23. Brynn
Chapter twenty-three
Brynn
U neasiness follows me into the new year. Since New Year’s Eve is in the middle of the week and the guys have practice, we have a low-key celebration with a select few players and WAGs.
Though disquiet has taken up residence in my mind like an unwelcome visitor, my boyfriend is pure focus as he prepares for the game. With the exception of last Sunday night after he returned home, we haven’t had sex this week. Supportive girlfriend that I am, I didn’t question him when he told me he wanted to abstain to keep his mind clear. But I’ve missed the intimacy. That it’s happening—or not happening, technically—when I’m vulnerable and needy eats at me. I need the connection. I need him .
But football is the priority. At least for now.
To ensure they get a quality night of rest before this big game, the organization requires the players to spend Saturday night in a hotel. It’s not the first time Griffin and I have slept apart since we started dating, not by a longshot, but it’s the loneliest yet. I sleep curled in a ball on his side of the bed with Barnaby tucked to my chest.
Paige picks me up early so we’ll get a quick moment with our guys before they suit up for their pregame warm-ups.
When we step onto the field from the tunnel the guys use, a cold blast of winter air whips our hair across our faces. The temperature hovers around freezing, but the wind chill is well below that, and there’s a chance of snow flurries in the forecast. I pull my puffer coat tighter, thankful that the private suites are heated.
As Paige and I wait behind the barricade, we’re surrounded by wives, girlfriends, and children all decked in a kaleidoscope of blues and bouncing in place or blowing into gloved hands for warmth.
A handful of players are on the field, checking the conditions and getting a feel for the stadium. Beau and his backups run drills with the receivers, running backs, and tight ends to warm up.
When a whistle signals the end of this early warm-up period, the players jog over to greet their families before they head into the locker room to suit up.
When my guy pulls me in for a not-suitable-for-work kiss, my toes curl in my fleece-lined boots.
“How are you not freezing?” I ask, plucking at the long-sleeved Blues T-shirt he’s wearing with shorts.
“That kiss was hot enough to keep me warm for the entire game.” He grins and rubs his gloved hands up and down my upper arms, though I hardly feel it through the puffer. “Still love seeing you in blue.” He tweaks the pom-pom on top of my Blues beanie.
Popping up onto my tiptoes, I speak low into his ear. “If you don’t get inside and warm up, your balls are going to turn blue and fall off, and I love them, so…” I peck his beard and lips. “Have a good game.”
I expect him to join the teammates headed into the tunnel, but he bends and puts his mouth to my ear. “My blue balls have nothing to do with the weather. Later, after we win this fucking game, you and I can fix them. I’ll make you a deal: the number of times I score today will be the number of times I make you come tonight.”
Holy. Hell .
Face heating, I peer at the people around us, making sure no one overheard his filthy bargain. “What’s your record for number of touchdowns in a single game, Racy?”
He smirks and holds up two fingers.
Lips part. Toes curl. Thighs clench.
God, I need him to have a good game.
With a wink, he smacks one final kiss to my still-red cheeks. Then he tears off down the tunnel.
In a daze, I follow Paige to the suite level, where we have a sweet reunion with the Laceys. I haven’t seen Griff’s family since before the holidays, so it’s wonderful to have time to catch up before kickoff.
When number 89 runs in a touchdown at the beginning of the second quarter, I shed the navy- and sky-blue scarf Mrs. Lacey knitted for me. In the third, when Beau sends a beautiful spiral down the field and Griffin makes the catch in the end zone, then points at our suite, my hat and gloves come off.
Even though offense has played flawlessly so far, the Blues are down by six with two minutes left. Paige clasps my hand in a death-grip when the Warriors are forced to punt. Our receiver signals a fair catch, and then the whole stadium is on their feet as the guys step up to the twenty-five yard line.
“I’m so nervous,” Donna wails, clutching Fred’s arm.
On her sister’s other side, Dottie glares at the field like she can scare the players into winning from here. “They’ve got this.”
Tucker looks nauseous, while Shaw paces behind the seating area, his eyes glued to the TV monitor in the corner.
“Come on, Beau. Come on, Beau,” Paige whispers under her breath as her fiancé steps back and launches a pass on first down. His aim is perfect; the ball sails into the capable hands of Tyrell Jefferson, who tucks it and whizzes down the sideline. He’s the fastest guy on the team, and for a second, it looks as though he may run it all the way. But he’s forced out of bounds at the Warrior twenty-five.
On second down, the Blues attempt a draw play, but it only yields a five-yard gain. They run it again on second down, this time earning another ten yards. The clock steadily ticks down, and the Blues use their final time-out with a minute left.
While the guys huddle up with Mundy and Dobbins on the sideline, I fight the urge to gnaw on my fingernails. My pulse has skyrocketed, my temple throbs, and the fingers on my right hand are numb from Paige’s grip.
As the players jog back to the line of scrimmage, I slip my free hand into my pocket and feel around until my fingers find the smooth green aventurine. I hold it tight and let its warmth seep into my skin.
