Blitzed (Rules of Possession Book 3), page 13
“Well, how else can I say it?”
“Maybe you should say it with a kiss.”
I pretended to mull that over, even as my traitorous lips thought that was a brilliant idea. “Maybe I should just pop you again.”
He shrugged. “It’s not that exciting of a story. I just had a little too much to drink at a bar and got in my car to sleep it off.”
“That’s it?” I frowned because…well, I didn’t know why. Maybe because that’s not what I’d been expecting. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but not…that. “Well, why didn’t you catch a ride with someone?”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“I’m sure the booze had a lot to do with that.”
“Probably. I also didn’t want to see anyone or explain why I was drunk off my ass. The anniversary of the death of someone you loved is hard.” His mouth tightened briefly, imperceptibly. “I guess I’m just starting to realize that it’s always going to be hard. There’s no magic milestone you hit when everything is just okay.”
I didn’t have to wonder who he was talking about. He did memorial Father’s Day posts every year. The last one was just a black-and-white picture of the day he got drafted. McAdams was in an ill-fitting suit with an Outlaw’s cap on his head and a shy grin on his face, his arm across the shoulders of a slightly smaller, stouter man with a beard and graying hair. I knew it was his father—the pride in his eyes spoke volumes.
Everything I am, is because of you. My eyes and nose stung as I read that caption. I wasn’t sure if my sadness had been more altruistic or selfish. Was it harder having lost that kind of love from your father or never experiencing it at all?
My mouth decided to get ahead of my brain a tad. “What happened to your father?” At his surprised look, I flushed, because surely some other nut had blurted out a question that was absolutely, positively not his business.
“He was in a motorcycle accident. The day started bright and clear, but by the time he left his buddy’s house, the weather changed and the road was slipperier than he thought. He skidded in a turn and slammed into a guardrail. Died on impact.” He shook his head. “His buddy offered to give him a ride, but I guess he thought he could handle it. He never was any good at accepting help.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and never had words felt so inadequate.
“We were supposed to go fishing that day but I was too busy. The sad part was I don’t even remember what I was so busy doing. That day is just…a blur.”
His tone left little room for interpretation. “You can’t blame yourself. I’m sure there were plenty of days when you did do stuff together. Just because you canceled the one day—”
“The only day, Jesse. In the end, that was the only day that mattered. It doesn’t help things that I’m the one who bought him the motorcycle. The day I gave it to him, he was so excited. He’d always wanted a Harley, you know?” He let out a breath. “I keep that picture up on my Instagram because it was such a happy moment for him. But now when I see it, I can’t help but think I just put a big red bow on my father’s instrument of death and said, ta-da. Happy fucking birthday.”
I spluttered because while I could see the reasoning there, it was faulty and destructive. “You can’t extend responsibility to yourself for just buying a motorcycle. That’s like blaming the water company if you drown in the shower.”
He stared at me for a few moments, his expression unreadable. Then a small smile tugged at his lips, probably at my indignance. I scowled because he’d better not be picturing me as a testy Lhasa Apso again. Last week, he’d shared the analogy of my personality with me, and I’d nearly thrown my pen at his head. By nearly, I mean I did throw it and he ducked just in time. I appreciated the sentiment of being fierce and loyal, if not the comparison to a little dog with long hair and bug eyes.
“It’s not your fault,” I said firmly, because he needed to know it and believe it.
“Yeah, well. Tell that to my mother.”
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“The words, McAdams. I’m not talking about any feelings of guilt you stacked on your back to carry for all time. Did she say the words?”
“She said the words, Fox,” he said looking carefully blank. “Screamed them in my face after the funeral.”
I struggled not to besmirch his mother...but it was difficult. I know she’d been going through a hard time, probably the hardest of her life. But you should never say some things to your kids. The words of a parent, good or bad, were unmatched in gravity. Sometimes you could lift them off your chest and shake them off. Sometimes you were crushed under the weight.
No son of mine will ever be gay, Jamison. You make a choice, right now. But if you choose this…this perversion, you can walk right out that door. And don’t you ever come back.
Andrew was lost in memories of his own. “I don’t think anyone thought about things that way…at least not at first. But as the reality of life without him started to set in, I think it got tougher not to assign blame.”
“It was an accident,” I stressed, still battling down my temper. I knew that people said things they didn’t mean when grief was at the helm, but shit. “He could’ve just as easily wrecked a car. Or went down in a plane crash.”
“That’s not exactly the same thing.”
“Listen. Two flights can leave the same airport with completely different results. You take the one from gate B and you land safely. You take the one from gate H and you wind up plunging from the sky to your death, clutching a piece of burning fuselage like a teddy bear. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this life is kind of a crap shoot.”
He blinked at me for a few moments before he shook his head, looking vaguely amused. “You have a strange way of cheering people up, Fox.”
“I do what I can.”
“You’re not that great at it,” he insisted, and I huffed out a laugh. “Anyway, we’re okay now, but we had a rocky few years. I think we’ve all just agreed not to talk about it.”
“Because that’s healthy?”
