Chapter 16
GREY
The windows weren’t foggy when Coach Hammer gave us the ultimatum about staying away from women. If any of us fool around, get bad press, or otherwise break the rules, we’re all off the team. I don’t know what my future holds, but Declan, Wolf, and Chase still have some good field years in them.
Before we left Boston, I proposed the playbook. It’s kind of like the Marriage of Convenience Club rules, except it forbids anything a married couple might do. No kissing, no dating, eyes up, hands off.
The guys joked that I’m married to the game, so they don’t have to worry about me. Little do they know that I’m actually married, and to be honest, I’m not sure how to handle this situation other than by adhering to the first and second rules of the Marriage of Convenience Club.
However, I never expected the comfort, relief, and surge of attraction while holding Everly in my arms when I went to her suite to apologize.
I’m the teammate they can trust, but have to quell this surge of something (Desire?
Yearning? The urge to sweep everything off the table and say, Let’s try this?).
That’s crazy thinking. Because I’m Grey, the guy who grunts, ghosts, and gives a football and all the players on the opposing team a solid whooping.
I know the playbook rules. I’m aware that I’m in a state, not a fragile one, but an unknown one. It’s obvious the stirring and whirring within have transformed into something bigger, brighter, warmer. But I can’t break any of the rules. The problem is, I’m not sure I can trust myself.
Unable to promise to adhere to the playbook and Marriage of Convenience Club rules, I anticipate breakfast and Everly. She’s a ray of light in the morning with wavy brown hair streaked with sunshine. Eyes that remind me of spring and a smile that keeps me craving another.
I should probably stop the mushball thinking and eat some steak, elk, bison, or something raw and manly to get this poetry and pining under control.
Who is this guy and what did he do with Grey?
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror next to the door to my suite.
Hair is cropped shorter, with it a bit longer on top.
My beard is groomed to perfection. Everly has a golden touch and I’m not sure how to feel about that, other than that I like it.
I look slightly less beastly than I did when I arrived at Blancbourg, but nothing else on the outside suggests I’ve changed.
And I’m okay with that because I’m not quite ready to reveal that this woman who breezed into my life shifted something inside me.
It feels too soon to reenter the world of emotional vulnerability, never mind navigate situations where I have to actually smile, laugh, or relate.
Being a cold, quiet, pillar of emptiness brought with it simplicity and zero expectations.
However, I am confident that I won’t do anything to make Everly’s meal miserable, like criticizing her eating habits or her outfit. Now that I know she lost her luggage, I understand why she wore the same thing a couple of days in a row.
I like that she has my T-shirt. Something borrowed, something blue...something old, something new, or whatever the saying is.
Before I head downstairs, my phone rings.
“Grey, it’s Ted. I got the marriage license, you sneaky scamp. Kept that secret locked up tight. I guess a guy in your position prefers privacy. We ought to redo your will. But good for you, settling down and making an honest man of yourself. Congratulations and all that.”
“Thanks,” I say dully, instantly worried about what’s going to happen when the guys on the team find out. They’ll be happy for me but disappointed I didn’t tell them about any of it. Who can blame me for not finding the words when, up until recently, I could hardly string two sentences together?
After everything that went bad with my ex and she blew up my life, I committed to being single—the marriage of convenience notwithstanding.
“Three more days until your life changes forever. Ready?” Ted asks.
And there it is. The prospect of taking full responsibility and custody of a child is becoming more and more of a reality with each passing moment.
My life has already changed and I’m not prepared for more of that. The flickers of hope that lit inside at finally digging myself out of this pit of despair fizzle. “I’m in Concordia.”
“Come again? You took up the accordion? That can’t be right. You do realize I charge for these calls, so if we have a bad connection, let’s hang up and try again or at another time.”
“No, I’m in Concordia,” I say slowly. “The country.”
“Never heard of it. But I get it. Lying low until the moon-gate fiasco blows over. Speaking of, I had to do a little damage control with the other attorney.” His whistle indicates he refers to me showing my backside to the world. Yeah, not exactly something I’d share with my lawyer.
Everly would tell me to thank him profusely, but all I can manage is a grunt. It’s like I took two steps forward and then slammed back to the beginning of the gameboard, landing, you guessed it, on my backside.
