Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 14

For his many faults, Steven had a great fucking home gym. I’d spent hours a day in that thing, and I didn’t want to think too deeply on the fact that I felt like a mopey little puppy with Ruby not having time for me for a couple of days.

The harder part of my workout happened at dawn, when I spent an hour on upper body, followed by mobility work, because the older I got, the less flexible I was, and when you’re chasing down quarterbacks every week, you want to be flexible enough to get sacked by an O-lineman and not feel like death afterward.

After a call with my new head coach and the Denver GM, the team sent a chopper to the closest private airfield and a sleek black car to drive me out to the team headquarters to sign my contract—smiling at the flashing cameras and providing a few sound bites that would make the rounds on every sports show for the next few weeks. The whole time I fielded questions, I found myself wondering what Ruby was doing. If she’d see any of this.

God, I was like a kid on the playground who wanted a cute girl to pay attention to him. One kiss and a little groping, and I was a fucking wreck.

By the time I returned to the house, my stomach was growling loudly. I flipped on the TV to hear what press had come out of the news, and when they took too long talking about baseball, I turned the screen off and made a sandwich before heading outside.

I sat out on the back patio with my book and a quick lunch, only coming inside because a crew showed up to do the lawn and weed around the landscaping beds. Two of the younger guys whispered to each other when they saw me sitting outside, and I gave them a small nod before disappearing back into the house for more low-impact exercise.

I’d already finished the World War Two book and moved on to the cowboy romance. Damn if that thing wasn’t good, and I couldn’t wait to tell Ruby about my favorite parts.

Brought a smile to my face just imagining it.

Steven had one of those self-propelled treadmills with a giant stand along the top. I could read easily if I wanted, but I wasn’t in the mood—nor did I trust that I wouldn’t get so distracted that I’d end up tripping over my own feet.

Instead of searching for music, I put on a movie and started a light jog.

Exercise always cleared my head, which was good because I spent more time working out than I did playing football, if I really thought about it. Today, it was clearing out all the thoughts of ill-advised kisses and the sounds Ruby made when I dug my hands into her hair.

The things I would’ve done to her if she’d asked . . .

I was never particularly good at restraint when an exciting opportunity presented itself, and Ruby looking up at me and asking me to kiss her was lethally effective at decimating my reserve.

Lips that were softer than I’d imagined.

Skin too.

Her body was firm and lithe, subtle curves that made my mouth water. It would’ve been so easy to press her back against that desk and see just how far we’d both be willing to go.

I glanced down between my legs and gave a stern look to my burgeoning hard-on.

“Knock it off,” I muttered. “You’re no help right now.”

In the back of my head, I knew I should’ve regretted it, but I really fucking didn’t. If I were a better man, less selfish, less driven by pleasure and enjoyment of things like kissing a beautiful woman in a dark room, I might’ve felt bad for it. If she’d been upset, if she’d slapped me for taking liberties—even ones that were offered—there might have been more of those feelings.

But even as she stopped me, her eyes were locked on my mouth.

I’d increased my speed on the treadmill without realizing it, now running at a fast clip, sweat gathering across my chest and back. I eased back, the machine adjusting automatically. The movie played on, and I’d hardly paid attention. I picked up the remote and backed it up until I recognized one of the scenes. My brow furrowed as the captions caught up, and I nodded when I finally figured out what was happening.

“What a dick,” I whispered.

The door to the gym burst open, smacking hard on the wall, Marcus Henderson jumping into the room with a roar.

I jumped, losing my balance in the next heartbeat, and even though I reached for the bars on either side of the treadmill, my hand grasped at nothing but air and I toppled sideways, legs tangling as I fell to the floor.

With a groan, I pried my eyes open, and Marcus Henderson’s face was right above me. He was grinning, one hand braced on his knee, the other holding his phone, which was also aimed at my face. “Dude, I’m so glad I was filming. This shit is gonna go viral.”

“Give me your fucking phone,” I said, pushing myself to a seated position. When I tried to reach for the phone, he pulled it out of my grasp. “You post that anywhere and you’re dead to me.”

He snickered, tapping on his screen a few times. “It’ll be a great Welcome to Denver video. Everyone’s gonna love it.” Marcus eyed me where I sat. “You okay? Coach would skin me alive if I injured you before your first game.”

