Chapter 6
6
brIAR
I ’m not sure how my brother hasn’t caught me yet. Whether it’s the car I’ve had since I was a teenager sitting in the parking garage not that far away from his expensive sports car, or the fact that Elara could quite possibly be one of the noisiest children in the entire world, the fact that I haven’t been made beats me.
“Elara, honey, we need to get dinner ready for Leo, okay?”
She nods, her lips quirked into a sly smile. “Why doesn’t Uncle Owen know we’re here?” she asks me suddenly.
I knew this question was coming.
“It’s not a secret sweet pea. You can mention it to him if you want to.” But please don’t.
“Is it a surprise?”
I think about it for a moment.
“No, it’s not a surprise.” I decide to just be honest with her. “Your Uncle is the best brother to me, and there’s things I haven’t told him about our old place. He’s going to be upset that I didn’t let him fix it.”
Her eyes grow wide. “You kept a secret from Uncle Owen?”
I keep making this harder on myself, don’t I ?
I sigh, slapping the chicken breast onto the cutting board in front of me. “No, not a secret really. We don’t do secrets, remember? I just haven’t told him.”
“But you told Mr. Leo?”
She had heard one person call Leo that, and hasn’t stopped since.
“He’s been okay, right? You’re not uncomfortable here?” It’s a question I’ve asked her every day since we started staying here most of the time. We’ve gone back to my place a few times to get some new clothes and things I’ve left, but staying here has just been easier than anything else.
“Mr. Leo is cool,” she nods, grabbing a crayon from the box and grinding it into the coloring book laid out on the kitchen island.
“Easy there, you’re going to break your crayons,” I tell her gently.
Leo has been gearing up for training camp, which means meeting with his trainer a little more so he’s not totally in pain when he gets there, going on his pre-season diet, and going to meetings.
Like many teams, the Cobras practice at a college a couple of hours away. Some players have rooms in the dorms where they crash, but some players opt for a nearby hotel, like Leo. They don’t spend a whole lot of time in there. They don’t really come home until the end, when they practically get right into pre-season games.
His first year in the league, my brother told me he’s never in his life wanted to quit something as badly as he wanted to quit when at training camp. It’s early mornings followed by weight lifting and hours of multiple practices, some in just their helmets and some in their full pads.
They’re hurting, they’re sweaty, and they’re moody. They go back to their rooms exhausted and have to get up at five in the morning to be there at six the next day. And it goes on for weeks. I don’t fault him for wanting to quit .
There’s a reason not everyone makes it into the NFL. It’s not for the weak.
Me? I can admit I’m a weak little bitch compared to those guys. I’ll sit in my comfy seat my baby brother paid for at the stadium, enjoying the heat during the winter.
Thirty minutes later, dinner is served for Elara and I, the rest waiting in the fridge for Leo. We sit at the table to the right of the kitchen, talking about her day. Soon she’s going to be starting school, and I’m going to have to figure out childcare. When I was unemployed I could very well drive her to school and back every day, but there’s no way with Leo’s schedule I’ll be able to do that every day, and I don’t want to leave it to chance that Tony doesn’t realize this and take advantage of it.
“Are you looking forward to school?” I ask her, propping my foot on the chair. I rest my chin on it, bringing my arms around my shin.
“I guess so,” she shrugs, her cheeks full of pasta. Her fine blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a bun. The amount of times she’s gotten an entire plate of pasta sauce in her hair is something to be studied.
“It’s going to be great, I promise,” I assure her.
The sound of the front door unlocking has us turning our heads. “Mr. Leo’s home!” Elara exclaims, and before I can stop her, she’s out of her seat, rushing for the fridge. Whipping it open, she reaches for the plate of food in the middle of the fridge, yanking it out.
The second Leo’s tired face enters the room, he has a plate of cold food thrust into his face.
And I freeze.
This is where Tony would freak out. Where he’d scoff.
Where he’d yell profanities, knocking it out of my hands.
Leo is tired. He’s had a rough week and just the thought of what the coming week is going to be like has him ready to keel over already .
And yet all he does is smile.
