4. Calvin
CHAPTER FOUR
calvin
I hear the doorbell as I’m lying on my bed, but I make no move to get up. Coach betrayed us.
No matter what he wants to say about his brother’s supposed talent, he’s never been one to play favorites. He’s never given anyone opportunities for any other reason than they deserved it.
He . . . I swallow hard, trying to push down the harsh feelings. He tried to get me to talk to him when the team was at their worst. When they were giving me absolute hell every single day and trying to get me to quit.
I didn’t tattle on the team, of course, but I could feel how much he cared. Or at least how much I thought he cared.
It’s better this way.
I don’t need to play football my senior year.
I hear my brother tromping down the stairs to the front door. My bedroom is downstairs and close enough for me to hear my brother’s loud, booming voice. “We don’t want any.”
I scoff, picturing whatever poor kid is trying to sell something to my ogre of a brother.
“Uh, not here to sell anything.” The voice is deep and surprisingly sure. Not the voice of a kid, even muffled by my four walls and closed bedroom door. “Is Calvin here?”
Me? Shit. It’s not Coach, is it? No . . . of course not. Curtis would recognize Coach. He was his coach for a couple of years too. And that’s not Coach’s voice, but it does sound familiar somehow.
“What do you want with Calvin?” Curtis sounds suspicious, and I feel curiosity as I climb off my bed and crack my door open, trying to look down the short hall toward the front door. I can see a hint of an arm and a sneaker past my brother’s broad frame.
“Uh . . . I’m Jonah. I just wanted to talk to him about practice today.”
Jonah. Coach’s little brother. Nepotism in the flesh.
I watch Curtis fold his big arms over his chest, but other than that, he doesn’t move a muscle. “Huh,” he laughs cruelly. “So you’re Coach’s little brother? Pretty shitty what Coach did. And here I thought he was a good guy.”
“He told you then,” Jonah says it with some surprise in his voice, like maybe I’d be ashamed about quitting like I did. But I’m not ashamed, damn it. I’m not.
But I didn’t tell Curtis that. I didn’t tell anyone.
If I came home early from practice, my entire family would be on top of me from the get-go.
My parents would demand answers. My grandfather, who lives with us now and has since my grandma passed two years ago, and my brother who I guess never saw the reason to move out yet.
He lives in the basement, though it has a separate entrance, so I guess he thinks that’s enough independence. What does it really matter anyway? He goes to work with my dad every day—at the company my grandfather started. And next year . . . that’ll be me too.
I knew they would all have questions, so I drove around after I left practice. Took my truck around the lake on the outskirts of town until it was an acceptable hour to be home. But I’m not surprised Curtis knows.
I’m sure the whole town knows by now.
Curtis doesn’t dispute it was me that told him though, nor does he offer up how he actually found out.
He just sneers, “Giving his little brother the QB1 position when no one in the town even knew you existed.” I see him shake his head, towering over Jonah, expecting him to step back, I’m sure. Or to cower.
Most people would. My brother has a menacing presence. But Jonah doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move. He might even stand up a little taller. “Is he here?”
“What do you want from him?” my brother asks.
I don’t know why he’s here or what he wants, but I do know I don’t want him to answer my brother. For some unexplained reason, that forces me to walk down the hall and interrupt before Jonah can answer. “What are you doing here?”
Jonah’s golden eyes meet mine, his black hair still wet from a shower, probably in the locker room after practice.
And then he smiles at me. This pretty, kind of lopsided grin, causing his pink, full lips to stretch, the motion creating a dimple in his right cheek.
“I wanted to talk to you. I’m your QB, after all. ”
Curtis makes a growling, angry sound that snaps me out of what I can only describe as a trance, looking into those mischievous gorgeous eyes with that smile reaching them—it left me frozen for a second.
But the sound Curtis makes sends an intense, unpleasant shiver down my spine.
“You’re not my QB,” I say, keeping my voice low because I don’t want to attract any other family member’s attention.
That damn smirk is still on his face, and the dimple has only grown deeper. Can people have only one dimple? I thought they came in pairs. And why am I thinking about this?
