Chapter 7
JAMIE
Yo dude.
Trainer’s coming to the house tomorrow morning. Eight a.m.
It’s offseason.
That’s a loser’s answer. Be a champion.
I’ve got more Super Bowl rings than you.
And a wife who likes it when I’m in her bed in the morning.
Sorry, brother.
—Text from Jamie to Maverick
“Come on, kid, we’re making a pit stop.” I swing the Escalade into a spot in front of Hopeless Romantics, my cousin Dillan’s bookstore, and shut off the ignition. “I’ve got to pick something up.”
Jonah looks at me in that way only a twelve-year-old can.
Annoyed. “Seriously, man? At a girly looking bookstore? What the hell?” he grumbles and pulls his hat down lower, like he’s worried someone will recognize him on his way in.
“Does the Big Brothers & Big Sisters program know you’re torturing me like this? ”
I started working with Jonah in the offseason once I was traded to the Kings, and even if I couldn’t spend as much time with him during the season as I wished I could, we still managed to fit it in.
His mom is a sweet woman, who works two jobs and worries constantly about Jonah getting into trouble when she’s not around.
Which I could definitely see happening if the kid gets bored.
Not someone who’s great at sitting still.
“I’m pretty sure they’d be okay with it. Who knows, maybe you’ll find a book to read in there. Have you read Lord of the Rings? Or Percy Jackson and The Lightning Thief?” I straighten his hat before we get out of the car. “Books can be pretty cool, you know.”
“Listen, man. I know you get street cred from being the baddest dude on the football field, but even you don’t have enough juice to pull off getting caught going into a pink bookstore.
People are going to think you like this stuff.
” His eyes dart left and right before he shakes his head and hightails it into the store.
Probably hoping no one catches him doing it.
“I do like this stuff,” I tell him as I walk in behind him and smile at Dillan and Kaleigh scanning books behind the counter. “Ladies.”
Jonah’s jaw drops, and he side-eyes me. “You didn’t tell me there’d be hot girls in here, Murphy.”
Dillan puts down her book and shoots a megawatt smile his way. “Yeah well, I’m not really a girl. I’m his cousin.” She offers him her hand. “Dillan. Nice to meet you.”
He looks at her hand and then at me before deciding there’s no harm in shaking it. “Jonah.”
“Nice to meet you, Jonah.” She motions next to her to the small woman with the purple streak in her blonde hair. “This is my friend, Kaleigh.”
Kaleigh laughs. “I’m a girl.”
Jonah nods with the confidence of someone twice his age. “Nice hair.”
She twirls the purple strands around her fingers, knowing exactly what’s she’s doing, and Jonah blushes before she even speaks. “Thanks, cutie.”
“So ladies, I know you focus on romance, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few other genres stocked too. Anything my man here might be interested in?” I barely get the words out before Dillan rounds the corner, beaming with excitement.
Books are her favorite language, and my cousin has made them her whole life and her whole business. Between the shop and the best-selling romantasy series she launched last year, she’s got us all reading about shadow daddies and dragon-riding badasses on the regular.
I catch Jonah before he follows behind Dillon. “Do not hit on her,” I warn, and the fucker’s grin makes me laugh. Twelve going on twenty-seven.
“Hey, Jamie.” Kaleigh gets my attention.
“I saw Ryker yesterday, and he mentioned that your house guest’s sister is three months old .
. .” I nod but don’t say anything. It doesn’t seem like she’s looking for an answer as she grabs something from the backroom and comes back out with her hands full.
“My sister insists she’s absolutely done having babies and said I could give these to Ashton if I wanted to. ”
The normally loud woman looks unsure as she hands me two tote bags filled with clothes.
“I’m not trying to overstep or anything, but I read between the lines of what you and Ryker were saying, and it sounds like maybe .
. .” She hesitates, fisting the bags. “Whatever. Just let her know, if she wants these, my niece barely wore them, she was growing so fast.”
“Thanks, Kaleigh. I’m sure she’ll appreciate them.” She might not appreciate me giving them to her, but I’ll just keep that part to myself.
