Chapter 6
Anya
“I’m having a hard time trying to decide who’s scarier,” Parker said. “Your dad or Willa.”
“Willa,” I answered immediately.
In the back seat, Spike let out an angry growl that had me laughing.
“She offered to teach me how to punch in case your dad was going to beat me up.”
“She did not,” I said with a laugh.
“Then she informed me that she punched a kid the last week of school and gave him a bloody nose.”
“That is true, unfortunately.” I looked over my blind spot and changed lanes, easing around a Honda Civic going too slow. “My darling little angel of a sister has set the school record for single-day suspensions because she’s single-handedly taking on every bully she comes across.”
He laughed, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted.
Oh, you calm down, you little whores , I thought. No reason to get too excited. He was just laughing, for fuck’s sake.
“Despite how he became famous, my dad isn’t a scary guy.” Parker cut me an incredulous look, and I grinned. “He’s not. He’s very levelheaded, very thoughtful. He’s not impulsive at all .”
“So this whole Vegas thing…?”
“Straight out of his worst nightmare,” I finished. “After what happened with … you know, it’s not like he doesn’t understand why.”
I’d rather choke than say that man’s name voluntarily ever again.
“Why you married a very impulsive, not levelheaded, asshole football player.”
“Oof, is someone searching for a compliment? Because I never said he called you an asshole.”
Parker swiped a hand over his face. “Believe me, I saw his face. He was thinking it, even if he didn’t say it.”
I gave him a curious look. “Does that bother you? If he thinks it?”
“Nope,” he said easily. “I think any man who loves his daughter would feel the same way.”
My brows furrowed slightly because that easy tone felt too easy. Not real, I guess. There was something about the way I’d woken up, the sheer, overwhelming panic that broke down any barriers between us.
But it felt like a giant wall had smashed down in the middle of my car.
All I’d ever known about Parker were what I’d heard Emmett and Adaline say. He’s so funny , he’s so charming , he’s such a hard worker . And he’s tall . Anya, did you see how tall he is?
Even when I began dating Max (ugh, I even hated thinking it)—he’d asked me out shortly after we met at a Washington Wolves charity event my junior year of college—Adaline was constantly making pointed remarks about her younger stepbrother. Tall was no barometer of a man’s worthiness, but it sure didn’t hurt if I could wear heels and he’d still have a couple of inches on me. And yes, maybe it was judgmental, but I didn’t care if the guy was a billionaire with a heart of gold and an eight-inch peen. If he was five ten or less, it was an absolute no-go.
Well, I’d certainly won the lottery in that regard, as I stared at the length of Parker’s legs as he had them spread wide in the passenger seat. We passed another Jeep on the road, and I lifted my fingers in a J shape.
“What was that?” he asked.
“What was what?”
“The thing you just did with your hand.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “A Jeep wave. It’s just a thing Jeep drivers do with each other.”
“Why?”
At his tone, I laughed. “I don’t know. It’s a very social community. You leave rubber duckies on each other’s doors too.” I pointed at the small line on my dash. “That’s just from the past six months.”
“Why ?”
“I don’t know,” I said with another laugh. “It’s harmless fun. Let me guess, you drive a big, serious truck with big, serious wheels, and it looks like you’re overcompensating for something.”
“I’m not overcompensating for anything, sweetheart.”
My cheeks were warm as I glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’ll have to take your word for that,” I said primly.
Parker’s phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. It had been doing that on and off for the past hour. He sighed but didn’t check the screen.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“No.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “My family is nosy and impatient, and they drive me crazy. I was planning on calling my mom once we got back to the house, and they’re annoyed I haven’t done it yet.”
“You can call her now. I don’t mind.”
“You’re the oldest, so this won’t make any sense to you.” He turned slightly to face me. “The more my older siblings bug me to do something, the less likely it is that I will do it. They should know that by now.”
“God, you and Violet would get along so well.” I shook my head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear when it slipped from my ponytail. “She pulls that shit all the time.”
“Probably because you don’t leave her alone and she just wants to do things in her own time.” He settled back in his seat. “It’s not easy being the younger sibling, you know. Especially when the older siblings are really good at what they do.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Your oldest stepbrother, Erik, he played for Washington too.”
Parker nodded.
“Is that why you wanted to play football?”
He let out a long sigh. “Maybe. Sometimes I do wonder if it was little brother syndrome. Just wanting to be noticed after being the youngest boy of a huge fucking family. But it wasn’t because my parents treated Erik differently just because he played professionally. Our family was so proud of him, but it’s not like they weren’t proud of the rest of us, you know? Cameron is a builder, Ian designs furniture. Adaline has her event planning business, and Greer is an interior designer.”
