6. Knights, Commandos & Family, Oh My
Chapter 6
Knights, Commandos it’s Uncle Alex and Aunt Phoebe whose smiling eyes catch mine, and then she sees something I was meaning to hide.
Dammit.
I blow a breath upward, making the hairs fall out of my braid and cross my eyes, which makes her smile.
Mission accomplished. Now focus, Lo.
I pour three beers in a row, flash a smile I don’t feel, and slide the pints across the bar without missing a beat.
Serve the drinks. Smile at the regulars because this is totally not their fault, and they don’t deserve my piss-poor attitude, my self-inflicted sour mood, my …
I hear Riley hoot and see her throwing her arms in the air. Without looking at the TV, I cheer, too, knowing we’re all pulling for the same team today, one we know we can beat—Dallas.
The next time the door opens, Skinner walks in, grinning like a fool, and Kolby is right behind him.
“Sorry we’re late. I had to wait for my buddy to finish his nap.”
His nap? So not fair!
Heavy boots, black Henley, jeans slung low enough to make my stomach tighten. Hat pulled down, shielding his eyes, jaw locked so tight he probably couldn’t spit if he wanted to.
He moves through the crowd like he’s hunting something.
Me.
He leans across the bar, voice low enough it barely cuts through the noise. “You seen my phone?”
I tuck a stray hair behind my ear, shrugging one shoulder like it’s no big deal. “Tossed it to you when you were sneaking out like a bad one-night stand.”
His mouth tightens, but his eyes—God, his eyes—flash. Frustration. Embarrassment. Heat. Hard to tell, he’s clearly a mood box.
“You shouldn’t say shit like that,” he mutters, low and dark. “People are already watching.”
I tip my head, faux innocence. “Maybe you should get over yourself, Grimes.”
And because I’m already f’ed a little in the head, I turn toward the cluster of security guys posted by the back door.
Commandos.
I pick the one closest to me—tall, dark hair, easy grin—and flash him the kind of look that says I’m available and mildly interested.
He catches it and grins back.
I walk him over a drink.
“No alcohol for me till after the season ends.”
“It’s soda water and lemon. It’ll help you blend in.”
He takes it, smiling, “Appreciate it.”
“I appreciate what you’re all doing.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kolby go absolutely still.
Good. He deserves to stew a little.
I smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.” I walk away, and yes, I take a tip from the Jade Brooks playbook and sway my hips a little more than usual.
Hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders stiff, jaw ticking like a bomb counting down—that’s Kolby.
“Take a break; get something to eat,” Riley says, smacking me on the ass as she heads behind the bar. “We got halftime.”
“We got this,” Hudson says, gripping her shoulders and following her behind the bar.
“You break it, you buy it,” I warn as I head to the door. “Be right back. I need to go grab my charger.”
Lie.
The night slaps cold against my skin as I yank open the back door and begin moving the blanket he hid under when I hear him behind me.
“Didn’t ask you to come out here.”
I shine my phone light around and, sure enough, there it is.
I hand it over without looking at him, already turning to head back inside. But he catches my wrist, not rough, not hard—just enough.
“Stop,” he says, voice barely a scrape. “Don’t act like this, or people will put two and two together.”
I pull my arm back, folding it across my chest. “Then maybe you should stop acting like I gave you cooties.”
His mouth opens, but before he can say anything, his phone buzzes—urgent, frantic.
Against my better judgment, my eyes flick down to the screen.
Unknown Number.
Five missed calls.
One new text: It’s going to cost you.
My blood freezes, but I school my face into blankness and make a little show of brushing past him like I didn’t see a damn thing.
“Good luck with that,” I toss over my shoulder.
I don’t wait to see if he follows.
Inside, the brewery feels too bright, too loud, too alive. I dive back into it headfirst, pouring drinks, tossing jokes, throwing up walls as fast as I can build them.
Across the room, I spot Kolby sinking into one of the leather chairs by the fireplace, beer untouched, eyes locked on the flames like he’s seeing something no one else can.
His truck’s obviously fixed. He could leave, but then remember, until the season ends, the Brewery and the field are about the only place they can go.
* * *
Talk about shit luck, Dallas lost to Philly and, right now, it’s looking like we’re going to be playing Vegas, at home.
