Chapter 8
EIGHT
DAYLEN
“What in the actual fuck?” I roar.
Vance, Cheetah, Trey, and Layton are practically on the floor, hyperventilating with laughter.
We’re all in tuxedos at Arizona and Layton’s wedding reception, though at this point in the evening, our jackets are off, our bow ties are loosened, and our sleeves are rolled up.
We’ve been drinking and dancing all night.
It’s been a blast celebrating the very-much-in-love couple.
Layton was a bigger playboy than I am for many years.
But he fell fast and hard for Arizona. She’s already pregnant with their first child.
I can’t imagine there are more than a few songs left before we bid adieu to the happy couple, and they head to the airport for their honeymoon.
We were all at the bar doing one last round of shots when Kam held up her phone for us to see.
With a huge smile on her face, she announced, “I have Google alerts set for all of you. This just popped up for you, D.”
I shrugged. “I’m fucking famous. I have shit written about me all the time. What’s the big deal?”
She tried to bite back her smile as she said, “You might want to take a look at this one.”
With my friends all looking over my shoulder, I grabbed the phone and was horrified by what I found.
It’s a text that is made to look like it was sent by me, even though it wasn’t.
That’s my damn telephone number online for the world to see.
Whoever posted this knows my cell phone number.
The text is of a damn dick. A teeny tiny dick with my number and the Camels logo tattooed on it.
And it doesn’t look fake. It looks fucking real, like I have a small dick with a tattoo and sent this to someone.
Kam smirks. “I didn’t know you had a… tattooed dick, D. Hopefully the images appear smaller than they are in real life, right?” She winks at me.
Everyone is still laughing. “Who in the world would do this to m—” And then it hits me. Kennedy fucking Jeffries. That ruthless bitch did this. I know it.
Suddenly the Electric Slide begins playing. Kam’s eyes widen. “Ooh, I love this song. Did you all know that it’s rumored to be about a vibrator?”
Everyone just stares at her. “Yep.” She starts singing the words to the song. “You can’t see it. It’s electric. You gotta feel it. It’s electric. Oooh, it’s shocking. It’s electric.”
They all start laughing again before heading back to the dance floor to do all the well-known moves to the song. Not me. I’m walking out of the room to call the most horrific woman to ever walk this planet.
I click on her number, and it rings once before I’m sent to voicemail. That cunt isn’t bothering to pick up.
I call at least five more times, all with the same result. I’m not leaving some ranting voicemail that she’ll probably post on social media. I’m smart enough for that.
I text her.
Me: Pick up the damn phone.
Black Flag: No hablo inglés.
Me: I’m calling again. Pick up or I’ll tell your father you fucked half the team.
Black Flag: I don’t care. Tell him that made-up story. Doesn’t bother me if he thinks I got gang banged by the whole damn city. What’s he going to do, spank me?
And my traitorous dick twitches at the notion of spanking her. I look down at it, moving from limp to a semi. What the fuck is wrong with my dick? I think she broke his will. I tug on my hair. Ahh. This woman is infuriating.
I try calling her again, but this time she picks up right away, cackling. “I thought I might hear from you, scarecrow. How’s the wedding?” she asks innocently.
“Don’t how’s the wedding me, you evil witch. This is way overstepping,” I scream into the phone.
She scoffs. “Pft. Overstepping? Overstepping is kissing me on national television and then announcing that we’re siblings.
Newsflash, I don’t get paid millions of dollars like you.
I nearly lost my biggest endorsement deal thanks to your antics.
You fucked with my image and my livelihood. That, asshole, is overstepping.”
Hmm, I never thought about it that way. I’m starting to feel bad until I remember what she just did. “You know where I am, Cruella? At a wedding. Something you’ll never have because no one in their right mind will ever want to spend their life with you. You’re such a ruthless bitch.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I disagree. I read that every time you’re a bitch, it adds a year to your life. I’m immortal, motherfucker. Have a good night doing damage control. Toodaloo,” she sings before ending the call.
Shit. She’s right. I need damage control. I can’t have this misinformation out there. I will fucking go full Monty if I have to in order to prove what my manhood looks like.
