Chapter 8
Sam
“WE’RE GOING TO be late.” I huff the words at my little brother through the phone’s speaker.
Although “little” is hardly the right word to describe the guy.
The blond monster is six foot three – he remains annoyingly proud to announce the American sizing to me – and built like a tank.
Most players in his position, openside flanker, aren’t as thick as him, but my little bro took all that baby fat and turned it into pure Aussie muscle.
He’s still a pain in my arse.
“We can’t be late to a barbie,” he counters.
“Barbecue,” I correct. “You’re the one who always wants to say American words. They call it a barbecue.”
He scoffs. “They’re grilling meat outside. That’s a barbie. We may be in the States, Sam, but some things are sacred.”
I scowl at the phone screen. “Get down here or I’m going without you.”
He disconnects without another word, then reappears at the top of the metal stairs leading down from his second-floor apartment.
I’m in a unit right across the lot, which was probably a stupid move, but it lets me tell Mum that I’m keeping an eye on him.
All I have to do is pretend I don’t notice the parade of different cars parked in his guest spot on the regular.
No judgment, but also, ignorance is bliss.
This is the kid who picked boogers and ate them in front of me just to see if he could make me gag.
Ollie flashes me his signature little-brother grin as he jogs down the stairs to meet me on the sidewalk, jingling the leased Bronco’s keys. “Get in. I’m driving.”
I frown at him. “The mustache is not working for you.”
His smile grows wider as he raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “Oh, it’s working, sis. It’s working.”
“Gross.”
He laughs. “You started it.”
The phrase jolts another memory loose.
“What about a simple dare?” Blue-green eyes stare back at me.
“We’re in Vegas. Seems more bets are the way to go.”
“Oh, we’ll get there,” he says. His voice is deep. He leans close and continues. “But let’s have some fun while we do it.”
I give him a low laugh. “You’re trouble.”
He winks. “Tonight I am. With a capital T. Just remember that you started it. So what’ll it be, Sunshine? Heads or tails?”
Air catches in my throat as I close my eyes, desperate for the memory to stop but even more desperate for more of the night to reveal itself.
Sunshine? What must I have said to earn that nickname?
Sparks of white flash behind my eyelids, but everything fades, leaving me no closer to understanding how I ended up getting married than before. Dammit.
My hand doesn’t leave the handlebar above the window and I curse repeatedly as Ollie jolts us down the interstate.
He drives like the twenty-four-year-old man he is: brash and absolutely certain of his immortality.
Which means it’s half an hour of pure adrenaline shot through with terror and an utter conviction that I’m going to die.
Come to think of it, he and Kari are similar like that.
“You’re gonna love the new coach, Sam,” Ollie says as he cuts someone off. “I really hit it off with him.”
I nod, choosing to focus on Las Vegas instead of the imminent death that it feels like I’m speeding toward. Why can’t I remember more? Matthew…ugh, what was his last name?
“Sam?”
“Mmm?”
“I said you’re really gonna love him.”
I finally look over at Ollie. “Why’s that?”
A tinge of color flushes his cheeks. “He reminds me of Coach back home. I acted like a complete fool when we first met, but there’s something about him. He’s so…I dunno. Wholesome? Helps fill…”
He doesn’t finish the rest, but he doesn’t have to. He helps fill the hole that Dad left when he died. Which is huge. Losing Dad like we did was tough. Massive heart attack in his sleep when we were in high school. No warning. No way to prepare for something like that, and barely a way to recover.
To hear something like this from Ollie is huge. More than huge. So I grin and nod encouragingly. “Yeah? That’s great, Ols.”
“I asked him to be my mentor. It just kind of fell out of my mouth, I didn’t mean to do it, but, yeah.” He shrugs. “He said yes.”
“Ace!” I hold my hand up and he slaps it. “I know that means a lot to you.”
“Yeah.”
“One favor.”
“Anything for you, sis.” He flashes a grin at me.
“Could you try not to kill us on the way there? I’d like to be in one piece when I meet this star coach.”
He laughs. Then speeds up.
By the time we pull up to the new Atlanta Granite coach’s house, I’m in desperate need for that one delicious beer I’m going to allow myself.
I climb out of the truck, knees wobbly from the driving and the memory, and stride toward the back.
I’m more than a little eager to see if Kari, Elodie and Allyson are here; I’m hoping I can talk Allyson into finally taking pity on me and using those impressive spy skills to find my cowardly husband. Whoever the hell he is.