I walk closer to him, hoping to intimidate him, my shoulder bumping my brother’s as I stand next to him. “You should leave.”
But Jonah doesn’t move, and there’s no hint of intimidation. “Give me five minutes,”—his eyes roam over my brother—“alone.”
I don’t like the way my body responds to that one word. Alone. Being alone with Jonah is dangerous. Not like he would be a physical threat. He couldn’t hurt me, I know that. But dangerous all the same. “No.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, planting his feet and being a total pain in the ass. Telling me he isn’t going anywhere. “Okay. I’ll wait till you’re ready.”
But he doesn’t move, and my brother looks from him to me, his eyes assessing and cruel. Like he sees something that isn’t there. That can’t be there. But it’s making him suspicious and making my skin crawl.
I huff. “Fine.” I turn to my brother, trying my best not to let my voice quiver. “Just give us a minute.”
His cold eyes meet mine, calculating. Thinking too damn hard. I want to shrivel up. Climb into a hole. Hide away from him and the rest of the world. But Curtis, if he senses blood in the water, he won’t back away.
“I’ll get rid of him,” I say, trying to be convincing that I don’t want him here—and I don’t. I can’t have him here. There’s something about this guy—something I noticed this morning.
Something terrifying about the way he looks at me. How he acts. How he carries himself.
And I can’t be near him.
Curtis finally drops his hands to his side, his scowl a permanent fixture on his face as he does another once-over of Jonah, irritation flickering in his eyes before they meet mine. “Don’t be long. Mom made pot roast.”
I nod, relief coming over me but not fully taking over. I don’t think I’ve relaxed in almost a decade. Not fully anyway.
When Curtis walks down the hall toward the kitchen, I turn back to Jonah. “Why are you here? You’re not my QB. I made that clear today, didn’t I?”
I should have done my job and blocked for him.
It went against every instinct in my body not to, to let him get laid out over and over again.
But Shields and Adler made it pretty clear in the locker room—as soon as Jonah waltzed in there, ready to head out to practice—we were going to send a message.
And if I didn’t—well then, it would reaffirm their teasing from this morning about me being curious.
And . . . I was pissed off. Pissed that Coach is a liar.
About everything. About merit and hard work being all that matters to him out on the field.
I guess that was true until his little brother came along and needed a position.
He just handed it to him.
“Oh yeah, my ass is still sore.” His words do exactly what I think he intended. It shocks me stupid, and then my thoughts go straight to his ass. That perfect, tight . . . Nope. Stop, Calvin. “But you proved your point,” he continues.
“And that is?”
“That you don’t like that Micah put me into the QB1 position. That you’re pissed off.”
My lips form a solid, thin line. It’s strange hearing Coach being called by his first name, but I move on. “I don’t care what he does. It’s none of my business, now that I’m not on the team anymore.”
His eyes actually roll around in his head at me, and he cocks his head to the side. “Oh please.” I try not to show any emotion at all, but I’m surprised he’s calling me out. He smirks again, knowing he hit the target. “You’re still very much a part of that team.”
“I’m really, really not,” I say because who the hell is this guy?
“You really . . .”—he leans in too close, way too close—“really are.” I can smell the soap from the locker room showers on him and see that dimple way too up close as he moves into me, sending my body on hyperdrive. All my senses react at once. Anger. Fear. Lust. More fear.
I’m struck stupid. I can’t seem to form words as I stare at him, and he stares right back, studying me. Seeing right through me. Like he knows . . .
I clear my throat and take a big step back that I’m not proud of. But I can’t be held responsible for what I’d do if he got any closer to me. “Why do you care? Why are you here? You did it. You’re QB1. You’re starting quarterback this year. You got your way.”
He snorts at that, and once again I’m taken off guard.
“Look, none of this is my way.” I open my mouth to ask him what that means, but then quickly close it again.
And that seems to be fine because he’s already continuing.
“I wanted to play in the same town where I started playing. I wanted to take us to state for my senior year and then go off to college and kick ass there. But my dad kicked me out, and this is where I wound up.”
