Chapter 21
A Shoe Named Lucy
Six years ago, I missed out on my senior prom. Talia Houseman was the hottest girl in school, and I was the lucky kid who beat out six other guys who asked her.
Eighteen-year-old me loved having the attention of a pretty girl, especially one who every guy in my grade was vying for. Maybe that’s where my big head came from.
Talia had a bit of a reputation—one that coined her as “experienced.” But that’s not why I wanted to go with her. Outside of the whispers around school that Talia Houseman gave the best head in our entire grade, she was actually cool as fuck.
She knew about me being bi and didn’t care about the mean things guys in our grade would say about me.
“How could Warren like pussy and dick? What a homo.”
“Makes sense he’s a catcher. Squatting all day long because he likes it up the ass.”
“You think Brooks gives head better than Talia Houseman?”
Can’t say the words didn’t hurt, but I always had baseball to work out my pent up anger toward the puny-brained homophobes at school. But then Talia came along, and I fed off the jealousy from my bullies who wanted her.
With my suit rented and tie that matched her dress bought, I felt on top of the world the day leading up to prom. I had scouts calling my house multiple times a week, and word was getting out that I could possibly be drafted. College or straight to the league?
My opportunities were endless. Senior prom was the cherry on top of all the good things coming my way, and I couldn’t wait to dance the whole night with Talia.
As I look into the hotel room mirror, a flash of my eighteen-year-old self stares back at me. Adjusting the bow tie around my neck, a flood of emotions rush through me as an unexpected sting pricks behind my eyes.
“Hey, could you help me with—” Will walks into the bathroom with his head down, fumbling with his bowtie when he stops in his tracks, eyes locked on me through the mirror. “Wow,” he says on a heavy breath, slack-jawed.
I try to force a smile, inhaling deeply as I take in Will’s handsome face.
The custom tuxedo is practically sewed to his body.
An absolutely perfect fit. I try not to let the memories from prom night pull me under, but Will’s gotten pretty good at reading me with the amount of time we’ve spent together.
Will leans on the door jamb, his eyes softening then etched with concern when he notices the forced expression in my features. “You alright?”
I turn to face him as I lean back on the bathroom counter, crossing one ankle over the other.
Well, I can’t avoid it now. I’ve exposed myself, and I can’t find it in me to lie to Will or avoid the truth.
Seeing him all dressed up—handsome as the day I first laid eyes on him—has me wanting to share every detail of my life, even if it’s painful to bring up.
“I was just thinking about my senior prom,” I say quietly.
His eyes light up at that, a grin tipping his lips. “Yeah? Seeing me in a tux got you feeling nostalgic?”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I exhale, trying not to fight the memories from that time in my life.
“Seeing you in that tux makes me wish I made it to prom,” I murmur, clearing my throat when the words catch.
“Sorry. Just . . . random shit from my past popping up at the worst times. I don’t wanna ruin the night before it even starts. ”
Will pushes himself off the door jamb and steps into my space, caging me in against the sink.
His nose brushes mine, his cologne wrapping around me as the soft scrape of his stubble grazes my cheek.
I gain a strange sort of comfort with his scent and his proximity, coaxing me to share more before he asks for it.
I tell Will about Talia and the boys in my class who wanted her. I tell him about the shit they’d say and rumors they’d spread about me—all because a popular girl from school wanted to go to prom with me.
The baseball playing fag.
“The night before prom, I got a text from one of the guys who bullied me, inviting me to a guys’ night since we were all gonna be in the same group.”
Will listens intently, his thumb softly brushing over my hand in slow, grounding circles. I swallow hard, his touch keeping me steady as he nods for me to go on. “I was just a kid, you know? I wanted to be accepted. I thought his invitation was a sort of olive branch. So, I said yes.”
“And then?”
I sigh, closing my eyes as if the memory from that night hurts too much.
Probably because it does, even though I hate to admit it.
“I showed up with a case of beer I stole from my dad, thinking that would somehow make me cooler or something. I didn’t even make it through the front door until I was lights out, flat on my ass in the front yard. ”
Will’s jaw tightens, anger flaring across his face. “What?” he grits through clenched teeth.
“They jumped me. Beat me to a pulp. A neighbor who was walking his dog ended up finding me face down in the grass. He called 911.”
