Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
TAHEGIN ELLINGSWORTH
“Hey, Tahegin. It’s Vikki. Look, I know you’re probably busy enjoying your summer, so I’ll make this quick. With your Rubies contract coming to an end, they have decided not to renew you for next season. Budget cuts, am I right? Anyway, I put feelers out and have a few teams interested in you. Don’t worry, they’re all offering more than the Rubies have given you, so we’ll get you a good deal. Give me a call, and we’ll schedule a time for you to come in and discuss, okay? Talk soon. Bye!”
I stare at my phone in shock, the voicemail staring back at me as heavy as an anvil. I missed her call last night and woke up this morning to the notification. Nerves had me sneaking out to listen to what she had to say, though now I wish I’d deleted it without listening so I could pretend everything is still okay.
Yesterday when Aleks reminded me that my contract was up, I didn’t want to admit to him—or myself—that I was worried this would happen. Now, in the afterglow of last night with Hendrix, I’m forced to face a harsh reality.
Hendrix and I will not be on the same team next season.
Arms slide around my torso, startling me, but when I look down, the fair skin against my bare abdomen is familiar and welcome. “Mm,” Hendrix hums, kissing my shoulder blade. “What are you doing out here?” If I wasn’t so upset, I’d make a comment about how one night of amazing sex seems to be all he needed to become a big ol’ touchy-feely softy.
Looking out over my backyard, I can’t help but wonder who will be standing on this balcony in a few months, calling this their pool and patio. Would Hendrix want this house? I could keep it if he wants to stay here or sign it over to him if he’d prefer. “Rix.” I lean into his embrace, squinting at the orange morning sun.
“Hm?” He kisses my nape.
“I got the call,” I admit with a heavy sigh. “The Rubies aren’t keeping me for next season.”
As quickly as his arms had wrapped around me, they retreat. “Shit.”
Turning to face him, I’m met with a pale chest equally as bare as mine, a pair of my boxer briefs on his hips and stretching to contain the bulge, even when soft, between his thighs. My tender hole clenches in remembrance of that girth inside me last night, but the distressed look on Hendrix’s face and the way he tightly grips his messy blond hair quickly tamps down my arousal.
“Shit, T. What are you going to do now?”
I gently reach up and extricate his hands from his hair, entwining my fingers with his instead. “It’s okay. Vikki left a voicemail. She said there are some other teams who want to sign me, so it’s not like I’ll be unemployed.”
He worries his bottom lip, gnawing on his next words before finally expelling them in a rush. “But you won’t be with me .”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Catching his chin with our joined hands, I tip his lowered head up until those stormy greys meet my gaze. “We will still be together. I’ll try for a team near LA. San Francisco, maybe.”
“Right,” Hendrix scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Like San Francisco can afford your salary.”
I shrug. “Maybe I’ll take a pay cut.”
“Tahegin, no .”
“The point is,” I continue while using our joined hands to pull him close, chest to chest, “I have options, but I am not letting a little distance come between this . Us. I love you, so you’re stuck with me, ya hear?” I throw in some of that Southern-charm twang I had growing up. “Them’s the rules, baby.”
Hendrix steps away, releasing my hand in favor of dragging both of his down his face. “You could end up in New York, Tahegin. Or Florida. Literally the other side of the country. At some point, our teams are going to play and . . . God, you’re a cornerback, and I’m a receiver; we’re going to go head-to-head, and it won’t just be practice anymore. We will be competing. We could collide the wrong way, one of us could get hurt?—”
“Rix, there are sibling matchups all the time. We can do this.” I pause, carefully considering my next words and what they might mean for us—for our relationship. “But I don’t think we should go public now.”
I watch Hendrix’s face fall, knowing mine is a mirror image of despair.
He hisses a nearly inaudible “ Fuck. ”
“I want this, Hendrix,” I tell him firmly as my hands grab his shoulder and hold firm. “No matter what. No matter how much we have to hide around the media or video chat from however many states away. I want to be with you. Do you . . . want to be with me, too?”
“Of course! How can you?—”
“Even if we have to be discreet? Or live apart during the season?”
Silence greets my questions, and those grey eyes search mine, looking for the soulful truth behind my words. After a long moment, Hendrix nods. “Yes, T. I don’t want to imagine a hotel at an away game without you, but I can’t imagine giving you up now that I have you, no matter the distance or the secrecy.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.” Smiling with relief, I swoop in and steal a kiss from his soft lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
? ? ?