I opt not to explain #BruiserButt or the consequent reform school situation. However, since I am stuck here, I tell Ted that I’m arranging for my son’s care for a couple of days until I return to Michigan.
“Nancy will be in touch with logistics. If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to reach out. Good luck.”
The line goes dead. Do I have any other questions?
Yeah. I do. I trust Ted Brown to work in my best interest, so when the documents came for me to sign, I didn’t even review them.
Stupid, I know, but these days I don’t even know the total in my bank account, no less whether I have any clean laundry.
The shirt I gave Everly being an exception.
So yeah, I have questions galore. Will my son recognize me? Is he potty-trained? How do diapers work? Does he have teeth? What if he bites? Scratches? How do I trim his nails?
Does he look like me?
It’s been over a year since I saw him and I despise myself for it.
I’m late for breakfast, but don’t pick up my pace as I plod down the halls of the manor.
The dining room is empty except for the server I tormented the first morning here.
I’d make small talk, but preoccupied with what’s going to happen in three days, I opt to toss him as friendly a smile as I can muster.
Making note of his name tag, Arthur Fitzwilliam, I’ll donate to Chase’s charity in his name.
The grandfather clock chimes, indicating Everly is also late for breakfast. Where is she? Is she okay? Did she oversleep because she’s in a sugar coma? Can’t find her shoes? What if she’s trapped in her room because a giant spider blocks the doorway?
These are the thoughts of a guy who’s afflicted.
Infatuated. Hooked. My leg jitters and I get up to walk it off like a nervous mother duck.
The door opens. In walks a beam of sunshine and fresh air.
Today, Everly wears a shirt and shorts with a badger school mascot on the thigh.
Her light brown hair is smooth and shiny. Her spring-green eyes shine like gems.
“Why are you late?” I ask.
“Good morning to you, too.” Up close, I was mistaken. Dark circles ring the space under her eyes. “Remember, you’re supposed to be learning etiquette and how we initiate an interaction sets the tone.” Her voice crawls slightly, as if she’s exhausted.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, chastened at the reminder that I’m a student, not a waterfowl or a beast, and would do well to behave myself.
Everly stands by the chair and then gestures to it.
I hop to my feet, belatedly remembering to pull it out for her like a gentleman.
She drops heavily into it. “I’m convinced the manor is haunted.”
After the server brings us each coffee, I refute the possibility with stone-cold logic.
“And there I thought you were a ghost.” She points to my napkin. “Remember to put that in your lap.”
“Then I’d know all about the ghosts, wouldn’t I?” I tease.
“In that case, you’d also be aware that ghosts have manners.”
“Is haunting people considered proper?”
“Victorian ghosts were part of polite society.”
I lift my eyebrows, not sure whether she’s joking, considering she said she minored in that era of history during college.
She shimmies a little in her seat and lengthens her spine. “Also, sit up straight. Napkin in your lap. Come on, I don’t want to fail you. By now, we should be making progress.”
“I’ll never forget why I’m in this class, but I’ll keep trying to wipe that memory from my mind.”
“You’re so surly.”
“You’re bossy,” I reply.
“I’m your coach. You’re supposed to listen to me.” She yawns.
The server appears and I’m relieved for the interruption so we can place our breakfast order. Also, it provides the opportunity to get back on track. I thought I’d returned to the rails, but it’s proving difficult to reconcile my inner changes with my outward manner.
The server says, “I was just informed that there is a meeting in the front salon.”
“Right now?” Everly asks, scrambling for her purse to check the itinerary.
The server nods.
“Oops. I didn’t realize.” She jumps to her feet and starts toward the door.
Before I catch up, my phone beeps. It’s an update from Ted.
We’re still waiting, sending a bolt of uncertainty through me.
Custody in the courts isn’t something I can muscle my way through.
I can’t sit down and talk sense into my ex because no one knows where she is.
Until last month, I didn’t know where Sonny was.
I push these thoughts out of my mind because there’s nothing I can do about them now.
But trust me, I’d like to blame someone and bring down Lightning and Thunder on them—or their windows, doors, walls, anything punchable.
We meet the headmistress, the other coaches, and Declan, Wolf, and Chase in a room that looks too delicate for the likes of us.