When everyone’s glued to the TV, Kolby walks over and slides the full beer over to me.
“Problem with your drink, 68?”
“Not in the mood to drink.”
“Well then, to what do I owe the honor of your?—”
“If you saw the message,” he says, voice low and rough, “it’s not what you think. It’s from someone tied to my ex. She’s trying to bleed me for more money.”
“Isn’t that shit supposed to be reported to the”—I pause to stop myself from saying commandos and go with—“security?”
“They don’t need my bullshit added to the mix.”
“You should let them make that decision.”
“I busted my ass to get here; I’m not chancing her taking this from me, too.”
“Kolby—”
“And last night, as good as it was?—”
I feel a tingle up my spine and fight to hold back the little happy dance threatening to explode inside of me.
“—I need this team, Lo.”
“Well, in case you didn’t know it, this team needs you, too.”
“Everything good?” Riley asks, looking between the two of us.
“He thinks even though he showed up late and the kitchen is basically closed, we should cater to his pro ass and bring him out Mom’s brisket.”
“Oh, hell yes,” Skinner says, sidling up next to him. “My pro ass, too.”
“Might as well heat up what’s left over and bring it all out again,” Hudson says, rubbing his hands together.
“You know I have one partner, and you’re not it,” I ask him.
Kolby doesn’t have to say a word. There’s thanks in his eyes, and then mischief. “Any chance there’s any cheesy potatoes left?”
I say, “No,” at the same time, Riley says, “Yes.”
“We have three days off after tomorrow in an already extended season; that pan back there has my name on it, literally.”
“You’re going to eat a whole?—”
“Do not shame me.” I cut her off with a glare.
When I bring out Kolby’s and Skinner’s plates and set them in front of them, he grins down at the potatoes as Skinner scurries away, arm protectively slung around his plate.
Kolby chuckles. “You’re too damn easy.”
“Excuse me?” I gasp.
“Your whole mood changed in a snap.” He snaps his fingers. “After I stroked that ego of yours.”
“ My ego?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I’m not telling you a damn thing.” I toss a napkin at him and walk away … ego intact.
Check.
When the vultures start circling around Kolby, I look toward Riley, who is giving me a look, one that says, Oh, look, at those poor babies .
“Fine, let’s bring it all out.”
An hour later, Riley and I are behind the bar, watching every guy on the team sitting quietly as Vegas takes their first lead in the game, with only seven minutes to go.
“Still a lot of time.” Lucas nods. “And it doesn’t matter who ends up with the W this game; next week, they’re riding out of Blue Valley with an L.”
This raises their spirits.
“Fuck yeah!” Skinner says then hoots, and they all start making the same damn noise.
I catch Kolby’s eyes as he looks back at the bar, and then I catch … the moms all gathered in the corner, pulling money out of their purses and onto the table.
“What the hell are they doing?” I laugh.
“I don’t know, nor do I want to.” Riley yawns, which of course causes me to.
“What? Riley Brooks doesn’t want to know something?”
“I …” She shakes her head. “They’re a lot.”
“No kidding.”
“No, Lo, you have no idea and will not until you have a baby growing in your belly and they drag you into a group chat that goes on for twenty-four hours a day. Well, except when they’re all together like now.”
“Twenty-four hours is a slight exaggeration, isn’t it?”
“No, apparently, once you have a baby, you will never sleep again, even when they’re in college, because all you’ll do is worry and be up all night watching the evening news.” She yawns again, and again, I do, too. “And that’s nothing compared to when you go through menopause, and have hot flashes, and …” She shakes her head again as she pulls a face and whispers, “Do you know some women shit while they give birth?”
“I must have missed that in health class.”
“They thank it’s helpful … It’s not. It’s …” She stops and grabs my arm when the lights flicker and the TVs go dead.
“Oh shit,” we both say when they all look back at us like we’ve personally made the TV go out with less than two minutes left. But that only lasts a second before every phone in the room chimes off, and their faces are glued to their screens.
I look around. It’s not just theirs; it’s Dad, my uncles—hell, even my moms and aunts.
“Hudson, what’s going on?” Riley asks.
He blows out a slow breath and turns the screen so we can see.