I want to ask him why his dad kicked him out. I want to jump to conclusions . . . but I don’t. I force myself not to ask. I don’t care. I don’t, I keep telling myself. “Even your old man couldn’t stand you? I get it,” I say cruelly, but Jonah just chuckles.
“He couldn’t for most of my life, but he tolerated me. Until he didn’t.”
It makes me think of my own father—and my brother. And my grandfather. The thoughts are unwelcome. “Go away,” I say coldly. “I don’t want to play.”
“You love football.”
I do. “You don’t know me at all. How are you so sure?”
“Because between those big, sweaty guys plowing me down on the field, I could see it in your eyes.” Okay, did he really have to put it that way?
And the way he’s smirking at me right now tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Seriously, who is this guy? Talking like that with that teasing hint?
It’s going to get him in trouble around here really damn fast. “You love it like I love it. And it’s your senior year.
You’re going to tell me you don’t want to play the game you love the most for your senior year? ”
I swallow thickly, my throat so full of disappointment and sadness, I nearly choke on it. Of course I want to play. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I do love football. I have since I could pick up a damn ball and watch it on television with my brother, dad, and grandfather.
I love the smell of fall in the air and the crisp grass. I love getting to ram my body against someone else’s with full force and stop them from getting to my quarterback.
But he’s not my quarterback.
“Coach said I’m done.”
Again with the dismissive little snort and a wave of his hand. “Please, Micah didn’t want to kick you off the team. He was pissed. You were pissed. I have it on good authority that if you show up tomorrow at practice, you’ll be welcomed.”
“He lied,” I say, angry at myself for engaging.
“He didn’t.” Jonah sighs, pushing a hand through his wet hair nervously before letting it fall to his side.
“I asked him not to introduce me. He wanted to talk to you all about it, but I wouldn’t let him.
I should have because Micah is straightforward and honest. He never would have kept it from you. ”
“But he did.” My eyes narrow. “For you.”
“He’s my brother.” He says it like that explains everything. I think about Curtis and the relationship we have. Has he ever once had my back? Not really. No way he’d stand up for me if he knew who I really was. The secret I’ve hidden.
I’m sure he’s heard rumors. Hell, he’s taken the opportunity at every chance to let me know just how he feels about men like me . . . But he’s never actually called me on it. Not yet.
If he ever knew for sure . . . if he ever caught me in my lie . . . there’s no way in hell he’d have my back.
“Exactly,” I say. “He’s your brother, and that’s why you’re starting quarterback.”
His eyes roll at me again. “I’m starting quarterback because my brother is smart as hell and a damn good coach. And . . . ambitious. He knows I can take you all to state, and he wants it.”
It’s my eyes’ turn to roll. “Not modest, huh?”
He takes a step toward me, over the threshold for the first time, crowding me.
Making me sweat with nerves as he approaches.
“Don’t have to be. I’m good.” His voice is husky.
Or maybe I’m imagining that. I don’t think so, though, as he takes another step toward me, and all I can do is stand there, looking at him like a precious relic that has me mesmerized. “I’m really, really good.”
“Calvin!” Shit. My brother. I quickly step back and look over my shoulder, relieved I can’t see him so he probably can’t see me. Oh God. What if he had walked in with us standing like that? With him a mere inch away from my body.
With my body responding to him. With my eyes locked on Jonah’s mouth as it moved.
“You need to go,” I say firmly, my stomach clenching as I look back over my shoulder to once again make sure Curtis isn’t coming, and then back at Jonah, who’s watching me with curiosity. “Now.”
He sighs and shakes his head slowly. “Come to practice tomorrow. We need you.”
“You were on your back for most of practice today. Why do you think you need me?” It’s an honest question. I showed him no talent whatsoever.
“It’s a feeling. In my gut.” He moves slowly toward me again, tilting his head up to look at me directly—making sure I feel it all over, and boy, do I. “I always trust my gut.”
All I can do is stare at him as he smiles and then waves before leaving my house.
Curtis yells my name again, and it finally jump-starts me into moving my ass toward the kitchen. But in my mind, I’m still there at the front door.
With him.