Chapter Sixteen LIAM
Chapter Sixteen
L IAM
Structure is our friend, she’d said when she moved in.
And bloody fucking hell did she mean it. Zoe Valentine had a schedule, and she didn’t deviate from it.
Mira knew it too, dutifully trotting off to mealtime and naptime and bedtime whenever Zoe made her secret little comments that I wasn’t privy to. Those two had a whole private language that they’d developed.
And fuck if I’d ever admit it to her, but I shamelessly eavesdropped, because she had to deal with far fewer temper tantrums from Mira than I did.
I stood in the kitchen, drinking some Gatorade after my workout and watching Mira happily munch away on the exact same macaroni and cheese that she’d initially rebuffed. The same bowl that had made her cry because it tasted “too yucky.”
“Admit it,” I said to Zoe. “You slipped her a twenty, didn’t you?”
She brushed past me in the kitchen. She smelled like lime and vanilla today. “No. I find the hundred-dollar bill is more effective,” she said. “Also, you know, not swearing at her all the time.”
“Funny.” But I felt the furrow in my brow. “I don’t swear at her ,” I argued. “I just ... swear a lot.”
Zoe laughed, a light, happy sound of genuine amusement.
“What?” I barked. “I don’t.”
She shook her head, but unlike at the beginning of all this, it was now paired with a different look in her eye. It wasn’t an I-hate-you-and-actively-wish-violence-on-you shake of the head.
There was warmth there. A fondness that I didn’t dare dissect.
“You have to admit, you swear more than most human beings.”
I crossed my arms. “You got data to back that up? I bet it’s on a spreadsheet somewhere, isn’t it?”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “Do you ever stop and ask yourself why you feel the need to curse so much?”
“No, and I’ll tell you why. First, I’m British. We come out of the womb saying, ‘Bloody hell.’” I started ticking off points on my fingers. “Plus, I read an article once that said there’s a positive psychological effect when someone swears. Pain is lessened. Frustration cools. Stress is reduced.” I set a hand on my chest, speaking in the most condescending voice possible. “I do this for my mental health, Valentine.”
She crossed her arms too, hitching her hip against the counter and pinning me with a look.
I’d started categorizing them, a sick little obsession.
I could tell when she was confused, trying to study my face for some clue that I’d never give her.
I could tell when she was annoyed, likely plotting violence in her head. I loved those looks, if I was being honest.
I could tell when she was feeling feisty, the moments when our banter rode that knife-edge of flirting or something more. We stayed away from that, or tried our very best to, at least.
That line was dangerous, something we’d edged up against only a few times. The first time was when she asked me if I’d be parading groupies through the house, and the second was when she wanted to know why I’d never married.
In both of those moments, I almost asked her if she was jealous. But I didn’t think I could handle her laughing at me. Not about that.
And I could tell on her face when the annoyance slipped into something more thoughtful.
That look scared me.
Sometimes, she and Mira went over to her house for a while, just for a change of scenery and to give me some quiet. Usually in the afternoons so Zoe could get some work done while Mira took her nap at the other house.
It was a boundary, apparently. Some therapy shit her mom had suggested. Keep Mira comfortable in Zoe’s house; make sure that the main house isn’t the only place where she feels safe and secure.
And as much as I hated admitting it, our roommate/coparent situation wasn’t going horribly. I had thought it would. I had thought we’d argue all the time, because Zoe was incapable of backing down.
I loved it. And it was fucking terrible.
Somehow, the forced nature of our situation had bred a fairly peaceful first few weeks of coexistence.
Peaceful if you counted the absolute agony I was going through by being in a confined space with her.
Luckily for me, that agony was something I could live with. I could work it out every single time I was at the gym, let my want of her come out through burning muscles and sweat-soaked skin.
It wasn’t like I thought of her every time I was at the facilities, but there was an extra buzz of energy that I couldn’t quite shake, something that pushed me harder than usual. And my teammates noticed.
Our quarterback walked past me as I pushed through one last rep on the bench, whistling under his breath. “You trying to prove something, Davies?”
I racked the weights, my chest heaving and my muscles shaking. He handed me a sweat towel, and I took it with a nod. “Never.”
