CHAPTER 41 Ford Bradley
Headlines
I was sort of glad we weren’t able to talk last night.
I’m not quite sure what to do about the headlines. I hadn’t even seen them myself—it was Cole who mentioned it to me as we sat together on the plane on the way home.
He had an article pulled up on his phone, and it was about Tatum and me and what the media decided to do with our love story.
The headline read NFL Star Ford Bradley Marries MLB’s Archer Bradley’s Ex as Bride Plans Wedding for Teammate.
The headline is gross enough, but the article insinuates that she wouldn’t have gotten Devon and Lindsay’s wedding if she wasn’t involved with me, as if she couldn’t get by on her own merits but instead is riding the Bradley family’s coattails as she bed-hopped from one brother right to the next.
But then she asked me if Everleigh would lend her services to her. She chatted with Madden. That’s four out of the seven of us she’s been connected to in some way—four of us who have helped or are planning to help her build her business in one way or another.
And it pulses a horrible thought in my mind. Is this article really all that far-fetched?
Would she have gotten Devon’s wedding if I hadn’t mentioned it to her and set up their meeting?
What if I went with love over logic for the first time in my life only to be burned by someone using me for my name and connections?
Tatum wouldn’t do that…but the hard truth is that her business has been booming since she married me.
Yes, it’s in part because of Winston Manor. That place sells itself, and we just happened to be in the right place at the right time for it to fall onto our laps the way it did. It felt like kismet, but what if it was some darker force at play?
My biggest fear has always been falling in love with someone who’s only using me for what I can do for them, and it’s not the first time since she came to stay with me that I’ve had that fear pulsing inside.
But this is Tatum. I’ve known her since high school. She’s not like that. We were friends before I had the money and connections I have now. I don’t have to worry about that sort of thing when it comes to her.
So why am I?
I push it all out of my mind as I head to my exit interview. I find my position coach, the head coach, and the general manager in there waiting for me.
Coach Wilder runs the meeting with an evaluation of my season that includes my stats, where I excelled, and what work I can do over the summer to prep for next season.
Coach Matthews says, “You’re a steady, strong presence in the locker room.”
Mr. Ellery adds, “And that’s why we want you to consider being the offensive captain next season.”
“Wow,” I say softly. “What an honor. I’ll think about it.”
We review a strength and conditioning plan for the offseason, and they ask me if I have any feedback, which I do.
“We all worked hard, but we had too many penalties, and we lost a lot of morale when Landry went down. We need a reliable backup who can use his offense to get down the field, not one that’ll buckle under pressure.”
Coach Wilder nods. “Agreed.” He glances through my contract. “You have two years left on this. What are your plans?”
“I’d love to stay here for the duration of my career. This is home. It’s the only team I’ve ever played for, and I don’t want to play anywhere else. I turn thirty on Friday, and I don’t see an end at thirty-two.”
Both coaches nod, and Mr. Ellery says, “That’s the answer we were looking to hear.”
I head down to the training room to get my medical clearance, clean out my locker, and say my goodbyes.
I’m on my way home before lunchtime, and my heart thunders as I try to figure out what the hell to say to my wife when I get home.
As it turns out, I don’t have to say anything.
She's in her room, sitting at her desk and buried in some document on her laptop. She glances up when I walk in and has the kind of look on her face that tells me she could use some help. Stat.
I sit on the end of her bed. “What's wrong?"
“I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. But before we talk about me, tell me about your day.”
I shrug. “It's the end of a season, and it ended in a way different from what we were hoping for, but the meeting went better than I expected."
“Well, that's good. Isn’t it?” she asks. She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you look like it isn’t?”
“They told me they want me to consider being a team captain next year.”
“Ford! That’s freaking amazing! Right?” She seems confused, and I chuckle a little.
“Yeah, it’s great. It’s an honor. But I can’t help but think I’m taking that position from someone else,” I admit. It’s the first time I’ve really even thought it, and the words slip out. I’m not sure why I felt a little melancholy when they asked me. Truly, it’s an honor.
But Tatum manages to pull it out of me.
“Who’s the captain now?”
“One of our wide receivers,” I say. I stare out the window.
“Is he staying on the team next year?”
I shake my head. “He’s retiring, so no. I guess it just feels like there are guys on the team more deserving than me.”
“Why wouldn't you deserve it?”
“I don't know.” I sigh. I don't really know what I'm getting at here.
“It’s just…I've been here playing with this team for a long time, and I guess somewhere deep down I feel like I should've been asked years ago.
Why now? Because I'm one of the most senior members on offense?
Because I don't have as many years left as some of these younger guys?
I don't know. It just feels like…” I trail off, not sure of the words.
“Too little, too late?” she guesses.
“Yeah. Kinda.”
