2. Brock Jones
Chapter two
Brock Jones
I’ve learned to expect the unexpected in my line of work.
Athletes tend to get themselves into unique situations.
Something about the combination of millions of dollars and a pack of adoring fans makes people do wild things.
But even with all of that experience, I didn’t expect a leggy brunette dressed for a night out to come strutting onto my office floor well after working hours.
I rub my bleary eyes. Is she a mirage? I didn’t think I was at the hallucination stage of sleep deprivation quite yet. When I blink my eyes open once more, she’s closer–and clearer. I scowl.
“What are you doing here, Duke?” I ask.
Ariel gifts me with a sarcastic smile as she drops a bag on my desk, right on top of the contract I was looking over.
“Nice to see you too, Carolina.”
Sometime during our college years, the bitter rivalry between Duke and the University of North Carolina bled into my interactions with Ariel.
She’s not even that big of a sports fan, which only worsens my irritation, but she despised the way I teased her and Sutton about going to an inferior school.
Calling each other by our school’s names came about during a heated basketball game our junior year. They’ve stuck around ever since.
“What’s this?” I gesture to the bag.
“I knew you weren’t the brightest when you chose to go to UNC, but I thought you could at least read.”
She plops down in the chair across from me. I glare at her for a second before glancing at the logo on the bag. Bella Notte. One of my favorite places.
“Your sister is worried about you,” Ariel explains. “She sent me here to check on you and make sure you ate.”
“I’m not a child,” I snap.
Her eyebrows raise. “Could have fooled me.”
She kicks her feet up on the edge of my desk, next to a framed photo of my family and my best friend Shaw at his and my sister Sutton’s wedding.
My eyes follow the long line of her legs to the hem of her black dress.
She’s wearing matching black tights, along with tall heels and a burgundy blazer.
I have to force myself to look away from her.
Maybe I am sleep-deprived. There’s no way I was just staring at Ariel , my sister’s best friend, of all people.
“Pass me my fettuccine and a fork, would you?”
“You could at least say please,” I grumble as I riffle through the bag.
There’s a bag of bread, a container with what looks to be my favorite lasagna, one of fettuccine, and a smaller one with a slice of some caramel-covered monstrosity.
I don’t have a sweet tooth, so I’d be willing to bet that’s Ariel’s.
“Since you’ve yet to thank me for bringing you food, I think I’ll hold off on the pleasantries.” She lays the snark on thick.
I slide the box with a fork on top over to her. “Did you really go out to get food just because of me?”
She opens the box, the smell of garlic and cheese reminding me that I haven’t eaten since the protein bar I had on the way to work this morning. I’m suddenly ravenous, and hurry to open my container of food.
“I was already at Bella Notte when Sutton called, so it worked out.”
“You dress up like this for takeout?” I ask, and she shoots me a glare.
“So what if I do?” I hold my hands up in surrender. She rolls her eyes. “I was on a date.”
My eyes roam over the food. Her fork stabs a touch too aggressively into her pasta.
“It obviously wasn’t a good one,” she adds.
“Must have been pretty terrible to have you leaving before the food arrived.”
Her expression shifts to something less angry and more sad. “Yeah, it was.”
“Did he do something to hurt you?” Protectiveness flares in my chest. “I can have one of my MMA clients pay him a visit.”
While we don’t always get along, Ariel is Sutton’s best friend, and we’ve known each other for years. I’ll always have her back.
She lets out a bitter laugh. “If you can find him, be my guest. He never showed up.”
I take a bite of my lasagna instead of responding.
This is territory Ariel and I don’t enter.
Our relationship–if you can even call it that–consists of us irritating each other.
There’s no talk of her dating life, and she’s not supposed to check on me after a long day at work.
We only do surface-level, and nothing deeper.
The closest I get to seeing any piece of her heart is when she’s with Sutton.
When she teared up during her speech at Sutton and Shaw’s wedding reception, I was shocked to see her express an emotion other than annoyance.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s uncomfortable, but I don’t know what to say or do to make it better.
The most alone time we’ve had is when we were in high school and Sutton would run to the kitchen to get a snack while we were watching a movie.
I feel like I’m in the middle of a jungle with no map and a broken compass.
She moves her feet off the desk, knocking over my picture frame in the process and sending the bottle of blood pressure medicine that was in front of it rolling off the desk.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” she says while bending over to grab the bottle. She pauses, pills in hand. My heart rate skyrockets to a level that would concern the doctor who prescribes them.
“Why do you have blood pressure medication?” she asks. Her blue eyes meet mine. I’d hoped she wouldn’t recognize the name of the pills.
“How do you know that’s what they are?”
She sets the bottle down on my desk–hard. “Because my dad has high blood pressure. Does Sutton know about this?”