Kaleigh props her hand on her hips and goes from smiling to glaring in a heartbeat. “Why are you guys basically hiding her?”
“Dramatic much, blondie?” I tease. “We’re not hiding her. She’s just a little . . . overwhelmed.”
“Ryker says she doesn’t like you,” she challenges as Jonah and Dillan come back with the entire Harry Potter collection in hand, and I pass Dillan my credit card.
I swear to God I’m surrounded by gossipy little dicks. “Yeah well, Ryker’s got a big mouth, but he’s not wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Dillan asks as she rings me up for the books.
“Jamie’s newest roommate hates him,” Kaleigh announces like it’s big news.
“Smart girl,” my cousin laughs. “We’re going to meet her eventually, Jamie.”
“You act like that’s a threat, Dillan. She’s Finn’s best friend, not mine,” I remind her as she hands Jonah the books in a Hopeless Romantics bag.
“Whatever you say, Jameson.”
Jonah bends in half, laughing his little ass off. “Jameson. She full-named you, Murphy.”
I flick the back of his head as we walk outside where more snow has started to fall, wondering why the girls want to meet Ashton so badly and why exactly I feel the need to protect her?
She’s not mine.
But she was for one night, and fuck if that doesn’t mess with my head.
Ashton
Iset the baby monitor on the floor in the corner of the basement gym and hit play on my favorite Lilah Ryan playlist before I sit and stretch my legs.
Whenever I need to think, I dance. I’ve been doing it for a lifetime. It’s the only thing that’s ever helped me work through my emotions, and those bitches are running wild at the moment.
Text from my roommate saying she boxed my stuff up and sent it to me—check.
Another text with the UPS receipt and QR code for her Venmo account—check, check.
A final text, asking if I had the money for rent until they found my replacement—damn. Don’t I just feel loved and missed already?
And that was all before I got another attempted collect call from the Philadelphia Women’s Correctional Facility which I declined.
But the final nail in the shit-tastic day’s coffin was the one from Dad.
Dad
Hey, hon. Circling back to that thing with your mom. Making sure I don’t need to handle anything on my end.
Since fuck you is never an appropriate answer to your father, I left him on read, blessedly got Kyrie down after her bath, grabbed the monitor, and decided to check out Jamie’s gym.
I was hoping for a treadmill or maybe a rowing machine.
I wasn’t prepared for the state-of-the-art gym this man has hiding in his basement, or the way half the room is lined in mirrors and floors with a beautiful give to them.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised, but it’s the best surprise I could have stumbled on.
I need this.
Once my muscles are loose and warm, I get lost in the music, the beautiful acoustic sounds of Audrey St. Clair and the way it mixes with the static of Kyrie’s monitor, and just . . . dance.
One song gives way to the next, and I lose track of time.
Of everything but the moment inside this room.
I find my center.
I find my spot.
The one that keeps the world from spinning out of control as I’m whipping out pirouettes.
It’s that crack in the wall . . . in that perfect facade. That spot in every studio . . . on every stage . . . in every basement I’ve ever danced in. The one that helps me find balance in the madness. In the chaos.
My constant.
With each revolution, the spot stays the same, and I keep my balance.
I keep from spinning out. From falling on my face.
I keep the chaos from winning.
But there’s always that one moment.
That tiny fraction of a split-second where I have to let go. Where I lose the visual and have to trust that I’ll find it again as my head whips around.
When I have to have faith and just trust.
Two things I struggle with every day.
And tonight, as I turn and turn and turn, the room flying around me at dizzying speeds, I almost forget—the pain. The fear. The chaos. Almost convince myself I’m in control.
Until I’m not.
When I throw myself into the last turn, then dramatically drop to the floor and lie down, my arms and legs flat against the cool mat and my eyes closed as I take deep, cathartic breaths, the clapping starts.
Holy shit.
“Damn, Ace.” Not him . . . I turn my head toward the door and open my eyes to find exactly who I already knew was going to be there.
“That was incredible.” Jamie moves around the floor until he’s standing above me, looking as frustratingly beautiful as ever.
