20. Griffin
Chapter twenty
Griffin
“ E verything good with you?” Beau asks, one brow cocked and his attention fixed on my bouncing knee.
Nodding, I shove the crossword back into my bag. I give up on trying to find calm in the orderly black-and-white squares. They usually work like a charm, but I’m too on edge today.
I woke up like this, aching for Brynn, and the sensation hasn’t dulled since. After our bye, we were fortunate to have two home games in a row, so this is our first weekend apart since we made it official. Hell, we’ve been separated for a little over twenty-four hours, and I’m a wreck. I fucked her before I left yesterday, thinking that would be enough to get me through this road trip, but it only made me want to stay tangled up in her, football be damned.
Yeah, that’s a fucking terrifying development.
Never in my life have I wanted to put anyone or anything above this sport. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. The only thing I’ve ever nurtured.
Then a five-nine adorably nerdy, sexy as fuck brunette crashes into my life and wrecks my priorities.
Since the crossword didn’t do the trick, I seek a different way to shake these unsettled nerves. I open my camera roll and scroll back a few months, searching for the picture I’ve looked at more times than I’d ever admit .
It’s a screenshot I saved from the night Brynn agreed to experience Memphis with me. I discovered it later that night, while lying in bed, on the Blues’ Instagram page. The social media department had posted a series of shots from the season-ticket event at the Peabody. I sat up when I recognized the girl in the picture as the one I’d shared a sausage and cheese plate with hours before. Brynn and King, the Blues’ hound dog mascot. Don’t ask me why, but I was compelled to save the picture on my phone.
Now I can’t imagine my life without the beautiful smile or big brown eyes that shine on my screen.
Brynn Nelson has become a necessity. I need her like my lungs need oxygen.
But I also need to learn how to deal with being apart from her. The guys in this locker room are counting on me to pull my weight out there today.
Sudden exclamations from teammates across the room draw my attention. Carlos, Tyrell, and Devon are huddled up, heads bent over a phone.
When Carlos’ shocked face morphs into one of disgust, Beau and I wander over to check it out.
“Cap, have you watched any of these?” Devon asks as we approach. He holds his phone up. “Hydraulic press videos.”
The video shows a huge machine crush a watermelon to bits, and ribbons of the smashed fruit shoot out through round holes in the base of the press.
“Yeah, some of them are pretty gnarly.” Beau laughs.
“We’ve got a little competition going to see who can find the grossest ones.”
This is not what I usually fall into before a game, but it’ll work, so until it’s time for pregame warm-ups, I let my teammates and their strange videos distract me from this twitchiness in my gut .
In the middle of the first quarter, after a not-so-auspicious start, Beau finds me on the sideline. “You sure you’re good? You don’t have a crazy high fever again, do you?”
Hands braced on my hips, I catch my breath. “No. Why?”
My friend narrows his eyes. “You ran the wrong route on second and eight.”
“I read the coverage wrong, man. Sorry.”
And I deserve the call-out. My mind blanked when he called the play, and then my ass was double-teamed. I couldn’t get open, but had I run the correct route, we probably would’ve gotten the first down.
Turns out, that missed route was the least of our worries. Jefferson and I both drop passes in the first half, and Beau throws a pick late in the second quarter. Our offense can’t find our rhythm, and the defense spends so much time on the field, they’re exhausted at the half. Mundy doesn’t yell often, even when we’re down in a game, but he chews our asses at halftime.
Since we won the toss and deferred, we get the ball at the start of the second half. The crowd noise in this stadium—notorious for being the loudest in the league—is deafening after we break the huddle and step to the line to begin our opening drive. I scan the defense, calm my breathing, prepare for muscle memory to take over.
Beau’s called for a play-action pass. From my stance, I brace for the snap. There’s no way I’ll hear his cadence with the noise. But before our center snaps the ball, I flinch, and a flag is thrown.
“False start, number 89. Five-yard penalty. Repeat first down.”
And it’s all downhill from there. I get called for holding later in the quarter, and on our next drive, I drop another ball. Greenway makes a costly fumble in the red zone that results in our opponents scoring a field goal. When Beau throws another interception at the beginning of the fourth, I charge down the field to make the tackle, but my legs run out of steam before I can stop the guy from scoring. We end up losing by an embarrassing margin, and we don’t score a single touchdown.
It’s our worst game of the season so far. Sure, it was a team loss, and several of my teammates made bad plays. But I fucked up the most.
We’re all quiet as we file into the locker room, even Coach.
The mood is somber as we shower and change. Coach takes Beau and a defenseman to the media area for the visiting team, and the rest of us are left to deal with the members of the media who are allowed into the locker room for postgame interviews.
When SNN’s Blues reporter makes a beeline for me, I mutter a “fuck” before pasting on a fake smile.
Andrea aims her phone my way and starts her interview. “Griffin, thoughts on today’s loss?”
My stomach knots. I don’t want to do this. I’m ready to board the plane and get home to my woman. But duty calls.
“It was a tough loss. We made too many mistakes, and they capitalized on every one. I’ve got to play better going forward, and this team is committed to finishing the rest of the season strong. We’ll regroup this week and put in the hard work so we’re prepared for the next one.”
