Chapter Sixteen
ASTON
The Jersey suburbs always feel a little different by late November.
The trees are bare now, and the dark sky smells of incoming rain, which means sleet will be covering the roads by dark.
I drive with the windows of the truck cracked just an inch, letting the cool air cut through the heat in the cabin, helping me stay alert after hours of studying film.
We’d spent six hours dissecting Dallas’s front seven, which includes my brother Archie.
My neck is stiff, my knee tight from sitting for hours, and the bitter chill in the air outside.
Normally, after a long day like today, I’d be horizontal on my couch watching TV and have a plate of plain grilled chicken and veggies in my lap.
But Alie caught me by the locker room just as I was walking out of it to leave. She was heading somewhere with a stack of paperwork in the authoritative rhythm she always had when she was working.
“Seven o’clock, Griffith,” she’d said, pointing a manicured finger at my chest. “I’m making that brisket you like. Brody’s coming, and Saint’s bringing the kids because Presley has a foundation meeting until late tonight. Don’t you dare skip out and hide out in your woods tonight.”
When Alie gives you that look—the one she’s cultivated from years of dealing with professional athletes and all the nonsense that entails—you don’t tell her no.
So, here I am, pulling into their driveway, parking right between Brody’s lifted truck and Saint’s big truck.
Their house is different than mine; my place is stone and wood, tucked into the woods.
Liam and Alie’s place is more sprawled out, with white siding and the unmistakable warmth that comes with family.
The porch lights are already on, casting a yellow glow across the lawn.
I cut the engine and grab the six-pack of Lone Star from the passenger seat and climb out. The minute my boots hit the porch, I can hear the noise from the inside—the shriek of Rhyan, chasing someone through the hall, and the low rumbling bass of Brody’s laugh.
I push the front door open without knocking, the sudden blast of heat and the rich scent of garlic and smoked beef hitting me square in the face.
“There he is!” Pitzy shouts from the living room. He’s stretched out on the couch with a bag of frozen peas balanced on his shoulder. “Don’t let him take all the brisket, baby, he looks hungry.” He holds out a fist, and I tap it as I walk by.
Brody sits next to him, his eyes glued to the television, but he glances my way and lifts his head in a nod hello.
“Come on in, Aston!” Alie’s voice carries from the kitchen.
I walk into the kitchen ready to set my beer in the fridge and stretch out my legs for a bit. But I stop in my tracks when I see Eva sitting on a stool at the island.
She has a glass of wine in her hand, and her hair is pulled back into a soft, messy bun that leaves a few stray brown pieces hanging loose at the back of her neck.
She’s wearing an oversized cream colored knit sweater that makes her look soft and cozy, and like I should just pick her up and carry her out of here right now.
She laughs at something Alie says, her eyes bright and crinkled at the corners, her lips parted.
My hand tightens around the cardboard handle of the six-pack. Alie hadn’t mentioned that Eva would be here, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet. I tried calling her on my way here, but she hadn’t answered, so I just assumed she was still at work. And I didn’t see her car outside.
“Hey, Aston,” Alie says with a wave.
“What’s up, y’all?” I mumble, my eyes still on Eva.
Eva looks over at me then, and our eyes meet. I see the subtle intake of her breath and the way her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass. Her eyes widen just enough for me to notice.
“Finally, we can eat now that the golden boy is here,” Saint rumbles, stepping out of the pantry with a box of juice pouches in his hand.
He clamps a heavy palm on my shoulder, grounding me before I do something stupid, like walk over to her and put my mouth on hers in front of everyone.
“You gonna stand there all night, holding that beer, or what?”
“Evangeline,” I smile casually as I force my eyes away from her for a single second to look at Alie. “Didn’t know we were having production meetings at the dinner table now.”
Alie huffs a laugh and looks over her shoulder at me.
“I’ve known Eva since she was a baby. She’s practically family,” Alie says, giving me a knowing look as she stirs a pot on the stove.
There’s a tiny smirk on her face that tells me she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Funny thing, she was going to be in the area, so I insisted she join us for dinner. Now go put that beer away and help us set the table.”
I walk over to the fridge, passing behind Eva’s stool. The scent of her hits me, making me want to bury my face in her neck. Her shoulder brushes against my jacket as I walk by, and I literally have to bite the inside of my cheek in an effort not to make a scene.