“And Poppy,” I said, remembering the youngest sister, the only biological child from the second marriage between Parker’s dad and his stepmom, Sheila.
“Ahh yes. Poppy runs our lives, basically. But we all do different things, and it never mattered to my parents.” His eyes did that thing again. A haunted look as he stared out the window. His profile was all clean lines—the slash of high cheekbones, the proud, straight nose, the sharp, stubble-coated jaw. “They didn’t care what we did as long as we were happy.”
I’d lost a parent young too, and I swallowed hard before speaking. “Then they’re really great parents.”
Parker didn’t say anything, the muscle along the edge of his jaw popping slightly.
“Your dad married your stepmom when you were young, didn’t he?”
He gave a tight nod. There was a land mine around this topic. I could feel it like a force field.
“I met her briefly at the rehearsal dinner,” I added. “She’s very sweet. I’ve heard all about her baking from Adaline.”
His mouth finally softened. “My sisters can’t bake for shit. I swear that’s half the reason they keep coming home.”
I chewed briefly on my bottom lip. “What else should I know?”
“Nothing more today.” He sighed, his eyes closing briefly.
“You told me you weren’t having marital regrets on the plane,” I replied lightly.
Parker pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not. I just … it feels a lot more serious now. Sometimes I, I don’t even know how far I’ve jumped into something until I’m chest-deep and there’s no undoing it.” There must have been a certain look on my face because he gave me a stern look. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t,” I insisted. “Your drunk ass is just as much to blame for this as mine, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know. My dad said something today, and I guess it made me wonder if you were feeling some of that.”
His brow furrowed, eyes landing briefly on mine when I glanced over. “Some of what?”
“Like you ruined your shot at that perfect first moment with a person you loved.” I shrugged one shoulder lightly. “You only get married for the first time once. This was ours. Even when we get divorced, it’s still always there. We walked down an aisle and exchanged vows and gave each other rings. And I don’t even remember it.”
His eyes were bright and intense as he stared at me. “I do.”
“Lucky you,” I answered dryly. “Congratulations on being able to hold your liquor better than me.”
He grinned. It was gone in the next instant, but it was there, and it lightened some of that achiness in my chest at his change of mood. I’d always soaked up people’s moods like a sponge, even as a kid. Like I could taste it the moment I walked into the room. What people needed, what they didn’t.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I fought a wave of unease the closer we got to his house. I’d jumped right alongside Parker, and boy, was he right. We were chest-deep before I’d so much as blinked, and now I had to figure out what came next.
“Anything you want to tell me about it?” I asked.
“About what?”
“Our wedding.” I glanced at him. “What do you remember?”
“Elvis smelled like cheap aftershave, but he did a decent job performing the ceremony. That man takes his job very seriously.”
“That is not what I was asking, and you know it.”
“Hey, you asked what I remembered, and that’s one thing.”
I made a tsking sound, giving him a stern look. “Something good. Something … important.”
It felt like a telling request. But I desperately wanted to know that something good, something important could indeed come from this. The hurt in my dad’s eyes … the sadness there, made my ribs squeeze uncomfortably, and I just wanted to know that this wasn’t all for nothing.
Parker sighed quietly, laying his head back on the seat. “When you walked down the aisle, you smiled at me. Really smiled. And I felt like … maybe we weren’t crazy. That perhaps we could get everything out of this that we wanted. Your money. Supporting Vida. Helping you. My family can relax. All of it.” Finally, he glanced in my direction. “You’ve got a powerful smile, wife.”
“That is not my name,” I said firmly.
Except it wasn’t firm. It came out all breathy and shit because this entire day had turned my stomach into freaking knots. I needed to sleep for three days straight. And take a hot shower. And eat a pound of chocolate.
The GPS told me to turn, so I followed it. A few more turns off the highway took us into the Portland Southwest Hills neighborhood. The big, beautiful houses had lush landscaping and gorgeous views of the city.
My stomach was weightless under my ribs as I watched the map bring us closer and closer to his home. I was going to sleep under the same roof as this man, at least for a while, and I could only hope that whatever strange, sad mood lingered on the car ride back to his place would dissipate once we got settled.
“No, I’m not worried about what you said,” he promised. “About ruining my first shot at a wedding.”
I blinked, having momentarily forgotten what we’d been talking about. “You’re sure?”
