Chapter 30
Josephine
“Why are we so old?” I bemoan, latching my laptop closed and resting my head in my hands.
“Who are you calling old, sister?”
I peek up at Hunter. She’s sucking down what has to be her third or fourth matcha tea latte of the afternoon, pencil stuck in her hair to keep the messy bun in place, surrounded by open books and a wheezing laptop.
She works harder than anyone I know.
“I hate feeling behind. The guys all registered two weeks ago. I don’t think Kylian or Decker even have in-person classes in the spring.”
Hunter snorts. “Of course they don’t.”
I blow out a breath. “I feel sort of lost looking at all these options. I like college, but I still have no freaking idea what I want to be when I grow up.”
Hunter gnaws on the end of a pen and scrutinizes me over her glasses. They’re only blue-light blockers, but she swears the secret to combatting fine lines and wrinkles is prevention.
Another tick in the why are we so old? department.
“If money wasn’t an object, what would your dream job entail?”
With a sigh, I drop my elbows onto the table and take a moment to truly think about the question.
I liked working in hospice. Loved it, actually. It was heavy work, and losing clients I’d developed relationships with was difficult, but the work itself—taking care of people, making them feel seen and respected when the world offers so little care to the elderly—was fulfilling.
Then there are the little girls from the hospital. Thoughts of them have been dancing around my mind for days. I’m not sure I’m cut out for the medical side of patient care, but I could see myself working in a hospital setting, developing programs and activities that allow kids to be kids.
And then there’s my quietest fantasy. One I didn’t even know existed until Nicky breathed life into it.
I want to be a mom. I want to raise a family.
Years from now, when Kendrick and Decker are playing professional football—when Kylian, Locke and I feel content with our education and careers—I could see myself taking care of my people. My boys. Our kids.
Hunter’s cackle pulls me out of my daydream.
“What?” I ask, shaking my head slightly to clear it.
“It looked like you were having an out-of-body experience there for a minute, babe.”
With a light huff, I shrug.
I wouldn’t admit this to anyone—not even Hunter—but dreaming is new for me. For most of my life, I operated in survival mode, just trying to get by as a kid, then trying to get out as a teenager.
Considering my future and all that’s now possible is novel and overwhelming, but in the most wonderful way. It’s easy to get lost in my head when I allow myself to dream. But it’s a good kind of lost. It’s limitless. Hopeful. Powerful.
“I want to take care of people.” I declare. It’s true. Every version of my dreams for the future involves helping others in some capacity.
“How about social work? Or teaching?”
“Maybe,” I hedge. Both are admirable, but I’m not sure either is quite right for me.
With a waggle of her brows, Hunter upturns her palms and sweeps them across the mess in front of her. “You could always follow in my footsteps and go into law.”
I snicker. “I said I want to take care of people, Hunter. Not ruin their lives.”
“Hey! I fully intend to take care of people.” She lifts a hand to her chest, feigning outrage.
“For a billable rate of three hundred dollars an hour.”
“Bible.”
A gasp slips from my mouth and my eyes go wide. “Isn’t that Greedy’s thing?”
“Oh God.” She drops her head into her hands. “I can’t escape him. He’s everywhere. He’s even infiltrating my speech patterns.”
“Hey, as long as that’s all he’s infiltrating…”
She’s still got her face buried in her hands, but I swear her cheeks flush at that comment.
Giving her the space she so obviously needs from that scrutiny, I hold back another jab and check the time.
“We should get going,” I murmur. Stacking my books, I push my chair back and stand. “The guys want to be home by dinnertime so Decker doesn’t have to face the camera crew alone for too long.”
With a nod, Hunter goes about organizing and packing up her copious notes and books.
She offered to hang out with me in the library tonight since Kylian had a meeting and the guys had practice.
Decker is the only one required to spend a certain amount of time at the house and on camera each day.
The rest of us have made a concerted effort to stay away from the isle as much as possible, so this worked out well.
Hunter heaves her backpack over her shoulders, then loops her arm through mine. “Let’s get you home, Josephine Meyer.”
We spot the guys the moment we pull into the marina parking lot. Kendrick and Locke are leaning against the front of K’s Suburban, heads bowed low in conversation. Kylian stands tall between Decker’s G Wagon and my Civic, his attention fixed on Hunter’s headlights as we approach.
Always watching. Always waiting.
He’s safety and security, passion and care, packaged up in a brilliant, beautiful man.
I exit Hunter’s car, call a quick bye over my shoulder, and head straight for my target.
“Hi, baby.” He catches me by the belt loops and pulls me flush against his body.
Sliding one hand up my spine to grip the back of my neck, he kisses me.
Then, instead of backing away after a moment like I expect, he deepens the connection, sucking on my bottom lip and groaning into my mouth like he can’t get enough.
“How was your day?” he asks when he finally pulls back.
I inhale deeply, lightheaded from the intensity of his greeting.
“It was good,” I finally answer, snuggling into his chest. “Missed you.”
He tightens his hold on me, the move settling the loose threads of worry that have pulled me in different directions all week.