Instead of answering, I got up to my knees and tried to swing at his junk with my fist, which made him jump back on a laugh.

“I’m fine,” I told him. Once I was on my feet, I tested my ankles and knees, but they seemed all right. “No thanks to you, asshole. How did you get in here?”

He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “You left the front door unlocked. Landscapers recognized me. Took a couple selfies, and they were happy.” Marcus glanced around the gym, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “This is a nice fucking gym, considering how out of shape Steven is.”

“I think it’s more for his wife than him,” I said.

“Ah. That makes sense.” He whistled. “She is hot.”

The screen flashed with a scene change, and my eyes widened. I grabbed the remote off the treadmill and fumbled to turn it off but hit the wrong button. Marcus caught sight of the screen and whipped his arm out, snatching the remote from my hand.

“Hold the fucking phone, King,” he said, cranking the volume up. “What is this?”

“You been drinking already today? It’s a movie, dingbat.”

Instead of taking the bait, his face split into a pleased smile, and I pushed my tongue into the side of my cheek while the Dashwood sisters consoled each other after all their relationship woes.

Slowly, Marcus pulled out his phone, aiming it at the TV, and I smacked it out of his hand before he could start filming. “Oh, come on,” he laughed. “My followers will love this shit.”

“By all means, blast it on the internet, then.”

“You’re watching a chick movie while you work out, Griffin,” he said like I was slow to understand the gravity of the situation. A flick of his hand toward the TV and a meaningful lift to his eyebrows didn’t help. “You’d get laid a hundred times over in a week if you put this out there.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not trying to get laid, you idiot.”

The words felt like rotten fruit coming out, because I was trying to accomplish something by watching these films, wasn’t I?

Desperate moans, silky hair between my fingers, the warm, slight weight of her breast under my hand crashed into my brain before I could stop them.

Instead of lingering on that, I cleared my throat and grabbed the remote, punching the off button. “Sometimes it’s good to expose ourselves to other sorts of entertainment. I’ve learned a lot about women by watching these movies. Do you know the kind of shit that was considered foreplay back then? Hand-holding. Dancing at a public ball when they hardly touched, and they had no privacy. Ever. It wasn’t about anything physical, you know? Yeah, they’re going for the rich guys because women had no power back then and they needed the protection of a secure marriage, but they still wanted someone who was kind and respectful and loyal.”

The beat of silence was so thick I could hear my erratic pulse thundering in my ears.

He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Holy shit, I think I’m having a drug-induced hallucination.”

“Are you high?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, no, but I have to be, right?” Then he waved a hand in front of his face. “No, I can see clearly. My vision isn’t warped. Maybe I’m sleeping.”

I smacked the back of his head. Hard.

“Ouch, you fucker.” He smacked me back. “That hurt.”

“It was supposed to. You’re barging into my vacation and making fun of my movies; what do you expect me to do? Throw you a welcome party?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “I wanna raid the bar, man. Guaranteed Steven has some good shit. He’ll forgive us, right?”

“Doubtful.”

Marcus slung his arm over my shoulders and turned me toward the hallway leading back to the living area. “Let’s find out.”

Twenty minutes later, Marcus had emptied the cupboards of all the most expensive bottles of our agent’s liquor, taking tiny sips of all of them. “Oh yeah, that’s sexy,” he groaned. “That’s the winner.”

It was a whiskey, by the looks of it, and he made his way to the kitchen to put a tiny bit of water into two lowball glasses. Then he added a generous amount of the whiskey, swirling a glass before handing it to me.

I took a small sip, humming as the warmth slid down my throat. “Good.”

“Fucking great,” he sighed, taking a seat on the couch and spreading an arm out. “You taking me out tonight?”

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed. “Oh, come on. You used to be the fun King brother.”

“I still am, believe it or not.”

Marcus scratched the side of his beard and studied me thoughtfully. “Nothing to do with this friend you wouldn’t show me, is it?”

Somehow, I kept my face even. “No. She’s just a friend.”

“Come on, she’s hot, right? You can tell Uncle Marcus.”

I swatted at his hand when he settled it on my shoulder. “You are so fucking creepy.” I laughed.

He grinned. “She local?”

I nodded slowly. “We knew each other when we were kids. She had a crush on Barrett. Didn’t know that until recently.”

