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I pray he never does.
I’ve gotten used to having him within driving distance. Sure, there’s a real possibility he could be traded at any point and be forced to move to New York, Texas, or even California, but so far we’ve been lucky. I don’t know what I’d do if he had to move. My brother may be my half sibling by blood, but he’s my everything. If I ever need anything, it’s Caleb I go to. Not my dad, and definitely not my mom.
Caleb and I share the same father, but our mothers are night and day different. Caleb’s mom baked him cookies and read himbedtime stories, while my mom was too busy trying to find her next sugar daddy to even worry about what I was going to eat or how I was going to get to ballet class.
I was the result of an affair. My dad was a professional football player who got caught up in the hype, the attention, and the women. He met my mom at a club after a game, and nine months later, I came along. As well as an epic scandal. Caleb’s mom stayed, even after the affair came to light, at least for a while. She ended up walking away—with half Dad’s net worth, mind you—after more allegations of cheating hit the gossip rags.
Through all the drama of my childhood and being the kid of a professional athlete, I always had Caleb to lean on. He kept me grounded. Being four years older than me, I always looked up to him. What’s best, he never got mad at me for following him around and trying to hang out with him and his friends.
Caleb has a lot of friends. Always had. He’s so charismatic and outgoing, with a heart of gold who would do anything for anyone. That’s part of the reason he bought this place. Over the years, he’s had several teammates crash in the guest room from time to time, especially at the start of a season.
When I called him two nights ago and told him I was coming for a visit, he didn’t question it. He never does——just makes sure my bedroom is ready for me. He’s at practice now, having returned from training camp a few days ago. My plan is to take my things upstairs and maybe start dinner. He should be home in a few hours, and knowing my brother, he has a fridge full of healthy options to choose from.
I drop my purse onto the chair and set my cat carrier on the coffee table. An inpatient meow echoes through the room. “I know, I know, Hermione. Let’s go find your litterbox.” My gray and white cat rubs against the table before stretching her legs and trailing behind me as I head to the laundry room. There, I find the empty litterbox I keep here for when we visit.
Hermione stays close while I add fresh litter and fill a dish with dry food. When she heads inside to do her business, I take the water bowl to the kitchen sink and fill it up. Once it’s placed next to the food, I go in search of my own beverage. The fridge has tons of water, some fruit juice, Gatorade, and a few bottles of beer. I know Caleb will rarely indulge once training starts, but he’s known to have one here or there, and usually with his teammates.
I let Hermione check out the house while I go upstairs to unload my bag. I’m not even sure what I have, really. I just started throwing clothes into my small duffle bag and my carry-on suitcase. When I left, I didn’t care what I brought. I wanted my stuff as far away from Springfield as possible.
Away from Skylar.
But let’s not cloud a normally bright, sunny day with thoughts of that douche canoe.
Once my clothes are placed inside the dresser or hanging in the closet, I make my way down to the kitchen. With Hermione walking circles around my ankles, I open the refrigerator to see what I can throw together for dinner. Caleb would insist on ordering in, but I actually like to cook, and seeing that I live alone, it feels good to come here and put together a big meal. Plus, my brother eats for three, so there’s never any leftovers.
I pair my phone to his Bluetooth system in the kitchen and crank up my favorite old-school boy bands. Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, 98 Degrees, NKOTB, I got them all loaded up in my Boy Bander playlist. I find chicken breasts and spinach and decide to make a stuffed chicken with creamy spinach sauce. While the oven is preheating, I take care of butterflying the meat and filling each one with a slice of mozzarella cheese, then browning them in a skillet for a few minutes. I whip up a basic creamy white sauce, add the chopped spinach, and even some parmesan.
Knowing my brother likes carbs, I cook up a few cups of instant white rice and wait for the chicken to finish. Once it’s done, I add the meat to the white sauce and let it simmer and place a few slices of garlic bread into the oven. The clock tells me he should be home any minute, so I help myself to one of the beers he has in the fridge and wait.
Finally, I see the keypad on the wall flash, alerting me that someone is entering the house. I smile instantly, happy to see my brother for the first time in almost two months. With my busy work schedule, I just haven’t been able to get away like I used to.
I’m belting out some Backstreet Boys, singing about playing games with my heart, and shaking what my mama gave me as I stir the sauce. Just as I turn to set the table, I notice a shadow in the doorway. I glance over and scream, nearly dropping the plates I just snagged from the counter. The man moves fast, like a jungle cat, quick and eerily silent. I try to jump back, but he’s on me, grabbing my arm to keep me from going down at the same time his other hand reaches for the plates, so they don’t shatter on the floor.
“Easy there, Sunshine.”
I pull back, shocked. It’s been years since I heard that endearment and only one man who used it.
Brock Williams.
I remember the night perfectly. I was visiting my brother with my dad and his then-girlfriend, Cleo. It was a Friday night and Caleb had a big, televised game the next day. We were staying at a huge luxurious hotel, like we always did when Dad was there, and I was getting into the elevator to go down to the pool. There was already a guy there, but he paid me no attention as the door started to close.
We started the ride down in silence before he said, “You’re Josephine, right?”
I glanced over, finally taking in his impossibly tall and toned features. As a senior in high school, I had seen my share of good-looking guys, but this one was nothing like the high school boys I was used to. He was all man.
“Yes,” I squeaked out over my too-dry throat. “But my friends call me Joey.”
He smiled, and it was breathtaking. “I’m Brock, Caleb’s friend.”
My brother’s original roommate turned best friend in college. I’d heard his name many times over the last four years. They played together, lived together, and did everything that didn’t involve football together. Both seniors at State, everyone knew they were headed for the draft, and rightfully so. My brother was an amazing kicker, while Brock excelled at the tight end position.
And if that part was as fit as the rest of him, I was sure tight end was extremely fitting.
We’d run into each other a handful of times over the years, but really, football was never my thing. I went to games when I was required to but didn’t really pay attention, cheering when the crowd around me did so. At the end of the game, when I hugged my brother and congratulated him on a great game, he’d just smile. He knew. I had no clue what the score was or even if they won or lost.
“Nice to see you again,” I finally replied as the numbers dropped on the elevator.
I felt his eyes on me and did my best not to fidget nervously. I’d always noticed Brock the few times I was around him. I mean, who wouldn’t. But being in the elevator with him, I was very much aware of his presence. Not only was he incredibly large and toned, but he smelled amazing. Like he just got out of the shower. Clean, with maybe a hint of sandalwood.
