Chapter Eleven
ASTON
Eva’s been busy the past few days, and the silence of my own house feels like an enemy. But the chaos of Saint’s house is an entirely different brand of crazy.
I stand in the entryway of Saint and Presley’s home, a six-pack of craft IPAs dangling from my fingers like a toy.
The air smells like roasted garlic, marinara, and has that high-energy hum of a house filled to the ceiling with family.
And before I can even kick off my boots, a blur comes barreling around the corner, hitting me full force.
“Aston!”
I look down and smile at Saint’s nephew. “Hey, Remy. You getting bigger, or am I just getting older?” I ask him as I reach down with one hand, scooping him up by the waist and hoisting him over my shoulder like a sack of feed.
“I’m definitely bigger, but you’re also old!” He laughs.
“Leave him alone,” Saint’s voice booms from the kitchen.
We walk toward him, and I see him with a towel slung over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling with an easy warmth that has taken him over completely since he married Presley. He looks every bit the veteran captain he is on the field, but right now, he’s at the mercy of his own household.
“Don’t break him before we eat, Rem.”
I set Remy down with a gentle thud and watch him run off toward the two other tiny pairs of feet, creating an earthquake.
Saint and Presley are huddled together, surrounded by cutting boards, a massive bowl of fruit, and their laughter cuts through the high-pitched squeals of Remy and Rhyan, Saint’s niece, running circles around the kitchen island.
I walk over to the refrigerator and set the six-pack inside before entering the family room.
Brody is splayed out on the oversize leather sofa, his long legs kicked over the armrest as he throws a foam football into the air, catching it lazily with one hand.
Liam sits on the other end, a half-empty beer in front of him, laughing at something Alie is saying as she adjusts the hairband on their daughter’s head.
“Look who finally decided to join us,” Brody calls out, not even looking at me as he catches the ball again. “We thought you weren’t gonna show again. We were about to call for a welfare check.”
“Some of us take the game seriously, Vaughn.” I laugh as Presley walks into the room and leans over to give me a quick, warm hug.
“Don’t listen to him, Aston. He’s been here twenty minutes, and he’s already eaten half of the kids’ snacks,” Presley says, her eyes bright with the energy she always brings into a room. “You look tired. Sit down before you fall down.”
“I’m fine,” I sigh when I take a seat between Brody and Liam.
Presley is our team doctor and always on alert for injuries or changes in our movement. “Humor me and rest for a few then.”
For the next thirty minutes, I just watch everyone.
I let the noise wash over me, and it reminds me of home.
I watch Liam wipe a smear of something off Alie’s chin, the gesture so casual that neither of them pauses their conversation.
Then I watch Saint direct Rhyan in setting the table, his scarred hands gentle on her shoulders.
It’s a beautiful picture of what life looks like when you stop fighting the world and let someone in. And the entire time, the weight of my own secret stays locked in the back of my throat like I swallowed fire.
Dinner is almost as chaotic as the preparation, but again, it reminds me of home, and I’m starting to feel a bit homesick.
“All right, everyone, out,” Presley announces as the dinner plates are stacked, her hands pushing Saint away from the sink. “The kids need to wash their hands, and Alie and I are getting the cobbler prepared. Go take your football talk to your new man cave before the sugar rush hits the kids.”
“You got it, Doc.” Saint grins, then leans down to plant a solid, lingering kiss on her lips, which makes Brody grumble on his way out of the kitchen.
“Can we keep the PDA to a minimum?” Brody asks. “It’s bad for team morale.”
“You’ll get there, Vaughn. We all do.” Liam laughs, slapping Brody’s shoulder as we all walk toward Saint’s new lair, which is really just an office they added on to the house.
When we enter the room, Saint walks over and grabs a couple of beers from a small refrigerator, tossing them around until everyone is settled. Then he walks over to the fireplace and pushes a button, and flames erupt inside.
For a few minutes, the only sounds are the hiss of the fireplace and the muffled laughter of the kids running through the house.
“We’re three games up in the division,” Saint says, leaning back into his chair. “Philly dropped one to Dallas today. If we handle business against Chicago on Monday night, the math starts to look real friendly for a first-round bye.”
