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Chapter Fifteen

I hurt more than I’ll admit; I’m sure Peyt can tell. Nothing gets by that woman. She reads my eyes like one of her Kennedy Ryan books. Cover to cover.

Her dad probably knows too, but of all the people in this room I need to suck it up and be tough for, it’s that guy. He took plenty of hits on the gridiron. He’d probably tell me today was child’s play and I better toughen the grit. He’d be right.

“My boy!” My dad’s old fire captain, Jeff, stretches out his arms the second I spot him.

“What is this? I had no idea you were coming. Did you do this?” I point to Jeff as I look Peyton in the eyes. She shakes her head and her brow ticks up in the direction of my mom, and well . . . shit.

“Oh. Awesome surprise, Ma! I’m so glad you got to be here for it.” I remind myself that the heavy pats he leaves on my back during our hug are genuine and full of love even if lately, he seems to be spending an awful lot of time with my mom. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

“Your dad is smiling up there today, Wy. He’s proud of you. We all are.”

His words level my chest with an unexpected blow, and my eyes tear up before I can control my emotional reaction. I sniffle and wipe under my eyes with my thumb and index finger.

“Thanks, Jeff. That means a lot.”

I move on to my mom and hold her tight while I steady my breath.

I give her a chance to sniff away her tears against my chest, too.

I don’t know that we’ll ever fully get over missing my dad.

So many things he’s not here to see. But I like what Jeff says, that he’s watching from above.

I hope that’s the case. I’d like to believe in it, in something good .

. . for him. If ever there was a human who deserved a heaven waiting for him, it was Todd Stone.

“I’m so proud of you,” my mom says, tugging at the center of my button-down shirt. Like college, we dress for the media after a game. I did most of my interviews in my jersey without my pads, but the longer interviews were done in what I call my “big boy clothes.”

Peyton, however, calls them something else. Rather, she sort of growls when I dress in slacks with a shirt and tie. It’s fair to say we both have our versions of the red dress. Mine just comes in grays and black.

The room suddenly bursts with a new level of energy as Chase enters with his friends, along with a few extra media outlets who have been following him around like trained dogs.

I get that he’s an interesting story—a number-one draft pick that the country can’t wait to see on the field.

And the fact he didn’t play tonight just feeds the frenzy.

But the dude is going to burn out if he keeps up this pace of attention.

Eventually, someone’s going to catch him in a foul mood, or worse, doing something stupid. And that fall from grace hurts.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I say as I sling my arm around Peyton. She grins up at me like when we were in high school, and I can’t help but feel the flutters in my chest. My girl. Always my girl.

We all pile out of the lobby and wait one by one for our rides. Reed’s truck comes along first, and my mom, Jeff, and Nolan pile in as Reed takes the keys from the valet and tips what looks like two hundred bucks. Fuck, man . . . I hope I’m doing that well one day.

“Tell Peyt I’ll swing by the hotel in the morning and get her for the ride back,” Reed says, and I nod.

Teams rarely get to spend the night after an away game, but we were the prime-time game tonight, and things ran long, especially for a preseason game. We knew there would be extra media, too, given that Portland’s the new kid on the block. It’s almost eleven, and half of us are still here.

The black SUV with tinted windows finally pulls into the player lot, and I wave to get the driver clearance from the gate guard. He drives around the loop, stopping in front of Peyton and me. The driver opens his door, but I quickly hold up a hand.

“Save your steps, buddy. I got it,” I say, figuring the least I can do is be a good passenger since this cat isn’t getting a two-hundred-buck tip out of me. He’ll get a solid forty for now.

I open the back door and take Peyton’s hand, helping her step from the curb into the vehicle. I slide into the seat beside her.

“You at the Lux with the rest of the team, sir?”

Sir. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks . . .” I lean forward to read his name on the badge clipped to his rearview mirror. “Daniel.”

He smiles in the reflection.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Sir.

“I see you locking that away, baby daddy,” Peyton says in a hushed tone.

Damn it if I’m not blushing. Yeah, she caught me. I was imagining her calling me Sir. I think I like it. I waggle my head.

“You know, don’t be afraid to mix it up if you’d like,” I say.

She holds my gaze for a few long seconds, slowly licking her lips before catching the bottom one with her teeth.

