up to a lot more before I start cutting him a break.
Otherwise, I’ll never let go of the resentment I feel.
“Feel free to continue,” I tell him with an impish grin. “You’re not nearly finished confessing all of your sins.”
Baylor smirks. “Says the guy who married my sister. A bigger man would have been honest from the start.”
“An even bigger man would take responsibility for unnecessary drama he created around me and Joey for years,” I retort with only a sliver of humor. Mostly because it’s true and I’m still too sore on the subject to treat it lightly.
Baylor takes a deep breath. “I only want Joey to be happy. That’s all. I don’t want her to break her heart or get hurt in some other way.”
“Then you and I are on the same page.”
“For the record, I am sorry.” Baylor bobs his head and breathes in again. “I’m sorry for being such a colossal jackass this entire time.”
And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen. An apology from Baylor Torrence. A moment in history.
“Thank you for that.”
“Think Coach Allen will take this as a truce?”
But now I’ve got Joey on my mind. I want to see her. Alone. To talk. To spend time with her. To have her in my arms and…
“I think we should take our early dismissal as a gift and get the hell out of here,” I suggest.
He considers it for a minute and then nods. “Sure.”
I pull my shirt off, toss it inside my locker, and grab a towel. When I’m halfway to the showers, Baylor whistles. I turn around.
“Hey, we should celebrate the occasion.”
I continue staring at him blankly. “What occasion would that be?”
“Your marriage?” Baylor smirks. “Unless you’re going through with an annulment or something.”
Whatever his intentions are, he has me rattled. “Did Joey say something to you about getting an annulment?”
“No?” He scowls. “Of course not. Why? Are you planning on doing that?”
I sigh in relief. “No. I’m in it for the long haul.”
“Then you have my blessing.” Baylor says it so casually, like it really is a foregone conclusion.
I feel like roping him into a bro-hug, but I don’t. “Thanks.”
“So? Celebration? We could have a house party at my place or—”
“Uh, no, thanks.” I laugh. “I don’t think we need another drunken fiasco anytime soon.”
“Then how about a dinner instead? We can invite my mom and some of the guys, and your parents, too.”
“Your mom would be good, but I should talk to Joey first.” I tilt my head to the side. “Or, I should say, somehow find a way for her to talk to me.”
“Do you want me to say anything?”
“No.”
“All right, all right.” Baylor makes a big show of backing off. “Tonight? Later in the week?”
“Later in the week. I’ll text you later about that.” I turn around and pace toward the showers, ready to wash the stink of practice off of me.
I turn the faucet and let the lukewarm water run for a bit, waiting for the heat to kick in. The only thing I can think about is how much I want her. And how much I need to put my foot down and actually talk to her rather than send endless parades of flowers and other nonsense to her house.
After the shower, I decide. That’s when I’ll talk to Joey.
*
Joey is arranging the meal prep for the next day in neat little Tupperware boxes when I come into the kitchen. At first, she doesn’t look up. I don’t think she realizes I’m there. I think back on that day my hand was bleeding freely and she patched me up. I take a look at where the wound was. Now it’s scabbed over and almost fully healed.
Somehow, it doesn’t seem real it was only a few weeks ago when all of that happened.
“Hey,” I say.
Joey startles, almost knocking the stacks of plastic containers over. She brings one of her hands over her heart and sighs. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Busy?”
“Almost done, actually.”
“Need some help?”
I’m prepared for a ‘no,’ but she pauses to consider it. “Actually, yeah,” Joey nods. “That would be great. Would you mind putting these in the fridge? The blue lids go on top, the green on the middle shelf, and the clear ones—”
“Go on the bottom,” I finish for her. “I know the drill.”
She smiles warmly. “Let’s get to it then.”
We finish the task in a matter of minutes. My fingers brush against hers as she hands me the last batch to organize according to her color system. Joey doesn’t recoil or continue moving, though. Instead, she freezes and looks at me. Her expression is unreadable, but the slight flush on her cheeks is an encouraging sign. I take her hand in mine and, with the other, finish sliding the containers in the fridge before closing it.
“Joey,” I start to say.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant,” she blurts out. “I really am. Everything has just been so confusing and—”
I kiss her. Nice and slow at first, until I pull her face closer, tangle my hand in her hair, and use the other to lasso her body tightly against my own.
Someone clears their throat. Joey breaks away. She looks over my shoulder and suddenly, her cheeks become very red. I turn to look and—
Baylor. He wears a Cheshire smile on his face. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to the chase.
“You two made up. That’s awesome.” He flashes me two thumbs up. “You’ll never believe this.”
“Why isn’t he breaking out in hives or exploding into the Hulk or some other rage-monster?” Joey whispers.
“The guys and me, we’re taking you two out tonight.”
“What?” Joey asks, incredulous.
“Didn’t Kieran tell you? I gave him my blessing.” To me, Baylor adds, “Sorry, dude. I couldn’t wait until later in the week. The guys are showering; we’ll meet you guys at eight o’clock sharp. Noir Bistro, all hoity-toity and ‘proper.’” He winks as he air quotes.
“Uh, Baylor, Joey and I—”
“It’s okay,” Joey chimes, elbowing me discreetly. She looks past me, at Baylor, and says, “We’ll be there. Now, I plan to continue kissing Kieran, so you might want to leave.”
I shrug, intent on presenting a united front. “Or watch. Whatever.”
We go back to kissing. Baylor makes a disgusted noise, and finally, finally, there’s some order in the world again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JOEY
The longer we kiss, the more desperate I grow. It feels
like we’re wiping the slate clean and starting from scratch. When I say it feels that way, it’s because we’re communicating, crazy as that may sound, through our kisses, through our embrace, through his rough manhandling of me when the kisses deepen.
Kieran lifts me and sets me down on the kitchen counter. My legs part and he slides between them, his body snug and hot against mine. He grabs a fistful of my hair and bites my lower lip before lowering his lips to my jaw. He trails kisses down my neck and grinds his groin to mine.
I moan softly against his skin and hook my fingers through his jeans, drawing him closer.
I want this.
I want only this.
I want this forever.
Footsteps scrape against the floor nearby. I snap backward and hold my hands against his chest. We stare at each other in complete silence. Waiting. The sound of the footsteps grows louder. I plop off the counter and stifle the laughter bubbling up in my throat. Kieran and I are all smiles at each other. I smooth my hair and adjust my clothes to try to weed out any signs of our (regrettably too short-lived) make-out session.
“See you at eight!” Baylor hollers down the hall. An uproarious sort of collective laughter accompanies his shout, so he must have an audience. “Don’t be late… or come early!” he sniggers.
A few seconds later, a door slams shut. They must have taken the exit out the back.
Relief washes over me.
“That was a close one,” I whisper, high on the conspiratorial mood that blankets over us.
He looks into my eyes, and I get lost staring into his. What a gorgeous green. We stay like that for a glorious eternity, until he plants a quick peck on my cheek, takes my hand, and leads me out the door.
In all the commotion, he doesn’t give me a chance to grab my things.
“Hey!” I protest. “I need my purse and my—”
“You can get it all tomorrow,” Kieran says.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
No answer.
“What’s the hurry?”
Kieran doesn’t answer that either. Instead, he focuses on guiding me down one hall and turning into another until we’re…
