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I’m about to reach into my sweats when a particular ring tone blares from my phone. Cursing, I abandon my dick to check the texts from my brother, affectionally labeled Dipshit in my contacts.
Dipshit: You around?
Me: I’m here.
Being a Navy SEAL is possibly the only profession that is more interesting to football players than playing football. Guys in the locker room are endlessly curious about what my brother does.
Pundits and players like to call football a war on the field, but none of us players really know how we would react in situations like the ones my brother has been in. A lot of those situations have been bad, and he’s changed because of it. I remind myself of that every time I look at Charlotte’s hurt face.
When Charlie got sick when we were both fifteen, she decided she was going to get all her living done—just in case. She never said that sentiment out loud, but I knew she believed it. And Nate was number one on her bucket list. Good thing for her that he’d harbored feelings for her too.
At first, it was weird for me, but near-death experiences have a way of fixing your perspective. If Nate was what Charlie wanted, then good for them. While my brother and best friend were consoling each other in ways that were probably too adult for them, I was finding comfort in one willing girl after another.
When Charlotte was fighting cancer and winning my brother, I figured their thing was the embodiment of that dreamy ideal poets write about and my English Lit teacher forced us to read. But in the end, we all learned that tragedy is more real, more believable. The rest of it is just fantasy. Nate left, and each year that he doesn’t get back, Charlie’s light grows dimmer and dimmer. I love them both, though, and hope they one day get their act together.
The phone rings and I grab it, eager to hear my brother’s voice. It’s been weeks of no contact. I assumed he was on a mission. “You just get in?”
“About four hours ago,” he admits. “I just woke up from a nap.”
“I’d be sleeping for a week if I just got in after a six-week vacation like yours,” I joke as a surge of relief courses through me. I didn’t realize I’d been so tense, but that’s how the entire family is for weeks at a time when he drops all communication because he’s on a mission.
He grunts. “I slept on the ’copter ride in.”
Nate says one of the skills he learned is to sleep on command, but I doubt you get any real rest in a noisy helicopter. I’ve been in one of those transport birds and it doesn’t even have a real seat. This ass needs a seat.
“That’s another solid five minutes?”
There’s a strangled sound on the other end of the line that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Yeah, a whole five minutes. I’ll sleep again later tonight. I wanted to check in and see how training camp’s going. You excited this year?”
“Was excited last year. Now I’m a mix of fear and adrenaline.”
“That shit keeps you alive. I saw on your schedule that you play San Diego in October. The family coming in for that?”
Meaning, is Charlotte coming? “Probably the parents. Charlie’s business is keeping her busy.”
“Yeah?”
He wants me to fill in the blanks. Stupid bastard. If he’d just pull his head out of his ass… Unlike Nate, I’m not noble and self-sacrificing. I’m not going to give up everything, and I do mean everything, to pursue a greater good.
“Yeah.” I change the subject because I’m tired of serving as Nate’s intermediary. He’s a grown-ass man and can talk to her if he wants. “I’m assuming you’re not injured.”
“No, not a scratch on me. And you?”
“Completely and disgustingly healthy.”
“I’m reading that you have a good chance this year to make the playoffs.”
“I’ll be happy if we end up eight and eight.”
“No, you won’t.”
I pause a beat and then agree because if I can’t get this team into the playoffs again, I don’t deserve to be behind center. “You’re right. I want to win it all.” Again.
I want to have it all. The Super Bowl, the smiling wife, and the dark-haired little snots that will grow up loving football like me. And I’m going to have it all, too.
“I’m thinking of coming for a visit.”
I bolt upright and knock the empty beer bottle off the table. Thanks to my great reflexes, I catch it before it crashes to the floor. “What did you say?”
Nate clears his throat. “I thought I’d visit you and Charlotte.”
“You talk to Charlotte?”
“Ah, no.”
“You little coward.” I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “How can you run into war zones but be afraid of a tiny woman?” He doesn’t answer because there is no response. “It was a rhetorical question. You’ll have to get a hotel room. Charlie and I have a two-bedroom condo.”