I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. “No, she doesn’t, because she doesn’t need to know every single aspect of my life."
Ariel rolls her eyes. “That’s rich coming from the guy who teamed up with his best friend to infiltrate her dating life throughout our school years.”
“That’s different.”
“And if you found out Sutton was hiding high blood pressure from you?”
I clench my jaw. “This is none of your business, Duke.”
“It’s too late for that now. I’m calling Sutton.” She stands and starts to pack up her food. I reach out and snag her wrist without thinking. Her pulse hammers beneath my fingertips. She glares at me.
“You can’t tell Sutton.”
“I can, and I will.” She tries to break free, but I keep hold of her wrist.
“Please, Ariel,” I resort to begging. “She’ll do something dramatic like move back here if she thinks anything is wrong with me.”
Ariel eyes my hand. I slowly let her go, hoping she won’t bolt or reach for her phone.
“Maybe she should move back here, or tell your parents, or both.” I stiffen at the thought.
“You’re twenty-four , Brock. If you’re struggling with this, it has to do with the lifestyle you’re living.
Sutton is nonstop talking about how worried she is about you.
Shaw, too. Why haven’t you told anyone?”
I hate the concern in her gaze. It’s exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid with all my friends and family.
“Because I’m fine. I don’t want anyone to worry unnecessarily.”
She shakes her head. “What did the doctor say? How did you find out this was a problem?”
I grit my teeth and turn to face the windows behind my desk. Downtown Charlotte is laid before me. I used to feel as though I was a king surveying my kingdom. Now I feel like a bee in a hive, always working, never resting.
“I had a…scare,” I say after a moment of silence. “I went to the hospital for it a few months ago, and they told me I had high blood pressure. It’s not severe, but enough to warrant medication.”
“And what did they say about your lifestyle?”
I clench my fists at her accusing tone.
“Nothing. They gave me a prescription and said to come back if it gets worse,” I lie.
In reality, they referred me to a therapist , of all people.
They said I should sleep more, work less.
Take deep breaths and a bunch of other unhelpful and unrealistic nonsense.
I’ve been taking the prescription, but I have no plans on carving an hour out of my week for some shrink to ask me how I’m feeling.
I know I’m tired and overworked, but a therapist can’t change that for me.
Besides, I’ll be able to slow down soon enough.
“You’re not a very good liar, Carolina,” Ariel says softly. “I’m sorry, but I have to tell Sutton. Your health isn’t something to mess around with.”
I turn back around, trying to keep my breathing level.
If Sutton finds out…my whole life will be upended.
She’ll come to North Carolina with Shaw and whoever else she can drag out here.
They’ll force me to stop working, and everything I’ve worked so hard to build will collapse.
The very thought has my chest tightening.
Ariel’s expression is soft. She doesn’t ever look at me this way. I’d rather she insult me than pity me.
“Is there any way I can convince you not to tell her?” I’d offer money if I thought it would help. She’s a hyper-successful realtor, though, so she’s not hurting for cash. Even if she was, she’s too loyal to Sutton to take it.
Ariel looks down at the pill bottle on the desk. Something in her countenance tells me she’s at war with herself. I wait with a knotted stomach to hear what she has to say.
“I could hold off,” she starts. I draw in a breath of anticipation. “If you agree to let me help you.”
My brow furrows. “Help me? What do you mean?”
“You need to relax more and treat yourself better. If you let me organize a few activities that will help you with that, I’ll keep quiet. But–” she gives me a hard look. “If you don’t participate or you get worse, I’m making the call.”
“Why?” I ask the one question bouncing around in my brain.
She sighs. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened and I knew but Sutton didn’t. But if I’m helping you in the way she would–just a little less invasive–then I can sleep at night.”
I suck in a breath and let it out in a whoosh. “What kind of activities are we talking about? And how often? I can’t miss work.”
She places her hands on her hips. The movement emphasizes the natural curve of her waist. I tear my gaze away from her figure and focus on the annoyance radiating from her gaze.
“No more details. I promise I won’t be too disruptive, but that’s all I’m telling you. No negotiations. Final offer.”
“That’s not how contracts work,” I say with a wry smile.
“Good thing this isn’t a contract, then. It’s an oath. You have my word, and I have yours.”
I push my hands into my hair and tug on the strands. It’s either let Ariel pester me on occasion and hope she gives up, or have Sutton uproot her life and mine in the name of healing me.
“Fine, you’ve got a deal.”
She sticks her hand out, a cheeky grin on her face. I give her a flat look, but slide my palm over hers and shake her hand. The touch is brief, but there’s something weighted about it that makes me wonder how much I’m giving up.
I might have just made the worst deal in the history of my career.