Page 26

TWENTY-SIX

LOGAN

I stared down at her text message and grinned.

I couldn’t stop thinking about MJ and my tongue. Sex with her hadn’t just been good; it had been better than anything I’d experienced. Something about her made me feel centered.

Connected.

“Are you going to pull your head out of your ass or just smile at your phone all afternoon?” Jack’s voice had my eyes whipping up.

Still dressed in practice gear, Jack was streaked in mud and was using the cleats brush by the door to wipe off his practice shoes.

Straddling a bench near my locker, I tossed my phone aside.

“You played well out there today. I think if we run the second play a few more times, it’ll go a lot smoother.” I was intentionally ignoring Jack’s dig about my head being up my ass. He wasn’t wrong. I had been distracted the entire practice.

I knew better than to let her invade my head like this. Rugby was my constant, my anchor, but lately MJ had become the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about.

And that scared the hell out of me.

We had a few days before we were headed out of town for a match, and the coach was getting antsy about our lackluster performances. I hated to admit that I was part of the problem.

“We’re reviewing tape tonight and then getting food. You in?” Jack stripped off his practice jersey and tossed it into the large laundry bin.

I looked at the clock.

Shit .

It was two hours back to Outtatowner. I had just promised MJ I’d get dinner with her at her sister’s place.

I had started to come up with an excuse when the locker room door opened. Our assistant coach held the door with his palm. “Brown. Coach wants a word.”

I gritted my teeth and stood.

“Oohhh,” Jack teased.

“Fuck off,” I mumbled, tossing a sweaty sock in his direction.

If Coach wanted to talk with me, it was either to deliver praise or come down on me. Given my lackluster practice, I prepared for the latter as I walked to his office.

Coach’s door was open when I reached it, but I rapped my knuckles on the doorframe to announce my arrival. His head lifted and he waved me inside.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked.

Coach removed the cap from his pen. “How’s the knee feeling?”

Like shit.

I straightened my shoulders. “I’m not worried about it.”

“And your head?”

Besides the ringing in my ear? Perfect.

“Clean bill of health from the doctors.”

He nodded and wrote something down on the legal pad next to him. He exhaled and looked at me from across his desk. His hands folded in front of him. “Then what is your excuse for that practice today?”

“Sir?”

He raised his brows. We both knew I knew exactly what he was talking about. I’d called the wrong plays, I’d bobbled the ball, and cement had filled my cleats.

I cleared my throat. “I’ve been ... distracted.” My hand circled the side of my head. “Just a lot going on right now.”

He stared hard. “It’s not the yips, is it?”

Fuck, I hope not.

In professional sports, the yips could permanently end your career. I’d seen athletes from golf to baseball to hockey suddenly, inexplicably, lose their ability to function. Research said it was purely psychological, but when you lost your ability to perform basic skills, you were done for.

I shook my head. “No, sir. I just need to get my head in the game. Recenter. I’ll be fine.”

“Distractions happen to the best of us.” Seemingly satisfied, Coach leaned back in his chair. “Be certain your head and heart are in it. If you get called up to the Sevens, they’ll need you to be ready. This is no joke, Brown,” Coach said, his gaze hard. “If your head’s not in it, they’ll find someone else. This is your chance to remind everyone who you are. Finally put those retirement rumors to rest—don’t waste it.”

His words resonated, a heavy reminder that rugby wasn’t just a game.

It was everything.

I nodded, and he waved a hand toward the door. “That’ll be all. Enjoy your evening.”

I turned on my heels and left his office.

Called up? Was that even a possibility the head coaches were tossing around?

* * *

Despite my promise to Coach that I’d get my head back in the game, I ditched my teammates and drove the two hours back to Outtatowner.

MJ made me feel strong and at ease—exactly what I needed if I was going to release the pent-up frustrations I’d been carrying around. I felt bad for using my grandfather as an excuse to not review game film, but I knew my teammates wouldn’t understand.

Hell, I wasn’t even certain I understood why lately I seemed to be able to relax only in MJ’s presence.

She had sent me the address to her sister’s farm and I enjoyed the quiet ride, listening to music and recalling how MJ’s hair fell across the pillow. The bustle of the city eventually gave way to rambling fields and densely forested land.

From its mount on my dash, the phone flashed with a text message.

Trent

Call me. Don’t let a piece of ass get between us.

Piece of ass?

My knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Trent had a way of reducing everything to the lowest denominator, and right now it made me want to drive to his place and remind him why I broke his nose last time. I ground my teeth together and ignored him completely.

Eventually, GPS brought me to a long path that led to the entrance of Sullivan Farms. Beyond the small berm that acted as a wind barrier, a beautiful farmhouse came into view. The path veered to the left and led to what appeared to be housing for migrant workers.

I spotted MJ’s car, but as I headed in that direction, a hound dog shot out from the bushes.

“Shit.” My foot slammed on the brakes, and my wheels skidded across the gravel.

When the dog barked again from the side of my truck, I sighed in relief. The dog continued to bark and circle my car. I realized he was missing a leg, and waddling behind him was a— Was that a fucking duck?