“Don’t look at the math yet,” I say, my eyes fixed on the flames of the fire. “Chicago’s defense is a lot tougher than tape shows. Their inside guard handles the bull rush better than anyone we’ve seen since week three. We start looking at the postseason now, we’ll get caught leaning.”
“Spoken like a Griffith,” Liam teases, taking a slow sip of his beer.
His eyes are relaxed but observant. He’s known my family since he and Archie started playing at Walker University their freshman year of college.
They’re still best friends, which means he knows exactly how much pressure we Griffiths put on ourselves.
“He’s right though, Saint. The media’s already posting playoff brackets. It’s getting loud out there.”
“Let them post whatever they want,” Brody chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips as he props his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m just ready to win the whole fuckin’ thing. I have some nice postseason plans lined up.”
Saint turns his head, brows lifting. “Oh, you do, do you? How nice. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that phone call you were on yesterday, would it? I caught a little of it, and I sure hope you weren’t saying those things to your agent.”
Brody rubs the back of his neck, his smirk softening into something slightly defensive, but he can’t hide his grin. “Okay, fine. There’s a girl. We’ve been hanging out a bit, but it’s a little complicated.”
“Complicated?” Liam questions, a laugh rumbling out. “Brody, you and complicated don’t go together. Who is she?”
“Just someone I met through mutual connections,” Brody says quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s pretty great though. Super smart. We’re, uh, taking it slow for now.”
I keep my mouth shut. Sounds similar to the tangled web I have with Eva, where every time we meet up feels like a sting operation.
Brody’s eyes shift to me, and he tries to redirect the conversation. “What about you, Aston? You haven’t been around much lately. You seeing someone?”
The question hangs in the air.
Saint looks over at me, his curiosity piqued. Even Liam tilts his head, and I can feel his gaze locked onto the side of my face.
I take a slow sip of my beer, feeling the cold liquid slide down my throat. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I am.”
Brody sits up quickly. “Bullshit. Who? Do we know her?”
“No,” I say bluntly, my game face on. “You don’t know her. And I’m not telling you yet.”
“Oh, come on, Griff!” Brody huffs, throwing his hands up. “You’re really not gonna give us anything? Is she a model? One of those influencers?”
“You didn’t tell us who your girl is. Let it go,” I sigh, rolling my head back, looking at the ceiling.
Saint lets out a low rumble, shaking his head. “Leave him alone, Vaughn. If he wants to keep it tight right now, just like you … let him.”
“Okay, fine.” Brody chuckles. “I’ll get it out of him at some point. I can’t believe you haven’t said anything to me yet.”
“You haven’t said anything to me about your girl either.” I smirk.
“I’m just sayin’, you can tell me. I’ll keep your secrets,” he says, patting his chest.
We all laugh then, and Saint and Liam tell us about Rhyan and Sera’s, Liam and Alie’s daughter’s, dance recital. I thought boys were wild, but these girls of theirs are gonna make them go gray early.
A while later, the energy in the house winds down. The kids are starting to get crabby, and not that I’m an expert, but I would say they’re probably ready for bed.
I stand by the front door and slip my boots on and pull my heavy Carhartt jacket over my shoulders. I wince when my bruised ribs pull, and Presley notices when she walks to the door to say goodbye.
“I saw that. I want you to come see me tomorrow when you get to the facility.” She leans in for a hug.
“Yes, ma’am.” I hug her back.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” she says, opening the door. “Don’t be a stranger next week. We’ve missed having you around for dinners.”
“Thanks, Doc. As always, it was great.” I smile, then nod to Saint as he gives me a fist bump.
“See you Sunday morning, big guy,” Saint says. “Get some rest.”
I step out onto the driveway, the icy air stinging my face. I swear, I’m not made for this kind of cold. I walk toward my truck, the silence outside a sharp contrast to the noise I left inside. Before I can reach the driver’s door, the sound of footsteps makes me pause.
I turn and see Liam walking toward me, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and I can see his breath in the cold air.
“Griff,” he calls out.
“Sup, Pitzy?” I rest my arm against the roof of my truck, smiling. “Forget something?”
