Page 3

Easton

T he woman beside me beams when I huff out a laugh, and I have to give it to her—she’s a little funny. Annoying, but funny. If she’s aware of my lack of interest in our conversation, or conversation in general, she’s completely ignoring it. Though I doubt she’s that oblivious. I’m not exactly subtle when it comes to that.

She keeps talking, her confident smile back in place now that we’ve moved on from whatever topic she was avoiding, and when it’s time for our meals, she pauses only long enough for the attendant to offer us a drink and then her mouth is moving again.

A mouth I’ve found myself drawn to one too many times already. I can’t help it; she has a perfect little pout.

“Did you do anything else while in Scotland?” she asks, her voice light. “Or was the trip purely for destruction purposes? What did you destroy, by the way? I don’t think we established that.”

Nope, we didn’t because I don’t want to talk about it.

“I had no other plans. The trip was purely for destruction purposes and it was a castle.”

She gasps. “A cast—”

“Before you lecture me. It wasn’t some old relic. Well, it was. But I helped with some demolition so they’d be able to do a rebuild and—”

Jesus. Why am I justifying myself?

“And?”

“That was it. Period.”

“So you just needed the release?”

“Something like that.” Moving on.

The last thing I want to do is rehash how fucked-up my last few months have been. She’s a stranger. She doesn’t need to hear about my teammate sleeping with my girlfriend, Macy, the mother of my three-year-old child. Or that before that, we’d barely spoken in weeks, with her checking out of the relationship earlier than that.

This stranger doesn’t need to hear that I got my first official warning for attempting to “beat the shit” out of said teammate in the locker room after my ex decided to tell me about her tryst…in detail. Or that my problems were then fed to the public via a TV series showcasing my football team during the biggest year of our careers, when I didn’t even want to be a part of it.

Last, she doesn’t need to know that instead of facing my issues head-on, I’ve spent the past week hiding away, shirking all responsibility.

For nothing.

My beautiful stranger may have been right. The release of endorphins was momentarily freeing, and the rush intoxicating. But the second I boarded my flight home, the feeling was gone. I don’t need to talk through it; I need to let go.

It’s time to get back to reality.

And my reality is a mess of epic proportions.

We thankfully move on to more stranger -appropriate topics like the weather and favorite TV shows, with my seatmate chatting away for five minutes to every ten seconds from me. I’d say it was convenient that she was a talker since I don’t like to talk, but the point is… I. Don’t. Like. To. Talk. Period. And she’s failed to realize that despite my many clues.

She asks me if I watch reality TV and what type of music I listen to. She asks if I prefer to be hot or cold. She asks if I’ve ever been to Alaska. For someone that was starving, she barely touches the food in front of her, spending the time talking instead.

The conversation bounces around more than a pigskin during a football game, but she never once asks what I do for a living. Something most would consider a go-to question when engaging in small talk, but I consider it a win.

I could tell from her very first glance in my direction that she didn’t recognize who I was. And that’s a rarity. Especially since winning the Super Bowl. Hell, I was stopped in Scotland for a goddamn photo with an Australian tourist. Yes, I’m fifty percent sure my friend set it up to piss me off, but there’s still a fifty percent chance I’m wrong. Of course, he’ll never admit it. He’s not much of a talker either or a jokester for that matter, which is why in this situation he made the perfect companion. If he was anything like my seatmate here, I would have been on the next plane home.

After the flight attendant collects our trash, the woman falls silent beside me, and I take the opportunity to turn on a movie, making it clear that our sharing time is over.

Thankfully, she takes the hint, at least until the seatbelt sign comes on as the captain prepares to land.

“You said San Francisco was home, right?” she asks, further proving my point that she doesn’t know me, her perfectly sculpted brow lifting in question.

“I did .” I drag out my response, hesitant as to why she’s asking, hopeful this isn’t leaning toward more personal topics now that we’re almost saying goodbye.

Her eyes light up and she swivels in her seat to face me, giving me a proper view of her face for the first time, and fuck me because I was wrong. She’s not just a pretty mouth; she’s goddamn beautiful. Annoying, but beautiful.

“That’s great,” she says, beaming again, drawing my gaze to her lips once more, momentarily distracting me. “Any good restaurants I should know about?”

I internally relax. Restaurants I can do. While I love cooking, I don’t get a lot of time to be creative, so I rely on my favorite restaurants to satiate my taste buds. “I know a few. Any particular area?”

She mentions neighborhoods that I’d consider too close to home but I don’t let on, instead giving her a few options for each until she hits me with a satisfied smile.

