Chapter 3
Grace
Itake in the two squealing girls, and resist saying the thought that jumps into my mind.
Yeah, girls, I know. He’s scream-worthy.
Regardless of how I feel about our college encounter, there’s no denying Johnson oozes masculine appeal now that I’m in his presence.
I’m still shocked I’m even here. But I couldn’t think of a way to stay home that wouldn’t set off alarm bells for Rawls, who’s used to us all being stuck together like glue when he’s in town.
So I agreed to come, with a plan to stand by the car and watch them practice, away from the fray. Away from him. And I’d been ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.
Johnson came straight over to me though, and my plan went out the window.
“Girls, stop screaming,” comes a voice behind them. An older man I recognize appears. By older, I mean maybe forty. His brown hair has streaks of gray around the temples, and he’s dressed like an actual adult with a button-down shirt and slacks.
“Hey, Aiden, glad the door code worked.” Johnson must have been expecting him, by his unsurprised tone. Aiden is Johnson and Landon’s agent. Maybe soon to be Rawley’s too.
Johnson twists towards me, as if he wants to make sure I’m alright with the interruption. “This will take just a few minutes.”
“No problem at all.”
I lean back against the kitchen island, my eyes drifting over the scene before returning to Johnson.
Being in his proximity, in a way I’ve avoided since I moved here…it’s setting off all sorts of observations.
Summed up best as: Johnson is all man now, and that college boy I knew is gone.
It’s not only his being even more chiseled after two years in the NFL, muscles popping out of his Waves t-shirt, physical strength radiating off him.
There are other differences too. His clean-shaven face from college is presently covered in a black beard and mustache, making him look even older than his twenty-three years. His eyes look sharper, wiser, maybe even a little jaded.
He’s not a kid anymore—but neither are you.
He still has Southern boy manners, is friendly and a good host. Maybe a little unsure what to say at first, but then welcoming.
An ember of curiosity flicks up in my mind from that—he isn’t acting like I’d have assumed.
“Sorry about the girls, Grace,” Aiden says, pulling my focus back to him. His nieces have quieted down at his instruction but are still softly giggling together. “They’re staying with me right now, and I wanted to get Johnson some papers he needed to sign.”
“It’s totally fine, Aiden.” Twisting their way, I smile at them.
“Speaking of which, nice to meet you.” Johnson’s voice is warm, causing them to giggle louder. “Your uncle talks about you all the time.”
Their faces light up in response, and I suspect he’s made those girls’ day by acknowledging them.
Johnson turns back to Aiden and takes the papers. “It’s good to have you down here in person.”
“The conference I’m going to begins on Monday, and I thought it’d be fun for the girls to go to some amusement parks with me this weekend.
” Aiden pauses, looking like he’s trying to find the right way to bring something up.
“One thing, Johnson, are you sure about the donation? I brought those papers too, but…”
Johnson nods vehemently. “Yeah, stop trying to talk me out of it.”
“What’s the donation?” I can’t help being intrigued. They both turn in my direction.
“It’s no big deal,” Johnson responds.
“This guy here is about to give his entire fifteen million check from the Flash Fuel endorsement to start a program for kids whose parents are struggling with alcohol addiction.” Flash Fuel is a sports drink that has become trendy.
I stare at Johnson. A fifteen million dollar donation? I wonder what inspired that? It’s so much money to give, even to a worthy cause.
“It’s happening, Aiden,” he says firmly. “The endorsement is just one of many. Money is not going to be a problem, and Lily’s given us the thumbs up. We have our billion-dollar plan.” I know from passing comments by Landon that Lily is Johnson’s business manager.
“Fine,” Aiden agrees. They walk to a nearby table and review all the papers Johnson needs to sign. I watch as he puts his pen to at least five different documents.
One of the girls suddenly speaks to me. “You’re so pretty. Who are you?”
I’ve done my makeup the way my mom likes, a little heavier than my preferred lip gloss and swipe of mascara. Complying with her training to never leave the house “without my face on.”
“Oh, I’m nobody,” I say, batting my hand at them dismissively.
Johnson’s head snaps up at my words, and he looks at me for a beat before bending down again to deal with the papers.
Once they’re done, Aiden steps away and looks to his nieces. “C’mon kiddos, let’s go to the theme parks now.”
Johnson walks them out, disappearing down the hallway towards the front of his house, which seems like it’s about a mile away.
I glance around the expansive space. Next to the kitchen is a huge lounge area—basically an extra-large TV room. Massive gray couches, four enormous mounted TVs, and a minibar area fill out the room. I suspect this is where Landon watches games when he comes over to hang out with Johnson.
On one hutch I notice a bunch of framed photos. Stepping closer, I see that almost all seem to be of his family. An older woman and a thirty-ish year old woman, I presume his mom and his sister, are in many of them, and one appears to be his sister’s wedding picture. A few include a little girl.
The image that catches my eye the most is set out in front. It’s a big, burly Johnson, beard and all, holding a tiny baby in his arms. Looking down at the infant like they’re the most precious thing in the world. It must be his new nephew.
In February when Johnson left town, Landon shared the backstory of what he was doing for his sister and mom, but I hadn’t really let it sink in, too lost in my own knee-jerk relief that Johnson wouldn’t be around for a while.
Now, faced with these pictures, I actually absorb why he’s been gone. I can’t lie to myself—anyone who would sacrifice months of his time to help his family must have a kind, loving side to him.
Not that I should be surprised. Landon’s not much different.
He’s a rock for me and our brothers, but until Rori, it felt like he flew through women one night at a time.
If I’d only known that side, I’d probably think much less of him.
I should have expected that there’s more to Johnson than his public persona too.
“Where were we?” Johnson asks as he walks back in. “Do you still want something to drink?”
I take him in with new eyes.
For certain, I can’t pretend anymore that he’s just a one-dimensional, selfish playboy.
“Yeah, sparkling water sounds good. And then let’s go see how the guys are doing outside?”
“Whatever you want, Little Battle.”
There’s the old nickname he gave me. The one I haven’t heard in over two years.
I let it go without comment and we make our way back outside.
Rawley and Bailey’s chatty natures ensure they fill the conversational space during the remaining hours we’re there. Eventually the sun gets to the guys and they decide to stop playing. I’ve been alternating between watching and reading my kindle in a lawn chair on the side of the yard.
“Grace, let’s go, I’m starving,” Rawley says as they break things up.
“Yes, I’m out too.” Bailey walks over, grabbing his water.
Johnson chucks the football he’s been throwing to them so that it rests against the side of his back door and turns to Rawley.
“You’re welcome here anytime. I think Bailey is coming over again on Monday afternoon. Get in a little extra practice time before training camp begins.”
Rawley’s shoulders slump slightly. “I’d love to, but I fly back tomorrow. I have a national wide receivers camp before our official practices start, so I’m not sure if I’ll be in Orlando again soon.”
“The Brennan Wide Receivers Camp? You got an invite?” Bailey asks, and Rawley perks back up, nodding. “Nice. I did too, during college. Say hi to Coach Brennan for me.”
Johnson and I look at each other. An amused expression is in his eyes—like he realizes we’ll never get a word in edgewise around these two.
I’m happy for Rawley. This is the environment he needs. Being around pros, seeing what it takes to get to the NFL, making connections.
“Thanks again for having us,” I say to Johnson. And I mean it.
He dips his chin in acknowledgement, the amused look on his face still.
As we drive away, Rawley begins chattering, reliving his experiences of the day.
But I’m distracted by my uncertainty over one question.
Have I been too quick to judge Johnson?