The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel

She was absolutely gorgeous. Model-waif thin with long blond hair and eyes so big, I noticed them across a busy street. My heart sank. I knew the answer but asked anyway. “Do you know that woman across the street?”

Brody turned his head face-forward and kept walking. “Yes. That’s Willow.”

And just like that, the confidence I’d felt earlier—the feeling of empowerment—turned into fear and vulnerability. And, yes, even a little jealousy.





Chapter 23


Willow

“That pretty face should never have an upside-down smile.” My grandmother was losing her memory, lived in a nursing home, and had addicts for her sole surviving kin, and yet here she was, trying to cheer me up.

I forced a smile. “Sorry.”

“You and Brody have a fight?”

Brody had apparently not filled Grams in on the last few years. I wasn’t sure why or what that meant, but I went along with it. “No. We’re good.” I took Grandma’s hand and squeezed.

“Good. That boy is a keeper. They don’t make ’em like him too often anymore. Reminds me of my Carl in some ways.”

“Really?” It was the first time Grams had spoken of Pop Pop. I had no idea if she remembered he was gone or not. Her memory was so random and selective.

“Yep. That boy is loyal. He fell hard for you and never got back up. Same way my Carl did for me.”

She was right about one thing—Brody was loyal. Probably the most loyal person I’d ever come across in my entire life. But even the most loyal person had their breaking point. Seeing him on the street today reminded me of that. I hadn’t expected him to be waiting around for me all these years. Not after everything I’d done to him. But what I saw today had been hard to see anyway. He’d looked happy. Holding a woman’s hand in public. I should have been happy for him. But what I should do and what I actually did had never been the same.

I spent another two hours with Grams. She enjoyed the company and, honestly, I loved being around her. She was my root, made me feel grounded when I otherwise would spin out of control.

After The Price Is Right ended, I stopped in the ladies’ room in the hallway and cleaned up, knowing I’d have to head straight to work or risk being late. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and brushed on a little mascara and lip gloss. When I returned to Grams’ room to say goodbye, a man was sitting in the chair next to her. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why at first. “Hello.”

The man stood and nodded. “I was just doing my daily visit with Marlene. I didn’t realize she had company.”

My jacket was draped over another chair, so I lifted it and began to pull it on. “Stay. Please. I was just about to leave. I have to get to work anyway.” I smiled. “I’m Willow. Marlene’s granddaughter.”

“I didn’t realize Marlene had a granddaughter. It’s nice to meet you, Willow. I’m Grouper. Your grandmother likes to whip me at checkers a few times a week.”

“Ah. Yes, game shark. She looks innocent, but she’s a closet swindler.”

Grouper looked to Marlene and shook his head. “You sound just like Brody.”

“You know Brody?”

“Of course. Comes here every week like clockwork. Good man. Just don’t ever let him know I said that.” He winked.

“Does he ever bring his girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend? Oh, you mean the reporter. No. He comes alone. Tuesdays. Usually about ten.”

I walked over to Grams and gave her a hug. Her shoulders were so much thinner than I remembered. My larger-than-life grandmother felt tiny, almost fragile. “I have to get going to work, or I’ll be late.”

“Okay, dear. Will you come back with Brody?”

“You know what? I will. I’ll be back on Tuesday. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Grouper.”

“Nope, no mister. Just Grouper. Like the fish.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you, Grouper. And thank you for visiting with Grams.”

“My pleasure. Let’s hope the Steel win this Sunday, so we get a happy Brody here on Tuesday.”

I smiled, refraining from saying what I was thinking. I wouldn’t count on Brody being happy on Tuesday, even if he wins.

***

Monday was my only day off. Restaurant hours were hard on keeping up with any TV programs, so I had stopped bothering recording most things a long time ago. On the rare occasion that I remembered to set up something to record, it was even rarer that I actually watched whatever it was that I’d recorded. Except today. I sat on the edge of the couch during the last two minutes of the Steel versus Eagles game as Brody and the offensive line moved down the field. They were down by six and sitting on the thirty-yard line on fourth down.

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