A big smile.
One that stretches across his whole entire face, ear to ear.
Throwing the gym bag and backpack perched on one shoulder to the ground, he takes the plate from my daughter. “Thank you!” he tells her, and I’m surprised at how nice it is to hear someone talk to my daughter like a human, and not a small child without a brain. “This looks delicious. You must be a really good chef.”
Elara smiles a toothy grin before looking back at me. “My mom made it, silly.”
“What?” he feigns shock. “I could have sworn you did.”
“Elara, why don’t you let him settle in and eat the rest of your pasta?” I ask, bringing my other leg up onto the seat of the chair, crossing my ankles.
She huffs for a second, but comes back without argument, plopping onto the plush seat of Leo’s black dining chairs.
Leo places the plate onto the island before lifting his already damp shirt to wipe the glistening sweat from his forehead, and I avert my eyes from his muscles. All of them. If I were to look, I don’t know where I’d start.
I’m just glad he’s not wearing his gray sweatpants he wore a couple days ago. Walking out into the kitchen in the morning was a surprise; one I almost didn’t recover quick enough from.
Two days ago.
Leo’s kitchen is certainly a lot different than my own, and I don’t think there’s been a batch of eggs I haven’t burned in the days that I’ve been here. It doesn’t help that Leo eats about ten eggs every morning, at a minimum. Ten eggs take a whole lot longer to cook, that’s for sure.
“Sometimes smells good,” Leo’s voice calls out from up the stairs before he loudly stumbles down them.
“This is quite a lot of eggs,” I nod before looking up.
And I stop .
Immediately dropping my gaze, my head spins. “I think I,” I sputter, turning around in place like a glitched sim. “I think I, uh, left something in my room.”
“What did you leave that you need right now? Eat breakfast with me!” he says, and I can tell he’s smiling at how squeamish I am.
Standing in place, I look up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “Can you go, I don’t know, put real pants on?”
I finally risk a look at his stupid face, and watch as he looks down at his sweats, pulling at the sides of them which only makes the fabric tighten around his… member. The thing is giant.
I gulp, thinking about how the thing is basically a weapon. I think it could take me out if I was hit with it.
Why the hell am I thinking about Leo Warner hitting me with his dick?
“I’m wearing pants,” he tells me with a frown, as if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.
“Those are not pants,” I scoff, waving my spatula around in the air at him.
“What are you freaking out about?” he asks, genuine confusion morphing his face.
“You’re not being serious, right?” I ask, unable to keep a straight face.
He lifts his arms, letting them drop dramatically.
“Leo you have… a whole fucking thing going on in your pants. I don’t care what you do with your morning activities but I don’t want to be subjected to it.”
He looks back down with a frown.
“What about him?”
I ignore his use of ‘him.’
“Your raging fucking boner, Leo,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest, the smell of burnt eggs suddenly overwhelming me. I turn, mixing them around before turning back.
Leo scoffs. “This isn’t a boner.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m actually embarrassed, really. This is me flaccid. Now that I think of it, you’re right. I don’t really want to subject you to my flaccid dick. Let me go change.”
My jaw drops as I watch him leap up the stairs, taking two at a time.
He came down in a pair of basketball pants. It was still a little visible.
“Thank you for dinner, Crosby.”
I salute him before going back to watching Elara eat as he disappears up the steps on the far side of the family room to his bedroom.
A few minutes later, my phone dings.
Isla Warner
Going to the bar tonight to get out. Want to come with? Owen will watch Elara.
I want to say no. I want to say no so badly.
But I don’t. I need to get out of this place. I need to be around other women. I need a little bit of a break from life. Just a little one.
Yeah, sure. I’ll be over soon.
They’re going to find out that I’m right next door eventually, but it’s not something I really feel like dealing with tonight.
“You want to hang out with Uncle Owen tonight?” I ask Elara, and her eyes immediately bug out of her head as she nods.
“Alright. Eat the rest of your pasta and we’ll get you ready to go over, okay?”
As I get up, Leo comes down the stairs in jeans and a nice t-shirt that seems to hug every single crevice of his body, outlining every muscle. His dark hair is still wet from his shower, his beard trimmed.
