Page 50 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

“Nonsense, dear. You don’t give your father enough credit. He wants what’s best for you.”

I didn’t bother to argue with her because part of me wanted her to be right. She wasn’t.

After I left my parents’ house, I headed straight to the Rigger practice facility to try and catch my dad during the hours he was in his office. Once midday came and went, he was usually on the field or working with special teams.

I ignored the little floaty hearts swimming around in my heart when I saw Tiller’s old pickup truck with its illustrated bumper sticker that featured an oddly sexual-looking pile of fresh veggies on it that read, “I feel good from my head tomatoes.” I’d gotten it in a welcome letter when I’d registered for a nutrition seminar, and Sam had dared me to put it on the truck one night after we’d had a little too much red wine.

The fact Tiller had laughed and kept it on his grandpa’s beloved truck was a testament to his love of people over things. I loved that about him. He was one of the highest-paid players in the league, and you’d barely know it from his worn jeans, team tees, and half-broke Chevy.

Seeing the familiar pickup truck boosted my confidence.

Tiller and I had been in each other’s lives for five years now.

This wasn’t a flash-in-the-pan situation with a stranger.

His position on the team was solid. My career as a professional chef had several different lucrative possibilities, meaning I didn’t need to work for him anymore to make a living.

We would be fine. There was no reason not to support us in a relationship.

I smiled at the security staff as I entered the building and stopped several times to exchange pleasantries with players and members of the staff as I made my way down to Dad’s office.

His assistant, Noreen, was almost as bad as Mrs. Nibert when it came to bending an ear, so I tried nipping a chat in the bud by walking right past her with a wave as if I was in a great hurry.

“He’s in a mood, hon,” she warned as I sailed past.

And he was.

“Goddammit, where is the injury reserve update I asked for?” he shouted through the open door.

Noreen continued typing calmly on her computer as if she couldn’t hear him.

She’d been working for him long enough to have learned how to set boundaries by now, and one of them was not responding when he bellowed from the other room.

“You busy?” I asked, poking my head in.

“Mikey? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

To his credit, he stopped blustering and immediately stood with a look of concern on his face. I waved him back down. “Everything is fine. I just came from the house. Mom and Mrs. Nibert were comparing gourds, and I heard way more than I wanted to about Mr. Nibert’s sciatica.”

He nodded absently and sat back down. “What’s on your mind?”

After a moment in which I tried to gather my thoughts, he seemed to catch on to the upcoming topic of conversation. The crease of concern on his forehead turned to a slash of annoyance.

“Close the door.”

I did as he said and moved to take a seat in front of his desk.

It reminded me of the time I’d come here to ask if I could take a part-time job in high school at a local bakery.

It would have meant waking up at four in the morning and getting most of my schoolwork done in the afternoons so I could get to bed at a decent hour.

He’d said no with the excuse that I didn’t need a part-time job as long as he made ten million dollars a year. I’d sat here and argued that all four of my brothers had been allowed to have jobs in high school, but none of my arguments had worked.

“I’m in love with Tiller Raine,” I said, clasping my hands together in my lap so I didn’t use them to throw myself out the window in an effort to escape my big scary confession.

He barked out a laugh. “No you’re not. Don’t be so dramatic.”

I swallowed the sting. “I am. And I’m here to ask you, man to man, to respect that this has nothing to do with his professional life.”

My father leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his hands together. “It has everything to do with his professional life, and for you to imply otherwise only goes to show how naive you are. This cannot happen. It will not happen. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I felt my intestines wobble. My dad had always had the ability to intimidate the shit out of me. “Why not? Explain it to me. What does it matter to you who he dates outside of work?”

Because I sure as hell knew my dad didn’t care about me nearly as much as he cared about Tiller Raine and his effect on the team.

“You may think I’m some controlling asshole, Mikey, but this is me looking out for you and him.

Tiller is on target to be one of the greats.