That's the thing about Tatum. She just gets me. I don't have to say a word about the things that are bothering me because she can somehow easily assess them and put them into words, even if I can't.
“Ford. They wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t think you deserved it. Now or back then. It’s your turn. Your time. If you want it, take it.”
She makes a good point.
“So what’s all this?” I ask.
She sighs heavily. “Everleigh sent me a questionnaire so we can get the branding stuff underway, and it’s, like, freaking daunting.
She said it’s okay if I don’t have answers to everything right now, and once I fill out the majority, we can schedule a Zoom to chat about the rest. It’s just like a million little decisions I have to make about this business.
I’m going from a contractor in Vegas who plans weddings for fun to, like, this business.
You know? With an asset. With more assets down the pike.
It’s a lot, and I haven’t the first clue how to pull it all together into a brand. ”
Her phone starts to ring as she finishes her explanation, and she glances at it. “It’s an eight-one-three number,” she says. “Probably another couple who wants to book Winston Manor. I need to take this.”
She answers the call, and I watch and listen as my mind runs wild with the things I can try to do to help her.
Sit with her while she fills out this form, for one—or figure out the way she might work best.
“Stand up,” I demand once she ends the call.
She lifts to her feet and bounces on her toes a little bit. I stand up with her, and I take her hands in mine as I stand across from her.
“I'm happy to help in whatever way I can, Tate. My schedule is fairly open for the next six months, and today that means helping you complete this branding kit. Where are you most comfortable when you're thinking through something?”
Her eyes soften as she tilts her head. “You’re really the best. Do you know that?”
I lift a modest shoulder.
“Either lying on the bed or sitting in one of the lounge chairs on your patio, looking out over the bay,” she says, answering my question.
“Okay.” I nod. “Your choice.”
She glances at the bed and then back at me. She shakes her head a little. “Too dangerous.”
I chuckle as I follow her out to the terrace after I unplug her laptop and carry it with me. She settles onto one of the lounge chairs, and once I’m beside her, I read the first question to her.
“What words do you want your brand to evoke in a potential client?”
She stares out over the bay as she thinks for a second, and then she fires off a few words. “Luxury, exclusive, forever.”
I type the words as she says them. “What colors do you associate with those words?”
“Black and pale pink,” she says, without missing a beat.
I wonder why not white—a color typically associated with weddings—but I don’t question her. I just type.
I ask the next question and the next and the next. And while it's absolutely a lot, it's allowing her to start shaping the vision that she sees for her own company without the little blank boxes staring back at her.
We finish shortly before dinner, and I fire it off to Everleigh before Tatum can second-guess a single answer.
“That was incredible,” she says. “I sat staring at that screen all morning, trying to come up with a single answer, and you managed to help me plow through it in a few hours.”
“I told you, Tate. I'm here to help however I can, whether it's helping you figure out the answers that you're looking for or just helping you find a spot where you're comfortable enough to think.”
“If only you could work some magic on my inbox,” she says, with a bit of regret in her voice. “It's a freaking zoo right now. I open it up and get completely overwhelmed, so I shut down and don't do anything.”
“Allow me to be the first to point out that not doing anything is probably costing you business. It may take some time to get you the kind of assistant you're looking for, but until that time comes, consider me here at your service.”
“And allow me to thank you for your services by giving you a little service of my own.” She wiggles her eyebrows even as her eyes heat over. She gets down on her knees and looks up at me with the salacious look in her eyes that I am an absolute sucker for.
She reaches into the waistband of my shorts and pulls my cock out. She sucks it into her mouth with a voracity that has shudders running down my back.
I slide my hand down to cup around her neck. “Jesus,” I grunt. “You're so fucking gorgeous when you're down on your knees for me.”
Her mouth moves up and down my shaft before she lets go of me to lick around the crown of my cock. A bead of precum leaks out, and she greedily laps it up with her tongue.
This. Her. Her on her knees like this.
Her beside me, walking through life with me.
This is all I've ever wanted, and somehow, some way…it's mine.
Until a text comes through from my Chicago realtor the next morning.
I’m sitting on the terrace with a cup of coffee by myself.
I glance at my phone purely to check the time, but I see a text from Sonny, my realtor back in Chicago.
Sonny: Got an offer on the mansion. Full asking price, cash offer. I just need your green light.
I stare at the text, my chest tightening as I think about what this could mean.
The end of an era, for one thing.
But also, in some ways, anyway, the end of the legacy my father always talks about.
And maybe that’s what this family needs.
We need to let go of the place that once held us all together.
We made our final memories there when we said goodbye to our mother.
Now it’s time to say goodbye to the place, too.
I blow out a breath.
Me: Take it.
It feels like a relief as I hit the send button.
I slide my phone into my pocket as Tatum walks out with her own steaming cup to join me, and it’s such a nice morning out here that I decide to keep that news to myself.