“Do you?” he asked. “Regret it now.”
Oh boy, wasn’t that a fucking trick question. “Not yet,” I told him. “You haven’t had enough time to really piss me off, so the jury is out.”
He chuckled under his breath, and I hated what the sound of that laugh did to me.
“After what happened, I don’t want emotional complications,” I said carefully. “My heart is a little tender, as you can imagine.” Admitting that out loud felt like a concession after the heat of a battle, like I was giving up ground that might come in handy later. I didn’t look at Parker because I didn’t want to know what was on his face. “So if this can stay simple. Straightforward. Easy. Then I won’t have any regrets,” I added with a glance.
His expression was locked the hell down, and I was thankful for that. Mine probably was too. After our hectic morning, this felt like our first time approaching the negotiation table.
I had a feeling, given the chance, Parker and I could trade a lot of war stories about the choices that led us here.
“The perfect business arrangement.” Parker leaned his head back, closing his eyes briefly. “That sounds good to me.”
Relief bled through my chest, and I let out a quick sigh. “Good.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“You wanted to know something good. Something important. Is it killing you that you missed your first wedding?”
In a deleted folder on my computer, I had so many documents and spreadsheets dedicated to my nonexistent nuptials. Even without a date, there were plans. Things I’d envisioned. And in my fit of rage when I sent all that shit to the trash can, I refused to allow even a moment of grief over losing them.
Instead of telling him that, I swept all of those thoughts—spreadsheets and Pinterest boards and plans—into a safe little box at the back of my head, neatly clipping all my feelings about the wasted years I’d spent with him and banishing them to a dark, cobweb-covered place that would never be touched. It didn’t help me to dwell on any of that.
But I could give Parker something, couldn’t I?
If I searched my own mind, the parts cleansed of the douchebag, I had vague memories of things I’d wanted for myself.
“It’s not what I imagined, no,” I answered carefully. “A hangover and sleeping in a stranger’s jersey is a bit less romance than I’d hoped for, I suppose.”
“Let me guess, a big, romantic wedding like Emmett and Adaline’s?”
“No,” I said easily. “I don’t need a big wedding, actually. I never have.”
I could’ve had that. He’d wanted one. It was one of the things we disagreed on.
“So you wanted…”
Why was it so hard to answer these questions? I shifted in my seat, hands tightening briefly on the steering wheel as words crowded in my throat. Had Max ever asked me questions like this?
I felt naked, far more naked than in that bed with nothing on underneath his jersey. The question had me so distracted I missed a fucking Jeep wave. I sighed, closing my eyes briefly, but when I did, it was Parker’s face I saw. One of the few clear memories I had was the sad shots. When he appeared at the table like a tall-ass mirage made up of muscles and sex appeal, an unexpected balm to the cracked glass part of me that wanted to stay safe and hidden.
So I took a deep breath and forced the words out. “The romance, I suppose.”
Parker was quiet for a moment, something tight and uncomfortable relaxing inside me when he didn’t dismiss my answer.
“Like what?”
“Umm, I don’t know. I don’t have any specific examples.”
“Bullshit. I can read your face better than that.”
I cut him a quick, annoyed look, but all he did was grin. My disgruntled sigh made him laugh. “Things before were always … safe. Steady. Until they weren’t, and everything went down in a giant shitstorm of terrible.” It felt like someone wrapped a giant chain around my throat and yanked it tight. “There was nothing between, and I never got one of those big movie moments, you know? The hero’s eager to make a fool of himself because he loves the heroine so much that there’s no risk he’s not willing to take so she can know it.” I rolled my lips together for a moment. “Instead, I was the fool.”
My eyes cut over to him, and he sat quietly in the passenger seat, face thoughtful as he processed what I’d said. “Your turn,” I told him.
“For what?”
“Oh no, I’m not going to be the only one doing scary share time. You better tell me something that makes you feel all twitchy too. Otherwise, I’m kicking your ass out of this Jeep.”
Parker grinned, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “Like what?”
“Anything. Come on, Mr. Love Hater, I know you’ve had at least one thing you’ve pictured for yourself.”
“I’m not a love hater,” he said with a slight roll of his eyes. “I believe it exists. I’ve seen it firsthand. I just don’t want it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Parker groaned. “You won’t let me get away with anything, will you?”
“Highly unlikely.”
He slicked his tongue over his teeth before speaking again. “I suppose I always watched my teammates and wondered what it was like … the first day of training camp. First game.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Someone in their corner who can’t imagine anything better than being there for them. Having a partner show up for you when it matters most. But I haven’t thought about that for a long time.”
