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She placed a hand on his arm. “Still coming to the game tomorrow?”
He nodded, sipping his coffee and wincing again. “Damn shame Brock is still on the bench. He mention anything about when he’d be released to play?”
She shook her head. “We really haven’t…talked.” About football.
“No?” Daddy slowly turned the coffee mug between his hands. “I always figured he’d be part of the family someday.” He patted her hand. “I never saw a boy so sweet on anyone the way he was on you.”
Daddy’s words stirred up a tangle of memories full of love and loss and bone-wrenching grief. “That was a long time ago, Daddy. Things change.”
“Most times, your first love isn’t your only love.” Krystal piped up, banging around the kitchen, assembling ingredients. “Besides, Daddy, Emmy Lou deserves someone better. Someone true-blue. A rock.”
“I thought Brock was all those things?” He sighed. “Guess I’m not the best judge of character.”
Travis snorted. It didn’t slip out, either. It was loud and hard and intentional.
Emmy Lou watched the narrow-eyed, unspoken exchange between her father and brother. It wasn’t right. None of this was right. Maybe the family counseling wasn’t a bad idea. At this point, they could probably all use someone objective to talk to.
“What about you, Daddy?” Krystal asked. “I know you were Momma’s first love. But you were young and handsome and on the road long before she came along. Was there anyone special?” Her sister was watching their father like a hawk—all while whisking eggs in a big ceramic bowl.
Where was this coming from? Emmy Lou took a sip of tea, staring at her sister over the cup’s edge.
“That was a long time ago.” Their father shook his head.
“Still, you never forget a first love.” Krystal pushed. “Not if it was the real thing.”
Daddy nodded, turning his mug again, slowly. “No, you don’t.” He cleared his throat. “But you do move on.”
Emmy shot her sister a what-are-you-doing look about the same time Travis went to pour himself another cup of coffee—and elbowed the bag of flour to the floor. A huge cloud of white billowed up to cover her brother and sister from head to toe. Krystal turned toward Travis, fuming, flour coated, with eggs dripping from her flour-covered whisk.
“Krystal, now, it was an accident.” Daddy chuckled. “How about you two get cleaned up and we’ll go have brunch before heading out? Emmy Lou and I will clean up the kitchen.”
Her daddy was laughing. For a split second, the tension and stress and drama were gone.
* * *
Emmy Lou King singing the national anthem for the Roughnecks’ first game of the season should have tipped Brock off that things were going to fall apart. Since he’d left LA, thinking of her left a bitter taste in his mouth. Now, here she was, like lemon juice in a paper cut. And things just kept going downhill. The Green Bay Bears weren’t projected to do well, so going into halftime tied was a serious blow to the team attitude.
Listening to Coach McCoy’s halftime pep talk only made him hate being benched that much more. The man was a good coach. He knew this game, knew how to read the plays…so watching Ricky Ames roll his eyes, looking bored as hell, had Brock seeing red.
Third quarter, Ricky Ames fucked it up. Not some accident; that shit happens. No, he’d been showboating—and lost the ball. Then Ames bowed up and chest bumped an opposing teammate. Flags were thrown, whistles were blown, and the Roughnecks suffered penalties.
Brock was up and on his feet, pacing—willing himself to calm the fuck down.
The Roughnecks had been projected to win by two touchdowns. In the end they won by a field goal.
He headed back into the locker room, more than eager to head home, and yanked open his locker. An avalanche of underwear came pouring out onto the floor. Not just men’s underwear. Kids’ underwear. Women’s underwear. Action heroes, unicorns, lacy panties, and a bag of adult diapers.
“We heard someone scored a big-ass endorsement deal.” Gene Byrd had been the Roughnecks’ running back since before Brock joined the team. “Congrats.”
Brock laughed. “Dicks.”
“I’m not sure the world is ready to see you in tighty-whities.” Quarterback Jacob Oliver slapped Brock on the shoulder. He leaned forward to tease. “When you’re not making money showing off your ass, maybe you could get it out there on the field, with the rest of us?”
Brock shook his head. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder. We need you on the field,” Russell Ewen murmured as he walked by.
Ricky Ames brushed past him, back stiff, chin stuck out. He was on the defensive; Brock got that. And even though the kid was a pain in the ass, it was his first game and he’d wanted to prove himself. Hopefully, he’d learn from today’s mistake and move on. It was the way the game worked. But that didn’t mean it was easy.
