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Some speculate there might be a trust fund he and his wife benefit from if this goes through, but I have my own problems related to wills to worry about.
Or not think about, as the case may be, which is exactly what I want to be doing in my current situation.
The guys on my team are cheering and having fun. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how to undo these I-dos. Well, Jayda Webster and I haven’t committed our lives to each other yet. Good thing too, because it’s all a lie.
Garrison Wheeler, one of the other star players for the Riptide, and now married to a woman named Giselle, claps me on the shoulder. “It’s almost time to welcome you to the club, man. I didn’t see this coming. Who’d have thought you’d have a thing for Webby’s daughter?”
I swallow thickly. “Yeah, who’d have thought? Not me.”
He gives me a side-eye. “Love can make you do strange things. For instance, Giselle wanted to go to outer space, and your man Garrison got us tickets.”
“You’re going to space?”
“Heck no. She just wanted to know that I’d do anything for her, including go to the moon.” Gaze fixed to the middle distance, it’s obvious his love for her is so thorough, so strong, he’d do anything for her.
Can’t say the same for myself.
“You realize that’s insane, right?” I ask.
“Wait a second,” he blurts. “Are you getting married because your brother did? Is this a twin sibling rivalry thing?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that it might look that way, given that Royal only got married last night and here I am, the next morning in Miami, having a rowdy brunch with the rest of the team. Granted, Mrs. Webster organized the bachelor party, and I have no idea what to expect from the rest of the day. I’m merely along for the ride.
Magnus would disapprove.
I have a full plate of eggs, ham, and toast in front of me that I’ve hardly touched. My stomach is a wad of gum and watermelon seeds and all the things you’re not supposed to swallow. Did I indulge too much last night at the wedding?
Someone looks at me and laughs in a way that suggests I missed a crucial piece of banter and laugh along. But the breath that bumps up against something in my chest, that won’t quite fill my lungs, tells me I’m uncertain about this move.
Part of my success is always obeying my coaches and trusting their vision. They have a fifty-foot view. I’ve got cleats on the ground.
But I’m not so sure this play is the right one. Sure, Jayda is nice, pretty enough, and successful in her own right. But would we make cute babies? Do I even want kids? These aren’t questionsI’ve ever asked myself and probably should before we rush into things.
“McGregor, do you think the ref made the right call when Harmons fumbled the ball in the 2016 Crush/Bruisers playoff game?” asks Kylon Johnson, our wide receiver.
I blink a few times.
“There’s only one right answer,” Garrison says, bailing me out. “No, because of the illegal forward pass that preceded it.”
“And yet the call stands.”
Again, I lose track of the same debates that have been raging for years, because, right now, I’m in one with myself.
This situation is all my fault, but what do I do?
For so long now, my playboy personal life has distracted me. I strayed too far from my love of football that I became an easy target for Webster to manipulate into marrying his daughter. The season doesn’t start for a while and our wedding date is in two weeks.
It’s time to get serious.
My brothers will kill me.
Not only that, but what does that mean for our grandfather’s will? The will that I repeatedly chase from my mind, telling myself it’s a bunch of nonsense.
I want to believe there’s a woman out there for me—my brothers would criticize me for going through half the state’s eligible women to find that special someone. But not settling down is a byproduct of my career and celeb status.
Probably.
But I’m not so sure Jayda is the right person. I don’t even know her middle name, her birthday, or her favorite color.
