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We both looked out onto the field, where Sage was talking to two of the other players, gesturing wildly as they listened intently.
Ian exhaled a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It sure does. Maybe I can still pay her to give Parker a full critique at dinner.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warned him. “She’ll take you up on it, and you know it.”
He gave me a quick, mischievous look, and dammit, it set off a dangerous swirling in my stomach.
I ignored it. Just like I was ignoring everything else inconvenient that seemed to be changing in my brain.
Chapter 18
Ian
My mom was in heaven. The house was loud, full of people and noise—even if half the table was full of football players not currently related to her—and she was able to feed all of them. The sheer breadth of food they put away was astounding, and she took that challenge to heart.
Even though it was a weeknight, she’d prepared a full Sunday dinner—tender roast in her mom’s gravy recipe, cheesy mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables with perfectly charred edges dripping in butter and seasoning, and some warm, crusty rolls that had Parker’s teammate Jamari hoarding the basket on his lap.
“Wilder, I would look like an O-lineman if I ate this food all the time,” he said, wolfing down another roll from the basket hidden underneath the table. “It’s incredible, Mrs. Wilder.”
Sheila waved it off. “Thank you, Jamari. I love feeding my family, so you’re welcome anytime, honey.”
Parker snatched the basket out of his grasp, and the two tussled good-naturedly as he passed it back around the table.
Jamari shrugged. “You can take the bread, asshole. Your mom just gave me a free pass to come back, so that means I win.”
Everyone laughed, including Parker, and I watched him carefully out of the corner of my eye.
Of the whole family, Parker had taken our dad’s sickness and passing the hardest—seemingly unable to even come home to face the reality that we were about to lose a second parent to cancer in our lifetime. He’d come to his senses by the end, arriving home for a family weekend a couple of weeks before my dad passed and able to say his goodbyes. In my head, I thought my younger brother had made his peace.
But he didn’t look good.
Underneath his eyes, I noticed dark circles and a slight downturn to his mouth when he thought no one was looking. Brotherly concern swelled, and I found myself watching him as I ate.
If my sister Adaline talked about being happy, able to move forward because of how ready Dad had been at the end, how at peace he was, then Parker looked the opposite. When his teammates started talking to Cameron and Ivy about something, Parker looked down at his plate, moving his food around, a deep breath expanding his chest. On the slow exhale, he closed his eyes.
I’d seen none of this at the practice. He was energetic and kind, working with the kids with patience and a great sense of humor. I’d never cultivated the ability to wear a mask, which is why most people who didn’t know me kinda thought I was a dick, but I’d never understood the point of faking it.
But maybe that was because I’d cultivated my life in a way that naturally supported that side of my personality. I worked a job that was fairly solitary and didn’t expand my circle beyond what I felt I could maintain. I was wary of outsiders, of new people who pressed into that circle.
My younger brother was on the world’s largest stage, every part of his life and abilities up to be judged, and I guess that did require some performing. Especially on days like this.
I felt my brow furrow as I watched him, and that’s when Poppy nudged my foot.
“What?” she whispered.
“He looks exhausted, doesn’t he?”
My sister hummed. “A bit, yeah. I just figured it was because it was midseason.”
“I think it’s more than that.”
“Dad?” she asked.
I inclined my chin in a slight nod.
“He hasn’t said anything when we’ve talked,” Poppy said.
I gave her a quick look. “You talk to him a lot?”
