17. Chapter 17
“ Fuck ! Fuck ! Fuck !” I shout inside the cab of my truck as my fist meets my steering wheel, over and over. Dragging my hand down my face, I smack my head against the headrest.
What the fuck have I done?
My ragged breaths fill the quiet cab as I press the ignition button. I dig through my pocket, pull out my phone, and scroll until I find Q’s name. One tap, and the Bluetooth kicks in.
“Sup, G?” Quinton’s voice comes over the speaker.
“I fucked up.”
He chuckles. “Nah, man, I heard you got fucked.”
“What do you mean?”
“Guess the girls had a FaceTime date. Brynn said your woman was looking all dick drunk.”
I chuckle. “Dick drunk, you say?”
“Yeah, man. Wilder texted me in all caps, spilling all the tea.”
“After all these years, and B still can’t keep her mouth shut.”
“That’s my wife, motherfucker.”
“Speaking of wives…”
“Grant,” he draws out my name. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I panicked,” I say, rubbing my hand down my face. “Fuck. Word got around that a student was living with a coach. It came up in our offense meeting when Martinez wanted to know if he had any misconduct issues to worry about.”
I pause, taking a breath. “They started questioning the ethics, throwing around policy violations, and the negative media coverage. I fucking panicked and blurted out, ‘she’s my wife.’”
Silence.
Then, “Wait, you two got hitched?”
“No,” I grit out. “It’s not real. I just…
I don’t know, Q. I didn’t know what else to say.
They were making her sound like a problem, and she’s not.
She’s the furthest thing from it. Then someone twisted it into me being some creep taking advantage of a student.
For fuck’s sake, she’s carrying a baby and working her ass off.
No one is taking advantage of anyone. So, to keep the heat off our backs, I said the first thing that popped into my head. ”
“That she’s your wife?” Q snorts before letting out a low whistle. “Damn, G. This isn’t good.”
I groan my frustration. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“And your dad?”
“Fucking walked in at the exact moment I blurted out I had a wife. Didn’t say a damn word to me the rest of the day.”
Q mutters a curse. “Shit, man, that’s rough. So what now?”
“I don’t fucking know.” A heavy breath pushes past my lips.
“I didn’t think. I can never think when it comes to Savannah Holycross.
She doesn’t want a serious relationship.
Fine, we’ll be friends with benefits. She gets knocked up, but tells me it’s not my problem.
Cool…I back off. A robbery happens in her building, so I offer her my guest room.
And to avoid anyone getting in trouble, I say she’s my wife.
Seriously, Q, what the fuck is wrong with me when it comes to her? ”
He sighs. “You’re a protector, Grant. You put aside consequences to protect the people you love. It’s who you are. But if you’re claiming she’s your wife…” he pauses. “Well, you better be ready to back it up. Your old man doesn’t take betrayal lightly.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” I mumble.
“I’m pulling up to my sister’s,” I say, turning into an empty parking spot near her townhouse. I could park closer to my building, but fuck it. “I need to talk to someone who’s done the whole hide-a-secret-from-Mom-and-Dad thing.”
“She should have all the pointers,” Q deadpans. “Good luck, G. I’m here if you need me.”
Shifting the gear into park, I shut off the ignition as Crew pulls in behind me. We exchange a silent nod before walking to the door together. He grips my shoulder in a comforting manner, but doesn’t say anything. I have a feeling he already knows why I’m here and the bomb I dropped earlier.
Crew pushes open the door, and I follow him inside.
“Hey, baby!” Bret shouts, walking down the stairs. “Oh, hey, brother. Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
I grunt a response as she lands on the last step. Her eyes snap to mine, and her face falls, eyebrows tightening. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks, Sis. Good to fucking see you too.” My voice comes out rough, exasperation bleeding through every word.
Crew wordlessly walks over to Bret, leans down, and places a kiss on her forehead. She melts into his touch, shoulders relaxing as a soft smile tips her lips.
“Cut him some slack,” Crew says softly.
Her gaze lands on mine. “What’s going on? Is it Savannah?”
“Something like that,” I grumble, tipping my head in the direction of their living room. “Can we talk?”
She nods as I follow her into the living room. Crew disappears, not following us. I’m not sure why he’s giving us space. It’s not like Bret isn’t going to tell him everything as soon as I leave. Which is fine—he’s her person. I expect them to share everything. Secrets never get anyone anywhere.
Take your own advice, Grant.
We pile onto the couch—Bret on one end, me on the other.