“Ed! Get your ass back here!” From the porch, Duke Sullivan appeared. He hollered at the dog again and stomped down the front steps. He waved me forward. “Just drive over his dumb ass.”

I stared, frozen.

He gestured again. “Come on. He’ll move out of the way once you start rolling again.”

Hoping I could trust him, I inched forward. The dog and duck duo continued circling the truck, but thankfully they gave me a wide berth.

After I parked my truck next to MJ’s car and climbed out, Ed seemed to lose interest. He ran off toward the large red barn in the distance, the duck waddling behind.

Duke met me with his hand out. “Sorry about that. Three-Legged Ed came by his name honestly, but I swear that hound doesn’t want to learn.”

I placed my hand in his and gave it a firm shake. “I’m just glad I didn’t rename him Two-Legged Ed.”

Duke smirked, and I assumed that was as close to a warm greeting as I would get.

“MJ is inside with Sylvie and Gus.”

I looked over his shoulder toward the large farmhouse.

Sullivan Farms felt like it was made to last forever. Sturdy, dependable. Not like the hotels and rented apartments I bounced between. It made me wonder—just for a second—what it would feel like to stay. The farmhouse itself looked like it had a soul—strong and steady, the kind of place where generations gathered to share meals and stories. It was everything my life wasn’t—rooted, permanent, and filled with warmth.

Not old, but lived in.

Well loved.

The expansive front porch had been decorated for autumn with pumpkins, mums, and dried stalks of corn. A pair of wicker chairs seemed perfect for looking out onto the expanse of the farm. In the distance, beyond the red barn, rows and rows of blueberry bushes were just starting their slow transition from green to reddish-purple.

I nodded to Duke as I stepped past him and climbed the porch steps. I opened the door and stepped inside. Warm smells of something rich cooking in the oven greeted me. I could hear the low conversation coming from the kitchen. Carefully, I slipped off my jacket and hung it on a hook near the door. When I followed the sound of MJ’s laughter, I paused in the doorway to the kitchen.

Sylvie had a dish towel flung over one shoulder as she pulled a pan from the oven.

A sleeping child was propped on MJ’s hip.

I swallowed hard as I watched her. She moved so easily with the kid on her hip, laughing softly as she whispered something to her sister. It shouldn’t have hit me the way it did—like a shot to the chest. For a brief, terrifying moment, I wondered what it would feel like if that kid were ours.

Jesus, what was I thinking?

A deep, hard thump rattled inside my chest.

MJ’s lower lip was between her teeth, like she was gathering the courage to ask her sister something. “Is it always that good? Like ... multiple-orgasms good?”

My eyebrows popped up.

“Well,” Sylvie responded with a surprised laugh. “It’s not common, but when it feels right—certainly when you’re with someone who knows what he’s doing ... it can be a lot of fun.”

The pair giggled and the awkward feeling grew.

I gently cleared my throat.

MJ’s head whipped around as her eyes went wide. “Shit. Hi.”

A small laugh burst from Sylvie’s lips as she took Gus from MJ’s arms. “I’ll see if Duke is almost ready to eat.” She was grinning as she walked past. “Nice to see you again, Logan.”

My eyes were fixed on MJ, who looked like she wanted to melt through the floor. I closed the distance between us. “Sounds like I know what I’m doing.”

MJ laughed and buried her head into my chest. My arms wrapped around her and squeezed.

“Can you forget you ever heard that?” she asked, hiding her face.

I held her back so I could look at her. “Absolutely not. In fact, I’m thinking of having it embroidered on a pillow. Or maybe getting it tattooed.”

Her eyes rolled. “You’re impossible.”

I grinned. “Impossible to resist, apparently.”

A disgusted sound rattled in her throat, and she turned away from me. “You’re the worst,” she teased.

I crossed my arms. “That’s not what I just overheard.”

MJ scoffed with a smile. “Your ego is almost as big as your—never mind.”

I cocked a brow. “Careful, Julep. Finish that thought, and I might start believing you’ve been daydreaming about me.”

Her smirk was slow, deliberate. “Who says I haven’t? But in my daydreams, you’re much quieter.”

My eyes drilled into her, remembering how much she liked my filthy mouth. “I seriously doubt that.” I grinned. Coming here to tease MJ was definitely a good use of my time, distraction or not.

Without thinking, I looped my arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. Together we walked toward the dining room to find Duke taking Gus from Sylvie’s arms and disappearing down a back hallway.

The Sullivan home exuded cozy comfort. From the flowers on the table, to the kids’ toys scattered in the adjacent living room, the house was lived in. The large rectangular table was made of sturdy wood. I pulled out a chair for MJ.

Duke returned, without Gus, and took a seat at the head of the table, next to his wife.

“Thank you for dinner. It smells amazing,” I said.

“You are very welcome,” Sylvie answered. The dinner was served family style, and we all took turns serving ourselves pot roast, mashed potatoes, and roasted carrots. “Any friend of MJ’s is a friend of ours.” She looked at Duke. “Isn’t that right?”

