CHAPTER 4 Tanner Banks
On the House for Grayson Nash
It’s only been seven months since the Nash brothers tracked Miller and me down through our coach in Arizona.
That means it’s been seven months that we’ve known the truth. Seven months that we’ve been angry with our mom and the man who raised us—not to mention the biological father we never even knew existed. Seven months of pent-up anger and frustration at the people who were supposed to be honest with us but chose to lie to us our entire lives.
Instead, it was our brothers who were honest, and we’ve been slowly working toward building bonds with them. Asher, the youngest, who happens to be our age, is the one who found out. He gathered up the rest of the Nash brothers, and they came immediately to tell us. The rest is history.
We’re all busy. It’s the offseason. We all have things to do, places to go, people to see.
Or…my half-brothers do, anyway. They all have women in their lives, and some of them have kids, but there’s one thing we all share in common: football .
All six of us have played professional football, a gene we apparently inherited from the father we all share. The four Nash brothers are forces to be reckoned with. The eldest is the head coach of the Vegas Aces. The next in line, Grayson, played for the Aces before he retired to Vegas. Next is Spencer, who we’ll get to play with in San Diego, and finally Asher, a tight end for the Aces and the one we’re closest in age to but who has been very busy with a newborn.
It’s a big deal stepping into a family like the Nashes, and I’ve admittedly struggled a bit with my identity.
I’ve been Tanner Banks my entire life. But Banks is my stepdad’s surname.
I don’t consider Eddie Nash my father. I don’t really consider him much of anything other than an asshole, to be honest. I’m trying to see my mother’s point of view in this whole mess. He paid her handsomely to keep her mouth shut about our true lineage, and she found herself stuck. She could give up the money and be honest, or she could give us the life she wanted us to have and keep the secret.
Obviously she chose the latter.
Still, it begs the question how many other women Eddie Nash was doing this to. It makes me wonder if there are more of us out there.
It’s a weird way to fuck with someone’s psyche when they’re pushing thirty, but here we are, brand new father-son conflicts and all. I refuse to call them daddy issues , though Miller thinks it’s a hilarious and apropos term.
But none of that shit matters tonight. Tonight is about going out with my brothers—all of them, at least that we know of—and fucking celebrating.
We get to play with Spencer. The three of us will be on offense together. We’ll gain a new level of respect for each other in the locker room the way teammates always seem to do as they become family.
And the others, well, they’re actual family now. Blood relatives, and I’m excited to celebrate with family.
It was always just Miller and me. We always wanted more siblings, and, well, this is definitely more .
“‘Eyyy,” Grayson says when Miller and I walk in. He holds up a hand, and I slap it first. He grabs on and bro-hugs me, and Lincoln’s standing right behind him. He hugs me while Grayson greets Miller.
“Congrats on the new contract, man. What a hell of a blockbuster trade,” Lincoln says to me.
“Thanks, bro. It’s still sinking in.” I smirk at him. “I bet you wish you’d have been in contention.”
He raises his brows and nods. “We couldn’t afford the two of you. Maybe one, but we knew better than to try to split you two up.”
I laugh and slap him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Lincoln.”
“You’ll do incredible things for their offense, Tanner. I have every belief that we’ll be in serious trouble when we face you this December.”
I raise my brows. “You’re goddamn right about that.”
He laughs, and Asher slides over from the bar. He’s holding a beer in one hand and wearing an obnoxious neon yellow shirt with a shark on the front. I swear, this guy’s fashion choices are in a league of their own.
I greet him, and Spencer joins us next. Miller and I chat with him a little longer as he gives us some of the inside scoop on the locker room atmosphere, and he informs me not so subtly that the coach in San Diego is ready for me to come in with my strong sense of leadership .
I feel confident I can do this. I was given a leadership role on my previous team, and I ran with it…until a new head coach came in and had different ideas than I did.
I was stuck there for two years with him.
He didn’t want me to be a leader, and it’s part of why I wanted out. He didn’t like having my brother and me play for the same team, and it’s why Miller wanted out, too.
He had some sort of grudge against us, and I’m not sure why. But it’s no longer my problem. I’m heading to a place where the vision not only meets with mine, but is the same as mine, and I can’t wait to get started.
But first…we celebrate. I glance around for the waitress in our VIP area so I can order my signature drink—Casamigos tequila. I prefer it neat, no ice, and I like to sip it slowly to savor the oaky smoothness as it slides along my tongue.
I don’t see a waitress anywhere nearby. I’m wearing a baseball cap, which should be enough to hide who I am. I’m also here with the four Nash brothers and my twin, but it’s dark enough in here that I doubt I’ll be recognized outside of the group.
I find a very crowded bar as I approach, and as one person walks away with a drink, I slide into the open spot. The woman beside me is ordering a margarita, and the female bartender looks at me next.
“Casamigos, neat,” I yell across the bar.
“On the house for Grayson Nash,” the bartender tells me as she glances up and down my frame.
I don’t bother correcting her. I’m about the same height as my half-brother, and we share a lot of similarities since we have the same father. Beneath a baseball cap, it’s an honest enough mistake. On the house is on the house.
“You’re a football player?” the woman who was ordering the margarita says .
I glance down at her, and when our eyes meet, my breath hitches.
She’s gorgeous.
She’s a blue-eyed beauty with sandy hair pulled back into a ponytail, and she looks like one of those women who would go fucking wild if she let her hair down. She’s maybe a few years older than me, and she’s got this classy, real vibe going for her—so unlike the women who I’ve been going home with since my last relationship ended.
And frankly, I’m tired of my normal brand. Fake in every way you can imagine and the general opposite of classy.
I can’t help but imagine pounding into her from behind as I yank on that ponytail. Fuck .
Before I get any crazy ideas, I glance down at her left hand out of habit.
No ring.
I wasn’t planning on hooking up with the first woman I saw tonight, but I’m not opposed to it.
Not when it’s with this woman, anyway.
Tonight’s for celebrating, and what’s better than celebrating with a woman who’s already piqued my interest as she looks at me like she wants to see me naked?
I guess there’s only one answer to that: celebrating with this woman and tequila.