“I told my mom about it and she cried. We both sat there and cried and cried. We said we’d never talk about it again, but I’ll never forget how embarrassed and ashamed I felt. How ashamed I still feel now.”
I close my eyes, feeling like a fucker for asking her to talk about this. I had no idea and now that I know the worst part is that there’s nothing I can do to make it better for her. Nothing but hold her and tell her, “It’s not your fault. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“It was my dad, though.”
“It was the disease. It wasn’t you and it wasn’t him. Does he remember it happening?”
She shakes her head against my chest. “No, and I’m glad. It would be too hard for him.”
“The way it is for you and your mom.”
She nods vigorously. Silently.
“Does he remember your brother when he sees him?”
“Every single time.”
“Damn.”
She nods again, slower this time. Sadder.
“I’m sorry, Lilly.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“For what?”
“About your dad.”
“I guess we’ve both got daddy issues, huh?” I joke feebly.
I’m relieved when she shakes with a chuckle. “It’s amazing we’re not both on a pole.”
I smile. “I’ve taken pole dancing classes.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. I did it in college to meet girls.”
She leans back out of my hold, wiping at her eyes, trying her hardest not to meet mine. “I bet you were the teacher’s pet.”
I take her face in my hands, tilting it up to look at me. I use my thumbs to wipe away the wetness gathered in her lashes and on her cheeks. I hold her gaze with mine, making sure she sees me. Making sure she knows I see her.
“I’ll keep your secret,” I swear solemnly. “What you told me and what I told you, it’s private. I promise.
She gives me a small grin. “I trust you.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes. Do you trust me?”
“With everything that’s mine.”
I lower my lips to hers, kissing her slowly. She tastes like salt and sadness. Like honesty and beauty and so much sweetness I feel myself getting high off the flavor. Off of her and the growing feeling in my chest that pulses and pounds, beating out a rhythm that sounds like her name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LILLY
November 27th
Beer ‘N Burger
Los Angeles, CA
They lost last night.
On Thanksgiving Day, with everyone watching.
And they lost big.
Colt was right; he doesn’t take losing very well. He doesn’t get angry, not the way some of the guys apparently do, but he gets depressed. Angsty and a little bit tipsy. On the cab ride to the bar tonight he ranted about all of the ways he could have turned that game around, listing the million different changes that could have happened to bring home the win. Only those million ways aren’t the way it happened. There’s only one way, and it was a loss, a fact he’s having a very hard time digesting, because a—
“Fucking thirty-four to two loss to the Jets is un-fucking-acceptable!” he declares to the table, shouting over music blaring through the bar. It’s Friday night, karaoke night, and the place is packed, the talent on the stage flatter than the beer I’m nursing.
“Oh my God, Funshine Bear, we heard you the first three times,” Sloane groans. “Let it go. It’s over. You lost. Focus on the next game.”
He chuckles scornfully, bringing his beer to his lips. “What next game. Why bother? Season’s over.”
I rub my hand consolingly up and down his back, unsure what to say. Better luck next time? You can’t win ‘em all?
Do you want another beer?
“You guys have four more games,” Hollis reminds him. “Maybe don’t throw in the towel just yet.”
Colt ignores him, probably because Hollis is right and Colt has no interest in leaving this funk he’s in.
Hollis is Kurtis Matthews’ agent, Sloane’s best friend, and one third of the DAK Agency where Colt is represented. Berny Dawe, Sloane Ashford, and Hollis Kane make up the entire agency. Colt explained that Berny’s been an agent for a thousand years, Sloane just started out a couple years ago, and Hollis has been at it for six or seven. He’s a few years older than I am. Dark hair. Great clothes. Kind eyes.
Hollis is a stark contrast sitting next to Colt’s closest friend, Tyus Anthony. I just met him tonight and I’m not sure what to think of him. He sits back in his seat, aloof and biting. Egotistical in a way Colt only dreams of. He’s not a bad guy, though. He’s been really nice to me, if not a little distant. He’s gorgeous with dark skin, dark eyes, and a warm laugh that he reserves almost entirely for Colt.
Sitting next to Tyus is Andreas Castillo. I’ve got nothing on that guy. When he stands suddenly and announces, “I have to take a piss,” it’s the first full sentence I’ve heard him utter all night.
“Have fun!” Colt calls after him.
Andreas looks at him funny, his handsome face drawn, before heading across the crowded room toward the back.