Do you get that? He has already had a once-in-a-lifetime career, and if it continues, he’ll be a Hall of Famer the likes of which the league hasn’t seen before.

Do you have any idea how little time he has to concern himself with a relationship and all the media bullshit it would bring? How can you be so fucking naive?”

“Coach, you can’t expect him to spend the next several years without a love life. You’d never ask that of any of your other players!”

“Can’t you find anyone else to date besides people you work for? Christ, Mikey.” He ran a hand down his face.

“I don’t work for him anymore, so there’s no issue there either.”

“Find someone else. Someone who has the time and energy to give to you. Not someone who lives, eats, and breathes football.”

“I don’t want someone else. I want him.”

I started to feel the familiar helpless feeling I used to get when trying to reason with my father when he’d already made up his mind. It brought panicky feelings that usually made me more emotional which was the last thing that I needed when dealing with him.

“Too fucking bad. I told you when I sent you over there that there was to be no inappropriate conduct. Why do you see the need to sleep with every goddamned player on my roster? Can you tell me that, huh?”

His voice was rising, and I felt myself shrink back into my seat. “Please keep your voice down so we can talk about this reasonably,” I said as calmly as I could. “I have not slept with every player on your roster.”

He gave me a look that called bullshit. It made me wonder how much he knew because if he was aware of the Colin hookup somehow, then I could understand him thinking three players was an unusually high number, especially for someone like me who purported not to give a shit about football players.

I tried not to feel like a ho-bag. In what universe was three hookups in six years some kind of promiscuous pattern? And since when was a man’s sexual pursuits anyone else’s business to judge? Especially his father?

The fact I was even in here making my case made me ill.

I stood. “Never mind. I thought if I told you how much he meant to me, it might make a difference. I can see this is a simple case of double standards. What’s fine for the straight player isn’t okay for the gay one.

Nothing I say is going to change your mind.

” I bit back the part about haters being haters and bigots being assholes.

“I resent your accusation. I have supported you since the day you came out. Hell, I recruited the first out player to make a name for himself in football for Christ’s sake!

This isn’t about his being gay. This is about him dating my son.

If you care about him, if you love him like you say you do, you won’t pursue this. ”

I glared at him. “If you care about me , if you love me like you say you do, you won’t ask me to give him up.”

“This isn’t about you. This is about your life and his football career.

What, are you going to put your own damned dreams on hold for him?

How many more years, huh? And what about him?

Do you honestly think you’re more important to him than football?

Jesus, Mikey. The man is a Heisman winner.

He was the Super Bowl MVP last year. He is going places in this league most players don’t even dream about, and you think a dalliance with you is worth throwing all of that away for?

Besides, there’s no happy future for you with someone like him.

Even if you were a woman, I’d tell you to walk away.

This man lives, eats, and breathes football.

The next ten years of his life will be spent doing something you don’t even like .

He needs to stay focused on his career, and you deserve better. ”

“Bullshit. You’ve never told a single player of yours to walk away from someone they loved. In fact, you claim married players are ten times more reliable and stable.”

“Now you’re talking marriage?” he shouted. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

My face ignited, and I tried not to cry. He made me feel like I was stupid for even thinking a man like Tiller might want to marry me one day. And maybe I was. Maybe I was assuming way too much about what was happening between us.

I felt like a fool.

“You say you care about him and his career,” I continued, “but you’re planning on playing him Sunday even though the medical professionals said another hard hit before he’s fully healed could result in a permanent injury. Explain that to me.”

“I don’t have to explain shit to you, Michael. But I’ll tell you what. You walk away from Tiller Raine and I’ll sit him this weekend. I’ll give him another week to rest before putting him in. How’bout that?”

My jaw dropped. Was he seriously bribing me with Tiller’s health?

“Not only that,” he continued, “but I’ll green-light this little cookbook project of yours that you didn’t see fit to inform me about before using the Riggers’ name to get yourself a publishing deal.”

I stared at him in shock. “I don’t need your permission to publish a book.”