“You were incredible . . . I forgot—I haven’t seen you dance in years. ”
“How long have you been down here?” I bring my knees up to my chest and smooth my hair away from my face, trying to look less frazzled than I feel because I remember the last time he saw me dance in vivid clarity. I remember every single second of that night.
“Long enough to know you can’t give up dancing,” he says matter-of-factly.
“What?” With my phone in hand, I pause my playlist, confused, and push up to my feet.
“I know you’re trying to figure out the whole work thing.
But seriously, Ashton. You were—are . . .
damn. You’re really talented. Don’t give that up.
We’ll help you figure out what to do with Kyrie.
Maybe find a nanny or a babysitter or something.
We can help. But seriously, you’ve got a gift. Don’t waste it.”
I look away and let my eyes run over the weight bench in the corner of the room. Anything to not have to look at him right now as I push up to my feet. “What did I say about liking you better when you’re a jerk, Murphy?”
He catches my chin with his fingers and drags my face back to his. “Has anyone ever told you you’re like a damn honey badger, Ace?”
“A what?” I laugh and pull away, picking up the baby monitor, ready to get the hell out of this confined space that didn’t feel so confined until Jamie sucked all the oxygen from the room.
“Vicious little things that look cute but will eat your face. You kind of remind me of them.” He smiles, and I want to laugh at him. With him. But I roll my eyes instead because this is where we work. The only way we work. Because Jamie is great when he’s here, but he doesn’t stay.
“Here.” He holds up two tote bags and leaves them hanging in front of me.
“What’s this?” I ask, scared to take them.
“My friend had some baby clothes she didn’t need. She wanted you to have them.”
His friend . . . ?
“She . . .” I push, trying really freaking hard to ignore the jealousy that sparks with that single word. What the hell is with that, and why the hell am I jealous of anything pertaining to him? He’s not mine. Not my friend. Not my anything.
Just a mistake.
“Yeah, Kaleigh. Her sister has a little girl and just had a baby boy, but she’s done having kids. She thought maybe some of this would fit Kyrie.”
My heart sinks, thinking about one of Jamie’s wealthy, perfect friends taking pity on me. Even worse. Who’s this woman? Does she mean something to him? Did she mean something when we— I can’t even go there. “I’m nobody’s charity case, Jamie.”
“Charity case? What the hell are you even talking about?” he snaps.
Guess I hit a nerve.
Good. So did he.
Jamie drops the bags in front of me, disgusted. “Don’t be stupid, Ashton. You needed help, and she wanted to help.”
“Stupid?” I spit back at him, fire burning my veins. “I may be a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them, Murphy.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Sure, you didn’t.” I don’t want to hear this. Not now. Not after today. “How does she even know I need help?” I whisper, so angry that I’m shaking for a whole different reason now.
“Ashton—”
“No. Don’t. Don’t do this. I can’t do this. Not now. Not ever.” I turn away from him, needing space, but Jamie grabs my wrist before I can escape. “Seriously . . . what am I even doing here?”
“You’re here because everybody needs people to lean on, Ashton.
It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
” He forces me to look at him, and I want to scream at what I see staring back at me.
“The house is big. Avoid me if you want. But you’re here because this is where you’re supposed to be.
And at some point, we’re going to talk about this shit. ”
“Jamie . . . I can’t—” I yank my hand away, and he stares at me like he wants to fight me on this.
Our eyes stay locked in a war. Neither of us willing to look away first.
Until he does, and I offer up a silent prayer of thanks.
“Life dealt you a shit card. I get it. I know you’re dealing with it the best you can. But you don’t have to do it alone. Let us help you, Ashton.”
God, why does he have to go and do that?
It really is easier to deal with this man when he’s an ass.
Heartfelt Jamie is just . . . Damn it. He’s too much.
And I’m not sure how to handle him.
“You know what?” I admit softly. Exhausted, no fight left in me.
So I do what’s become second nature and paste on a smile, one I’ve perfected from years of performing.
“I’ve had a really bad day and just took it out on you.
I shouldn’t have done that.” I pick up the bags and straighten my spine.
“Please tell your friend thank you for me.”
And then I get the hell out of the basement before I can step any closer to this man and beg him to make me forget everything.