“Nah. I’m sticking with baby daddy,” she laughs out.

I cover my face, cringing, and I can’t verify it, but I swear I hear Daniel chuckle from the front seat.

“Fine. You call me whatever you want.”

The hotel isn’t far from the stadium, but LA traffic makes everything feel far, even at this time of night. I can see the golden logo for the hotel through the windshield, and my gaze catches Daniel’s as I lift to try to gauge how many lights we need to get through.

“You had a great game tonight, sir. If . . . if it’s okay that I say that.”

I sink back into my seat, my mouth agape with a hint of shock.

“Thanks, Daniel. I mean, yeah. You can say that anytime you want.”

The three of us laugh.

“Good, then, you played great. I grew up in Portland, so I was kind of rooting for you guys. I hope we get more of you when the season officially starts. That young kid . . .” He bunches his lips, and I muse to myself over the fact Chance is probably the same age as this guy.

“Aww, Hickory’s gonna be great. You know, it’s kind of an honor to play the role of mentor. I guess that’s what I am. The old man?” I glance at Peyton, and she rolls her eyes.

“Hey, Brady played into his forties. You’re still a baby out here, sir. Trust me. People will be wearing your jersey one day.”

Daniel’s gaze lingers in the mirror for a beat, and I finally give him a nod and utter, “Thanks.”

I decide to use the tap payment when he drops us off at the hotel, and I tip him a hundred bucks.

Maybe that was his plan all along, and if so, good on him.

It worked. But the whole idea of giving what I’ve got, maybe before I’ve really got it, feels nice.

That’s the best part about this ride, really.

I get to be a big deal to someone, and tonight, I was a big deal to Daniel.

I rush Peyton into the hotel and through the lobby before anyone takes notice of us.

A lot of the guests were lingering in the lobby before the game, probably wanting to get a glimpse of the team.

I’m sure there are people here now, and who knows, maybe a few from TMZ or other tabloid socials.

Mostly, though, I want to get my wife alone.

I’ve missed her, and I’m ready to be selfish.

“You know that if they sell your jersey one day, you’re going to have to get that guy one, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. And I’m signing it.” I wave my hand in the air as if it’s my signature.

Peyton laughs as she tugs the hair tie from her hair, letting her waves spill down around her face.

Her oversized Cyclones T-shirt has a tiny mustard stain near the collar, probably from the snacks she ate in the suite.

It’s adorable, but I’m not going to tell her about it. She won’t think it’s cute.

“This doesn’t feel very heavy,” I say, testing the weight of her travel bag on my shoulder.

“There’s not a lot in it,” she says, with a smug, coy grin.

I bite the tip of my tongue, and my cock flexes inside these miserable dress pants.

I glance toward the elevator buttons and press the seventeen a few extra times, as if that will magically get us to our floor faster.

We make it quick enough, though, and when the doors open, I sweep Peyton up into my arms and carry her to the right and down the long hallway to my room at the very end.

I keycard our way through the door and drop our bags right inside before letting her body slide slowly from my grasp, her back against the door, my arms caging her.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I say, my mouth suckling the curve of her neck as she works to undo my black silk tie.

She pulls it from my neck and tosses it to the floor before moving her hands to my jaw, her cool fingers scratching against my stubble as she lifts on her toes and takes my bottom lip between her teeth.

“ Grrr , woman,” I growl, lifting her in my arms, then spinning her before walking us backward past the small sitting area and to the king-sized bed.

Her legs hit the edge of the mattress, but rather than sitting down, her palms slide to the center of my chest, and she breaks our kiss.

“Is that . . . a balcony?” Her head tilts back and to one side.

My eyes flit to the sheer window curtains, the city lights glowing behind. I nod.

“It is.”

My dick is so hard right now, I think I might break this zipper.

“Why don’t you wait for me outside, then. I’ll just be a minute.” Her mouth curves, her expression sly and dirty, and my God, I have to get out of these pants.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, taking slow, deliberate steps backward as I unbutton my shirt.

“I’m still not calling you Sir, baby daddy,” she teases.

“Peyt, you can call me anything you want. Just let me fuck you before I come in my pants like a sixteen-year-old,” I say through a genuinely nervous laugh.

Her lips merely tighten, her smirk growing.

“Off you go,” she says, waving me toward the sliding glass door.