I want this win for Griffin so damn bad.
At the Warriors’ fifteen, Beau signals for the next play. But it’s a bad snap and our center almost fumbles the ball. Beau manages to land on it, and our only loss is a down. There’s a collective sigh of relief throughout the stadium.
On second down, the Blues run the ball and gain eight yards.
“Watch your time,” Fred warns from the row behind us.
Seconds ticking down, the guys get in formation. It’s third and goal. Beau steps back in the pocket, searching for an open guy in the end zone.
A six-five tight end in the back corner is his target. Griff leaps into the air, hands up, and makes the catch, landing with both feet in bounds. The stadium erupts as sixty-thousand Blues fans scream and cheer.
But we still have to make the extra point to win the game.
I hold my breath as our kicker’s foot connects with the ball. It sails through the air almost in slow motion, and when it clears the uprights, it’s bedlam—on the field and in the stands .
Our suite goes nuts. Paige and I jump up and down, tears streaming down our cheeks and smiling wide with joy. Tucker circles our bouncing bodies with his arms, throws his head back and whoops, his eyes red rimmed. Fred gathers Donna and Dottie in a group hug, and Trixie even leaps into Cam’s arms, knocking the cap off her copper pigtails. Shaw braces his hands on the bar behind the seats, head hanging low, taking a moment. When he raises to his full height, there’s no mistaking the gleam in his eye or the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he exhales his relief.
“First time in nine years!” Fred shouts over our excitement—this will be the Blues’ first playoff appearance in nearly a decade.
We’re standing in the family zone to greet the guys after their locker room celebration and press duties when it hits me—Griffin scored three touchdowns today.
I shrug off my coat and lift my hair off my heated skin.
The players trickle out, each celebrating with their loved ones. When Beau sweeps Paige into his arms and spins her around, she drops her head back in pure joy.
Then my man rounds the corner.
Leaving the Laceys’ cheers and whistles behind, I run straight to him. When I spring into his body, he bands his arms around my back and under my bottom to hold me close. I loop mine around his shoulders, my chest shaking with happy sobs.
“Congratulations. You were amazing.”
His voice is thick, full of emotion. “Thank you, baby.” Then, lower and next to my ear, he says, “Did you keep count?”
With a laugh, I press my lips to his. He loosens his hold, and I lower my legs, but he keeps an arm around me as his family crowds us to congratulate him with hugs and back slaps.
That night, after we celebrate with his family at dinner, Griffin fulfills his side of his ambitious, naughty bargain. Three orgasms later, I collapse into his arms in our bed—body sated and heart full.
After the euphoria from Sunday’s win fades, it’s back to the grind for Griffin and me. He’s in the zone, getting ready for wild card weekend, and I’m juggling a new batch of students who are taking their first English course along with former students now taking the second course. It always takes a few weeks to adjust to the spring semester, but I’m struggling more than usual this year.
“Time for tea, dear?” Helen’s poofy white head of hair appears in my doorway.
With a glance at the clock, I sigh. It’s mid-afternoon, and though I’d normally be with Griff at this time on a Tuesday, I’m on campus. The Blues are technically off today, but the guys reported to the practice facility this morning to game prep anyway.
I nod at Helen. “Sure. I’ll meet you in the break room.”
She’s prepared everything by the time I join her. The table is littered with mugs of hot water, our tin of tea, sugar packets, a small carton of creamer, and a box of shortbread cookies. She selects her flavor—lemon and ginger—and I pluck out the last package of peppermint.
“How are things with that handsome fella of yours?” she asks over the rim of her mug.
“Good. He’s busy getting ready for Buffalo. Did you watch the game on Sunday?”
She scowls into her tea. “I don’t want to hear about football. Tell me about being in love.” Her sour expression quickly disappears, and her eyes shine behind her glasses.
“It’s wonderful,” I confess. “He’s amazing. We get along really well. He makes me laugh every day.”
“Ahh, it’s good to see you so happy. I was worried about you before he came along, you know. Didn’t think we were going to keep you. Especially after you mentioned not liking Memphis. That’s better now?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “It’s better. I have friends now, and Griffin…”
She tilts her head and opens her mouth, but she’s cut off when Trinity, the department’s student worker, rushes into the room.
“You and Griffin didn’t break up, did you?” Her voice is laced with panic, her eyes wide.
“No…” I drag out the word as my heart rate kicks up.
“Oh, thank God.” Huffing, she sinks into an empty chair. When she notices my stunned expression, she leans in and waves her phone back and forth. “You haven’t seen?”
I swallow back a wave of trepidation. “Seen what?”
A few taps, and she hands her phone over.
My stomach caves like it’s taken a punch when the image registers. It’s a picture of my boyfriend with another woman on his lap.
But further inspection lessens my anxiousness. A bit.
It’s an old picture. In it, Griffin’s hair is longer on top and slicked back, and his face is younger. Not as many crinkles around his eyes. The beard is longer and less tidy. And the gray T-shirt he’s wearing sports the Tors’ logo on the pocket.
