Chapter Three #2
“Yeah, she’s doing good. Busy getting ready for the season too.”
“Hmm.”
“What do you mean, hmm?”
She makes a humming sound. “I miss her too. It’s been a while since we’ve seen her.”
“I know.”
“You still have a crush on her?”
“There it is.”
“What? You can’t deny it. The pining is real.”
I chuckle, but I can feel the heat rising on the back of my neck, thinking about fucking her. I won’t tell her about that, but I can’t lie to my sister.
“Pining, huh?”
“I think, at some point, you’ll have to tell her.”
“Savannah.”
“You have to have a life outside of football. One day, you’ll wake up and realize all you have is us, some trophies, and a bad knee.”
“Jesus. Don’t hold back.”
“You’re welcome.”
I shake my head, smiling. “You should write greeting cards.”
“I would be amazing at it.”
A tiny voice yells in the background again, followed by another crash, and then the sound of Savannah moving.
“I’d better go wrangle these monsters before they destroy the kitchen.”
“Godspeed.”
“Thanks, I think I’ll need it. Let me know your season schedule when you can.”
“I’ll send it over, and you guys can decide which games you want to come to.”
“Sounds good. Love you. Gotta go! Rem—”
The line goes dead before I can respond.
For a moment, the car is quiet. All I can hear is the hum of the tires, the soft swoosh of air through the vents. Talking to my sister has a way of making my heart feel full but empty at the same time.
By the time I pull into my driveway, I know she’s right.
I do need other things in my life besides football. I need to do more of the things I like to do in my downtime. Most of which are things Presley and I do together.
I sit there for a second, then grab my phone and hit her name.
She picks up on the third ring.
“Hey,” she says, sounding like she’s moving.
“Hey. What are you up to?”
“Just getting to my place. I stayed a little late to get a workout in then stopped at Alie’s on the way home.”
“Nice. How is little Grant?”
She laughs. “Did you call to make small talk?”
I tilt my head back and rest it against the headrest. “No, not really. Wanted to see what you were up to tonight.”
A short pause.
“Uhh …” I hear a slight shift in her breathing. “Nothing really. Why?”
“Come over.”
Another pause.
“For what?”
“The new Daredevil episode dropped. I’ll make dinner too.”
She laughs, and I can hear her pressing the buttons on her door. “Bribery with food and fictional violence.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
I know she’s probably having an internal debate. This isn’t an uncommon activity for us, but it’ll be the first time we’ve done something like this since we had sex.
“Okay, I’ll come over.”
My heart thumps, and I close my eyes for a second. “Good. Bring your appetite and be ready to critique the episode.”
“Give me an hour. I need to shower, and then it’ll take me thirty minutes to get to your place at this time of night. Traffic was horrible on the way home this afternoon, and I don’t think it’s let up much from what I can tell.”
I pull up the traffic report and see that she’s right. “Okay, see you soon, Doc.”
“Make something good. I’m starving. I need more than a protein bar and snacks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hangs up without saying goodbye.
What’s with these women in my life hanging up on me?
I sit there for a beat, looking at her name on my phone with what probably looks like a stupid smile on my face, before I kill the engine and head inside.
I take a quick shower and throw on a pair of grey sweats and a black T-shirt. Then get to work on dinner. I like to grill outside as much as I can while the weather is good, so I’ll make a salad and some steaks and baked potatoes for us.
By the time Presley walks into my house, everything is ready, and the table outside on my porch is set.
She’s also wearing a pair of sweats and an oversize T-shirt that hangs off her shoulder. Her blonde hair is down tonight, still a little damp from her shower, and she doesn’t have any makeup, except maybe some ChapStick.
She’s so beautiful, without even trying.
“I brought some bread. I wasn’t sure if you were planning on carbs, but it’s a carb day for me.” She holds up a bag with some bread sticking out of it. “Smells good. You grilled?”
“Yep, dinner is ready too. Do I need to grab anything for your bread?”
“My bread? Don’t act like you’re not gonna eat most of the loaf.”
I laugh. “Are you food shaming me?”
“Never. You’re a much better cook than I am, so you deserve to eat all the bread.” She sets the bag down and leans her hip against the counter, studying me with a smile.
“That’s better. Feed me compliments, and I’ll feed you dinner.”
She laughs, and it settles into the room like it belongs here.
