4. Connor
CONNOR
PRESENT DAY
“Fuck, I’m so ready for the dancing part of tonight,” Rawley says. We’re standing in the corner of the mansion’s garden, where the wedding photographer is taking a million shots of Grace and Johnson.
“Watch your language,” Mom drawls out to Rawls, her accent thicker than any of ours. “The last thing we need is for you to embarrass us today.”
Dad and Rawley shoot irritated looks from their eyes in tandem, while my throat tightens at Mom’s familiar nasty tone.
“Mrs. Battle,” the photographer interjects, “can you come take some pictures with the bride?”
“Thank fuck,” Rawley says as Mom walks away. Landon and Johnson stick near Grace, no doubt wanting to be a buffer to help her avoid the worst of Mom’s sniping.
They barely talk these days, but there was no way to avoid having Mom here, at least in Grace’s eyes.
I would’ve said, “Hell no.” Not my call, though.
At least we siblings are experts at running interference for each other with her toxic shit. It’ll be less painful because we’re here together, managing her.
Unlike those two years when I was stuck alone with Mom.
My brain numbs at that thought. There’s no room to go down that road right now, Connor.
This ongoing proximity to her is definitely dredging up some crap I thought I had handled. But the last thing I’m letting her do is ruin my time at Grace’s wedding.
“I could use a beer,” Dad huffs out. We’re staying in this garden a bit longer while the pictures of our side of the family finish up.
I have little sympathy for Dad, though. He’s been largely irrelevant in my life, a passive presence when he’s around at all.
After the divorce, he was satisfied with starting over his day-to-day solo, and didn’t seem to give a shit about actually parenting.
He’s not doing much to help now either. Just standing around grumbling.
This wedding is sure as hell showing why us siblings needed each other so much as kids.
“Okay, one more shot of the full Battle family,” the photographer says.
We stride over there, while Landon steps between Grace and Mom. The photographer, well prepped, I suspect, instructs Dad to stand on the opposite end.
“Okay, perfect,” she says once we’re in position. Several snaps of the camera later, she stops. “We’re good—”
“Wait,” Grace says. “Can we take a picture of just us four siblings and Johnson?”
“Sure,” the photographer assures her. Two minutes later, Johnson stands between Grace and Landon, and my parents have peeled off.
It’s Rawley, me, Grace, Johnson, and Landon, in front of a lush garden. I’m surprised at the range of flowers surviving the heat, but I guess some plants flourish in any environment, if it’s the right one for them.
“The picture we actually want on our mantel,” Landon says under his breath.
Rawley, as affirmation, calls on our motto: “Better together.”
Eden must be here in the mansion by now, but I’m not sure where.
“Johnson and I have to change into our reception outfits,” Grace explains, as the photographer releases us. “You guys can just hang.”
“Okay, awesome,” Landon says before turning to Rawley and me. “C’mon, let’s head into the ballroom area where the tables are set up. See how we can contribute.”
“Good call,” Rawley says. “It sucks that Rori and Avery couldn’t be here, but at least we’re free to do whatever’s needed.” Rori is about to play the finals at Wimbledon and Avery has a game for the Surge.
I’m down to help, and anyway, the person I care about will eventually make her way to the ballroom.
The realization that I’m about to lay eyes on her washes over me, and my chest starts buzzing with anticipation like I’ve drunk too many Red Bulls. The sensation is unexpected, and I push out a long breath to recalibrate.
How does one person hold my interest this way, with so few moments together?
An answer comes quickly. Because you’ve never been able to explore what she is to you, and your curiosity is piqued.
Maybe. Maybe that’s what it is. A multi-year edging experience, with a still-open question tickling my brain.
My attention snaps back to my brothers as we walk into the house via a side entrance near the garden. Landon seems to know where he’s going, so I follow him mindlessly.
“What time is it?” Rawley asks as we go down some stairs that must lead to the ballroom.
“Five minutes or so before they’d planned to bring people downstairs for dinner.” Landon doesn’t even look at his watch. He must have already checked against the schedule we received last week from Grace.
“Perfect. I’m starving,” Rawls responds.
When we enter the ballroom, there are sixteen tables of twelve set up, a dance floor, and a head table for Grace, Johnson, and, I presume, us. Thousands upon thousands of square feet, with a line of windows showcasing the pool and lake along the back wall.
Staff mill around making sure the tables are set, and a DJ is testing speakers by the dance area.
“This is insane,” I blurt out. “It’s like the size of my dining hall at school.”
“Yeah, Johnson spared no expense,” Landon notes. “I guess this place is where a lot of fancy weddings happen.”
“Oh good, you’re all here.” The wedding planner says as she strides across the room. “Grace and Johnson are going to need more time before they enter. Grace said the plan was to have you welcome guests, if that’s okay?”
“Yup,” Landon responds.
“Fabulous. Follow me, if you’re ready?” She guides us to the main entrance, before jetting off to her next duty.
Rawley fidgets a bit with his sleeves. We still have our light gray suit jackets on, and they aren’t uncomfortable, but standing around with nothing to do isn’t easy for him.