Once my brain is satisfied that it isn’t a recent shot, I take in more details. The woman perched in his lap is gorgeous and thin. Her long, dark red hair is a striking contrast to pale, almost translucent skin. The high cheekbones and pointy chin and pouty, full lips stand out on her thin, oval face. She’s wearing a short skirt and peek-a-boo fishnet stockings that tease glimpses of her long legs. And her corset-type top pushes her full breasts up under her chin.
I don’t need to look at the handle to know who this woman is, but I do it anyway.
RealKateVolkova93, with a blue certified check .
Griffin’s ex-girlfriend. His only other serious relationship.
When I read the caption beneath the picture, blood rushes in my ears.
Can’t wait to cheer this guy on in Buffalo this weekend! #goblues
What. The. Actual. Hell?
The pitying expression on Trinity’s face when I hand her phone back makes me want to chuck my half-empty mug of peppermint tea against the wall.
He didn’t invite her to the game, right?
Despite the way it aches, my heart tries to convince me that he would never, but my brain swirls with enough doubt to drown out any certainty that tries to take root.
After Helen and Trinity attempt to explain the photo away, I return to my office, where I stare at my laptop for a solid half hour, unable to function. My phone buzzes with messages and calls, but I ignore it.
I roll my neck and square my shoulders, and as I navigate to the inbox on my personal email, a calm numbness coats my insides. When I hang up after calling the number listed at the bottom of the message from Collins, I don’t even cry.
When I make it home that afternoon, Griffin’s truck is there.
And when I hit the top step, I find him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.
My heart splinters when he straightens.
He springs up and moves my way but stops short before he touches me.
“Baby, I’ve been calling and messaging you for the past three hours.” His voice is strained. “It’s old—the picture.”
“I know.”
He flinches. The move highlights the redness in his eyes .
“Then why haven’t you—” He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and starts over. “I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, so I need you to talk to me. Please.”
When I dump my purse on a stool, I notice a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two flutes on the bar. But my curiosity takes a back seat to the myriad of questions that storm in my head.
“Why the hell did she post that?”
His shoulders melt away from his ears, almost like he’s relieved I’ve spoken. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her or messaged her since we broke up.”
“Is she going to the game Sunday?”
He rakes his fingers through his short hair. “I hope the fuck not. I reached out to demand that she delete that post—”
My stomach knots. “You reached out? So you have messaged her.” My voice is shrill, and I’m being unreasonable. But I’m too hurt to care.
Eyes screwed shut, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Today was the first time.” When he looks at me again, his irises are mottled gray. “Seth has reached out to her manager, too. But we can’t force her to take it down, and I can’t ban her from the game, as much as I’d like to.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, and he fists his hands at his sides. We’re both unsure about how to proceed.
I break first. “Why’d the two of you break up?” It’s a question I’ve often pondered, though I wasn’t sure I really wanted the answer. Until now.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but…can I hold you for a minute first? Please?” His voice cracks on that last word, and my resolve withers like the leaves on his family’s soybean plants. In three strides, I’m locked in the comfort of his arms.
Body sagging with relief, he shudders an exhale, and the steady thump of his heart eases my worries. When he slumps to the couch and pulls me with him, I straddle his thighs and rest my body against his.
“She fucked my best friend.”
With a sharp intake of breath, I pull back.
He rolls his eyes. “Former best friend. And it wasn’t a one-time thing. They carried on behind my back for eight damn months.”
I rake my nails over the back of his head in a soothing pattern. “I’m sorry.”
He squeezes my hips. “Conner and I played together at Oklahoma, and when I got drafted, he moved to Nashville, too. He had a business degree, so he became my de facto manager. Around the time Kate and I met, he proposed to his girlfriend. They wanted a long engagement, and they spent all that time planning this huge-ass wedding. I was going to be his best man. But at the last minute, he called it off.” He rubs his hands up and down my thighs. “He called it off because he was fucking my girlfriend. Claimed he was in love with her.”
My heart clenches at the misery in his expression. “How’d you find out?”
“Seth.”
My brows climb to my hairline.
“He stopped by my house for a delivery, and they were going at it on the couch.” When I eye where we’re sitting, he chuckles. “Don’t worry, not this one.”
“Griff, I’m so sorry that happened. He wasn’t any kind of friend, though, if he did that to you.”
He deflates beneath me. “At the time, I kinda thought it was karma, you know? I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the women I slept with in my twenties had boyfriends or husbands I didn’t know about.”
“If you had no idea, then that’s on them, not you.”
A shoulder shrug and a sad smile. “Still. Felt like I deserved it somehow. ”
I rest my hands on his neck and kiss him, basking in his warmth and scent and goodness. It’s ripped away, though, when the memory of the phone call I made earlier crashes into me. It’s time to face the consequences.
“Uh, I-I did a thing today.” My breathing increases as I brace for the fallout, but I muster every ounce of bravery I own.
We both open our mouths to speak.
“I set up an interview with that college in Florida.”
But my words collide with his: “I signed an extension with the Blues today.”