Fuck, I deserve a gold star for that soundbite—not a single curse.
Andrea’s bleach blond hair sways as she gives her head a tiny shake and pinches her lips together. Not the reaction she was going for, then. I square my shoulders and lift the strap of my bag, hoping she takes the hint.
She doesn’t. Instead, her eyes take on a cunning glint, and she goes in for the kill. “There’s been quite a bit of speculation about your new relationship floating around social media the past couple weeks. What, if any, impact has that attention had on your focus on the field? ”
My blood boils at her audacity. But by some miracle, I keep my features neutral when I answer. “My personal life has always been and will always be just that—personal. My life off the field is separate from this.” I heft my bag onto my shoulder and dip my chin. “Thanks for the time, Andrea.” Duty served, I head out to the team bus to wait for the rest of the guys.
While I wait, I check my phone. There are several unread messages on our Lacey family thread and one from my friend Mel, my buddy Cordell’s girlfriend. She critiques my clothing choices before every game. I save those for later and tap on the name that steadies my heart and soothes my stress.
Brynn
I did a Google search for the most inspiring quotes about losing. But none of them felt right. So I’m going to send you an original Brynn Nelson quote instead, one composed just for you.
“You might have lost the game, but you’ve totally won my heart.”
Too cheesy? Perhaps. But a wise man once told me that I’m an amazing badass who can do anything. Surely that includes writing motivational quotes?
I miss you. See you soon.
Fuck, I love her.
She makes me laugh and eases my worries and turns me on, all at once.
The last-minute offer from the Blues was like a checkdown pass Beau relies on when his primary options are covered—it was my last resort. A life preserver when I was drowning in uncertainty about my future in this sport. But that Hail Mary has not only given me another season of football. It’s given me the greatest gift of my life: Brynn.
I type out a quick reply.
You’re perfect, professor. Leaving for airport. Can’t wait to kiss you.
I nap for half of the four-hour flight home and spend the rest of the trip catching up on the latest chapter of Brynn’s book.
We land in Memphis after midnight, and then we’re shuttled back to the Blues’ facility, where our cars wait in the player lot. I’m gathering my things, ready to follow the guys off the bus, when someone up front makes an announcement.
“Coach called a brief meeting. Said it would take fifteen minutes, tops.”
A collective groan ripples through the bus. This is the last thing any of us want to do after that shit show of a game and the grueling journey home. We expect the ass-chewing tomorrow when we review game film, but to endure it tonight, too?
“Let’s get this over with.” Beau slaps my shoulder as we shuffle down the aisle.
To my surprise, Coach Mundy’s brief speech is upbeat. The dejected, disappointed expressions we wore when we entered the room are transformed by his words, and I’m in a much lighter mood when he’s through.
Until I encounter a jackass on my way out of the building.
Jack and another suit wait near the mouth of the hall that leads to the coaches’ offices. Players file by, heading to the exit, and I keep pace. Muscles tensed, I’m determined to avoid eye contact with the jerk as I pass him, but he has the balls to speak up.
“Tough game, Racy.”
I freeze, and to my left Beau mutters, “Keep moving.” But I refuse to let this douche get the last word.
He juts his chin and slips his phone into his shirt pocket as I step closer. Even though I’ve got over half a foot and at least sixty pounds on him, he doesn’t flinch or back down. If anything, my attention makes him bolder.
He narrows ice-blue eyes and sneers. “You know what they say: women weaken legs.”
My anger flares. Women weaken legs. Athletes hear that bullshit all the time. Coaches recite that line to make players think twice about partying and hooking up.
Behind me, a small audience has gathered. I can feel them. I should be the bigger person and walk away.
I’ve won the girl, after all.
But I don’t fucking have it in me tonight.
“The only legs that are weak are my woman’s when I make her come.”
His face grows red and his jaw goes rigid as the crowd erupts in oohs and damns , and before I can even smirk, he slams his fist into my cheekbone.
As I register his reaction, Beau steps between us and gently pushes me back. “Don’t,” he warns, his voice low, while our teammates shout, encouraging me to retaliate.
Behind Beau, Jack shakes and unclenches his fist. I can’t help but grin as I watch. That punch hurt him more than it hurt me. Physically, yes. But also professionally.
When he notices my smile, he lunges for me again, but his buddy restrains him. “Let him go, Jack. He’s not worth it.” I’ve never seen this dude before, which tells me he must not be high up in the organization or he’s a new hire. But he has the audacity to curl his lip and grate out, “Everyone knows his reputation. He’ll move on to the next one soon.” Then he lifts his chin, raises his voice, addressing the gathered group, and says, “Watch out for Mr. Steal Your Girl here.”
I give Beau’s bicep a slap, and he releases me. I stretch my spine and use my bulk to intimidate the two wusses who now eye me with concern.
“Nah. I didn’t steal her. He lost her. But I’m damn sure keeping her, because she is a fucking treasure.”
With that, I walk away to a smattering of applause.
Beau is on my heels. “Shit, Griff, that could’ve gone south real quick.”
“Thanks for having my back.”
As we step out into the cold night, the icy air does wonders to cool me down.
