Quitting the Quarterback (The Nash Brothers #4)

CHAPTER 15 Cassie Fields

It’s Him But Different

I’ve never been into football, but today has taught me that maybe I should rethink that.

All those men on the field in those little pants and jerseys? I had to fan myself because it was getting so hot.

Except, you know…kids.

We’re heading to the kids’ zone at the request of Lily, who started crying and throwing an epic fit that her brother wanted to wait to see which players would come over to sign things. He said there’s some twins new to the team who are supposed to both be really good, and he was hoping to get his ball signed by them.

“We don’t know who’s going to run over,” he whined, and Lily’s crocodile tears turned into whale tears. That’s the signal. As soon as the tears turn huge, the fit is coming, complete with screaming, and if I’m really lucky, she’ll throw herself down onto the ground and her arms and feet will flail around dramatically.

I tried to maintain my composure. There is nothing I hate more than losing my shit in public, so I looked to the heavens as I drew in a deep breath, and then I said as sweetly as I could to Luca, “If you agree to go to the kids’ zone right now for your sister, you can have ice cream for dinner.”

“You mean for dessert?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Nope. I mean for your meal .”

His eyes lit up, and he led the way up toward the kids’ zone. Lily magically stopped crying, and it wasn’t my finest parenting moment since I gave the screaming girl what she wanted, but I know the way to my boy’s heart, and that way is paved with ice cream.

He’s not exactly complaining now that he’s in a bounce house, even if it is with his baby sister. In any event, both kids are happy, and as I glance around, I see lots of smiling, happy children and adults who look…well, as exhausted as I feel.

A day in public with the two of them is no joke.

I glance around at the huge photographs of players up on the walls, and the first one I see is Spencer Nash. My first thought is that it wasn’t him, though the blue eyes match my mystery man. Was he a Nash? The bartender called him Grayson Nash. He didn’t correct the mistaken identity. Was it because he was getting a free drink? Was it because he wanted to pretend he was someone else for the night? Was he even a football player or a Nash? Maybe he was some mystery guy related to the Nash family since he resembles them so much.

I’m still confused as to the answer to that, and that’s when my eyes edge over to the next picture.

My chest tightens and my stomach twists.

Oh my God.

It’s him. That’s my guy. I feel someone tugging on my arm as I stare at the photo. Miller Banks. RB #23.

Miller Banks?

So…not a Nash? But yes…a football player ?

“Mom, can we go play that game over there?” Luca’s voice comes into focus, and I glance over at him.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing to the picture I can’t stop staring at. It’s him, isn’t it? It’s him, but there’s something different. The little slyness I remember from his eyes…it’s not there. But who knows how much photo editing and retouching goes into these giant photos hanging on the wall? I can’t tell if that little scar is on his chin, but it definitely looks like my guy.

“Miller Banks. Only the best running back in the entire NFL,” Luca says. “Come on.”

I can’t stop staring at the photo. There’s something off about him, but that’s him . No doubt about it.

It’s like he’s staring back at me, but the light in his eyes, that innate charisma he has—it’s not coming through in the photograph.

Maybe it was just my imagination, or the margaritas. Or maybe my memory is betraying me.

Still…Miller Banks. I have a name.

“Let’s go,” Luca whines, drawing out the o in go .

I blow out a breath as I pull myself together. I force my eyes from the image staring down at me, and I can’t help but wonder how many women will look at that picture with the same sort of intimate knowledge I have of him.

I can’t think about the specifics right now. I can’t remember how he tasted, or what it was like as his cock bumped the back of my throat, or how it felt when he moved inside of me. I can’t remember his lips on mine, or the way he was so tender and sweet with me before we ever even got back to his room. I can’t remember chicken tenders with honey mustard and holding his hand as we walked around the conservatory.

I refuse to think about any of it, especially not here when I need to be present with my children .

Was he down on that field the whole time we were watching? I saw number twenty-three as he ran with the football, but he had a helmet on, and it’s not like I’d recognize him from the stands—for one thing, my focus was on the kids, but for another thing, I thought he played for Vegas. I wouldn’t have even thought to look for him here.

And yet…here he is.

I don’t know what to think. He led me to believe a lot about him that wasn’t true, furthering my theory that all men are liars.

I guess I know who he is now…but what the hell good does it do me knowing? Maybe I was better off in the dark.

I don’t get a whole lot of time to dwell on it since Luca and Lily have all sorts of activities they want to do in the kids’ zone. Face painting and crafts, churros and games.

We stay until the event ends, and I keep my eyes focused on my children, even though in my chest I can feel that he’s in this building somewhere. He was the whole time we were here, and the thought leaves me feeling pretty dang hollow.

It doesn’t matter that I know who he is now. I thought it would give me some sort of closure, but instead it just unlocked a whole host of other questions…along with the realization that there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Exactly how does one get in touch with a megastar like Miller Banks? Even if I had the answer to that, I wouldn’t act on it. Because the truth is, he let me believe he was Grayson Nash. There was some reason he didn’t want me to know who he was, and for me, that will always just be one of my life’s great mysteries.