“Is that Braden?!” Mom called in the background.
“Hi, Mom,” I called in return. I knew my dad had me on speakerphone. He and Mom acted like the regular version of their phones didn’t work.
“Hi, honey! Oh, Ginny says hi, too! We love you! Everything all right?”
“It’s great,” I said.
“Dad said you sound stressed. Are you stressed?”
I laughed. “A bit, but I’ll be okay.”
“What do we say when anxiety creeps in?” she prodded.
My smile was genuine then, and I wished I could cross the distance in a second to be there in the chaos with them, to feel the warmth of that home and their arms at the same time.
“What’s the best that could happen?” I said, reciting our family mantra.
“What’s the best that could happen,” Mom and Dad echoed.
“Everything is fine,” I promised them. “I was just calling to say that I was thinking of you guys.”
“We’re always thinking of you,” Mom replied.
And my heart swelled before it twisted painfully.
Because I couldn’t say the same.
Not when I’d been ready to risk everything I’d worked so hard to give them in the heat of the moment.
By some miracle, I managed to keep my distance from Emily for the rest of the summer offseason.
It wasn’t that I didn’t see her. Any time we were both at the stadium or a community event together, it was impossiblenotto see her.
It was also impossible not to stare, not to dream, not to fucking pant at the memory of her hand on my cock and her breath in my ear.
I still wasn’t sure how I’d survived that moment of weakness in June, how I’d managed to walk away from her when all I’d wanted was to push her against that wall, hike that dance skirt up, rip through those tights and the shorts beneath it and plunge my cock so deep inside her that those breathy teases of hers would turn to moans. I’d wanted to mess up that perfect lip gloss she’d been wearing, wanted those perfect strands of hair out of place because ofme.
I’d never wanted anything more in my life — a fact that scared me almost as much as the reality that I’d almost given in.
But somehow, I’d restrained myself.
Maybe it was the fear of getting caught that had my feet moving before my brain came back online. Maybe it was that I realized when the fog cleared how fucking stupid I was being, how careless. Maybe it was divine intervention, whatever deity that did exist throwing my teammates into that hallway at that exact moment to remind me what was at stake.
Whatever the case, that moment of almost getting caught had felt like a bucket of ice water to the face. I’d cursed myself the rest of that night, given in and fucked my hand to the thought of her in the shower, and then cleansed myself of her as best I could with a long yoga and meditation session the next morning.
It may have been futile, trying to erase her completely, but at least I could mute her magic enough to think a bit more clearly.
Now, it was the last preseason game of the season, and if anything had helped me regain my focus, it was the fast-approaching date of our first regular season game.
This was it. Year two in the NFL.
And I had a lot to prove if I wanted to stay here past my rookie contract.
I had my headphones on in the locker room, my pregame playlist thumping in my ears as I wrapped my left ankle. My teammates moved around me — taping, smearing eye black under their eyes, some laughing and joking around, others locked in and focused with their own headphones on. There wasn’t quite the same pressure with a preseason game as a regular season, but that was really only true for those of us who knew our spots were safe.
There were rookies here desperate to cement their spot, and I could feel the energy wafting off of them — nervous and excited and ready to prove themselves.
My phone buzzed on the bench next to me, and I swiped my thumb across the screen, unsurprised to find the group chat I had with the guys popping up. Only this time, it wasn’t a text— but an alert that Holden had started a video chat within the group.