“Fuck, baby,” Will whispers, rolling his forehead against mine. “I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you.”
I shrug a shoulder, trying for nonchalance, but the ache in my chest betrays me. Phantom pain shoots through my ribs at the memory of them being kicked repeatedly.
“It’s in the past,” I murmur. “I came out stronger. Since we were eighteen, they were charged as adults. I pressed charges. They went to jail, and I became a professional ball player.”
A small grin tugs on my lips as I meet his eyes with adoration. “And now I get to call the hottest pitcher in the league mine. Safe to say I won at life, Sin.”
Nothing beats seeing Will blush. His cheeks tint pink, and the hint of a smile threatens to graze those full lips I love to take. Lips I’m two seconds away from tasting because I fucking can.
As if he read my mind, we collide in a deep kiss, one full of longing. I feel his empathy for me and the journey I’ve been on to get me where I am today.
I’m proud to be queer and no longer let the ghosts of my pasts define me. When Will’s tongue tangles with mine, I taste a future that I never saw for myself.
A house. A family. And Will Sinclair.
Holy shit.
A live band plays an upbeat tune as the crowd of people swells by the second. My eyes widen at the insanity of it all. Although this is more of Will’s scene, he seems just as awestruck as me. Probably because his eyes land on a portrait of a little girl with a smile from ear to ear.
She’s blonde like Will, has a face like Will, and from a picture alone—I can tell has a heart like Will.
Abigail.
“She’s beautiful. I see so much of you in her,” I muse.
His eyes never leave the gold framed photo, his navy gaze welling with unshed tears and a faint, aching smile. “She is—was,” he chokes out.
“Is,” I correct softly.
He nods. “Yeah. Is.”
When his eyes finally meet mine, the urge to kiss him pulses through me. I know I’m here as his date, but I let him set the pace. Coming out and landing a fat one in front of his family and former organization probably isn’t the right move tonight.
“William!” Jameson Sinclair’s voice cuts through the bustling crowd.
I brace for an awkward reunion, but instead, Will’s face breaks open with relief as he pulls his father into a tight hug.
His beautiful mother stands beside the two of them in a long satin gown with one of those scarf thingies wrapped around her shoulders. She looks every bit the part of the elegant wife of a team owner.
When Will finishes greeting his parents, his hand lands on my lower back, nudging me closer. “Mom, Dad, this is Brooks Warren. My date tonight,” Will says with pride in his voice.
Fucking butterflies flap around in my empty stomach, wishing now that I ate something before this thing because meeting Will’s parents actually has me nervous. But I roll my shoulders back, offering my hand for his father first, then his mother.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“It’s very nice to meet you too, Brooks. Please, call me Jameson. And this is my wife, Anne.”
“You look lovely, sweetheart,” Anne says sweetly.
“Thank you, ma’am. Can’t show up on this man’s arm looking anything short of worthy.”
That gets a genuine laugh from Will’s parents, and I inwardly high-five myself that my charm works on not just one Sinclair, but three.
“Laying it on thick, eh, War?” Will mumbles in my ear.
I fight a smile, leaning closer to him and whispering, “Gotta impress my future in-laws.”
If I could take a picture in real-time of Will’s face right now, I’d keep it in my back pocket at all times in case I ever needed a laugh. “I’m kidding, Sin. The wedding bells aren’t ringing just yet,” I tease. “But I love watching you squirm. Once a stiff, always a stiff.”
“I’ll give you something stiff, alright,” Will growls, his voice low and dripping with lust.
Is he hard beneath those Armani pants? I know I fucking am.
“Hey, brother.” A tall brunette man with striking Sinclair genes approaches, holding out his hand to Will.
“Dawson. It’s been a while. Good to see you.”
Will’s tone is borderline icy, and it’s not exactly the sibling warmth I’m used to when I see Jade. The many layers of Will seem to surface, and I find myself pulling them back little by little to get the whole story.
“You too. Brooks Warren?” Dawson addresses me, shaking my hand. “Dawson Sinclair. I hope my brother is good company.”
With a firm handshake, I give him a full smile. “He sure is. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m gonna grab a drink. You two want anything?”
Will answers for both of us, shaking his head. “No, that’s okay. We’ll get something later. Go make your rounds,” he clips.