“Ahhh,” he answered with a grave expression. “So she has shit taste in men.”

My brain stalled around a vivid memory—the way she’d whimpered when I sucked lightly on her tongue—and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

“I suppose she does,” I answered dryly. “How long you staying around?”

He shrugged. “Might crash here tonight if that’s okay. Then I can get drunk with my friend.”

I shook my head. “How the hell do you function during the season, Marcus?”

“God only knows,” he replied seriously.

My phone rang with an incoming video call, and even though she’d never once called me, my heart gave a ridiculous jolt at the thought that it might be Ruby. Instead, I narrowed my eyes when I saw the name. “No swearing when I answer, okay?”

Marcus notched his fingers to his temple. “Yes, sir.”

Before I answered, I set the drink off to the side so it was out of view, then hit the button to connect the call. “Holy crap, is it my favorite niece and nephew?”

Their faces filled the screen, so much older looking than the last time I’d seen them at my parents’. Maggie hogged the screen, and Bryce rolled his eyes, pushing her face with the flat of his hand.

“Bryce, stop touching me,” she hissed. “I’ll hide your Xbox again.”

Her brother finally got some space on the screen and grinned. “Hi, Uncle Griffin.”

“Hey, bud. Hey, Maggie. How you guys doing?” I eyed them carefully. “Your dad know you’re calling me?”

Bryce shrugged. “He’s at work; he won’t care what we’re doing.”

Marcus gave me a meaningful look from his seat on the couch.

“Okay,” I said. “So what’s up? What are my two favorite kids up to?”

Maggie smiled. She was missing a couple of teeth. “Thanks for the birthday present, Uncle Griffin. I loved it.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Did you? I thought you were way too young to have your own camera, but Miss Eileen said you were ready for the responsibility.”

She giggled, holding up the pink instant camera. “Did you see it before she wrapped it? It’s pink. I love pink.”

“Who says I didn’t wrap it myself? I’m offended, Maggie Moo.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “It was way too pretty, I know you didn’t.”

“You’re right. But I did pick it out all by myself.”

“And the karaoke machine?” she asked, eyes bright.

“Miss Eileen picked that out. She said her granddaughter loves it.”

Bryce shoved his face in. “She’s awful, Uncle Griffin. You should hear her.”

“I am not,” his sister hissed. “At least I can carry a tune, you ass—”

“Okay, okay,” I interjected. “No swearing, young lady. Where’s your nanny?”

“She quit,” Maggie said happily. “Dad hasn’t hired a new one yet. The housekeeper is kinda deaf, so she can’t hear anything we’re doing. It’s awesome.”

I shook my head. “What did you guys do to the nanny this time?”

Bryce wore a devious smile. “Nothing.”

“Yeah right. Like I believe that.”

He and Maggie shared a grin. “Not our fault she couldn’t hack it,” he said. “Besides, I’m eleven. I’m way too old to need a babysitter—”

“I’m ten; that’s too old too,” Maggie interrupted.

Bryce scoffed. “You’re still a baby. You sleep with stuffies and a blankie.”

Her cheeks went red. “So? You cried the last time it stormed.”

“I did not. Besides, the lightning was right outside my room. It almost electrocuted me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Good grief, you two argue like this all day?” I asked.

“No,” Maggie answered.

“Yes,” Bryce said at the exact same time.

Maggie pushed her brother’s head to the side. “Can we come visit you, Uncle Griffin? We haven’t seen you in two years, not since you visited Grandma and Grandpa’s while we were there.”

God, these kids. An ache formed under my chest before I could stop it. “I’d love that, Maggie Moo, but it’s not up to me if you can come. I’m not sure your dad would want you to stay with me. But let me know the next time you’re going to Arizona, and I’ll see if it works in my schedule, okay?”

Her eyes brightened—they were dark brown, just like her mom’s, and that simply intensified the ache. Neither of them really looked like her, which was a fucking gift. Any reminder of her was like a high-pitched whine you couldn’t get rid of. It’s not like my brother was my favorite person, either, but at least he wasn’t a raging narcissist who’d bailed on their kids.

“Okay!” she exclaimed. “I’ll ask Dad.”

I blew out a slow breath. Not what I meant, but okay.

Bryce said something under his breath, and Maggie nodded. “We gotta go, Uncle Griffin. We’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Love you guys.”

