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“Time to eat, guys,” I say. Liam tosses the football onto the chaise lounge as they both head in. “A little hot for you out here?”
“Not used to the humidity,” Brady answers as he throws his t-shirt back on. “It’s going to turn to fall at some point, right?”
“Texas seasons are a little different than what you’re used to in New York,” I say. “It’ll get slightly less hot for a few days soon, then summer will come roaring back.”
“So…don’t get my wool coat out just yet?” Brady jokes, grabbing a plate and loading food onto it. “Or pack up my muscle shirts?” Brady flexes his biceps while Liam laughs.
All I can think about, though, is what a shame it would be to cover up those strong arms.
“No, definitely don’t put away your...your sleeveless shirts,” I manage to spit out.
“Can I eat in the living room?” Liam asks, oblivious to how Brady and I can’t seem to look away from each other. “The game’s about to start.”
Of course, any mention of sports, and my spell over Brady is broken.
“I vote yes,” Brady says, already heading into the living room with Liam. “Itisfor research, after all.” Another wink.
“Pay attention, Liam,” Brady says as he and Liam settle down beside each other on the couch, as if they’ve done it every night of Liam’s life, and I sink into the recliner just inches from Brady. “We’re going up against them week nine, so I’m going to need your advice, buddy.”
“They’ve got a good quarterback,” Liam says, “but not as good as you.”
“Thanks to a certain team nutritionist, I’m getting better every week,” Brady jokes. “Her smoothies would make a star athlete out of anybody.”
I smile at the compliment, realizing that Liam gets his ability to charm me into a later bedtime or an extra scoop of ice cream from his dad.
I don’t know that I’ve ever called Brady that. I know I’ve referred to him as the sperm donor. The man who killed my sister, sure.
But Liam’s dad? That seems a little too personal. A little too real. But that’s what he is.
I’m beginning to think a little more each day that it’s not fair to keep father and son apart. Promise or not, is it really my place to keep Brady from the truth about Liam?
My napkin falls to the floor, and Brady and I both reach for it at the same time. Our hands meet, followed closely by our eyes. As I look into his deep, blue eyes, I think how he can’t possibly be the same college kid who broke my sister’s heart into a million pieces.
The action on the TV breaks our gaze. I place the napkin securely under my plate. He might not be that same irresponsible kid, but I have no doubt he’s still the same hothead quarterback who just last season spent every night partying.
There might be glimpses of a mature man every once in a while, but I’m still not convinced that it’s enough to betray Lucy. These are the times when I could really use my big sister’s advice. The irony is that, if she were still alive, this would beherheadache to deal with, not mine.
“Take your plate to the kitchen if you’re finished, Liam,” I say.
“But it’s the last quarter, can’t it wait?” Liam whines.
“I don’t care if it’s the last quarter, or the eighth quarter, for that matter,” I say, going into stern mom mode. “Take your plate in there now.”
“Aww, mom,” Liam protests while dragging his feet—and holding his dirty plate—toward the kitchen.
“Aww, mom,” Brady mimics, grabbing his plate and mine, and following Liam.
Yep. Keeping this secret—and my promise to Lucy—is getting harder and harder every day.
Brady
I glance over at myself in the mirror as I push the barbell up, focusing on my breathing so that I can make it to eighteen reps and finish my set.
I’ve been told in the past that my bench press form isn’t so great sometimes; I get distracted by my damn good looks, so I always double check when I’m lifting.
That, and it never hurts to boost the old ego a bit.
Lookin’ good, Brady, lookin’ good.