Dawson says nothing, giving us a polite nod as he walks away. I’ll have to circle back to that another day. The tension in Will’s shoulders is still there, and I ache to rub them out. It’s killing me that I can’t just reach out and touch him the way I want.
The last thing I want is for Will to see me being needy or to talk his ear off about my observations, so I shove my hands into my suit pants pockets and follow his lead.
“Son, make sure you go and say hello to the sponsors. We’ll catch up with you two later,” Jameson adds, whisking Anne away with him.
“Sorry,” he grumbles. “I know it’s a lot, but I’m so damn glad you’re here with me.”
My heart beats faster. “It’s fine. I’m happy to meet your family. They’re nice.”
He snorts, leading me toward a table with what looks like yellow roses. “We’re fucked up. But what family isn’t? All that matters is that I have you, and you have me.”
Now that we’re closer to the table lined with a black tablecloth, I see the yellow roses are tied with orange satin ribbons with pins.
“What’s all this?” I ask, picking up a rose.
I prick my finger on a pin by accident, a small bead of blood swelling on my thumb. Without thinking, Will immediately takes my thumb, sucking the blood off my finger. I’m too shocked to pull back, watching him with hooded eyes as he stares at me with the same amount of lust.
He coolly pops my thumb out of his mouth, smirking.
“Um . . . thanks?” I say awkwardly, willing the flag pole in my pants to chill out.
Will picks up the flower that pricked me off the table, presenting it to me like an offering.
“This is a boutonniere. The flower is yellow to represent childhood cancer, and the orange ribbon is for leukemia awareness.” His jaw clenches, fingers slightly shaking.
“Typically, for prom, your date presents you with one of these to pin on your lapel. So, um . . .” Will stammers, and it’s the most adorable fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“Sinclair,” I whisper, leaning in close. “Are you asking me to the prom?”
I wish Will’s smile could cure cancer so that Abigail could see how amazing her big brother is. With trembling hands, he bites his lip as he pins the boutonniere to my lapel, both of us smiling like a pair of lovesick fools.
“Can I put one on you, too?”
Will nods, and I follow suit. Once we both have our boutonnieres on, a photographer approaches us. “Picture for the paper, Mr. Sinclair?”
I immediately look to Will to gauge his response. Last time we were photographed, his world exploded, and I was there to pick up the pieces. Though, he should know by now that if the world was ending, I’d never leave his side.
Fully expecting him to tell this guy to fuck off, he does the opposite and pulls me in close, flush to his hip.
The photographer seems shocked himself, readying his camera that’s strapped around his neck with a cheeky smile.
“Okay! Big smiles now!”
Will’s arm wraps possessively around my waist, and I couldn’t fake the smile on my face even if I tried. The flash nearly blinds me, but Will’s professional and polite, shaking the photographer’s hand.
He disappears back into the crowd, and Will’s gaze lands back on mine.
“You sure you’re okay with him printing that?” I ask, hesitance lacing my voice.
It’s not that I’m not confident in my relationship with Will—it’s just I don’t want him to bite off more than he can chew.
I know we’re not making out in the middle of the gala for everyone to see, but he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive and putting his arm around my waist like I’m no one else’s but his.
He’s introduced me as his date, and I’ve met his family, and—fuck. I hate feeling like the other shoe might drop. Being on Will’s arm gives me a high that no drug could ever provide. He’s pure, unfiltered—a straight shot in my veins.
“Of course I’m sure,” he answers with confidence. “Let them say what they will. Because I know exactly what I want.” His voice drops an octave, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out with these heated stares and the gravelly timbre of his voice literally vibrating my skin.
“Yeah? And what’s that, Sin?” I whisper in his ear.
“I want—”
“Will? Oh my god. It’s really you.”
Both of our heads snap toward the honey-like voice, and a slender blonde with legs for days walks toward us. When I watch Will’s face fall and his body tense, I think I might have manifested what I was dreading just moments ago.
“Lucy,” Will rushes out on an exhale.
“Lu—” I start, but I’m cut off when she slams her body straight into my man’s arms.
In a delayed reaction, Will’s eyes widen with shock as she melts into him. But when he wraps his arms around her like he’s done it a thousand times before, I hate how hard my heart bottoms out, leaving me in a pile of doubt.
The other shoe might be dropping, and her name is Lucy.