At the large outside table, I slam my beer on it. My sort of dramatics. We’re not friends anymore, and it’s the whole reason I’m here.
“What the hell, man?” he asks, and in the vulnerability of his eyes, I know I should rein in my anger. By coming out and being proud of the person he is, he’s achieved something no one in our football league has.
“I didn’t come here to catch up, Hanley. We aren’t friends. You destroyed it. For the record, I have to work with you because I want a fucking championship ring more than anything in this world. So, you stay out of my way, you catch my fucking throws, and we’ll be cool.”
I have to get out of his space and away from him, and I enter the house, heading to the exit at the front door, but he’s trailing me close.
“Shit, Crush, what can I say? I was an asshole, but I was scared and so fucking young. I didn’t know if a team would draft me if I’d come out, like I had wanted to. And that day, I was wrong. So many times, I wanted a redo on the moment we shared when I let it go too far.”
We were twenty-two and both so green and young and stupid. It was six months before I signed a contract and had more money than I knew what to do with. And Alison showed up on my doorstep shortly after the championship game—pregnant. I put a ring on her finger out of loyalty. And just six months later, I’d signed with Nashville and welcomed our little girl into the world. For years, I held onto a marriage I never wanted, but to say I wouldn’t do it again for my daughter is an understatement.
I take one look at this man, who’d been more than just a friend—he’d been my brother for four years—and fuck, I’ve missed him. But I’m hurt. He sliced me through the middle. I cared more for this man than the woman I married. And sometimes, I’d wished she would have left me, but I never wanted Ryder absent from my life.
“I gotta go. I can’t get into this shit with you. But I’m telling you now, just do your fucking job, and we’ll be peachy keen.”
I slam the door behind me without a backward glance as I make it to my truck and back to my lonely house.
“Al, come on. I just want to take her out for dinner.”
My ex-wife is a bitch. Ryder never liked her, and with his vehement disgust for Alison, it should have told me something. He loved everyone. “No, Christopher, it’s why we have a schedule.”
“But it’s four in the afternoon, what is she doing?” It doesn’t matter because even if our daughter is just watching a television show, the lying mouth of Alison can never be trusted, not when we were married and sure as shit, not when we’re this divorced couple who hates one another.
“We’re playing a board game, if you have to know.”
“Al, practice starts tomorrow. I need just a couple of hours with her since it’ll be almost a month.” I’ll try to steal time with her, but it’s always an unknown at the beginning of the season when I’ll get time with my little peanut.
I’d not thought this out properly when we were planning our schedules for the next couple of weeks. Alison has her more during the football season, and I get her more on the offseason.
She huffs in the background, and I can imagine her face is beet red in rage, but then again, she’s always had a resting bitch face. “Brooklyn, honey. Do you want to continue having fun with Mommy or go spend some boring time with daddy.”
Way to keep it cordial, bitch, I think to myself, but I stifle a laugh or try to when I hear my sweet girl squeal. “I want Pops.”
“Fine, come fucking get her but have her fed and ready for bed when she returns.” She ends the call, and this will calm my fucking heartbreak after seeing Ryder. I want to forgive him, I really do, but the pain of his absence in my life has been excruciating, and I don’t know if I can allow for the possibility of him messing me up again.
“Pops, I always win gainst you.” I laugh at my daughter’s confidence. We’re playing tic-tac-toe on a napkin at the little eatery we frequent near my house in the best part of Nashville. It’s upscale because it’s where a good portion of the music industry lives.
“It’s because you have my brains, peanut.”
We start another game before we leave for my home, where I’ll get her bathed and into pjs. And then I’ll take her back to her mother’s for the night. I’m in my own world, one belonging only to me and the white-haired angel who’s the center of my life when someone behind me clears his throat.
With the sound of his footsteps, moving around the table, he kneels, and I recognize the profile of him anywhere. “You must be Brooklyn,” Ryder says with a strand of hair falling in his face. “I’m an old friend of your dad's.”
Brooklyn looks at me, then back at Ryder. “I’m Ryder, sweetheart.”
She begins to laugh. “Yous means like Ryda, from Paw Patrol?” I figured her question would stumble him. Why would he know about Ryder, but he doesn’t miss a beat.
“Reporting for duty.” She laughs and doesn’t correct him because it’s not Ryder who says this, but it makes her warm up to him.
His face turns to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave without meeting the number one lady in your life.” He stands and turns when he replies to one of my commands from earlier. “And you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be sure to do my job and nothing else.” He turns his gaze to Brooklyn. “Well, Miss Brooklyn, it’s nice meeting you.” His attention swings toward to me, again. “She’s gorgeous, Crush, and she’s a lucky girl to have you as a dad.”
He walks away, and somehow, I concentrate on his backside. I don’t understand this because I’ve not seen Ryder in so long, but then again, I’ve been ignoring how a man, especially even the thought of Ryder Hanley, can turn me on.
3
Ryder
I’ve not had any sort of welcome from the team. Walking my tired ass into the training facility; at five a.m.—I’ve seen it, in Miami, newbies are normally shunned until they prove themselves. And I expect the same here.
The stadium is majestic, and the second I enter the locker room, the entire team quiets. I’m not sure if this has to do with my sexuality, or if many can sense Crush has a beef with me. I know my former best friend, he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he wouldn’t have had to say something for those around him to understand I’m not high on his list.
Then again, I assume some guys may think the gay man is checking out all the bare asses in the locker room. It’s not the case at all—or at least I tell myself this as I’ve decided I can’t be anywhere around Crush’s naked body.
I’m not expecting our locker room to be a five-star retreat. It’s decked out with individual lockers that can be categorized by many as walk-in closets, with a chair to the side. And not just any chair, but a massage chair, where there are at least eight feet between athletes. Music floats through the open space, which happens to be full of metal and chrome along with the team’s colors in a large oval shape where everyone can see one another. It’s a completely different feel than our own home locker room in Miami. I instantly calm when I find my locker heaven and my own personal massage chair.