“Love you too,” they said in unison.

The call disconnected, and I sighed heavily.

Marcus shook his head. “He still won’t let you see the kids?”

“Can’t blame him,” I said. “I’m not exactly his favorite person.”

Marcus snorted. “I wonder why. You told the entire world he had a stick up his ass.”

“Yup,” I answered grimly. “Not my best moment.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he pointed out. “Remember when Coach Haskins sat the two of us down junior year and said he’d have kicked us out if Barrett hadn’t vouched for us?”

I glared at my friend. “Yes. What’s your point?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just that maybe that stick up his ass has some occasional merit.”

Of course it did. That’s why I was reminded of it constantly. Any other brother might have turned that situation—him stepping in to save my ass when I did something stupid—into a bonding moment.

Hey, I believe in you. Get your act together and prove everyone wrong. I’m on your side.

Oh no. That’s not what Barrett did. Instead, I got hit with something entirely different.

Get your shit together, Griffin. You keep this up, and all you’ll do is embarrass our family.

What he meant was I’d embarrassed him. Mr. Perfect. Ice Man, who showed no weakness. Never took a wrong step. Never messed up.

The world slotted us into roles when we got drafted—the Brain and the Brawn. I got my shit together in college, all right, and when draft day came, it was my name they called first. He smiled for the cameras, of course. But for a moment, we locked eyes, and I felt that unhealthy, hot zing of competition again. Turned out the very best kind of motivation was that of a younger brother who was sick of always being looked at second.

The last year of college ball, I played each game like a man possessed. My stats were insane, bringing me into the Heisman conversation, despite the rarity of a defensive player hoisting that trophy. Until the off-field stuff started causing bigger issues between us, widening the rift until I couldn’t see the other side, I thought maybe—just maybe—my brother would come to me and say, Hey . . . you did it. I’m proud of you.

The screwups needed that validation just as much, if not more, than the perfect kids. I may not have acted like it, and a few years earlier, I wouldn’t have admitted that even with a knife to my throat. But I could now.

Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t hate my brother. That was too strong a word. Every once in a while, I’d see something that would remind me of growing up in Michigan: A song we used to listen to while we drove to school. The first snow of the year and how he’d always reminded me to bring my gloves and hat to school so I wouldn’t catch cold.

Despite the fact that I didn’t hate him, it wasn’t possible to imagine a world where we could coexist peacefully either. In his mind, I was always the screwup. The one who needed saving. Who needed a sermon. And in mine, he was the obnoxiously perfect brother whom everyone compared me to. The ideal I could never quite meet, no matter what records I broke, what awards I won.

Except to Marcus, of course.

Marcus never expected me to be like Barrett, so I couldn’t even be pissed at him for saying it. No matter how it would stick like glue in my throat, I might be willing to admit that yes, occasionally, my brother had positive things to contribute to the world.

But I still kicked my foot out at Marcus, catching him square in the side of his thigh. He swore, and I laughed.

“That’s probably gonna bruise,” he muttered, rubbing at the spot. In his other hand, he scrolled on his phone. “Hey, I was trying to find something to do around here, and it says there’s a fair tomorrow. I fucking love fairs. Wanna go?”

“You think we won’t stick out like a sore thumb at a small-town fair?”

“No one will even notice it’s us,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” I eyed the dozens of tattoos covering his arms, the reddish-blond hair tied off his face, and the big beard. Marcus was even taller than me, an absolute monster at six six. “I’m sure you’ll blend right in.”

“Is that a yes?”

I stared at my friend, then picked up the whiskey, trying to imagine him anywhere in Ruby’s vicinity. Maybe she’d be so busy I wouldn’t even see her. I nodded. “Yeah, we can go.”

“Sweet.” He eased his long legs out onto the ottoman in front of him. “What should we do the rest of the night?”

I picked up the remote. “You can do whatever you want. I’m watching the rest of my movie.”

“Fuck you, no you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” I raised my eyebrows. “If you like the end of this one, I’ll show you Pride and Prejudice.”

Marcus knocked back the rest of the whiskey, pinching his eyes shut. “I think I’m trapped in a nightmare.”

“You’ll love it.” I chucked a pillow at him. “There’s a hand flex.”

He caught it and wedged it behind his head. “Whatever you say, King. Whatever you say.”