Nearly five months later, it’s clear I do not, in fact, have this.
I have spent the summer with Hendrix, our outings carefully concealed by Aleks or Micah sitting between us at restaurants or the beach. Every moment without Hendrix, I’ve been trying to get signed on with any team on the West Coast.
It has not been going well.
Tonight is Hendrix’s birthday—and also a month before squad deadlines for this coming season but who is counting—and we are celebrating with Aleks, Micah, and Kit. Hendrix has never been to a hibachi grill, so we’re currently seated in a private room with food being cooked in our faces, fire flaring up hot enough to send Hendrix reeling back in his chair.
“Birthday boy! Birthday boy!” I holler as the chef makes to put the sake away. I point at Hendrix, going as far as to grab his shoulders and hold him still while the chef sprays the alcohol from the bottle in the direction of Hendrix’s face. Then, he mists all of us before going in close to fill Hendrix’s mouth. My boyfriend glares at me as he downs the shot’s worth of alcohol, but I only beam wide in return.
And as Hendrix’s hand finds my thigh beneath the table, I forget all about the alluring smell of alcohol lingering on our clothes.
When Kit first suggested the hibachi place for Hendrix’s birthday, I was skeptical. One of the main foods cooked on the grill is meat, and I didn’t want to put Hendrix in that situation, but then he’d looked up the menu online and said he would try the shrimp option. Apparently, he’s had seafood a few times in his adult years, and it hasn’t upset his stomach the way the thought of red meat does. Tonight, we have all ordered shrimp—and extra of it because we’re big, athletic guys with a high caloric intake—so he doesn’t have to worry about red meat near his food.
The chef is plating our vegetables when my phone begins ringing. Taking it out of my pocket, I catch the name on the caller ID and nearly jump out of my chair. “Rix, I have to take this.”
My boyfriend gives me a curious look but nods in understanding. I’ve tried to keep our relationship separate from my job searching, and it has gone well for the most part. Still, Hendrix knows how frazzled and untethered I’ve been these last few months. Allowing me to leave during dinner to take a call is so nice of him that I can’t stop myself from pecking his lips as I stand from the table. We’re in a private room, Kit knows about us, and the chef probably doesn’t care who we are, so I don’t worry about being discreet. This time.
I make a mad dash out of the restaurant, answering the call on my way. “Hello? This is Tahegin.”
“Mr. Ellingsworth, hello. This is Antonio Garcia. I’m an agent for the Treasures. We received your email this morning, and I have to say, I’m surprised to be hearing from you.”
“Hopefully not upset, though,” I joke as I lean against the side of the restaurant building, nerves going haywire in my stomach.
The Treasures’ agent chuckles politely. “No, not upset. Curious, perhaps, why you’re interested in our team when we can’t match what the Rubies paid you.” He pauses, the humor falling away from his tone. “More curious why it was you who contacted us, not your agent.”
Clearing my throat, I attempt to make my response seem more in control than I feel. “I’m aware of your budget, and so is my agent. If I sign with y’all, my agent will drop her contract with me. There isn’t enough money to be made for her if I’m with the Treasures. She wouldn’t even send y’all an email, so . . . I did.”
“I see.” The sound of shuffling papers reaches my ear. “May I ask why us? I mean, the pay cut alone . . .”
“I need to be as close to LA as possible.” I give him a candid, non-political answer because I’m not an agent, and he should know the truth if I’m going to be on their team. “I’m not ready to go yet.”
Antonio makes a noise similar to Hendrix’s typical “hmph.” “Well. There is room on the roster for you, of course. Our budget, on the other hand ? —”
“I’m not in it for the money. Not right now, at least.”
“All right, Mr. Ellingsworth. I’ll do you a favor in case this LA thing doesn’t work out. One-year contract, confirmed spot on the active roster—provided you pass a physical—and the best salary I can do is seven hundred.”
Seven hundred thousand dollars.
I made five million last season.
It’s not chump change by any means. It is more than enough to live on, but the charities I usually donate to . . . Damn it.
“Do you want to think on it, Mr. Ellingsworth?”
“No, no, no,” I respond in a rush, waving my hand as if he can see me trying to assure him that I am all in. “No, sir. I’ll take the offer. Please.” He’s worth it.
It’s only for one season. I’ll figure something else out next year.