“A lot of hurry up and wait, huh?” I observe. “What are you going to be up to in the next two weeks before training camp?” Distracting him and myself is the best way to handle this downtime.
“Well, other than hitting all the home Surge games, and by the way, plan on being my plus one for those,” he says with a wink before continuing, “I’m shooting a commercial, and working on my conditioning so I’m ready for training camp.
Once the newlyweds are back from their honeymoon, I’ll practice with Johnson on Forever Field too. ”
The regulation football field in Johnson and Grace’s backyard was christened that name—“Forever Field”—when he proposed to her there.
“If I’m your plus one to all these games, I insist we wrangle some cushions or something for those seats.” The metal chairs in the Surge courtside area are brutal.
“I hear you. I’ll ask a certain All-Star about it,” he says with a wink. Rawley’s never shy about praising Avery’s awesomeness, and she’d just been named as a starter for the WNBA All-Stars for the first time.
“Is your commercial shoot in Orl—”
The main doors scrape open, interrupting my question.
“Here we go,” calls the wedding planner behind us, as the DJ starts some festive pop song. “Get in greeting mode, guys.”
We step closer to the entrance, while the guests filter through the doors.
And Landon—my bro is prepared.
“There’s a poster over here with your tables listed by last name, plus we also have name cards at each seat,” he announces to each cluster of attendees that enters.
“Over-under that Johnson and he had a detailed playbook about how he should manage the greeting process,” Rawley whispers to me.
“Over-under that Landon just decided to run the show on his own,” I say back.
Rawley cackles. “You’re probably right.” We love our big brother, but yeah, sometimes this side of his personality is a little much.
As more people trickle in, Rawley recognizes several of them and breaks off to chat. Shortly after, I see Mom, her sister Linda, and a few other Alabama family members come through, headed in my direction.
“Connor, look at how tall and handsome you are,” Aunt Linda gushes when they reach me.
“I always said he’s the best of them,” Mom says, with a sharp tone that makes my back involuntarily straighten. “As long as he rights the ship on the job front.”
“Now, I think his internship sounds wonderful,” Aunt Linda retorts before turning back to me. “Grace told me all about it yesterday before the rehearsal dinner.”
“Hmmm,” is all Mom gets out before Landon comes to the rescue.
“Hello everyone, love that we have the Alabama family representing,” he says in a loud voice. “You’re all going to be at table ten, in the front corner.”
“Magnificent, we’ll talk more later,” Aunt Linda replies. “C’mon, mother of the bride, smile on your face, and let’s go find our seats.”
The look of determination on Aunt Linda’s face rocks me a bit—clearly she knows about Mom’s personality “quirks” as much as the rest of us.
As they stride off, Landon’s shoulders drop. “Just gotta make it through a few more hours, and then Mom will be off to the hotel, with an early flight tomorrow.”
He wasn’t this transparent about his stress over her when we were younger. I appreciate the change. “Yeah, we got this. Dad’s set?”
Landon waves one hand dismissively. “He’s easy. Grace put him at the offensive line table so he can chat sports the whole time.”
Just then, another group of Waves players comes through, this time guys I recognize from Landon’s linebacker crew.
He jaws with them, shaking hands with their wives and girlfriends, while I wait…for her.
Literally, is the universe torturing me right now with everyone in the ballroom but the kicking team? What the hell.
Except then the kicking team does come in—and Del is not there.
“It’s so fucking great that you guys could make it,” Rawley says as he returns to my side.
A couple of them give him a half-hug in greeting before heading to their table.
“Most people are here already, right?” I ask for my own benefit.
“I think the coaches haven’t come through yet.”
Oh shit—yes, of course. Del is a coach now.
Before too long, the Waves’ head coach, Rich Houston, enters with his wife, followed by a legion of other coaches.
“Sorry to be one of the last ones down here. We got lost in conversation,” Coach Houston says to Landon before nodding at us other two Battle brothers.
I’m less concerned with the coaches being on time than finally—fucking, finally—seeing her.
Because around the corner comes Del, and then next to his wife, there she is.
Her hair long and curled, honey highlights glinting in the lights of the room, her cheeks blush, and her lips plump and shiny. I watch, mesmerized, as her eyes dart around, searching with lively curiosity.
You looking for me, Eden?
The three seconds it takes for her to find me give me a chance to admire her for the first time in a year.
Not surprisingly, she’s still got that perfect mix of curves and muscles I can’t resist. Her pale blue dress has little straps that tie around her neck, but otherwise leave so much of her toned shoulders and arms revealed.
A hint of cleavage appetizingly pops out of the top, which fits like a glove on her.
I scan down her frame, appreciating how her hips flare out the dress. The fabric hits above her knees, showing off those strong soccer calves. Absolute perfection, all the way around.
Maybe it’s only the air conditioning, but goose bumps prickle up my arms.
Then the three seconds pass, and her eyes reach mine.
A smile shoots across my face. Yes, here I am.