The faint scent of a candle lingers, almost calming as I take a deep breath.
I stretch an arm across the back cushion and scrub the other hand over my face, scratching at my beard.
Tipping my head back, I stare at the ceiling and let out a deep breath.
“Grant, you’re scaring me.”
I snort. “Well, I kind of fucked up.”
“That’s not like you,” she says, suspicion and concern rising in her tone.
Crew takes that moment to walk back into the room, three beers in hand.
“Shit, it must be bad if we’re drinking,” Bret murmurs, taking the outstretched beer. I do the same, nodding my thanks as I twist the top. I take a long pull, hoping for some liquid courage.
Knowing this conversation isn’t going to go any better, I rip the band-aid off. “I panicked and blurted out Savannah is my wife.”
Bret blinks once. Twice. Three times.
“Wait? What?” Her voice rises. “You’re married?”
I shake my head.
“Then start at the beginning because I don’t know what could have gone through your head to blurt such a thing.”
Before I have a chance to start, her head whips toward Crew, who’s sitting in the oversized chair, beer bottle pressed to his mouth. “Did you know about this?”
He shrugs. “Rumor was floating around the locker room.”
Cool. Cool. Everyone will know by morning. I just hope no one texts Savannah until she’s home from work. I want to be the one to tell her.
Bret’s attention slices back to mine, and her eyebrow quirks, telling me silently to continue.
“We were in an offensive staff meeting, prepping for week one,” I start. “Martinez asked about the code of conduct—wanted to know if he should be keeping an eye on any players. Well, Danners—”
“Fucking Danners,” Crew mumbles, interrupting me.
I nod aggressively. “Right? Fucking snake.”
“Continue,” Bret says, rolling her hand in a keep moving motion.
“Anyways, Danners, being the snake he is, decided to share the rumor he heard around campus, while staring directly at me, about a coach and a student shacking up. He started painting this narrative that sounded like the coach was using his position to take advantage of the situation.”
“Which is furthest from the truth.”
“Exactly,” I sigh. “When the attention turned to me, I felt like I was in the hot seat. Accusations and concerns were flying, and I didn’t want them to think the worst.”
“So your solution was to lie and claim her as your wife?” she hisses. Her entire being morphs from anger to disbelief to understanding. “It’s kind of sweet.”
“It’s kind of risky,” Crew chimes in. Our attention turns to him. “I’m just saying, man. Savannah’s already in a vulnerable state, and now you’ve put this on her. What happens if she tells you to fuck off?”
Silence settles, and I hate it. But he’s right.
She could very well tell me she’s not following along with my scheme.
It’s the one thing I’m most terrified of.
I know I should be worried about my parents’ reactions and how the university perceives my situation, but at the end of the day, she’s all that matters. It’s always been her.
Lifting my hat, I run my fingers through my hair before placing it back in its place. “I know I have no right to ask this, but can you keep this between us? The whole fake marriage situation.”
My sister’s eyes narrow in that way they do when she’s trying to decide if she wants to yell at me or hug me. She’s hard to get a read on.
“Remember how pissed you were when I kept my move a secret?” Bret cuts in, reminding me of last year, when I got blindsided with a text saying she’d transferred colleges.
No warning. No reason. One day, she was miles away, and the next, she was moving home.
The Bret we knew had already been fading, but suddenly she was right here—and I knew something had driven her out.
“Yeah…” I swallow thickly. “I know I have no right in asking, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“You’re my big brother, Grant. I love you endlessly. Do I think this is a terrible idea? Hell yeah. But I’ve got you. Always.”
“Yeah, man, we’ve got you,” Crew adds.
My shoulders sag in relief, but it’s short-lived.
She crosses her legs and shakes her head. “This is big, Grant. This lie not only touches you, but it touches her too.”
“I know that.”
“Does she know?” Crew asks, twirling the beer bottle by the neck.
I shake my head. Bret nibbles on her lip, and I can see the thoughts swirling in her mind.
“Not yet.” My voice cracks. “I’m trying to figure out a plan where she gets so much from going along with this that she can’t say no and won’t want to leave.”
Bret claps her hands together and pulls out her phone. “Well, let's start brainstorming talking points.”
I snort a laugh. My chest aches, but it’s clearer now. I’m not just protecting her; I’ve fallen for her.
And now I hope she can see that too.
For the next twenty minutes, the three of us comb through the code of conduct and my coaching contract. We don’t find anything outright banning a coach-student relationship, but it’s pretty damn clear it’s frowned upon for a dozen different reasons.