Chapter Three Decker
Chapter Three
Decker
Ihated parties. Some of my teammates thought it was some sort of sacrilege to the game of football. As if one thing was synonymous with the other.
But I hadn’t gotten to the top by messing around. I’d kept my head down during high school and college. Studied. Trained hard. Didn’t drink, didn’t do drugs, rarely hooked up. During my free time, I focused on recovering from what I put my body through the rest of the time.
“Why do you look like you want to murder someone?” Booker asked.
“If I do, it’s probably you. So watch your back,” I muttered to my best friend.
He barked out a laugh and ran a hand over his hair, coiled into tiny twists, nearly dislodging his mask in the process. “Too bad I know all your moves, Deck.”
I let out a grunt as a woman crossed toward us on the balcony that wrapped around the second story of the massive house. Her gaze roamed over Booker and then moved my way, settling on me. “Hi.” She looked up at me through long lashes under a lacy masquerade mask. “I’m Chrishelle.”
“Hey,” I said, not offering my name.
Booker choked on a laugh. “What my jerk of a friend here meant to say was, nice to meet you. He’s Decker. I’m Booker.”
The woman’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Like from the Boston Bears?” She let out a squeal that made me want to jab an ice pick in my ear. “No way! Can I get a selfie? My dad’s gonna freak.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She simply shoved herself between us and held up her phone. It then proceeded to set off a series of flashes that would risk giving anyone a seizure.
She tapped the screen of her phone and studied the picture, then glanced at me. “You’re kinda scowling.”
“That’s just his face,” Booker explained and patted the girl on the shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us. We need to go talk to someone.”
“I hate parties,” I grumbled—audibly this time—as we headed farther down the wraparound balcony.
He chuckled and slapped my shoulder. “You just hate people in general.”
I glared at him. “Not everyone.”
“Oh, yeah? Who do you like?”
“Your ugly ass, unfortunately.”
Booker shot me a shit-eating grin. “That’s because I’m charming as hell.”
I shook my head. “I like my parents. My grandpa Jack.” Maia. Her name was silent. But always there.
“You have to like them. They’re your family,” Booker argued.
“I left my brother out.”
“Fair point. But he’s the biggest jackass around.”
Understatement of the century. There was no love lost between us.
From the moment Jackson was born, it was as if all he cared about was one-upping me.
It didn’t matter how much I tried to close the divide between us.
It was never enough. And it didn’t help that he was a raging jerk.
Even my parents were starting to see it.
“Seriously? No one else?” Booker pushed.
“That kid who runs the water boy program isn’t half bad.”
Booker stared back at me. “Jim is scared to death of you. When you asked him for water, he shook for five minutes afterward.”
“Really?”
“Dude, you need to work on the approachability factor.”
I shrugged. “I think I like being unapproachable.”
Booker barked out a laugh. “That mean you’re going to continue with monkhood now that you’re retired?”
I let out another grunt. “You make it sound like I’m going to take up golf and Scrabble or something. I’m going to coach one of the best teams in the league. That’s hardly retiring.”
And I was ready for it. I’d been lucky to have taken only a handful of really hard hits. But doing what I did, I knew it was only a matter of time before I had a takedown that would have forever-lasting ramifications. I wasn’t sure I needed to take that risk anymore.
I’d gotten to experience everything I’d dreamed of—bowl games, championships, awards. Even sponsorships that required me to smile at a camera now and then.
But this new job would allow me to give back.
Not just to a new generation of players but also to the Cougars’ kids’ program.
I was excited to dive into helping reach the youth around Colorado.
Football had given me a sense of purpose and belonging that had kept me out of trouble growing up, and I knew it could help others in the same way.
Doing it in the area I’d grown up in made it feel only more meaningful.
“I’m taking you arguing about what constitutes retirement as a yes that you’re going to remain in the monkhood,” Booker muttered.
I scowled at him.
“Listen. You need to thaw that little ice heart of yours and get some happy. Just because your brother did everything he could to ruin the things you loved doesn’t mean everyone’s that way.”
I stiffened. “That’s not why.”
“I don’t see you arguing that I’m wrong about Jackson, though.”
Because he wasn’t. Jackson had tried to undermine me at every turn.
For our whole lives. From the little stuff like eating the last of my favorite cereal—even though he hated it—to starting a rumor that I took steroids.
That one almost cost me my college scholarship.
I never could figure out why he hated me so much. I’d finally given up trying.
A flash of red caught my eye. I was sure it was wishful thinking until I saw her move. It was the way she’d always moved—with a gentle grace. Even when we were kids.
It was as if she navigated the world with a do-no-harm mantra. Or maybe it was from all the time she spent hiking outdoors with her dad and the rule Take only memories and leave only footprints.
But before my eyes, Maia St. James made her way through the crowd like some sort of apparition. And maybe she was.
Because when I saw what she was wearing, I nearly swallowed my tongue. A lacy black dress that stopped just below her rounded ass. A mask that only accentuated the haunting, dark green of her eyes. And those shoes.
Those fucking shoes.
I wanted to see her in nothing but those bloodred stilettos that curled up her calves.
“Dude, are you okay?” Booker asked. “You look like you’re having a stroke.”
“I need to do something.”
I was already moving—dodging and weaving like I was back on the field. But there were too many partygoers. I found my way to the steps but got waylaid by two drunk girls telling each other how pretty the other looked.
I was tempted to jump the banister but doubted the fancy-ass owner of this place would be thrilled if I scuffed his marble floors.
Trying to keep an eye on Maia, I made my way to the lower level. But then she was gone. Vanishing into the crowd, lights, and music. Just like the way she so often seemed to, like she was always slipping through my grasp.
I turned, running a hand through my hair in frustration. And as I did, I caught sight of another familiar face.
Oh, shit.
Jackson. And a woman currently trying to climb him like a tree as they made their way inside. He looked to be mildly enjoying the activity, but I could only think about what a jerk he was. Far more than just a jerk, he was cruel.
It was wrong to hate your brother. But I did. And it wasn’t because he’d had the girl I’d always wanted, the one I’d told him I planned to ask out, only for him to swoop in and make her untouchable. But because he’d broken her, the girl who’d always been precious to me.
Maybe it was the magical way she saw the world. Maybe it was the gentle way she dealt with every creature she came across. Maybe it was the quiet moments of connection where she made me feel seen.
I supposed the why didn’t matter. Because she’d always been the one I wanted.
Screw untouchable. Those rules were dust.