“Because it’s necessary.” He scrubbed his hands down his face, and it looked like just telling the story aged him ten years. “God, why are we talking about this again?”
I winced guiltily. We were talking about it because someone in the car was a nosy nelly who had to indulge his rampant curiosity. “I shouldn’t have pried,” I said lowly. “I know you don’t just tell your business to anyone—”
“You’re not just anyone, Jesse.”
I held that intense, honeyed gaze as long as I could before I had to look away. “Oh.”
That was good because he damn sure wasn’t just anyone to me, either. No matter how I’d tried.
“So. Who’re the flowers from?”
“Huh?” I wasn’t prepared for his question, mostly because I was still lost in the headspace where I was special and he could be mine. In other words, I didn’t need tickets and a long drive to Disney to visit Fantasyland. “What flowers?”
He nodded at my doorstep, and I spotted the vase of pink tulips. I sighed. Trace was determined to give me chronic heartburn. It didn’t seem to matter to him that I wasn’t interested. Or that he was married.
It’s not what it looks like, he’d said shiftily when I made the mistake of answering one of his calls.
Looks like you’re organizing your closet with your beard and looking for someone to help fold socks. I didn’t say that, of course. As a rule of thumb, I tried not to antagonize people who could break me in half without working up a sweat. Instead, I just blocked his number. He called me from a different phone a week later.
I knew exactly what was getting under his skin this time. Molly had posted some pictures of the soccer game on our company page. There were several of me and Andrew, and for whatever reason, there was animosity between the two. I’d seen them jawing off at each other at a charity dinner once, and it didn’t look friendly. I chalked it up to football rivalry shit but now I wondered if it was more than that.
Honestly, I wished Molly would take the picture down, and not just because it was making Trace froth at the mouth. We weren’t doing anything inappropriate in the photo—just standing next to each other. I had a soccer ball tucked under my arm, and we were both sweaty and laughing with some of the kids. None of that was problematic.
It was the expression on my face that took me aback. I looked…happy. And seeing yourself happy only made you aware of all the times that you weren’t. My happiness couldn’t be tied up in someone like Andrew. Period.
Every man in the world was not Trace King. I knew that. One day, I would put the effort into finding a real relationship. But it certainly wouldn’t be with another NFL player, especially one whose life the media considered fair game.
I was a private person, almost hermit-like in my dedication to keeping people out of my business. Anyone who wound up with Andrew would be ready for the scrutiny. Ready to have his past picked over like carrion. I wasn’t that guy.
Realizing he was still waiting for an answer, I went with a vague, “They’re not from anyone important.”
“That’s it? I give you all of that personal shit and you give me no one important?”
“He’s not.”
“So it is a he,” he crowed.
“And I think that’s my cue,” I said, glancing out the window at the rain, which had slowed to a drizzle. “Thanks for the lift.”
“What time do you go in tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to need a ride,” he said reasonably, “and I’m a willing volunteer.”
“You don’t come to the center on Wednesdays,” I pointed out.
“Your point would be?”
That he was nicer than I thought, more likable than I thought, and a really big fucking problem. You should tell him that you can arrange your own ride. My inner wise man put down an armful of myrrh and took a moment to advise me. Spending any more time with this guy is not a smart thing to do.
“Nine o’clock,” I said instead because I was a weak, weak man, and the thought of seeing him again before next week was too alluring. I got out of the car before I could be tempted to invite him to come in. “Pop the trunk?”
After he did, I gathered my stuff, ignoring the fact that he’d opened his door and got out…like he was going to help me ferry the stuff to my porch. “Let me help—” was all he got out before I had everything in my arms.
He chuckled under his breath even as he gave the boxes a pointed look. “Do you give them to me or do I wrestle them away?”
I looked at those guns he called arms again and then at my own noodles. I mean, I had definition and all, but that wasn’t a war I could even wage, much less win.
I handed over a box. He waited patiently, Job incarnate, until I gave him one more. With a put-upon sigh, I led the way up the walk. “Thank you,” I said begrudgingly.
“Mmhmm. Quick question. Do you say thank you in any other tone?” He sounded amused.
“Yes,” I said…also begrudgingly.
To his credit, he didn’t try to come in. He put the boxes on the porch and bumped my shoulder. “Tomorrow.”
After giving the flowers one last curious look, he sent me a little half-smile and then headed back the way we’d come. I jammed my key in the lock and opened the door. He waited, idling until I’d carried in the boxes, and then drove off with a quick honk.
I texted him one-handed as I flipped on the lights. I forgot we’re getting a delivery I have to sign for. I need to be there by eight.
I closed the door, biting my lip, wondering why I’d had so very much fun just sitting in the car and talking. Why did he have to go and have depth and layers? Why did he have to be sweet with the kids and do extra hours, unprompted, at the center?
The universe owed me one shallow, selfish ballplayer and I intended to collect. In the meantime, I was stuck with this guy who didn’t seem to understand he was supposed to be a stereotype. Not the exception.
My phone dinged with a text and I snorted at his “not a problem” response.
Oh, I beg to differ.