I set the bottle in the door of the fridge, then turn around, leaning against the cool metal, crossing my arms over my chest as I look at her.
“Carrington,” I murmur, my voice amused. Because truly, this couldn’t have played out better for me.
“Griff,” she replies, her voice steady, though the pulse I can see at the base of her throat tells me everything I need to know. She raises her glass to me, her eyes burning with mutual amusement. “I love your blouse.”
Saint chokes on a laugh.
I’m wearing a button-down flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath, jeans, and my cowboy boots. But damn do I love when she gives me shit. “Appreciate it. I think the blue brings out the color of my eyes.” I run my hands over my shirt and shoot her a wink.
“Hmm,” she smiles and gives a subtle shake of her head.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I chuckle, playing her game.
“I think you’re right, Aston. The blue looks great on you,” Alie agrees, not catching on to our teasing banter.
Eva covers her mouth with her hand hiding her smile.
Liam walks into the kitchen with the bag of peas in his hand and drops it on the counter. Then he stands behind Alie at the stove and whispers something in her ear, then kisses her neck.
“Enough of that. Are we eating or what?” Brody walks in and starts pulling out place mats and napkins out of a drawer like he lives here.
Once the table is set and the food is put into serving dishes, we all sit down at the table, including the kids.
It’s the kind of loud, chaos that only happens with family. Liam and Brody start to bicker over a holding call from our last game. Brody’s arm gestures over the brisket, and Alie threatens to hit him with a wooden spoon.
But I’m not really paying attention to what they’re saying because all my focus is on Eva.
I see her interacting with the kids. Rhyan—who is usually a terror to anyone she doesn’t know—has decided that Eva is her new best friend.
She’s telling Eva something about dragons and making her a princess in her kingdom while she takes Eva’s hands in her likely sticky ones.
But Eva doesn’t seem to mind. She just leans forward and whispers something into Rhyan’s ear that makes her erupt into giggles.
We finish dinner, as easy conversation flows around the table.
We talk about the playoff game against Atlanta.
Then the little girls tell us about their Christmas recital where they’ll both be Sugar Plum Attendants.
Whatever that means. And Remy tells us about his hockey team and asks me if I think Aiden can make it to one of his games again this season.
“I promise, I’ll give him your schedule and see if he can make it over when he’s playing in town,” I say, ruffling his hair.
“That would be awesome!” Remy nods excitedly.
“Okay, you kids go play in the other room,” Alie instructs.
“And you guys”—she points to us men—“you’re on cleanup duty.
I wanna finish my wine.” When she stands, Liam tilts his head up, and she bends down to kiss him, then grabs her glass.
“Let’s go, Eva. I need you to fill me in on the latest drama with Cher. ”
The girls follow the kids into the other room, and we stay seated, finishing our own drinks.
I see Remy and Sera start picking at each other, getting into a standoff over a Lego. I watch as Eva notices, and she nods to Alie and slides off the couch and sits on her knees on the floor.
She’s right at their level, and she takes the Lego, murmuring something to Remy that I can’t hear. Within seconds, both kids are laughing, the tension broken as she starts stacking Legos into even piles.
My chest feels tight as I lean my elbow on the table, watching her move in and around my world.
It’s not just that she’s good with them.
It’s the lack of pretense. She doesn’t look like a billionaire’s daughter or a network producer right now.
She just looks like … home. Eva blends into the fabric of the people who know the real me so perfectly that it feels like she’s always been here.
Saint moves over to the empty seat beside mine, bottle of beer in hand. He doesn’t look at me. He just tracks my stare to where Eva is keeping the peace among the kids, letting Rhyan put an enormous pink plastic clip in her hair.
“You know, despite how wealthy these women are, they’re different,” Saint says, his heavy rumble staying beneath the noise of Liam and Brody’s conversation.
I don’t take my eyes off Eva though. “Yeah.”
“Doc noticed it first at the stadium a few weeks ago,” Saint murmurs, taking a sip of his beer. “She said the way Carrington looks at the tunnel before you walk out isn’t the way a producer looks at a cue. She’s looking for number fifty-four.”
My jaw tightens. “Look. Saint—”
“I’m not asking for an explanation, Aston,” Saint interrupts, his voice steady. He turns to look at me. “I’m just telling you what Presley and I see. And it’s a new look for you.”