“Thank you. I’ve vacationed there, but never for more than a few days. It won’t take long to find my feet, but I’m grateful for the head start.”

I hold back from saying “anytime” because that would be a lie. She caught me in a situation I couldn’t escape from; otherwise, I would have found an excuse to hightail it out of there.

“Good luck,” I say, giving her a small nod, ending the conversation.

“Thank you. I’ll leave you alone now. Give you some peace before the chaos begins.”

Chaos? She has no idea. And yet, I have never wanted to get home so badly in my life. Mess aside, I can’t wait to see my son.

I open the windows in my truck to keep myself awake and call my mom on the drive, letting her know that I’m on the way. I should have slept on the plane, but Miss Chatterbox beside me wouldn’t let that happen. Not that I tried to stop her. The second she flashed me her adorable but pleading smile—a look I don’t think she realized she was giving—I was done for. Before my son was born, that wouldn’t have affected me. In fact, it probably would have had the opposite effect and repelled me. But now, it’s safe to say he’s softened me a bit. Though I had thought my weakness was only reserved for him… I guess it’s expanding.

My mom tells me that Isaac’s napping, so I stop by my house on my way, instantly regretting it.

A guy in an over-the-top pinstripe suit hovers in my driveway as I come to a stop behind him, his eyes widening when he registers who I am. I’d question why, if I hadn’t passed the obnoxious for sale sign littering my front lawn.

Macy is selling the house.

My ex is selling my house.

I’ve only been gone for a week. Can people really get things moving that quickly?

The guy recovers and smiles, waving as he steps away from his bright red sports car, moving toward me. My gaze drops to my gear shift. I could easily change into reverse and get the hell out of here. But what’s that going to achieve? I can only escape for so long, and it’s not going to change the outcome.

I slowly step out of my truck, greeting my houseguest with a glare.

“If it isn’t the Easton Wilder.” The agent pretends not to notice my annoyance. “Nice to meet you.” He rushes over, failing to hide his confusion…or is he equally as annoyed?

“Macy didn’t mention you’d be here,” he says, checking his phone.

Of course she didn’t. She didn’t mention we were selling the house.

“How’s the interest?” I ask, and it pains me to play pretend, but I refuse to bring another stranger into my business.

“It’s good. Great. Lots of people want a house owned by a Super Bowl champion.”

“I’ll bet.” It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes or shield my gaze from the glow of his white teeth, but I force a smile and nod.

“It’s a beautiful home,” he adds and I have to stop myself from punching him. “ It’s a beautiful home? ” I fucking know that. That’s why I chose it. It’s my dream home. Private. On the beach. There’s a gym, a pool, no nosy neighbors. It’s gated. Has a decent kitchen. It’s big but not in-your-face obnoxious. It’s perfect for me.

And she’s goddamn selling it.

“Are you waiting for Macy?” I ask to change the subject, hoping he can’t sense my frustration. Since she’s not answering my calls, this might be my best chance to catch up with her. “I’ve been on a plane for the past two days,” I continue. “Sorry, I’m not up-to-date with everything.” I wave my hand toward the house and force another smile.

“No, sorry, sir. She asked me to handle everything. Said she’d be out of state.”

She said what? That’s probably something I should have known.

“God, I’m an idiot. I knew that,” I lie. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to bother you. I have two clients coming today, but I promise to stay out of your hair.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll only be here for a few minutes. Do what you need to do.”

He nods, and it takes everything in my power not to tell him to fuck off, but he’s lucky the world knows enough about my life at the moment. I don’t need this guy knowing more than he should. Plus, I have places to be and those places do not include my home while new buyers wander through it.

Fuck my life.

Actually no, fuck Macy.

I saac’s still asleep when I arrive at my mom’s, and while it’s later than usual, I don’t wake him, needing to talk to her first.

“He hasn’t been sleeping very well,” she tells me, tightening my chest with guilt. “Knowing he’ll see you soon must have put his mind at ease.”

“I shouldn’t have gone. What was I thinking ?” I whisper the question under my breath, but Mom catches it and frowns.

“You were putting yourself in a better headspace for your son. You were thinking about Isaac.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts. I won’t hear it.”

I smile, but it’s surface level and Mom sees right through it.

“East—”

“Did Macy visit?” I cut in, not wanting to make this about me.

Mom’s face falls as she shakes her head, a sheen of mist coating her eyes. “No, and she hasn’t called,” she whispers, her gaze flitting over my shoulder, making me turn to find the hallway empty. “Isaac’s been asking about her and I hate lying, but I also can’t break his heart.”