15
JESSE
I would admit that when Red hit a snag on fixing my car, I wasn’t put out in the least. The words take your time actually came out of my mouth. I wasn’t even pretending to look for solutions anymore. I was just accepting ill-advised rides from Andrew. Daily. Because I was a masochist. Those rides back and forth to work had become the highlight of my day, which was all kinds of pathetic. Getting attached was a stupid thing to do. I knew that. And yet….
He was waiting by the curb when I came out of the center, a box tucked under my arm, my messenger bag strapped across my body, and my lunch bag dangling from my fingertips. He shook his head, his mouth already curving up in a smile and I knew exactly why. It was a discussion we’d had many times over the past week. The last time, I’d been tottering out of the building with a stack of three boxes in my arms, judging the height of the curb and where to step off by mostly memory.
“Two trips won’t kill you, Jesse,” he’d lectured, shaking his head. “But what you’re doing just might.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart,” I said breezily, two seconds before I caught my toe on a manhole cover. I nearly took a header before he caught me. My boxes went flying, and I reflected on how lucky I was that they were only full of promotional materials. Oh, and that I hadn’t cracked my skull on the pavement.
Even as he helped me gather Rainbow Harbor swag from all over the parking lot—in the most I told you so manner possible—I refused to concede. I did not, would not, could not ascribe to this two-trip theory nonsense. Maybe one day I’d lose a finger due to loss of circulation because I grabbed just one. More. Bag. So be it.
I stowed my things in the backseat and hopped in the front…quickly. It wasn’t because I didn’t want his help—I’d gotten used to that over the past week. I just didn’t want him looking at what was in the box.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, making myself comfortable. “Red should have my car ready next week.”
He watched me getting comfortable with a little amused smile. “How many times are you going to make me say that it’s not a problem?”
“Probably a few more,” I admitted.
My ass gave the butter-soft leather of my seat a happy greeting as I got settled. You belong on vinyl, butt, I reminded it. We love vinyl. As soon as our dependable ride got out of the shop, that’s what we were going back to. Until then, it was plush leather goodness. And a phone charger. I set my phone on the little circle to get some juice. Then I put my drink in the cupholder and buckled my seatbelt.
When I reached for the A/C, Andrew barked out a laugh. “Sorry to interrupt you over there at mission control, but what’s in the box?”
I waited until he’d pulled away from the curb to answer. I didn’t want to get punted to the bus stop like a football. Hut, hut, hike!
“Rabbits.” At his alarmed look, I pulled a drink out of my attaché before I stowed it under my feet. “I brought you a Sprite.”
“I don’t want a Sprite, I want to know why there are rabbits in my car,” he demanded.
Bold words from someone who plucked the soda from my hands and cracked it open immediately. I tried not to be too smug. We both knew he was going to drink the whole thing before we even reached the highway.
“What’s your beef with rabbits?”
“I don’t have any beef with them, thank you very much. I just would rather not transport rodents in my freshly detailed car.”
“You’re too precious about this thing,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Besides, they’re not rodents. And they’re cute.”
“Who’s to say one rodent is cute and one is killable?”
“What?”
“I’m glad you asked,” he said, looking like he was ready to settle in for a long discussion about nonsense.
“I didn’t—”
“If there’s a rodent in their cupboards, people put down horrible traps. But if that rodent just so happens to be bigger and furrier with long ears and a twitchy nose, people call his feet lucky and treat him like royalty.”
“You put your royalty in a corrugated box?” I raised an eyebrow. “Also, there’s a rabbit in a stew somewhere that sees a problem with your logic.”
“You know what I mean.” He glanced in the rearview at the box, as if a buck-toothed attack was imminent. “Which brings us back to the box. What’s the story on the rabbits, Fox?”
“One of the kids brought them in. I promised to help her find good homes for them. I talked to the parents of two kids and they said it was alright, which leaves us with two.”
“Maybe she could post an ad,” he suggested.
“She did, but we had to reword it a bit. She was giving them away for free, and I told her that wasn’t a good idea. People will get them to use them as bait or feed them to their snakes and shit. Or even just torture them to death just because.”
He looked positively disgusted. “That’s sick.”
“People can be sick.” I shrugged. “This is news?”
In the meantime, that meant I had two rabbits that I didn’t particularly want or have time for. My conscience demanded that I find them a good home, but that was already proving to be a challenge.
I glanced at Andrew as an idea formed, crystallized, and turned into a plan. “Hey, maybe you—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask you.”
“You had that look in your eye, Fox. After two months, I’m very familiar with that look. It’s the I’m about to do a nice thing and you’re going to help whether you like it or not look.”
“I do not have a look.”
“Oh, but you do. That look has gotten me to do many horrible things.”
If I’d been standing up, I would’ve plunked a hand on my hip. “Such as?” I demanded.
“Trying my hand at sink repair, for starters. Or making me use the nail gun to fix the upholstery on the rec room sofa.” He looked a little frazzled just at the memory. “If the cord hadn’t been too loose and fallen out of the wall, I would’ve sent a nail straight through my hand.”
