Chapter 14 Jamie
JAMIE
Friends who insult each other are brutally honest and incredibly loyal.
Basically, the bigger the asshole, the better the friend.
—Text from Hendrix to Jamie
“You want to tell me what the fuck is up your ass?” Maverick bitches once our training session ends and throws a football at my face. “You haven’t cracked a joke or an insult the whole time we’ve been in here, Murph.”
“Come on, man.” I catch the ball and spin it on my finger, ignoring the uneasy feeling I haven’t been able to shake.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that.
” Forcing a laugh, I toss it back to him and deflect, deflect, deflect.
“Seriously though, you’re not actually giving me hell, right?
You’re about to go away for what—three weeks, and you finally decided to show up to train?
Have fun when camp starts in July and your fat ass can’t stop shit. ”
“The hell does that have to do with you being a pissy bitch?”
I wipe the sweat from my face and shrug like the smug bastard I am.
“We’re playing like that, huh? I see how it is,” the cocky fucker taunts as he grabs his water and grins. “I can still kick your ass.”
“You’d have to catch me first—”
“Pretty sure we all know I’d kick both your wrinkly, old asses,” Ryker jokes as he joins us, his towel draped over the top of his head and a shit-eating grin spread wide across his face. “Probably have saggy balls too.”
“Fuck you.” Mav shakes his head and throws an arm around his brother as we head out of the training facility and toward the driveway. “Now, I’ll let you keep your balls attached to your body if you can tell me what the hell is going on with your roomie here.”
“Delusional,” Ryker signs but I can already tell he’s about to side with his brother. “Ashton’s been ignoring him.”
Douche.
“Not exactly,” I grumble. Should have known the dick would rat me out.
“Then what, exactly?” Mav pushes harder as we stop next to his car.
Ryker glances between us like he’s watching a tennis match and he’s bored.
“The hot ballerina doesn’t give him the time of day .
. . Sound familiar, Mav? You two and your damn dancers are exhausting.
And as much as I’d love to stand here and dissect Murphy’s lack of a love life, I’ve got better things to do. ”
“Like what?” Mav and I both ask.
“Whatever.” He flips us off. “I’ve got to shower and pack. Mom threatened to stop by and do it for me when I talked to her earlier.”
Mav crosses his arms over his chest and looks down the one inch he’s got over his brother. “Never good when you’ve got to remind Mommy you’re a man, little brother.”
“Like she didn’t do your laundry until you met Emmie.” This time, both Ryker’s middle fingers go up as he walks away.
“She stopped doing my laundry when I moved out,” Mav grumbles without shame.
The Kingston-Beneventi crew is about to leave for their annual three-week trip to the family’s private island before football season starts. Not exactly a rough life. And while I’d normally head down with them for part of the trip, this year I’ve got better things to focus on.
Like the woman hiding inside my house somewhere.
“Have fun on the island, shithead.” I smack Mav’s shoulder and push him just a little bit because, seriously, what are friends for? “Try not to get caught having sex by your kid this year.”
Mav’s chest shakes with silent laughter. “Listen, Rosie still thinks I was helping Emmie put aloe on her sunburn.” He shakes his head, and his mouth tips up. “Thank fuck, she bought it.”
“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other chances to scar her throughout her life,” I remind him. “Seriously, man. Have fun. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“You really not going to tell me what was bothering you earlier?” He opens the door and throws his gym bag in the backseat of his SUV. “Has something changed with you and Ashton?”
I look over at my house . . . at the dim light shining in her bedroom window and wish Ryker was wrong, but he’s not. Not completely. “It’s a fluid situation.”
“Don’t give me that shit, Jamie. Everyone else might let you get away with it, but they haven’t known you your whole damn life.
They don’t know you were half in love with that girl in high school.
They didn’t watch you pull away from her after Evan died.
They weren’t there when you pulled away from all of us.
How many women have you been into over the past decade? ”
“Fuck, man. It’s complicated,” I admit, not liking the way it sounds coming from him.
“No, it’s not. Answer the question.”
Loyal fucking asshole.
“For more than a night?” I ask, but here’s the thing, I don’t need clarification.
His answer doesn’t matter because mine is the same either way.
But Maverick sees through it anyway. “Does she matter, Murph? Does she matter to you?”
“She’s always mattered. I’m just the asshole who let her think she didn’t.” I look at the house again.
The look on Mav’s face says everything he isn’t.