A rage simmers inside me, but I fight to quell it. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” I snap, but it’s not directed at her. “That shouldn’t be your responsibility.”

Macy had one job while I was away. To be a decent mom and visit her son. I said I’d call him every day—because I was going to do that anyway—as long as she saw him once . It was the perfect plan—she’d get to spend time with him knowing there was no chance of running into me—and yet she still couldn’t do it.

I let her stay in the house. I gave her my goddamn credit card. She fucking cheated on me and I’ve been the one trying to keep things civil between us. For Isaac’s sake. But it ends here. “I wish you’d told me. I would have come home and—”

“We’ve talked about this. You needed the break. You’re about to dive headfirst into single parenting. And we had fun. He asked about her occasionally, but for the most part he preferred to talk about you. He’s a great kid.” A genuine smile lights up her face, and it hits me in the chest. “I’m not just being biased—”

“I know. He is a good kid. I’m lucky—”

“It’s not luck. Yes, he’s his own person, but you’re doing a good job, Easton. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“I’m trying but he needs a—”

The pitter-patter of little feet cuts me off, and I turn to see Isaac round the corner, his eyes half closed as he scratches his head. My heart races in anticipation, and I couldn’t stop my responding smile if I tried.

“Nana, is Daddy—” He pauses when we lock eyes and his face lights up as he snaps out of his sleepiness, taking off in a run. “ Daddy .” He launches himself into my arms, and in an instant, the tension leaves my body as the world around me ceases to exist. It’s just him. Nothing else matters.

“Hey, Little Buddy. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He tightens his hold around my shoulders as I choke back my emotions. “Are we going home?”

“No, not yet,” I rasp. “But I’m staying here. With you. What do you say? Do you think Nana will let me stay?”

Isaac rushes out a yes as he curls into me, all while my chest warms. Mom was right. I needed to go away for me , so I could be a better father to Isaac, but God was it hard to be away from him.

And now that I’m back, I’m going to make his life better, and I’m going to fix the mess his mother made.

I have to.

Isaac and I play until dinner time and then it’s not long before he’s tired again. Maybe Mom’s idea that he’s more relaxed isn’t far off, but instead of easing my mind, it makes me feel worse for leaving.

We snuggle in bed as I read him his favorite bedtime story, but I’m only partway through the fifth page when his breathing slows, and with a soft smile gracing his lips, he drifts off to sleep.

At first, I can’t bring myself to leave, but the second I close my eyes, a metaphorical brick hits me in the face, making me drowsy, and I long for bed. I haven’t slept properly for over twenty-four hours and I’m at my limit.

After saying goodnight to Mom and thanking her again for all that she does, I settle into the spare room just as my phone goes off with a string of messages. I don’t have to look to know who it is and I internally groan.

My teammates or as I like to call them… Fuckers.

Reed: Anyone heard from East?

Dylan: No, but I know he’s back

Luke: You know? Is there something you want to tell us? That sounds stalkerish

Dylan: He was photographed at the airport, dick

Luke: That doesn’t help your cause

Dylan: Summer saw it online

Luke: Sure, it was Summer

Dylan: Fuck you, man

Luke: I love you

Reed: Now, now. Let's not fight. Thank you for letting us know, Dyl. Maybe one of us should call him

No. Jesus.

Easton: Don’t fucking call me. I’m fine

Luke: Good job, Team. It worked

Fuck. I walked right into that. A few of my teammates started this stupid group chat when Luke was going through something last season. I was included in case he needed parenting advice—not that I ever gave him any through texts. If he truly needed me, he’d have to grow some balls and ask.

Now that he’s happy, the group chat has been changed to my support group because apparently they want to help me with all the crazy going on in my life. Spoiler alert…they can’t. No one can. It’s between me and Macy and it’s staying that way.

So, like always, I show them how much this group means to me and leave.

But less than a second later, my phone chimes again. Just like I knew it would.

Luke added you to the group

Fuckers. It’s the same routine. All the time. I can’t escape it.

Luke: See you next week, East

I roll my eyes, but I can’t complain. I could easily block them, but a little part of me—a part way, way in the back of my mind—likes knowing someone cares about what I’m going through. Even if I don’t want them to. They’ve been checking in on me since the season ended, and while I’ve never responded until today, I know they’ve got my back.

And now that Macy’s on the run and practice is about to pick up again… I’m going to need it.