That’s the thing about Presley. She can walk into any space and make it feel less empty.
“Come on. Let’s eat.” I tilt my head toward the patio but wait at the door for her to walk outside first.
She pulls the bread out of the bag and walks my way. “We can just pull it apart. I don’t think we need a breadbasket, do you?”
“Nah, let’s eat the bread like savages,” I tease.
We eat and talk. She tells me about a piece of land she’s scouting for a youth sports foundation she’s talked about starting since college but doesn’t think it’ll still be available by the time she can do it.
Then she tells me about the rookie she was working with today, who almost passed out because he thought if he told her he was getting dizzy, she’d think he was a pussy.
And she tells me about our left tackle getting into an argument with the strength coach over whether stretching was a conspiracy theory.
She rolls her eyes at that one.
By the time we settle in on the couch, I feel like I’m in a food coma, trying to keep my eyes open.
Her legs are tucked under a blanket, and she glances over at me. “Why are you so quiet tonight?”
I keep my eyes on the screen, watching Bullseye shove a toothpick into straws, using it as a weapon to kill the task force that’s going after Daredevil. “I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.” She watches me for a second. “Did you have a bad workout?”
“No, not at all.”
“Does your body hurt?”
“I’m a little sore, but not hurting.”
“Okay, well that’s normal.”
I move my feet off the coffee table and turn toward her. “My sister called today.”
Her face softens. Presley has always liked my sister. I think our relationship reminds her of hers with her sister. They’re super close too.
“How is she?”
“Good. She’s busy chasing Remy and Rhyan, but also hiding from them.” I chuckle.
“I can see that vividly. How are the kids?” she asks, smiling.
“Rhyan wants to marry a dragon, and Remy tried adopting a lobster.”
She laughs and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “That tracks.”
I smile, too, but it fades quickly. “She wants me to come down for Remy’s baseball game on Saturday.”
“Oh, man.”
“I know.”
Presley studies me for a minute. “You feel bad that you can’t?”
I look at the TV. “I miss them, yeah. I need to make more time for them.”
She doesn’t answer right away, but she reaches over and sets her hand on mine. The movement is so easy.
“You love them,” she says gently. “They know that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She tilts her head to the side. “But?”
I let out a breath and brush my hand over my jaw.
“I just worry I’m missing her life, you know.
I wish they lived just a little closer so it was easier for us to go over to each other’s house on the weekend.
Or so I could help her with the kids more during the offseason.
She carries a lot of it on her own with Chris working at the hospital. ”
She waits and listens. Presley knows me better than anyone. She knows when I need to talk. And she knows there’s something more underneath what I’m saying.
I look over at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever really told you the whole story about my parents.”
Her expression changes, like she knows whatever door I just opened isn’t one I open often.
“No,” she says quietly. “You’ve told me a little about your dad, but not anything about your mom.”
I nod once, then look back at the TV.
“My parents weren’t married, and after Savannah was born, they broke up, and we moved in with my mom, only seeing my dad really on the weekends.
My mom was an addict. Or, well, she became one.
She had worked in a food processing plant and slipped one day and broke her back.
The pain pills turned into oxy, which turned into nothing …
good. After she became addicted, she would disappear for days at a time.
I was around ten when that started, so it wasn’t like I couldn’t take care of myself or my sister.
But I never called my dad. I don’t know if it was because I was protecting her or what.
Because she always came home eventually and felt bad about being gone. ”
I could feel Presley’s attention on me.
“One weekend, she dropped us off with our dad.” I pause.
“She said she needed a break and would be back on Sunday to get us. I remember my sister packing her little Beauty and the Beast backpack, thinking we were just going to be gone a few days, like normal. She put two shirts, a pair of shorts, underwear, her favorite bear, and a granola bar in it.”
I shake my head.
“How old was she?” Presley asks.
“Uh, I was twelve, so my sister was nine.” I set our hands on my thighs. “Sunday came and went. Then another week. Dad kept telling us she would be back when she had gotten enough rest.”
“That’s awful,” she says, but not with pity, more like she’s hurt on my behalf. “Did she ever come back?”
“Once, but she was too strung out, so my dad didn’t let her stay, and he wasn’t about to let her take us. That was the last time we ever saw her. ” I swallow. “He had always wanted us with him full-time anyway, so we just all stopped pretending after a while that it was just a weekend visit.”
“So, he raised you on his own?”