“Why not?”
The question was out before I could stop it.
His eyes darkened slightly, and there was a pinch in my heart when he didn’t answer. But I decided to drop it because it was likely as big of an admission I’d get from him. The playing field evened a little with what he said, and it made our arrival to his house feel just a bit less terrifying.
Your destination is on the right, the GPS said, interrupting the conversation momentarily. The trees were taller here, surrounding a split-level home with black siding. To my surprise, it wasn’t huge. Private though, which was nice. A tall fence surrounded what looked like a large front patio space with three garage stalls just at the end of a short driveway. The windows above the fence line were lit up, warm light spilling out, and I blinked at that too.
“Is someone home?”
“Louise is, I’m sure.”
I tilted my head. “Who’s Louise?”
“The love of my life and the woman who keeps me sane.”
“I—” My throat was so dry. Simply by turning into his driveway, the spark had returned to the man’s eyes, and let me tell you, it was devastating. “Your what?”
Spike let out a ferocious hissing noise.
“Tell your pussy not to be so angry all the time.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I will thank you not to speak about my cat like that ever again.”
Parker grinned, dangerous and boyish, and I felt a stupid, stupid flip in my stomach at the sight of it.
He slipped out of the car before I could say a fucking word, and I sank my head onto the steering wheel while he went around to the back of the Jeep to get my bags.
“He’s so confusing, Spike,” I whispered.
Meow .
He sounded so pissy, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Where the hell have you been?” a feminine voice shouted.
My head snapped up.
“Oh, Louise, my darling, I was off getting married.”
I peered in the side mirror and saw a glimpse of a stout woman with a stern look on her face. “Quit yanking my chain, you had me worried half to death when you didn’t get home on time this morning. I thought your flight was landing at nine.”
She was easily in her sixties, with a no-nonsense bob in a silvery gray, and I ran my hands over my hair, feeling a quick flutter of nerves. Sympathy for how he must’ve felt showing up at my parents hit me like a battering ram.
When I pushed open my door and exited the car, Louise’s mouth hung open but snapped shut almost immediately. Her hands went to her generous hips. “And who do we have here?”
I smiled, moving toward her with my hand outstretched. “I’m Anya.”
Parker took my suitcase and a duffel bag out of the back of the Jeep. “Louise, meet my wife.”
At the way he said it, I gave him another narrow-eyed look. Parker winked.
Louise’s mouth dropped open, her eyes darting between me and Parker. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she breathed. “Does your mother know?”
Parker winced. “Eh. Not yet. I’m working on it.”
She eyed me up and down, then nodded decisively. “Come on. I’ll show you to?—”
“To the guest room,” Parker finished.
My head whipped in his direction.
“I beg your pardon, young man,” she said in an affronted tone.
Parker ignored her and locked eyes with me. “Remember when I said we could pull this off in front of my family?”
I nodded.
He hooked a thumb toward Louise. “I wouldn’t last five minutes against her. She could crack an entire army.”
Louise scoffed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. And tell me what? Why would you lie to me?”
Parker sighed, slinging my duffel bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go, my angel, I have a little story to tell you.”
By the time Louise left, I’d unpacked a few things in Parker’s guest room across the hall from his bedroom. The proximity to the big fucking bed where Parker slept was more nerve-wracking than I cared to admit.
As I wandered along the hallway and down the stairs toward the family room, I tried to figure out if the strong design aesthetic was Parker or if his sister Greer had a hand.
It was clear he favored neutrals—warm wood floors and trim, creamy white walls, black and white in all the artwork. Plants with glossy green leaves sat in various corners of the house and on bookshelves next to large windows that let in a surprising amount of light, given the trees around the property. The furniture was all ivory and leather, oversized in order to fit his big-ass body comfortably, and the clean, modern lines had me sighing like a little bitch because, gawd, I’d pick all of this for myself.
Maybe it was unfair that I expected some sterile bachelor pad complete with mirrors above the beds and drawers overflowing with condoms, but I found myself impressed that this was his. It felt like a home.
I found him in the kitchen, a towel slung over his shoulder as he slid a pan of food into the oven. Louise—the housekeeper and woman who kept him eating like an adult, according to him—lived a couple of streets over and helped him out as soon as the season picked back up again. In the offseason, she informed me, he had to do his own damn laundry.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he said. “She always makes enough for a family of four.”
