Winning Brynn (Seattle Strikers)

51. Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-six

Brynn

Leo was gone when I woke up this morning, his scent lingering on my bed sheets like freshly cut grass on a light summer wind. It's the only way I knew that he'd been there at all. That, and the absence of nightmares. They seem to stay hidden when I'm sleeping in the safety of his arms.

Now, I'm in the family suite of the Strikers' Stadium for their next home game of the season. The air whips in through the open roof, bitter and unforgiving, yet it's charged with the electric excitement of sixty-eight thousand fans waiting for the game to start.

"You doing good, baby girl?" I ask Salem where she lies in her stroller, fluffy blankets pulled up to her chin.

Her little cheeks are stained pink from the cold, so I pull her knitted hat farther over her ears and position her away from the wind, which, much to my mother's delight, has her facing my parents.

"You're so good with her, darling." Mom pulls her coat tighter around herself, burying her chin in the lapels. Her hair falls in a silver curtain around her face as she rubs her hands together before blowing into them.

"She's always been good with kids, Libby. No reason to sound so surprised." My father, a somewhat cantankerous man in his mid-seventies, holds a steaming cup of coffee by his chest with two thickly gloved hands. He takes a sip then grimaces. "God, this is awful."

"It's a soccer stadium, Dad, not a Parisian café."

He grumbles. "I knew Alex should've taken the transfer to Paris Saint Germain."

Mom rolls her eyes at her husband. "Well, it's good to see you anyway, my love. It's been too long since we last got together, but your father's knees aren't what they once were, and my hip has been giving me trouble again, so it's difficult to make it to Alex's games at the moment."

"I know, Mom." I smile reassuringly. "It's good to see you too."

Truthfully, I haven't made enough of an effort to see them since coming back from London. After trying for years to conceive their own children and following many failed IVF attempts, my parents adopted Alex and me later in life, so making the hour-plus drive into Seattle isn't as easy for them as it once was.

I reach across the seats to clutch her wrinkling hand. "I'm sorry I haven't made time to come up to Bellingham."

She waves me off. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't you worry about that." She smiles down at Salem in the stroller. "This little one has been keeping you busy, and we know how much time your internet work takes up."

Dad shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, Libby, internet work makes her sound like a porn star."

"And we would be proud of her even if she was, wouldn't we?" She shoots him a pointed look in return. "We accept our children for who they are and respect their life choices."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to take the leap into adult entertainment."

"Good," she says, her expression completely serious. "I'm glad."

Dad slaps his corduroy-clad knees. "Well, now that that's cleared up, the game is starting."

Our gaze swings to the field, where both teams are walking onto the grass, each player holding the hand of a child kitted out in team colors. My eyes instantly catch on Leo, hand in hand with a girl who looks to be around Ivy's age. She looks up at him with a wonderstruck expression, fiddling with the hem of her jersey with her free hand. I watch as Leo bends down to whisper something in her ear, her lips instantly lifting into a beaming smile.

It makes my ovaries hurt.

"Look, it's Daddy!" I pull Salem from the stroller and sit her on my lap, pointing Leo out to her.

"And Uncle Alex," Mom says excitedly at my side. "Look, Jack. Look at our boy."

Dad grumbles again, but there's the tiniest hint of a smile shimmering on his face as he watches the pre-game ceremony.

My anger toward my brother has mostly dissolved since last night. One of the most annoying things about him is that I'm never able to stay mad at him for long. All it takes is a sweet text message, and my stupid, weak heart forgives him for being an asshole.

Still, embers of frustration still flicker within me—and, dare I say it, resentment.

Because no matter how well-intentioned he is, or how I know he's always coming from a place of protection and love, he can't try to keep me isolated from the world forever. It isn't healthy, and it certainly isn't fair, especially when he doesn't keep the same rules for himself.

He's allowed to have friends, connections, even a girlfriend if he wants one.

Whereas, in his mind, I'm only allowed to have him.

"Sweetheart, you're scowling," Mom says quietly, the game beginning on the grass below us.

I wiggle my forehead to shake free the frown. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm just wondering why you look like you're trying to kill your brother with your eyes."

Shrugging my shoulder, I plaster on a fake smile. "He irritates me."

"Of course he does." She chuckles, tendrils of moonshine hair swirling in the wind. "That's nothing new, but this is more.”

"We got into it a little last night, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

She sighs, facing away from the game so she can look me directly in the eye. "Honey, I know you love to pretend to be a ray of sunshine who never sees the rain, but you don't have to do that with me."

She strokes her fingers over my hand, her gentleness almost bringing me to tears. Goddamn it, I've missed my mom.

"Tell me what happened," she urges.

"Honestly, it's not even that bad." My eyes fall to Salem lying in my lap, dark eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks as her eyes droop with tiredness. It's almost naptime, and my girl has the magic gift of being able to fall asleep anywhere. "Just his usual protective bullshit."

She nods in understanding, hearing words I haven't said out loud. "You feel suffocated."

"Pretty much," I admit. "It's just kind of confining. He doesn't like any of my friends because he sees danger that isn't there. He doesn't like me dating. He thinks my relationship with Ivy at the children's home is unhealthy. He loses his shit if one of his teammates considers me attractive. That's not even mentioning how much he's gonna lose his shit when he finds out about Leo—" My lips slam shut as I realize my mistake.

"Ah." Her wise eyes sparkle with knowing. "It's about a boy."

"Alex doesn't know," I whisper. "Please don't tell him."

She wraps her arm around me, tugging me until my head drops to her shoulder. "I won't, but you need to. And you need to talk to him about how you're feeling too, draw some boundaries."

"It would break his heart."

"Maybe," she says, simply and to the point, "but carrying on the way you are is breaking yours."

The crowd cheering pulls our attention to the field just as Leo strikes the soccer ball with his right foot before sending it soaring into the top left corner of the net. Around us, Seattle Strikers fans erupt, causing Salem to jolt awake with a cry.

My father lets loose a rare grin, cheering for the man whose body I now know like the back of my hand—not that Dad needs to know that. Even if I have gotten the green light to go into the porn industry, I don't think he'd appreciate such specific insight into my sex life.

It feels nice, though, my dad celebrating Leo.

On the big screen, I watch as Leo lifts his head to look into the family suite, his gaze instantly finding me and Salem. I'm expecting his usual post-goal celebration, the kiss he always blows to his daughter. Except, it's different this time, because he double taps his lips.

He isn't just blowing one kiss...he's blowing two.

Mom squeezes my shoulder, catching the moment maximized on the big screen. "If Alex doesn't already know what's happening between you two, then I need to book him an appointment at the optometrist."

But my heart is beating too hard to focus on her words.

Because my brother's best friend is right there, gazing up at me with a sparkle of something in his expression that feels like it's just for me. Even with the thousands of people in the stadium watching him watch us—probably assuming the affection in his eyes is directed at only his daughter—it feels like a secret shared between only us.

It feels like a promise.

Of what, though, I don't know.