The group chat’s blown up, but not with memes or a schedule change.
711: Team-wide alert .
“All right,” Matthew’s voice booms through the now silent space, drawing my attention from the screen, “you’re all getting this at the same time. And you’re all under one roof. No one leaves while we sort this out.”
“Not everyone,” Jaleen Nicks sneers. He’s one of the few married men on the team, a wide receiver. “Boone’s not here.”
CJ nods once, assessing him in a way that is obvious to someone who knows him. “You’re right, he’s not,” he says sympathetically. “He’s right across from a firehouse full of trained security who are sleeping until they get tagged in so those of us here can rest our eyes at some point.”
“Must be nice,” comes from the crowd.
CJ schools his irritation. “Sixteen of the fifty-three men on the roster have wives, and twenty-three of you have kids. Every single one of you who moved to Blue Valley or the surrounding area has home security, and that was a choice you made even before we started taking precautions after the Vegas game.”
“And Boone got fucking shot,” Hart grits out. “He was there with us today when he should have been resting and healing, so back off, Nicks.”
Matthew steps in, “None of the moves the Legacy group has made is because we have a known threat. As we expressed earlier, we’re playing offense, so we don’t have to play D. This thing at The Stables—a transformer blowing—it’s very possible it has to do with the perimeter gate and new security going in. We don’t know yet, but we will.”
“You signed with The Knights, all of you agreed to the contractual terms,” Ava states. “You’re bought and paid for.”
“Jesus L, Ava,” Logan mutters.
“No, fuck that, Loggie,” she huffs. “We took a chance on every one of these guys in the place, and they have played their hearts out, but a big percent of them have contract negotiations after the playoffs, and I’m not looking to resign a bunch disloyal, overpaid bitch babies who wanna throw a tantrum when Daddy gives them some fucking boundaries.”
Luke steps in front of her, voice low, but in a silent room, his words don’t go unheard. “Princess, you gonna explain the bruises to our kids in the morning when I inevitably throw down with the first person who argues with you?”
“Love you, mean it, but I am a lawyer—they will not win,” she sneers.
Uncle Lucas starts chuckling and then oof.
“All right, party people.” Remington claps his hands together and continues, “You got choices, but TBH, not many, ’cause Ava’s not wrong—you’re all under contract. Facts are, you walk, you lose. You take a contract with Vegas or LA”—he pauses and scans the room—“so it’s easier to fuck around on your wives or girlfriends, that’s your choice. You wanna trust the Zon to manage your home security for ten bucks a month instead of paying a few hundred to a company that’s got a room full of trained security staring at your gate with a direct line to the cops, that’s a choice. You wanna suck it up and play it safe, understand that we’re moving our guys from The Stables until we have answers.”
“What about the rest of us?” someone asks.
Remington fights an eye roll. “Anyone not living there already has people out there patrolling. And before one of you gets pissed about that, remember what Ava said.” He looks at Lucas, Dad, and Uncle Alex. “I handed in my wish list for the draft. I got no problem going over possible trades.”
“We all need to remember we’re all the same name,” Uncle Lucas states. “Tensions high, and that shit happens in families. You fight through it, and we are a family. I got nothing but love for each and every one of you and”—he taps his chest—“I feel yours, too. You all give everything that you have on that field and this shit we’re dealing with”—he shakes his head—“it’s nothing but a moment, and we will get through it.”
“That being said,” Aunt Tessa says, “the boys have not received a single text from anyone on the team giving them even the tiniest fires to put out. And just as your concern is real for your families”—she flattens her hand on her stomach—“I’d rather have mine extinguish flames than battle infernos.”
I see some looks being exchanged between players who’ve got each other’s secrets simmering, and then catch Kolby looking at me.
“Lo,” Jackson calls, drawing my attention from Kolby. “Could you turn on the TVs? I’d like to see who the hell we’re playing next week.”
“Shit, yeah, of course.” I rush to the remotes and start hitting power buttons, and they all light up.
“Well, shit.” Someone laughs, and then all their attention is on the screens.
There’s a fight on the TV.
“Well, shit.” I giggle. “Last time I saw so many flags flying was at that fourth of July parade when?—”
“When that skunk tried to join our color guard line!” Riley laughs.