Chapter 9
Kendrick
“Fuck. It’s been a fucking day.”
Grunting in agreement, I roll over and pull Jojo’s pliant sleeping form into my chest.
I was shocked as shit when Kylian didn’t take off the second she fell asleep between us.
He’s welcome here—he’s always welcome—but he doesn’t usually jive with the constant group dynamics. Though since Joey, that’s shifted.
I get it. The pull of her is enough to make a man reconsider his ways.
“You got another joint over there?”
I smirk into Jojo’s messy braid. We rarely imbibe during the season, but today shook all of us to our core.
“Yeah, Boy Genius. Anything for you.” Careful not to dislodge our girl, I reach over and blindly fumble through my nightstand, then fish out another joint and a lighter and pass them over.
I readjust, smoothing back the loose hairs along Joey’s forehead and kissing her bare shoulder.
With a flick, a flame ignites, the only light in the dark room. Kylian’s inhale is drawn out and languid, and his exhale is pure exhaustion.
The skunky scent infiltrates my senses, relaxing me further, so I close my eyes and will my brain to turn off for the night.
I’m beginning to fade when Kylian speaks.
“I didn’t mention this earlier, because I didn’t want to upset her. Or implicate her.”
My eyes are wide open now, and I stiffen involuntarily. In a heartbeat, the calm I’d finally mustered is overtaken by a surge of adrenaline.
“What is it?” I reach over, signaling for him to pass the joint to me.
For a while there, I was hazy and sated, on cloud fucking nine. I appreciate his ability to read the room and not upset Jojo any more than she already is, but if there’s more… if something else is coming for us—
“You’re going to need to walk with a limp on campus this week. You might even consider employing the use of a crutch.”
My stomach sinks. The fuck?
Before I can press, he continues.
“This morning, around 7:35 a.m., you were in the weight room with Cap. You tripped on a bench, snagging one foot in the process, and landed in an awkward lunge. It was a freak accident. The medical report indicates a suspected first- or second-degree groin tear.”
In a way only Kylian can, he delivers this information all cool and collected, presenting only the facts.
Or, in this case, the lies masquerading as facts.
Passing the joint back to him, I mull over his explanation, searching for the deeper meaning behind his words.
“The email I sent from your account informing the coaches and training staff will bear a time stamp of 8:23 a.m.”
And there it is.
The missing piece of the puzzle.
That means I was allegedly injured a few hours before shit went down at the house.
“The injury will take precedent over any fallout or disciplinary decisions,” I muse, marveling at the simplicity and genius of the scheme.
“Precisely. The therapeutic protocol for a pulled groin is rest. The training team won’t even attempt to evaluate, stretch, or massage it for several days.
You’ll be placed on the injured list for one or two weeks.
There’ll still be a review and potential disciplinary action based on who shows up to the meeting and how much sway Decker has with them, but it won’t be the headline controlling the narrative. At least not right away.”
An irrepressible chuckle rumbles through my chest.
I nuzzle deeper into Jojo’s hair and inhale in an attempt to control my body’s giddy reaction. Pride surges through me. Pride, and gratitude.
In this family, we take care of one another.
When I’ve finally reined in my natural physical response and I’m sure I won’t wake her, I whistle low.
“That’s clever. Cunning, honestly, even for you, Boy Genius.”
“Anything for this family,” he counters.
A-fucking-men.
His demeanor is far more serious than mine. It’s probably more appropriate than the capricious relief rushing through me. There’s a warmth and a resounding comfort to being part of a unit that functions so well and takes care of one another so completely.
I’m not out of the woods. There are still plenty of potential tripwires on the path back to the field and my future, but this is best-case scenario.
“Kylian,” I croak, watching the cherry of his joint light up, suspended in the dark. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll even begin to repay you.”
“You could start by upgrading my nickname. Daddy Genius has a nice ring to it.”
I blink into the darkness, stunned and trying to make sense of the comment my most serious, literal friend just threw out there. A beat of silence thrums between us, and then he laughs.
He fucking laughs.
I’ve known this guy for over a decade, and yet as we lie in my bed, our girl between us, it hits me like a train careening down the tracks that I’ve never heard him laugh openly and genuinely. Not like this. Despite it being at my expense, I love it. I love him.
“I heard you had jokes now,” I grumble, reaching over Jojo’s still-sleeping form to shove his shoulder. “Finish that and go to sleep. You’re welcome to stay in here if you think you’ll be able to rest.”
He puffs away, then puts the joint out and passes it back to me. I collected the others earlier, and I’ll dispose of them accordingly tomorrow.
Based on the shit that’s gone down over the last twenty-four hours, I’m not putting it past any of the SportsZone clowns to interpret unbarred access as permission to go through our garbage.
“You did good, Kyl,” I whisper into the dark. “You did real good.”
The mattress dips, and he moves closer. It’s too dark to see him, but I hear him place a quiet kiss on Jojo’s forehead.
“Anything for this family,” he repeats with a yawn.