I need a plan. Tanner. I have to find him. Last I saw my agent about an hour ago, he was grinding up against Bailey on the dance floor. So much for their relationship being a secret.
By the time I head back into the reception room, it’s nearly empty except for Cheetah and Kam. They’re doing a choreographed dirty dancing routine on the dance floor to a sensual Latin song. They’re all alone except for the band, like it’s a private party just for the two of them.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Kam tonight. She’s wearing a tight, strapless, royal-blue bridesmaid dress that has a high slit up the side where her long, defined legs keep making an appearance. I can’t believe that asshole met the perfect woman before I had the chance to.
My mother and father used to dance all the time. It’s one of the few memories I have of them as a couple.
Kam and Cheetah smile, laugh, and kiss. They look so in love. I adore Cheetah, and I’m happy for him, but I’ve never been more jealous of another man than I am right now.
I let out a loud laugh at the Thanksgiving table. My dad is the funniest man I know.
Hank Humblecutt is big like me, but he now also has a giant tummy hanging over his belt. While he’s never been as fit as me, I don’t think I’ve seen him this heavy since my mother passed.
I was six years old when they told me her cancer had returned. A cancer I never knew she had the first time around. It was ovarian, and apparently the first bout was the reason they never had another baby after me.
I was young, but it felt like she went from a beautiful, vibrant woman to bedridden in a matter of days. I know it was over the course of a few months, but it felt quicker to me.
My father took a leave of absence from his job as a federal judge to care for her and me those last few months.
He was always positive around me. Always had a smile and a joke.
But when he thought I was asleep at night, I’d see him alone in the kitchen crying.
My heart broke for him. I did my best to stay out of trouble, which happened with regularity prior to her getting sick.
I wanted him to have one less thing to be sad about. One less thing to worry about.
Alone was how he remained for many years after she passed.
It was him and me. The big Humblecut boys.
The dynamic duo. He did everything for me.
Of course I longed for my mother, but I never felt like I missed anything, thanks to my dad.
He drove me to school and sports, came to every school function, read to me at night, practiced football with me, made me dinner, and even made cookies a few times for school bake sales.
He worked and was a father. That was it.
He had no social life. I never once saw him date until one day when I was about fourteen.
He brought home a sexy blonde in tight clothing who had just graduated from college.
I swear I thought she was a hooker he bought me for my birthday.
Never in a million years did I think she was for him.
Despite their quarter-of-a-century age gap, Ashleigh looked at him like he hung all the stars in the sky and laughed at everything that came out of his mouth.
I’m not sure she understood half the jokes—she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed—but she was always smiling around him.
More importantly, he was always smiling around her.
I wanted to hate her; I really did. But she made him so damn happy. The sparkle was back in his blue eyes, one I’m not sure I realized had been missing for so long until it returned.
She was always kind to me, even when my father wasn’t around.
Within weeks, she moved in and was doing the stereotypical “mom things” like driving me to practices and cooking dinner.
She happens to be a great cook. I think he paid for culinary school for her, among a few other dead-end career endeavors she had.
A year later, they were married. She got pregnant with Jagger about five minutes after that. I remember my father sitting me down and having a conversation with me saying I was the joy of his life, and he had always hoped to expand our family. This was his last chance to do so.
I was sixteen when my little sister was born, but I immediately loved her and felt protective of her. My friends complained about their bratty little sisters, but not me. Ever. I adore my sister. I’m thankful my dad found Ashleigh for both his happiness and for giving me my amazing sister.
Ashleigh always wanted me to call her mom, but I refused to do so.
It’s not about the fact that she’s not my real mother.
It’s more about how it’s a little embarrassing to call a woman mom when she’s younger than some of the women I’ve slept with.
It’s weird, and I refuse, but she has never stopped trying, even though I’m thirty-two.
It's Thanksgiving, and we don’t have a game until Monday night. Sometimes we play on Thanksgiving but not this year. Vance came home with me, as he often does. His family runs a farm in Montana, and they travel infrequently. He tries to get them to visit, but they hate leaving their farm.