The way only a best fucking friend can.
“I’m not having this conversation with you. Not now. Not until I’ve talked to her. I love you like a brother, man, but I’m not you. I don’t need to be pushed to make a move. The move’s been made. The decision has been made.”
I don’t need the shove he needed.
I’m not the one with the trust issues he had. But I’m pretty sure that woman up there has trust issues big enough they make Mav’s look like a walk in the park. And I’m not going to earn her trust by talking to him and not her.
“I’ll let you know what’s going on when I’m ready.” I smack his stomach and lift my chin. “Have fun in the Caribbean. Try not to get soft while you’re there.”
“Damn, Jamie. I’m not sure when you turned into the mature one of us, but good for you. Don’t waste time like I did. Don’t push her away. We both know life’s too damn short for that shit.”
Yeah . . . Yeah, we do.
“Kiss my girls for me.” I duck the second the words are out of my mouth.
Yup. Still faster.
“My girls, Murphy. Go fucking get your own.”
“Yeah,” I yell over my shoulder as I head for the house. “I’m working on it.”
For my girls.
For Ashton and Kyrie.
Yeah . . . I’m working on it.
Thirty minutes later, I’m showered, shaved, and a man on a mission.
One that’s fucking with my head a little more than I’d like.
My entire life, I’ve been the easygoing friend. I’m a lot like my dad in that way. At least that’s what our family has always said, even if they were bitching about it half the time.
Fucking sue me. I’d rather be happy than miserable. I never saw the reasoning behind being the broody asshole. Maverick and a few of the others were better at that than I was anyway.
But it’s bitten me in the fucking ass too.
The amount of times I’ve been underestimated because I’m not the brooding dick—because I’d rather fucking smile—yeah, it’s too high to count.
In almost thirty years, letting everyone assume I wasn’t serious about anything has only ever bothered me once.
Most of the time, I’d rather someone underestimate me. Dumb fucks don’t realize they’re giving me the upper hand . . . and never see me coming.
But that one fucking time . . . I’ve had to live with the consequences of that one fucking time for over a damn decade. And I’m about done living with it.
Ashton’s door is open and her room is dark as I walk by. Same with Kyrie’s.
Guess baby girl wasn’t in the mood for bed just yet. Time to find my girls.
I make my way downstairs, but the rest of the house is as empty as their rooms.
Finn’s at the hospital, and hopefully Ryker’s getting his shit packed so his mom doesn’t show up tonight, even if that would be funny as hell. Gus joins me once I reach the back hall, his face brushing my calf until I reach down and scratch behind his ears. “Hey, buddy. Where are the girls?”
My lazy bulldog’s droopy eyes stare at me for a beat, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, and he blinks before trotting ahead, basically forcing me to follow him like he’s the human and I’m the one trained.
He stops and sits in front of the closed basement door, and I’m pretty sure if he could say hey, asshole, they’re down here, he would.
A hauntingly beautiful song plays just softly enough for me to recognize it as I open the door. Damn dog was right. I drop my hand back down to scratch Gus’s ears again. Guess he’s smarter than I gave him credit for. “Good job, bud.”
His stubby tail wags happily before he leisurely wanders over to his bed and plops down, resting his head on his favorite stuffed animal, seemingly exhausted. Or maybe just content to hand off the protection duties he takes so seriously to someone else for the night.
Halfway down the stairs, I find the girls, and I swear to God something primal wraps around my chest as I look at them.
Both of them.
My girls.
Mine.
Kyrie sleeps soundly in her swing. The pink stuffed dinosaur, wearing a black Philadelphia Kings jersey Dad gave her, is tucked neatly next to her and is nearly as big as she is. I’m surprised they both fit in the swing.
The little sleeping princess is wearing a purple and white polka dot pajama set that Mom dropped off last week because my parents have anointed themselves grandparents, whether they admit it or not. Hell, I’d be surprised if one of them hasn’t already set up a college fund at this rate.
And as much as watching this little girl sleep relaxes me, it also triggers something within me I’ve never felt before.
Not like this. Not even with Rosie. This kid owns me already.
In just the few months she’s been here, she claimed my heart like no one ever has.
She’s not mine. But I want her to be. I want to be the person who chases away all her bad dreams and future asshole boyfriends.
I want to be more than the goofy guy whose house she lives in.
For her and her big sister.
And I know I’m done ignoring this thing between us.