Savoring his touch, I inhale his citrus and eucalyptus scent. I could stand in his arms for hours. I love that he leans into the contact nowadays—more often than not, I have to pull away first.
Neither of us breaks the hold for a while. Tonight, we’re in no rush.
Our routine has been more or less the same all week. We take our time getting back to the isle, treasuring the quiet, the privacy, the sanctity of darkness and lack of cameras in the marina parking lot.
My heart rate picks up when one of my other guys approaches from behind. I don’t have to see him to sense his presence, and I don’t bother to even unwind my arms from around Kylian’s waist until big hands grip my hips from behind.
“My turn,” Kendrick purrs, pulling me against him so my ass lines up with his crotch.
“Hi, Mama.” He sweeps my hair to one side, exposing my neck so he can kiss and suck and greet me the way only he can.
I’m squirming within seconds.
“K,” I whine. Everything this man does turns me on.
Though we all know now is not the time.
He sighs, acknowledging my concern, but then he kisses me a dozen more times along the neck. The man doesn’t let up until I’m lost to a fit of giggles.
Goose bumps erupt along the right side of my body, leaving me tingling.
“Not fair,” I cry, wrenching around so I can counterattack.
He anticipates the move, though, and scoops me up, hitching me over his shoulder.
“Hey now.” With a chuckle, he spins until I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
“Kendrick!”
I pound on his back, but it’s pointless. I’m like a toddler beating her fists into a solid brick wall.
I wiggle and squirm, but it only makes him clamp down harder on the back of my thighs. That is, until I peek up and see Locke watching me.
He’s still settled against the front bumper of K’s Suburban. It takes a moment of closer inspection to realize he’s not just leaned against the hood but slumped.
“Put me down,” I quietly command.
Without argument, Kendrick places me on my feet, then follows my gaze.
“He had a rough day.”
I tilt my head and focus on K again, imploring him to go on.
“Let him tell you,” he encourages. “He needs you tonight.” Cupping my jaw with one hand, he leans in close and murmurs “love you” below my ear, inspiring one last round of shivers.
I make my way over to Nicky, my heart sinking at his defeated posture.
“Can I hug you?”
A sad smile blossoms on his face. “Always.”
Taking care to be gentle, I loop my arms around his waist. He flinches from the slight touch, pulling in a sharp breath as his abs contract.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, hauling me in closer and squeezing me tight.
I relax against him, savoring the rise and fall of his chest and timing my breathing to match his.
We’re in no rush, I remind myself. If this moment is what he needs, then I want to give it to him.
We hold each other as seconds tick into minutes. His posture gives him away—he’s bone-tired and more than ready for bed. Yet he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t rush us back to the house so he can rest.
We should go. We all know it. Yet we hang back. A sense of foreboding washes over me each time we get on the boat and head to the isle. Based on the way the boys hesitate at the marina, I think they feel it, too.
Right here. Right now. This is the only sanctuary we’re guaranteed. Anything we want to do or say has to happen in this parking lot.
“How was practice?” I hedge.
Thick lashes fan against his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Nicky…”
“I’m out this week.”
It takes a few seconds for his words to register.
“You talked to your coaches about sitting out?”
He barks a sad, defeated laugh and releases his hold on me to bury his face in his hands. “Fuck. I wish.”
The frustration rolling off him is palpable. When I pull him back in, his hands clench into fists at my back. An instant later, though, he hisses in pain and drops them to his sides.
“I’m here,” I remind him, nuzzling into his chest. “Talk to me.”
His responding sniff snags my attention. I glance up in time to see a tear start its lonely trek down his face.
Pushing up on tiptoes, I kiss it away.
It takes several more heartbeats, but finally, he speaks. “Couldn’t make it through practice.” He sniffs again. “Couldn’t even set up on the line of scrimmage. Coach is worried I’ll trigger too many false starts. Both knees… the knuckles on my right hand… Fuck. Everything hurts, Joey.”
He hunches forward, resting his forehead on my shoulder, and shudders.
Gingerly, I run my hands up and down his back. “I’m so sorry you’re in pain,” I murmur, hoping to give him a modicum of respite from his misery. “But I’m glad you don’t have to stress about the game this weekend.”
With a huff, he snaps up. “I wanted the choice, though. I know it’s the right call… but I wanted it to be my fucking choice.”
My heart crumples for him. That’s a sentiment I understand completely.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find Kylian and Kendrick focused on us. They’ve maintained their distance, though, respecting that this is the only moment of authenticity we’ll be granted all night.
To that end, I hold Nicky tighter, mourning the lack of control that comes with his RA right along with him. There’s nothing to say. There’s nothing I can do. So I hold him, and I hope that, in my arms, he knows he’s not alone in this.
After another minute, a shiver ripples through me. I try to stop it, to hide it so the moment doesn’t have to end, but I’m unsuccessful.
“You’re cold,” Locke says, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. “We’re all tired. Let’s go home.”
I plant my feet and shake my head against his chest. “I’ll stand out here with you all night if you want.”
He takes me in and holds my gaze, then kisses me on the forehead. “I know you would. And knowing you love me that much is enough. Let’s go.”