I stop in my tracks. “What are you up to tonight? ”
“Going out,” is all he says.
I pause. “Is that a good idea?”
His eyes narrow slightly in challenge. “I’m an adult, Briar. You don’t have to parent me.”
Not fifteen minutes ago I had to calm the feeling in the pit of my stomach as he thanked my daughter for his dinner, but something changed during that time, and I flinch back as his steely gaze rakes over my body.
“Okay, well, have fun,” I say coolly, heading to my room to get changed.
Trying not to stew too much, I throw on a pair of boot cut jeans and a bodysuit before heading across the hall to the other guest room Elara has been staying in to pack her backpack with games, her Walkman, and whatever else she may need while next door.
A knock at the door has me whipping around, jumping out of my skin.
Leo looks sheepish, his arm propped against the doorframe as he leans in. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t deserve that. Thank you for dinner,” he says quietly.
I shake my head. It’s a little too late tonight. My guards are up. “It’s what you’re paying me for,” I assure him.
He watches me pick up one of her stuffed animals, shoving him in her bag a little too aggressively.
“Okay,” is all he says a couple minutes later. I don’t turn around to see him leave, but I can feel it. Feel the absence of his eyes on me. The lack of warmth.
But I shake it off.
The loud hum of voices hits me like a brick wall as Isla holds open the door for me. It’s a weekday, but that doesn’t mean Lulu’s isn’t going to be packed to the brim.
Taking my hand, Isla leads me through the sea of people, dodging elbows as we go. Eventually we come out the back, and with a flash of her smile, we’re let into the private back room where the players and their families tend to hang out. It’s not just for them, but throughout the years it’s slowly become the place to hang out for the Cobras, Owen and Isla included.
“Isla!” one of her friends calls, her silky black hair bouncing as she runs up to hug her.
I’ve met her friends a couple of times, and they’ve always been more than welcoming. Mila Fedorov is one of her best friends, and I think they lived together before she moved into her current place.
“Briar! I’m so excited you came out, it’s been so long!” I don’t actually think I’ve seen them since the Super Bowl party at the end of last season, and even then I stayed sober and went home early to make sure that Elara was in bed at a decent time.
“Glad to be out. You look amazing!” I tell her, surprising myself with a genuine smile. It’s been awhile since I’ve flashed one of those; the muscles almost feeling alien.
Mila turns, showing off her yellow dress with a smile as their other two friends, Amara and Heidi come up behind her.
Heidi has the fruitiest, pinkest drink I’ve ever seen in my life in her hand, while Amara balances three shots in hers, handing one to Isla and one to me.
“You guys celebrating something?” I ask with a smirk, smelling it. It smells like cherries.
“Amara’s catering company has been doing well!” Heidi grins, her voice high and melodical.
“That’s great!” After catering a couple of Isla’s showings, Amara decided that it was something she wanted to jump into. I’ve seen a couple of her posts online over the last couple of months, and it seems like she really loves it.
“And I got fired!” Heidi adds.
I pause. “Don’t you work for yourself?”
She nods, taking a sip of the pink monstrosity in her hand. “Yep! A client decided to go with a man. Can you believe that? We’ve worked together for a long time, too.”
“Why?” I scratch my head, awkwardly holding the shot none of us have done yet.
“Well,” she pauses, popping her hip. “It’s his nephew, really. So I get it. But now I have to find a new job.”
From what I’ve heard, Heidi does a handful of things. She keeps busy.
“Anyway!” she yells over the music, “to jobs!”
Throwing my head back, the shot goes down smooth, a mix of something that tastes weirdly like chocolate covered cherries.
“So what have you been up to?” Amara asks, taking my shot glass and plopping hers on top. It takes me by surprise, and I pause for a couple seconds. Because really, how have I been?
I’m being harassed by my ex-husband, moved to the city not that long ago only to realize the place is a complete disaster and basically moved in with my brother’s best friend, and one of the biggest idiots in the NFL because my ex sabotages every single job I ever get.