A muscle in Duke’s jaw popped, but he finally made a face I imagined was his version of a smile. “Of course.”

Conversation was light. They asked about how I’d gotten started in rugby, and I recalled the story of how I’d come up in the sport. I wondered about the farm now that the weather was turning cool. Duke relaxed enough to tell me about the fall preparations they’d been doing and plans for how they overwinter the crops. It was a totally different world than the one I’d grown up in, and I found it fascinating.

To my right MJ smiled, and it was clear how loved she was. My knee brushed against hers, and her soft hand on my knee sent a jolt through my chest.

As I reached for another helping of mashed potatoes, MJ’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen, and her smile faltered for half a second before she turned it face down. My stomach tightened.

Who the hell was that?

Dinner ended and I stood. “Let me help with that.” I grabbed MJ’s plate from her hands.

“Oh, we’ve got it,” Sylvie said, but Duke was already taking her plate from her too.

“Go on,” he said to his wife. “I know you’ve been dying to grill MJ over meeting Russell’s kids. We’ll clean up in here.”

MJ chuckled, but something about it told me she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation with her sister. I glanced at her and pinned her with a look. I didn’t know what I could do about it, but if she gave the signal, I’d come up with something to help her avoid talking about it.

MJ placed her hand just above my elbow and squeezed, silently letting me know she was okay.

She looked between Duke and me. “How about some wine by the fire when you two are done?”

Duke nodded. “You got it.”

Content that she’d be fine, I followed Duke into the kitchen. When he placed the dishes into the sink, he turned to me.

His arms crossed over his huge chest. “Is this going to be a problem?”

I looked behind me. “A problem?”

Duke was back to frowning. “I’ve got to be honest with you. She may not be my sister, but she’s my family now.”

Ahh ... the protective older brother .

MJ was not in short supply of those, it seemed.

I opened the door to the dishwasher and waited for him to hand me a dish. “I don’t think there’s a problem.”

“MJ is young. Tenderhearted. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”

I nodded, stacking the dishes he handed me. “I can appreciate that. I have no intention of hurting her.”

“But no intentions of staying around here either.” Duke didn’t ask a question. He simply stated it as fact. “She’s been let down before, Logan. You leave, and it’s just going to prove to her that she’s right not to trust men like you.”

“Men like me?” I shot back, my voice tight.

Duke held my stare. “The ones who love the game more than they love the people waiting for them at home.”

I wanted to tell him he was wrong—that I wasn’t the kind of guy who walked away when things got hard. But deep down I wasn’t sure I could promise that. Rugby had always come first.

Could I change that for her?

My mouth opened, but I closed it again. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to him without sounding like a total dick. “We’ve talked about my schedule. After the exhibition season, I plan to rejoin my team on the professional circuit.”

He harrumphed, and I wasn’t sure if he was simply acknowledging me or trying to decide the best way to strangle me without the women noticing.

I didn’t like feeling as though I was somehow letting him down with my answer. We spent the rest of the time cleaning in silence. Something was gnawing at me ... an emotion I couldn’t quite name.

When the tension in the room became too much, I slapped the towel on the counter and leaned against it. “Here’s the thing,” I said. “I didn’t expect to meet anyone here.”

I laughed to myself. Who would have ever expected to meet a woman as surprising and special as MJ?

“Right now, things are new and we’re enjoying each other’s company. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.” I looked at Duke, hoping he’d have some nugget of brotherly wisdom he could bestow upon me.

His dark eyes narrowed. “You need to stop lying to yourself.”

Now it was my turn to frown. I’m not lying to myself about anything .

“When it comes down to it, you can’t be half in with anything.” His eyes flicked beyond the doorway toward the living room, where Sylvie and MJ were talking. “If my gut is right, you’ll come to a point where you’re going to have to make a pretty difficult choice.”

My own gut turned to lead. I could barely look him in the eye. “And what would you do if you didn’t want anyone to get hurt?”

Duke shook his head. “My advice to you is ... don’t let her get attached. It’ll hurt her less if you walk away.”

Duke snagged a bottle of wine from the countertop and sailed past me. I stayed, rooted to the ground, staring at his back as he left me alone in the kitchen.

The absolute last thing I wanted to do was hurt MJ, but something about Duke’s words had me wondering if it wasn’t her I had to worry about getting attached.

When I joined them on the porch, Duke had started a small fire in a portable fire stove. The wood crackled, and embers slowly rose above the flames.

As the fire crackled in front of us, I looked at MJ and felt the pull again—stronger this time, like gravity itself was conspiring to keep me near her. But gravity didn’t care about broken hearts, and it was clear she was the only one with the power to break mine.

“Logan?” MJ’s voice was soft, and when I turned, her brows were drawn down like she could sense the storm brewing inside me.

I forced a smile that didn’t feel like mine.

“You feeling okay?” she asked, tilting her head.

For half a second, I considered telling her everything. Telling her that she’d completely upended my life in the best way possible. Telling her about the impossible choices ahead of me and how I didn’t know how to stop the train before it crashed.

But I couldn’t––not until I had it all figured out.

I shook my head. “Yeah, Julep. I’m good.”