“Wait up!” Ollie calls.
I do no such thing, pushing through the wooden gate and stepping into a wide, lush backyard. A few kids dart past with water guns, weaving through clusters of people dotted around the lawn. Music streams from somewhere, and I find a table with tubs of beer and ice almost immediately.
I don’t break stride, aiming straight for the beer and twisting the cap off as I raise it to my mouth and take a huge gulp.
“I think I’m in love.”
Keeping the beer at my lips as I swallow again, I turn to see one of the Granite’s players.
I’ve not memorized them all yet, but now that I’ve officially accepted the job as one of the team’s physical therapists, it’s only a matter of time.
Still, there’s no mistaking this one. Carter Green.
Left wing, number eleven. He gives off the same vibes that literally every winger in the history of wingers has given: cocky and incredibly sure of themselves.
In most cases, they shouldn’t be, and over the years, I have loved being the older sister who takes the boys down a notch.
I lower my beer, but not before taking another fortifying sip.
Finally, I speak. “Carter, right?”
His eyes brighten as he straightens, ready to peacock. “Beautiful and smart. A dangerous combination.”
I snort. “Why? Because you need your huggers to be vapid little things who don’t think for themselves and don’t plan farther than the next time they can spread their legs for you?”
He barks out a laugh. “Now I really love you. Who are you here with?” He looks around expectantly, and for some reason, I allow my gaze to travel with his.
And then I stop cold.
Because there, standing between team captain Ansel Miles and my baby brother, is Matthew.
Matthew from Las Vegas.
Matthew, my fucking husband.
Carter seems to notice my silence because he says, “Oh, that’s the new coach. Have you met him yet?”
Yes. Did the world stop spinning? Is this some kind of horror show that was invented only for my torture? Because why else would Matthew from Las Vegas be the head coach of the Granite? This isn’t happening.
Have you met him yet? Absolutely yes I have. But is that what I say? “No,” I croak, then shake my head. “Sorry. I’ve, uh…” I trail off and pivot away from him.
“Wait! What’s your name?” he calls.
I ignore him, desperate to find my friends and figure out what in the fucking hell is happening right now. They’re easy to spot, standing just off to the side of a covered tiki bar and sipping drinks. I walk up behind Elodie as she’s saying, “He was definitely a rugby player.”
“His stats are good,” Allyson says. “Took a number of colleges to the championships and won. Is definitely responsible for the steady increase in rugby programs at the collegiate level. Big on community outreach. Single. Never married. No kids. No criminal record. Dude’s even got a curated social media presence. ”
She delivers the information with businesslike precision, her eyes glued to him just like everyone else.
And I’m…I don’t know what I am.
Matthew is Atlanta Granite’s new head coach.
The head coach of the same team I just signed an employment agreement with. An agreement that had a specific “No Fraternization” policy that I had to sign, too.
Then there’s the tidy little point about him being my boss. Not technically, but it’s close enough.
I clear my throat in a desperate bid to tamp down the hysterical laugh that wants to come out, and announce, “Yeah, and he’s got a big dick, too.
” Because even though I still can’t recall how, precisely, I got that little piece of information, it won’t dislodge from my consciousness.
Might have something to do with the fact that I refuse to delete the photo, but whatever. Details.
My friends whirl around, all their eyes round with disbelief.
“What?” Kari hisses.
“I didn’t know. I swear. He was just a good-looking guy in a bar.” The words tumble out of my mouth, but they don’t tell the whole story. Not by a long shot. In fact, they’re damn near a lie for how far off the mark they are.
“So you –” Elodie starts.
“And he?” Kari finishes.
All I can do is nod slowly, my mind scrambling to find the right words. It feels like my skin is on fire.
“Oh, shit,” Allyson says.
The world keeps tilting beneath me. “Yeah. Oh, shit.”
Kari grabs my arm and leans in. “Wait. You slept with him? When? Where did you meet him?”
Elodie swats her hand. “Hang on, Kari – put your PR hat away for a minute and give the woman space.”
“You don’t understand.” I reach for my necklace even though it’s not there, and its loss makes the sight of him that much more bitter. I point at him. “That’s Matthew.”
Everyone goes silent.
Then, Allyson says, “Oh, shit,” again, only this time she starts laughing. Hard.
“Wait, really?” Elodie asks, her face alight with joy. “It’s fate!”
Kari’s brows knit as she stares at me. “You’re wrong. His name is Colin. Colin Thicke.”