“No,” he says, stopping a few feet from me. He folds his arms across his chest, looking at me in the dim light of the driveway lanterns. He doesn’t have his typical easy grin anymore, but his face is calm and steady. “I just wanted to walk you out. Archie called me yesterday.”
My smile falls. “Did he?”
“Yeah. Said he, Ace, and Austin called you and you sounded off. Said he thinks something’s going on with you.” He lets out a breath, studying my face. “Arch asked me to check on you. Make sure your head is straight.”
“I’m good, Pitz,” I say, my voice unintentionally getting defensive. “Just focused on Chicago, is all. It’ll be good to see Beck, especially after we beat them.” I laugh, but it sounds forced, even to my own ears.
“Right,” Liam says, his voice void of judgment. He steps closer. “I’ve known your family for a long time now. I know when something is going on with one of you. You know you can tell me, right?”
I stare at him, the silence thick between us. I can skirt around the truth with Brody if I have to. I can even deflect around Saint. But Liam does know me. He’s spent a lot of time with my family over the years.
“Who is she, Aston?” he asks quietly. “If she’s someone you might be serious about, why are you hiding her?”
I let out a rough, ragged breath, then look out into the dark trees lining Saint’s property. “Trust me when I say it’s complicated and just leave it at that.”
“Complicated how though?”
“Just … history,” I say, my jaw tight as the image of Ace flashes in my mind. “People involved that could be hurt. So, I’m keeping it tight for now.”
Liam watches me for a beat, but he doesn’t push further. He reaches out, his hand gripping my shoulder tight.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll let it be, but your brother is worried—and Archie’s never worried. So, whatever it is you think you need to keep close to the chest, you don’t have to do it alone. And if you need someone to talk to whose last name isn’t Griffith, I’m here. You know that, right?”
The sincerity in his voice cuts straight through the guard I’ve put in place to protect this fragile bubble Eva and I are in. I look him straight in the eye out of respect, but also because I want him to know it means a lot to me that he’s offering to be there for me.
“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Pitzy.”
“Get home safe,” he says, his hand falling off my shoulder.
“You know it.” I step into my truck and close the door. I finally exhale the deep breath I think I was holding since they asked if I was seeing someone.
The drive to my place is only twenty minutes. I don’t turn on the radio. I just keep both hands locked on the steering wheel, the headlights cutting a path through the dark roads between our houses.
When I pull into my driveway and shut off the engine, the house looks exactly like it always does. I climb out of the truck and walk toward the front door. As I unlock the heavy cedar door and step inside, I can still smell the burned wood from the fire I built for Eva when she was here.
I drop my keys on the counter, walk over to the refrigerator, and grab a bottle of water. Just as I take a sip, my phone vibrates, so I pull it out of my pocket and see Eva’s name lit up on my screen.
Eva: Just finished up with work, and I’m in the car and on the way back to my place. What a long-ass day. You still up?
I smile and answer quickly.
Aston: Yeah. Just got back from Saint and Presley’s house.
Eva: How was it?
Aston: Amazing food and great company, so overall, a good night. They did ask me if I was seeing anyone though.
Eva: Oh, yeah? And how did you answer that?
Aston: I told them I was, but said we’re keeping it private for now.
Eva: Good answer. Keep the vultures away for a while. My dad is ringing in, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep. xx
Aston: Night, Honeybee.
I stare at the screen until it turns black and slip the phone back into my pocket.
My mind wanders as I make my way to my bedroom.
I think about being at Saint’s house and the normalcy of their routines.
Presley laughing as she wiped Rhyan’s sticky hands.
Liam and Alie sharing a quiet look at the table.
That’s the blueprint. That’s what happens when you survive the pressure and the noise of being a professional athlete and build something that can outlast the fame.
I want that. I want the home. The family. And when I picture what that looks like for me, the only face I see next to me is Eva’s.
I can see her sitting at the kitchen counter on her computer.
I can see her green eyes smiling as they lock on mine.
I see a future where she doesn’t have to hide behind a camera and pretend not to know me the way she does, where her car sits in my driveway next to my truck. Something permanent and real.
I want a future with her more than I’ve ever wanted anything. The question is, how can we get there?