“No, you certainly don’t. But you need my permission to get endorsements from the Riggers and Raine.

The legal department was contacted by the publishing house just last week.

It seems they needed approval before being able to present you as the personal chef to Rigger superstar Tiller Raine.

And without being able to mention your Rigger clients, good luck selling books. ”

A hot tear escaped and slithered down my cheek before falling into my collar. I clenched my hands and teeth together so hard, I felt numb.

My father sighed. “Listen, Mikey. I don’t want to fight with you.

Believe it or not, I want the best for you, and I’m proud of you.

It sounds like you took the bull by the horns with this book deal.

But I can’t have you say you’re a professional chef to our star wide receiver when you’re really nothing more than his boyfriend.

Do you really want your relationship to keep you from this dream of yours?

Think it through. Do you want to put your own damned dreams on hold while you’re in the shadow of his? ”

I didn’t say anything. I could barely breathe, much less continue to argue. He always made me second-guess myself. It made me feel powerless and small.

“Just slow it down, okay? Get out of town for a little while and get some perspective. Maybe head out to the Galveston house your mom arranged. Let Tiller get back to work and focus on staying healthy and getting us to the Super Bowl. Maybe after the season we can reassess.”

There was a knock at the door. I jerked in my seat before frantically swiping at my cheeks with the backs of my hands. Of all people, it was Tiller who popped his head in after my father’s shouted “Enter.”

“I wanted to talk to you about my arm,” he said, obviously not noticing me yet. I didn’t turn around. He would notice right away I’d been crying, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him any of what my father had said.

Dad said, “Give me a minute, Raine. Wait outside.”

“Mikey?”

I squeezed my eyes closed and tried not to shed more stupid fucking tears. “Yeah. Hey,” I said, still not turning around.

“What are you doing here?” He walked over and put his big hand on my shoulder.

I shook my head. “Uh,” I croaked before clearing my throat.

Dad cut in smoothly. “He came by to tell me about a friend of ours who’s having a health scare. Mikey’s very close to the family. Give us a minute to finish up, Raine.”

Tiller squatted in front of me and reached for my chin to force me to face him. Before he got that far, my dad barked at him. “Raine! Out!”

He left reluctantly, but I knew he’d be waiting for me just outside the door. I tried to pull myself together.

“Go to Galveston,” Dad continued once he was gone. “Get your book done. I’ll sit him this Sunday, but then he’s going to have to focus on the playoffs. After the Super Bowl, we’ll talk. You can’t tell me he’s not worth waiting two months for if you truly have real feelings for him, can you?”

He made it sound so easy, but I knew his words for the tempting lie they were. He wouldn’t feel any differently in February than he did now.

He continued pounding more nails into the coffin.

“His contract isn’t worth shit right now as long as he’s carrying that injury, and you know it.

If I cut him loose now or trade him, he won’t be in a position to get nearly as much money as before.

We’re talking millions of dollars, Mike. Is that what you want?”

He obviously didn’t know Tiller very well if he thought Tiller cared about the money. Hell, the man already had more money than he could ever spend in a lifetime.

But Tiller cared about football. He cared about his stats and his reputation. The man beat himself up to be the best, and being traded away while down with an injury would gut him. He’d feel like he let the team down.

He’d feel like he let his family down.

I steeled myself and met my father’s eyes, mentally begging Tiller’s forgiveness for not protecting his career over my own heart. “I can’t let you manipulate me like this, and I’m disgusted that you’re even trying. It’s clear where your priorities lie. Do what you have to do.”

“Don’t be rash. Take a day to think it through.”

I’d done all the thinking I needed to do, and maybe it was overly sentimental and idealistic of me to think my feelings for Tiller were worth fighting for, but I at least knew I wanted to tackle this problem together. As a team.

I strode out of my father’s office without looking back, and when I found Tiller pacing restlessly in the outer office, I walked right into his arms.

Everything would be okay. It had to be.