Beau reaches his vehicle first, but before he gets in, he spins my way. “Losing sucks, but being your teammate definitely does not. Brynn’s a lucky woman, Lacey.”
“Aw, Dempsey, that was fucking beautiful.” I place a hand on my heart.
He rolls his eyes, but his smile is clear, even in the dim parking lot.
“Love you, too, Cap. See you tomorrow.”
The Memphis streets are all but deserted at this time of night. As I drive, I scrub a hand over my face, eager for the warmth waiting for me in my bed. Our bed. We’ve shared it every night since I made her mine, and I’ve begun bringing random items of hers downstairs when she’s not home. Her toothbrush is slotted next to mine in the cabinet, her bras and panties have their own drawer in the dresser, and Barnaby is right at home against her pillow.
Her plan was to move out after the holidays, but there’s no way I’ll let that happen. We haven’t discussed it yet, but we will. Soon. I’m ready to lock this woman down in every way .
When I step into the apartment, the old-timey musical Brynn loves floats through the air, and the brightly dressed actors on the TV are lining up for a barn dance. Other than the faint strains of music from the movie, the apartment is still. Brynn’s a lump on the couch, curled up in a soft blanket with Barnaby in her arms. When I catch sight of the Oklahoma T-shirt she’s wearing, my favorite, I swallow the burn in my throat.
I lower to the coffee table, rest my elbows on my knees, and exhale. The pressure and unsteadiness of the day melt away as I watch her chest rise and fall in steady breaths. I’m overwhelmed by her. By how much I love her.
I’m also overwhelmed with exhaustion, so I curve my hand over her hip and give her a gentle shake.
“Baby. Wake up.”
Blinking, she stretches her legs, then sets her eyes, unfocused, on me. When awareness settles, she gives me a sleepy smile. “You’re home.”
“Yeah. Were you waiting up for me?”
“Trying to.” She pushes herself up.
I angle forward and help her, then sigh when she frames my face and softly kisses me.
She hums against my lips and wraps her arms around me. “Missed you.”
“Missed you, too, baby.” I drop my head to her shoulder and bury my face in her neck, inhaling that sweet-and-floral scent I love.
She pulls back, assessing me, and then her eyes narrow, and she grasps my chin to angle my head to the side. “What happened?”
I wince when she probes the spot on my cheekbone with her fingertips. “Cheap shot.”
She glowers. “From who?” she asks, her voice pure steel.
Fuck, my woman is ready to throw down for me .
Her stunning fierceness makes my pulse quicken, but I smooth my hands down her back and rest them on her hips, letting the feel of her settle me. “No one that matters.”
“Hmm.” She searches my face for a beat, but then her posture relaxes. With her hands on my shoulders again, she begins massaging. “Sorry about the game.”
I sigh. “I sucked today.”
She squeezes my traps, but she remains silent. I love that she doesn’t spout platitudes. She lets me sit in this space for as long as I need to. And she understands that I need to process the loss and work through it on my own, but she ensures I’m not alone as I do it.
This silent support is just one more reason I love her.
“Brynn Nelson, you’re a goddamn miracle, you know that?”
She gives me a confused frown, her brow furrowing, but I kiss the expression away, and when we break apart, her lips part in wonder.
Hypnotized by her, held hostage in her gaze, I confess the monumental secret I’ve been keeping from her: “I love you, Brynn.”
Tears brim and her voice wobbles. “Griff—”
“I’m so fucking in love with you, it overwhelms me. The way I feel for you—it’s intense and passionate and ferocious and soft and so goddamn sweet. But it’s fucking perfect. Because you are perfect.”
She blinks, and the tears crest her lashes. When a beautiful smile overtakes her face, I cup her cheeks and swipe the wetness with my thumbs. Then I get lost in kissing her. Four perfect kisses—one for every month I’ve known her.
She opens her mouth and inhales, ready to respond, but I cut her off. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to say it back to me, not until you’re ready. And I don’t care how long that takes. We belong to each other and—”
“Griffin, I love you, too.”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. My heart pounds so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if she could see the outline of it stretching my shirt like I’m some zany cartoon character.
Her beaming smile becomes a laugh. Quickly, though, it melts away, and her features soften. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you rescued me from the Peabody. How could I not love you? You’re charming and kind and funny and strapping .”
I wag my brows, and she huffs a laugh.
“I love your spirit,” she murmurs. “I love that you make me brave. When I’m with you, I feel like I can fly.”
I grin. “Like a dragon?”
“Like a badass dragon.” She snorts a laugh.
“Baby.” I kiss her again, tasting the saltiness of her tears. “Please say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Good girl. Feel free to say it every time I make you smile. Now let’s go to bed.”
I slip my hands under her ass, the silkiness of her panties warm against my palms, and when I stand, she wraps her arms and legs around me like a koala, smashing Barnaby between our chests. In our bedroom, I lower her to the bed and shed my clothes, then climb into the cool, crisp sheets. She waits until I get comfortable, and when she snuggles into my side, my shoulder becomes her pillow.
We whisper our newfound oath to each other, and when her breathing evens out, I follow her into oblivion.