Chapter Twenty Two
ASTON
My house is relatively dark, except for the glare of my massive television screen above the fireplace, casting flickering shadows throughout the room.
I sit in the center of my couch, my fourth glass of bourbon held between my fingers. I haven’t moved from this spot for hours, other than to refill my glass.
On the screen, the NFL Honors broadcast is reaching its prime-time peak. The auditorium is a sea of glittering gold lights and beautiful people in expensive dresses and suits laughing at the hosts.
The camera cuts away from the stage, sweeping across the front row of nominees. And there he is, sitting next to our mom.
His arm is over the back of her seat, like he’s keeping her safe. She’s wearing a simple blue velvet dress she probably got in Dallas, her eyes shining with the kind of pure pride that only a mother can manage when her boy is on a short list for a major league honor.
A sickening wave of self-loathing hits me square in the gut, so violent it makes me want to puke.
He called me when he got my text, and I sat right here on this couch and let my twin brother down.
“I can’t make it, Ace,” I stuttered, my voice sounding like gravel under a boot. “I have some meetings this week with some sponsorship opportunities, and I can’t miss them.” Repeating what my text already told him.
The silence on the other end had been devastating. He didn’t get angry. He just let out a disappointed breath. “Huh. Okay, Aston. I get it. I’ll take Mom. Like you said, she deserves some glitter and glam.”
I couldn’t tell him the truth yet. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined the biggest night of his career so far.
And I should be standing beside Eva, taking her hand before we walk into the biggest night of football.
Instead, I froze.
I made a decision, and I should take it like a man.
So why does it hurt this much?
It isn't because I'm missing an awards show. There will be others.
It's because I'm missing our night.
The night we've talked about. The memories we're supposed to make. The first time we get to walk into a room together instead of meeting each other there.
I want to find her face the second I walk into the room. I want her hand in mine when the nerves hit. I want the drive home where she laughs at whatever stupid thing I say after one too many celebratory drinks.
I don't miss the event.
I miss her.
Somewhere along the way, she stops being the woman I'm dating and becomes the person I want beside me for every moment that matters.
The thought of her standing there alone, wondering why I didn't choose her …
That hurts more than missing the biggest night of my career ever could.
Because this isn't about brotherly loyalty anymore.
It's about Eva.
I'm in love with her.
So instead of choosing one over the other, I froze and let the clock run out on both of them, really. Ace took Mom in my place, and I’d let Eva’s last text go unanswered.
The camera shifts before a commercial break, and the announcer lets viewers know which celebrity athletes are coming up next.
The camera tracks away from the stage during the transition and sweeps across it into a backstage, behind-the-scenes look.
It’s a wide shot of the crew, and that’s when I see her.
My breath catches in my throat.
She’s standing next to her dad in a stunning black dress, looking like she’s in complete control of the room. Her eyes are alert, and her lips move as she speaks to her dad.
But I know her face. I know the tight set of her jaw means she’s stressed. She’s not breaking though.
I stare at her on the screen, a weight pressing down on my chest until it's hard to breathe. She asked me to be there because she wanted me by her side. Because she wants the world to know who holds her heart. She gave me the opening, and I left her out there without any support. All because I didn’t have the courage to tell my twin brother that I’m in love with his ex.
My thumb hovers over her name anyway.
Call.
Text.
Apologize.
None of it feels big enough.
What do you say to the woman you promised to stand beside, only to disappear when she needed you most?
I want to hear her voice. Even if she spends ten minutes peeling the skin off my back with that razor-sharp tongue of hers. I deserve every word.
“I’m a fucking coward,” I whisper into the room, the word tasting like ash on my tongue.
I set my glass down on the coffee table with a heavy thud, then reach over and grab my phone. The screen illuminates my face with the glow. No new notifications. No more calls. She stopped trying. And why wouldn’t she?
But I’m not sure I have the right to text her from here while she’s standing there without me. I fucked up.
The commercial break is over. On the television, the presenter steps up to the microphone, his voice echoing through the speakers, interrupting my thoughts.
He rolls through the nominees and spouts off stats from the season for each player.
“And the award for Offensive Player of the Year goes to … Ace Griffith with the Florida Sharks.”
The house lights flare, the camera zooming in on my brother as the crowd cheers. I watch him smile, kiss our mom on the cheek, and make his way up the stage.
I’ve let two of the most important people in my life down, and I deserve every second of the pain I feel in my chest right now. But one thing I know for sure … I have to fix this before I lose her and destroy my bond with my brother.