“I could eat.” I crossed my arms and studied him from across the island separating us. “When are you going to call your mom?”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, and the scrape of bristles against his palm made me grit my teeth. “Soon,” he said, exhaustion clear on his face. “I’d rather do just about anything else.”
“Like what?”
“Middle school math.”
My nose wrinkled. “That’s the first thing you thought of?”
“Yeah, I fucking hate math.”
I couldn’t help my laugh. “I guess you don’t have to do much playing football, huh?”
Parker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No. Just gotta know a hundred different play calls and make sure I don’t fuck it up.” His eyebrows lifted briefly. “Again.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, pulling my eyes away from his face. “That was a rough way to end the season, wasn’t it?”
He gave me a wry look. “Having the entire city of Portland hate me because I dropped the last pass of the game that would’ve gotten us to the Super Bowl? Yeah.”
“The entire city did not hate you,” I told him.
Parker arched an eyebrow. “Close. But maybe not everyone. Besides, no one could beat me up more than what I was doing to myself.”
Ahh yes, the self-flagellation of an athlete was a sight to behold. I’d known a lot in my life, more than the average person, and the pressure they voluntarily took on was insane. The success or failure of a team was never just on one person, and they all seemed to forget that in the moments when things don’t swing their way. When a pass is dropped. An interception is thrown. A kick is missed.
And without fail, they were always better for the mistakes they made.
The timing wasn’t right for that little anecdote, and I still wasn’t really sure how this man would react to … anything, really.
“We could watch replays of that instead of calling your mom,” I suggested.
Based on the look on his face, Parker didn’t think it was very funny. “I do that enough at the team facilities, thank you.”
“Still? That sounds healthy.”
Please, like I was one to talk about healthy coping mechanisms.
Parker sighed, swiping a hand over his mouth. “I should probably just get it over with,” he said.
“It can’t be that bad. What are you worried about?”
“That she’s going to cry.”
“At least they’d be happy tears.”
“I’m guessing your dad didn’t have any of those, huh?”
I smiled a little, ignoring that pang of guilt that would likely accompany the mention of my father for the foreseeable future. “Not exactly. But … he’ll come around.” I tilted my head. “I think. He just needs to get to know you better.”
Parker gave me an inscrutable look. “Hard to do that when I wasn’t invited to the conversation.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “I know. I wasn’t thinking like…”
“Like we’re married.”
My heartbeat was sluggish through the heavy eye contact. “Yeah. Like that.”
He sighed, looking away for a moment, and I could finally breathe again once he did. “You should be with me when I call my mom. Or at least say hi or something.” His eyes met mine. “Do you mind?”
I shook my head. “No. Should we do it now?”
He let out a quiet laugh, glancing up at the ceiling. He’d braced his hands on the island, and the position did things to his arms that were not entirely fair.
I had muscles. I had great muscles from a lot of hard fucking work in the gym, and if I tried leaning like that, it wouldn’t have half the appeal of the forearm and the biceps and the tricep action I was witnessing.
So fucking ridiculous and I fought the urge to cover my eyes so I didn’t have to see it.
“Yeah,” he said, a rough edge to his voice that was also not fair. Apparently, he had a whole lot of unfairness about his genetics, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it, given that I was married to his ass.
With our dinner in the oven, Parker made his way over to my side of the island, bringing his muscles and his very nice smell with him. His height made it easy for him to stand slightly behind me, my chin coming just above his shoulder if I were to turn and look at him.
I didn’t. Thank God, I’d retained a tiny shred of self-preservation.
He pulled up Sheila’s number and hit the button to do a FaceTime. When he released a heavy sigh, I couldn’t help it. I turned my head, just a slight tilt of my chin, and our eyes met.
“It’ll be okay,” I told him.
Him? Hell, I was telling myself, and I even managed to believe it.
Sheila’s voice interrupted the moment, and I exhaled quietly when she picked up.
“Hi honey, I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”
Parker smiled at the camera. “What are you up to? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Goodness, no. Just heated some leftovers, and I’m about to watch my shows for the night. Your sisters have been out of control today. Greer keeps texting me about the strangest things. Poppy thought she was in labor, but by the time I got to her house, she swore up and down she was fine.”
Parker’s eyes closed briefly, and I could tell he was fighting a smile. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“What are you up to? You don’t normally call me like this when we didn’t plan to talk.”
His gaze darted toward me, and I smiled. His eyes dropped down to my lips, and son of a bitch, my belly did a fucking backflip.
“I have something to tell you, Mom. I hope you’re sitting down.”