Clay:Oh, there’s definitely a story here.
Me:No story.
Madelyn:There’s a new cheerleader who is, and I quote, “a pain in Braden’s ass.”
Mary:Ha! I remember when I said that about Leo…
Leo:And then you called me Daddy and we never looked back.
Kyle:We all know Mary is Daddy. Not sure how many times we have to tell you this for you to get it.
Madelyn:Braden also said that this cheerleader doesn’t follow the rules…
Julep:I like her already.
Giana:Wait! Opposites attract, instant banter, and am I sensing a little bit of a hate-to-love vibe, Braden?
Braden:There’s no vibe to sense, and you’re all making a bigger deal out of this than it is. I’ve met her once. There’s no story. And I haven’t even seen her today.
Kyle:The day is still young.
Braden:Don’t you have a baby to care for?
Madelyn sent a photo of their daughter sleeping on her chest, which blessedly moved the group chat in another direction — although Giana was still going off with her “tropes,” as she called them. The woman was the definition of a bookworm andparticularly loved romance novels, which meant any time one of the guys met someone, she started hypothesizing what our book would be like and how things would play out.
My stomach tightened a little when I realized she had yet to be wrong.
Well, this would be the first time. Because no way in hell was anything ever going to happen between me and Emily Huxley. It didn’t matter how gorgeous she was, or how my body betrayed my brain any time she was near.
She was a cheerleader and I was a football player for the same professional team that had a strict no fraternization rule.
And I wouldn’t risk my career for anyone.
I silenced the group chat before tucking my phone into my pocket, knowing if I didn’t it would continue to buzz all afternoon. Then, I kept my focus on the field as the team I was coaching finished out their drive. We didn’t get a touchdown, but we did get close enough for a field goal — one of our kickers scored with ease. She reminded me so much of Riley I couldn’t fight the nostalgia.
It seemed like only yesterday that we were all freshmen at NBU, no clue what our futures held.
Now, five of us were in the NFL, and the other two ran the most well-known and talked about philanthropic organization in girls’ sports.
It was surreal, to see your friends grow up like that — watch them get married, have babies, excel in their careers like grown ass adults. Sometimes I still felt like the eighteen-year-old kid I was when I met them all.
Then again, I’d never had the true experience of a teenager or new adult.
Sure, we all had football. We all had to balance being a student athlete, bearing the weight of keeping up with our classes, as well as our training schedule and games.
But I also had to navigate being a caretaker for my family.
Had to was the wrong verbiage —gotto was more accurate. I grew up faster than the rest of my friends, sure. And yeah, there were pieces of that time I’d never get back. But I didn’t carry resentment over it. If anything, I carried pride.
I was proud that I could help my family navigate something none of us expected.
I was proud of my parents for the sacrifices they’d made, for how they’d taught me the value in putting others before yourself.
And I was damn proud of my sister for not just surviving, butthriving, in the circumstances life had handed her.
My gut twisted at the thought, just like it always did on days like this. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and I longed to share it with Ginny.
It killed me, knowing I could go out and enjoy days like this, that I could walk and run and laugh and have a career and friends and whatever I wanted while she was bound to a chair, or bed, at home.