“I’m doing alright. Elara is starting school soon and I’m not sure how I’m going to cope without her during the day.” I frown. I really don’t know what I’m going to do without her.
“You’re doing amazing, momma,” Amara says, her hand gently placed on my arm, her springy coils bouncing over her shoulders with every movement. Her dark, warm eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but feel a sense of peace wash over me.
For what I’ve been given, I am doing great right now. I just have to give myself credit. I’m doing what’s best for my daughter, and that’s what matters in the end.
But the second I feel my shoulders start to relax for the first time in what feels like ages, my phone buzzes, knocking me out of the moment. Reaching into my back pocket, I grab my phone, the caller ID flashing with Leo’s name.
I turn it a little too quickly, the girls exchanging an odd look before I shoot them a coy smile, wincing. “I have to take this I think, I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”
Heading for the back door, I prop it open with a rock, the noise from the bar filtering through. Leo had gone to voicemail, but right as I’m about to call him back, another call comes through.
“Yes?” I ask, picking up.
“Hi,” he drawls, his voice higher than usual.
I pause, a hand on my hip. “Leo, are you drunk?”
“What if I am?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath. “You’ve been doing so well recently, Leo. Where are you?”
I can hear people talking in the background, but there’s no music that I can tell.
“I’m at a, a friendssss. Just hangin’ out.”
My eyeroll couldn’t be larger. “And why are you calling me?”
“Well, I drove here.”
“Then get an Uber home.”
I can physically feel his head shaking from through the phone. “No can do, Ice Queen. I need you to pick me up.”
I gape, trying to search for the right words. “Leo, I'm out with friends. This is my first night out in—” I try thinking of the exact time, “in months. I didn’t drive here.”
“Can you Uber home and then come get me?”
“Why are you so against getting an Uber?”
He sighs dramatically. “I was banned from it, okay?”
The great Leo Warner? Banned from Uber? I’m filing that in my mental bank of stories I have to hear when he’s sober.
Looking around, I think about my options. But in reality, I don’t have any. What am I going to do, abandon him at his friend’s?
Yes.
No. I’m not doing that. I’m his assistant. I knew this was going to come with the job. That doesn’t mean I can’t kick his ass.
He’s a week away from training camp, and I’m crossing my fingers this was his last hurrah.
“I’ll be there soon.”
“You’re really the best, you know that right?” he asks as he climbs into my Ford. It sways with his weight, creaking a little.
“Don’t fuck with me Leo, you’re in deep shit.”
He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. I turn my car on, and when he hears the loud roar of the engine, his eyes grow wide. “What was that?”
“That was my car starting, dumbass,” I sigh, pulling out of the long driveway of the large house he was at.
“I don’t think I’ve heard a car this loud.”
“When was the last time you were in a car that costs any less than a hundred grand?”
He thinks for a minute.
“If you have to think that long, it was too long ago. Shut up and sit tight.”
He smirks. “I’m a big fan of tight.”
“Leo what does that even mean?” He bites his lip, his eyes glassy as he folds the brim of his baseball hat inward just a touch, trying hard not to giggle. The man is trying not to giggle. Over the word tight.
Why am I doing this to myself?
Instead of answering me, he starts fiddling with the music, attempting to change the station.
“It’s a CD dumbass,” I mutter, turning on my blinker.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you just connect it to your phone?”
“Leo this car is from 1999, for one. Two, some people just like CDs, okay?”
If I happen to be this annoying when I’m drunk, I’m not sure I want to ever take another sip.
“You know?—”
But I’ve had enough.
“No, Leo, I don’t know. You’re supposed to be staying low, remember? This entire summer you’ve been getting into trouble. You have so much, you know that? And you’re risking everything. The team has a zero-tolerance policy, you know that right? One wrong move, or you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be and get caught up in something bad, and you’re off the team.”
He rolls his eyes before looking out the window. “Yes mommy,” he snarks, slamming his back into the seat.
I’m going to chose to ignore that.
“I don’t know what’s been going on with you for the last couple months, but something’s got to change, Leo.”
The rest of the drive was silent.