He raised his eyebrows. “All right, then.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Trey Wilkins was a great QB, a good leader, even if he was young. He’d been with Denver for four years, sitting on the bench for two until our previous starter ended up leaving for Green Bay. He was levelheaded under pressure, and when every single talking head said he’d be a one-and-done starter, he proved them all wrong.
We won thirteen games his first season under center, and he ran the offense with a steady hand and a knack for reading defenses.
More importantly, after Chris died, he stepped up when it counted. When I was busy breaking chairs in that conference room, he was the first one up and out of his seat, pulling me in for a hug.
It wasn’t one that I wanted. But, in hindsight, it was more than needed.
Anyone who could look the cold, hard rage of grief in the eyes without backing down, without backing away, was fearless.
After he was done with me, he spoke to any player who needed a listening ear. And it seemed like he was now deciding that I was the one who needed a listening ear.
“What?” I asked. Barked it. Yelled. Whatever.
He was undeterred and simply smiled down at me.
“How’s it going with Chris’s little girl?” he asked. When he took a seat on one of the benches next to mine, I pinned him with a hard stare. “What? Can’t I make conversation?”
“This is workout time, not therapy.”
He just laughed.
“It’s not fucking funny, Wilkins.”
Trey shrugged, yanking a hair tie off his wrist so he could pull back his shoulder-length braids. “You still didn’t answer the question. That’s a big transition.”
I grunted.
“You realize I’m just doing the thing you always do to people on this team, right?”
This time, I full-on glared. “Yeah, but I’m old, and everyone knows not to bother me.”
“Except me, apparently.”
“You know, I used to admire you for your cool head, and now I think you should take it elsewhere.”
“Going that good at home?”
He wasn’t going anywhere. That much was obvious. I could push back. I could get up and walk away. But there were just enough young players watching us from the corners of their eyes that I stayed right where I was.
“It’s ... fine,” I admitted. “We moved into Chris and Amie’s house because Mira wanted to stay there. Can’t blame her.”
Sympathy filled his dark eyes, and I didn’t want to see it. “How’s it going with the friend? My wife asked me about her the other day. She asked if Zoe wanted to go out with some of the girls.”
How was it going with the friend? That wasn’t a question I could answer honestly.
She looked fucking adorable in the mornings when she hadn’t brushed her hair yet.
She frowned when she was on her laptop, leaning close to the screen if something didn’t make sense. When I asked her if she needed reading glasses, she flipped me off.
And she favored solid-colored pajama sets. Black and white and light blue and lilac.
When she wore the lilac, I couldn’t look straight at her because it made something in my chest hurt.
At least a few days a week, she wore a Washington Wolves shirt, an eyebrow arched when I frowned, like she was daring me to comment. I’d already snagged her three shirts from the Denver pro shop but hadn’t gotten up the balls to give them to her.
When she laughed, I wanted to snog her senseless, and I had imagined all sorts of scenarios involving the kitchen island.
So, no, I couldn’t answer him honestly.
His eyes sharpened at my long pause.
“We get along well enough,” I growled. I jabbed a finger into the air. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t read anything into that, you great big tall prick.”
Trey laughed, holding up his hands in concession.
But somehow I kept talking. “It’s just ...”
“What?”
Fucking hell, I could hardly say the words. “I may have fucked something up when she moved in.”
Trey studied my face for a moment. “Are you asking for my advice?”
The entire weight room went silent. I swore under my breath.
Rookies stared at the ground but angled in our direction. Newer players bounced their gazes from their weights to us and then back again. A few of the veterans started edging closer.
I rolled my eyes. “Fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath.
“What’d you do?” Trey asked.
Simply as a defensive gesture, I scrubbed my hands over my face. Didn’t work, though, because I could still feel them staring.
“I told her ...” I paused, dropping my hands and blowing out a harsh breath. “I told her that when we first met, I ... I sort of—” I stopped, glancing around the rest of the room, where every single player was shamelessly listening. But the lingering unease I’d been feeling around Zoe pushed me into speaking again. “I told her that when we first met, I liked her. Had a thing for her.”
There were a few whistles. “Idiot,” someone whispered under their breath.