“Come by our offices tomorrow between eight and five.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Tahegin?”
“Sir?”
“I suggest you hire a new agent. Quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
With the call ended, I collapse against the wall and breathe a sigh of relief. I have a team now, and I get to stay in LA. Sure, the Treasures’ practice facility is over an hour from the Rubies’, but that is better than New York or Florida. Even better than San Francisco. Plus, the Treasures are a decent team. They made it to the playoffs last season. This is good.
I wait until after the birthday celebrations—after dinner and presents and cake, after Hendrix takes me to bed and shows me just how much he appreciates the birthday party—to tell him the news. We’re lying beneath the duvet, Hendrix on his back and my cheek against his bare chest, both of us dewy with sweat and having just barely caught our breaths, when the words tumble from my lips.
“An agent for the Treasures called me earlier,” I blurt. “They want to sign me.”
Hendrix shoots up, disturbing my comfortable position, but the smile he gives me is worth it. “The LA Treasures? As in, Los Angeles . As in, you get to stay here?—”
“With you,” I add, matching his grin with one of my own. The celebratory kiss we share is all smiles and teeth. His hand cups my face, thumb caressing beneath my eye.
“Wait.” He pulls away but keeps me close. “How . . .”
“What?” I ask when he trails off.
Sitting up completely, Hendrix fumbles along the nightstand, and the glow of both our phones illuminates the room. I reach over to flick the light on the lamp, fully brightening everything. When I turn back, Hendrix is comparing two lists on our phones.
“What is it?” My chin lands on his shoulder as I watch him scroll through what looks like play schedules for the season.
He sighs, a sound I never feel good about when it comes from him. “The Rubies and the Treasures share a stadium for games, right?”
I nod.
“Which means—” He shows me the phones, each team’s schedule for this year pulled up. “—when one of us has a home game, the other will be out of town. Every week .”
Right. Because the two teams can’t both play in the same stadium at the same time. But still?—
I push the phones away and turn Hendrix’s head to face me. “Okay, our games will be in different cities. So what? Every other day of the week, we will be in the same city. I can drive to your place, or you can come to mine . . .” Sweeping a few locks of blond hair from his eyes, I lower my voice, thankful my blush isn’t easy to spot through my bronze cheeks. “Or . . . we can find a place halfway between the two practice facilities . . . together.”
“T . . .” His hand catches mine, pulling it to his chest, holding it there, and he sighs that sigh I really don’t want to hear. “We can’t.”
“We can , actually.”
Hendrix shakes his head, giving me a sad smile. “Tahegin, come on.”
“Nate Conroy and Kane Kennedy lived together for years.” Maybe bringing the two Miami players into this argument isn’t a great idea because?—
“Every tabloid in Miami had paparazzi following those guys twenty-four seven because they all swore the two of them were dating. It was a huge scandal, and those guys are on the same team.”
“Speaking of same team, did you see that Conroy came out, too? Turns out, they were both queer.” I rub my chin, pondering. “I wonder if they were together, after all. I know Kennedy is dating that kicker now, but before that. What do you think?”
“I think,” Hendrix begins, carefully pulling my hand from my face. He clasps both of mine in his and holds them between us. “It would be different if we never had to face off on the field, but we will. We have a preseason game against each other and one during the regular season. I’m already going to have a hard time treating you like every other cornerback in the league; the public doesn’t need to know that as well. They would pick apart every move we make on the field.”
My heart sinks as I realize how true his words are.
He tips my head up using our entwined hands. “Hey, we’ll work something out, okay? I want to do this with you. We just have to be careful about it. Maybe I can get a place halfway between. My apartment is a little small for us anyway.”
I roll my eyes because his apartment is in no way small . I’m thankful for his attempt to be casual about moving for our relationship, though.
“Tahegin?” Hendrix whispers once we lay together in the dark once more.
“Yeah?” I respond just as softly.
“We can do this, right? We can face each other on the field.”
“Brothers do it all the time.”
Neither of us brings up the fact that brothers are different than lovers. Brothers grow up trying to hurt each other, trying to be better than each other. With siblings, there is always competition and rivalry, on or off the field.
With us, things are different. We don’t want to risk hurting one another. We don’t want to be the reason the other doesn’t get that one-hundred-yard game or season-record interception. We want the other to succeed more than we do ourselves.
Our professional lives are about to be put to the ultimate test.
And it is our own damn fault.