Trey covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes dancing in amusement.
I glared mightily in his direction. “See, you’re laughing at me, you asshole, and I’ll never ask for your advice again.”
Christiansen, one of our receivers, came closer, settling a hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Why’d you tell her?”
“She thought I’d always hated her,” I answered. “And doing what we’re doing ... it’s hard enough without something like that hanging over the situation.”
He nodded.
Another receiver, a young rookie whose name I could never remember, shook his head. “You gave her all the power, man. You never give them all the power. Now you’re fucked because she knows how you feel.”
“Felt,” I barked. “How I felt. I was very clear that this was well in the past and that as soon as I realized she was engaged, it was over.”
Trey’s eyebrows rose. “ Is it over?”
I gave him a look that promised any manner of violence if he persisted with that particular line of questioning.
Wisely, he stopped. He held his hands up again. “Got it.”
When I continued, I kept my tone even, calm, peaceful—all the things that I absolutely did not feel. “Whether it’s in the past or not is irrelevant. Zoe has never had those feelings for me, and I see no reason why that would change. The moment I told her, I wanted to take it back, because now she’s all curious about me and asking a million fucking questions and trying to get to know me better. I can’t help but think that if I’d just let us go on as we were, it would’ve been easier.”
Christiansen nodded sagely. “You probably made her pretty anxious, shifting her entire perspective on your shared history. Now she won’t have any choice but to wonder if the way you’ve acted is a defense mechanism against your own feelings.”
I blinked.
The rookie hummed. “ And he gave her all the power.”
A few guys nodded, murmuring their assent.
I buried my head in my hands. “I am never coming to you lot for advice again. You are rubbish at it.”
Trey laughed, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You did what made sense to you in the moment, Liam. And if it’s given the two of you a bit more peace in the situation, then I don’t think you fucked it up. But I’ve always thought that being honest is the best choice in relationships.”
I lifted my head. “Thanks ... I think.”
“Mira’s three, right?” he asked.
I swiped the towel over my neck. “Not quite. In September.”
Brian, one of the offensive linemen, stepped into the conversation. “You’re planning the party already, right?”
“What party?” I asked.
His face got dead serious. “Bro, you need to throw her the most epic birthday party. Look at the shit year she’s had. I’m talking princesses and bounce houses and those big-ass balloon arches and candy stations and shit.”
Trey tilted his head. “What if she wants action heroes? Not all little girls want to be princesses. My daughter wants to be Hulk.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Fine. Hire Hulk, then.”
Trey smothered a smile. “Or you could keep it simple. Not every kid wants a giant party.”
Brian smacked the back of his head. “Yes, they fucking do. Don’t you do huge parties for your kids?”
“No,” Trey said. “Rochelle and I like family-only birthdays. Kids pick what dinner they want and what games they want to play.”
Brian looked so offended on behalf of Trey’s kids that I almost laughed. Might have if I weren’t drowning in a cold wave of panic.
“How far in advance do you gotta book all that shit?” I asked him.
“Last week,” Brian said. “I’m serious, man. We don’t fuck around with kids’ parties at our house. We hired all the Disney princesses for my daughter’s fourth birthday. Even the mermaid, but you gotta make sure the kids can all swim, because you can’t be putting a mermaid in the pool without knowing if they can swim. Can Mira swim?”
I was getting lightheaded. “I ... don’t think so. She refuses to go in the pool.”
“I’ll give you the name of our swimming instructor. My wife hates how hot she is, but she does a great job with the kids.” He set a hand on my shoulder. “Now, do you need the other number? For the princesses?”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes widened. “Actors, man. They dress up as the characters; they’re so realistic looking. I almost cried when Belle walked in. She was my first childhood crush.”
My voice was rough and uneven when I spoke. “Do they have Moana?”
He nodded slowly. “Oh yeah.”
“Fucking hell, I’ll call today.”
Trey glanced between us. “Shouldn’t you check with the friend?”
I stood from the bench, restless energy making it impossible to sit still. “She’ll be fine. I’ll tell her after I book it.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Brian grinned. “Attaboy.”
“I strongly advise against that, man,” Trey said.
The door to the weight room opened, and as if we’d conjured her through the conversation, there was Zoe, holding Mira’s hand.
You could’ve heard a pin drop on the floor when the guys realized it was her. More than a few eyes darted my way.
I wanted to murder all of them.
Mira glanced around the weight room until she spotted me. The guys greeted her with a mighty roar, and she giggled as she ran past them.
I crouched down, my hands hanging between my legs. “What are you doing here, duck?”
She smiled. “I tell Zoe I wanted to see you.”
Well, fuck.
My heart was likely in a puddle of mush somewhere near the bottom of my feet.
Zoe approached behind her, nodding at the rest of the team—all of whom studied her with open curiosity—her cheeks flushed and her wild golden curls pulled back in a pretty braid.
I wanted to tug on whatever held all that hair back and let it loose. Dig my hands in to see how soft it was. Drown in it.
I was so beyond fucked.
“I hope it’s okay,” she said. “We were running some errands, and when we passed the building, she asked if we could stop.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Security lets anyone in these days, eh?”
She hooked a thumb at Mira. “She’s my golden ticket, apparently.”
Some of the rookies behind Zoe were staring unabashedly at her ass. I straightened, leveling them with my fiercest glare. “Oy!” I yelled. Zoe jumped, slapping a hand to her chest, but I kept my narrowed gaze on the guys behind her. “Go find something else to do,” I barked at them.
She blew out a slow breath, eyes wide in her face. “I guess I should feel comforted that you’re like this with everyone else too.”
Trey stood, holding out his hand to Zoe. “Trey Wilkins. Nice to meet you.”
She took it with a smile. “You too. Chris and Amie always had such nice things to say about you.”
Trey glanced at me. “Not Liam?”
“Liam doesn’t have anything nice to say about anyone.”
Trey laughed.
I rolled my eyes. “Brian,” I said, “why don’t you show Mira the stuff over there?”
His forehead creased in confusion. “What stuff?”
Zoe’s eyes bounced between us.
“Make something up,” I growled. “I need to tell her about the thing .”
“Ahh. Right.” He crouched down. “Come on, Mira, we’ve got some cool ropes you can play with.”
When she nodded, Brian hoisted her up in his massive arms and strode back to the weighted ropes.
Zoe watched them walk away with a soft smile on her face. “I think she misses coming here.” Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, I got a call today. That pediatric therapist the lawyer recommended agreed to take on Mira. We can take her in a couple weeks.”
I took a step closer. “We can talk about that later.”
At the urgency in my voice, Zoe’s eyebrows popped up. “What’s wrong?”
“We fucked up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We didn’t book shit for her birthday party.”
Zoe’s lips twitched. “Liam, we have months until her birthday.”
I leaned in closer. “And I won’t be the reason she doesn’t have fucking Moana at her fucking birthday party. You wanted structure, yeah? Add it to your spreadsheet. I’m calling today.”
So that I didn’t have to hear Zoe laugh or see any fucking glimmer of happiness in her eyes, I started back toward the corner where Mira had gone.
I stopped, pivoting to face Zoe. “And she needs swimming lessons. I’ll deal with it.”
Zoe’s mouth opened, but I turned before she could say anything. I’d pay for all this later, 100 percent, but I couldn’t bring myself to calm the hell down.
Then I paused, glancing back at Valentine. “Want me to bring her home when I’m done? I’ve got about another hour yet.”
Her face morphed with surprise. “You don’t think she’ll get in the way?”
I eyed the corner of the weight room, where Mira had five giant football players gathered around her, doing their best to look like fools in order to make her laugh.
“Nah. She’ll be just fine.”
Zoe snapped a picture of the display in front of us. Then she smiled at me. A real smile too.
My heart could hardly take it.
“Okay. I guess I’ll see you at home, then?”
See you at home. Said like she hadn’t sliced straight through my ribs.
I managed a nod and watched her go tell Mira that she could stay with me. Mira hugged her neck and then ran back into the group of players.
Zoe’s eyes were locked on mine as she walked past, and I felt it through every inch of my body.
Structure, I thought again.
Structure was our friend.
And I’d need a structure forged from iron and steel to keep that woman out. But I could do it.
Maybe.