Page 36

YOU’LL BE IN MY HEART

FLYNN

“ K ingmans!”

Gryff and I turned at the same time. We’d just finished our individual drills for the day, and Dad was waiting to analyze our performances with the ruthlessness only a former coach could muster.

The voice belonged to a combine official who was escorting someone who looked strikingly familiar. Tall, athletic build, with the good looks that belonged in the movies more than football.

“Huh,” Gryff muttered beside me. “Is that?—”

“Yeah, it is,” I confirmed, surprised to see the rising Hollywood star in the middle-of-nowhere Indiana. Sure, he played football for Bay State University, and he was good too, but he was a sophomore so he wasn’t here for the combine.

Dad stepped forward, ever the diplomat. “Bridger Kingman,” he said, extending his hand. “These are my sons, Flynn and Gryffin.”

“Fox Daws,” he replied, shaking Dad’s hand before turning to us. “You guys looked great out there today. Not that I expected anything less from the Kingman dynasty.”

“Thanks.” But the combine wasn’t a sporting event that attracted celebrities. “Not exactly where you’d expect to find a movie star, even one who is also a tight end for the Dire Wolves.”

Fox laughed, an easy sound that matched his laid-back demeanor. “I’m here doing research for a role this summer, and was hoping to talk to Coach Bridger actually.”

Dad’s eyebrows rose. “What can I do for you, son?”

“I’ve been cast as Danny Watkins in a movie about his comeback after serving in the Middle East. I know you were drafted along with him.” Fox looked genuinely pleased.

Dad nodded. “That guy was tough as hell.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to capture,” Fox said, enthusiasm clear in his voice. “My grandparents live in Colorado and I’m headed there for spring break. I was hoping I could stop over for a visit and maybe talk to you about him?”

“Sure, kid. I’d be happy to help.”

“And maybe get in a little coaching on the field too?”

This guy was fucking ballsy. I liked it.

Dad folded his arms and gave Fox the patented take-no-prisoners coach look. But there was a smile behind his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

I leaned in and stage-whispered, “Be prepared to be puking your guts out by the end of practice.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Gryff and I both nodded emphatically. “You know it. ”

“I’m down. I’m hoping to be right here with the scouts watching me like they are the two of you in a couple of years.”

“You’re pretty damn good,” I said. He was a scorer for the Dire Wolves and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d be in line for a Heisman in the next couple of years, up against Isak, of course. “But there aren’t a lot of movie stars in the League.”

Fox rubbed the back of his neck. “My agent wants me to focus on movies, but I love the game. Trying to balance the acting thing with school and football has been... interesting.”

“Tough choice,” Dad said, with the understanding of someone who’d seen plenty of young men at career crossroads.

The official cleared his throat. “Mr. Daws, we should continue if you want to catch the defensive back drills.”

“Right,” Fox nodded, then turned back to us. “Great meeting you guys.”

As he turned to leave, Gryff suddenly smacked my arm. “Dude. Jules.”

“Oh, shit.” Jules would absolutely lose it if she knew we met Fox Daws and didn’t her get anything.

Fox overheard and turned back. “Who or what is a Jules?”

“Youngest of the Kingmans, and a big fan of yours,” Dad said dryly. “She makes us watch your movies on repeat.”

“Oh, I got you.” Fox snapped a quick selfie with the three of us, then typed something into his phone. “Good luck with the rest of the combine, guys. And with the draft.”

We watched him walk away, the official already bending his ear about someone else he needed to meet.

“Jules is going to absolutely lose her mind,” Gryff grinned. “I can wait to tell Artie either. She made me watch that space movie of his about seven hundred and forty-two times. Maybe now she’ll stop complaining I drag her to football games.”

I laughed, already imagining her reaction. “Not a chance.”

“Alright, enough distractions,” Dad said, shifting back to coach mode. “Let’s get back to the hotel and talk about those drills.”

The hotel suite Dad booked was littered with the detritus of combine prep, protein shake bottles, printed workout schedules, and recovery gear strewn across every surface. Gryff sprawled on one of the beds, scrolling through his phone, while I iced my shoulder.

“The Bandits scout was watching you like a hawk today,” Dad said as he entered from the adjoining room, tablet in hand.

“I spotted Denver’s guy,” I pointed out, “making notes the whole time.”

“The Sharks and the Presidents too. Because they all want you. Both of you.” Dad sat on the edge of the other bed. “Got calls from a lot of teams today. They’re wanting to set up private workouts and meetings.”

Gryff sat up, suddenly alert. “They want both of us? Together? ”

“There’re a few who are looking to slot you individually into their rosters,” Dad confirmed. “But Bandits specifically want you both. Their defensive coordinator apparently has this whole vision for deploying you two as a package deal.”

A package deal. The possibility of continuing to play alongside my twin had always seemed like a pipe dream given the draft system, but hearing it might actually happen sent a surge of excitement through me.

Denver would mean staying close to home, to family, to our support system.

To Tempest.

The thought caught me off guard. We’d shared one kiss. Admittedly, an incredible kiss, but that shouldn’t be enough to influence where I played pro ball.

And yet.

“LA wants to fly you out next week,” Dad continued, oblivious to my internal debate. “Tours, meetings with coaches, the works. The other teams are going to work around your classes.”

“Spring break,” Gryff noted. “Perfect timing for a trip to the beach.”

Would Tempest be staying in Denver or heading to some senior year bacchanalia with her sorority sisters? Damn. I wish I’d made plans with her before I left. Not that I’d get to keep them if I was headed to LA.

“Hit the showers. Got dinner with the agents in thirty.”

Dad went back to his room, and Gryff threw a pillow at me. “Dude. You were a million miles away just now.”

I didn’t bother denying it. Gryff knew. Twin telepathy was strong in us .

“It’s okay to admit it, you know.” Gryff’s tone softened. “That she matters.”

“She shouldn’t though, should she?”

“That’s bullshit. Unless this isn’t a serious thing. Do not fucking tell me Tempest is just another two-week special. Because I will fucking... I don’t know, make Artie sit on you while I fart in your face.”

Gryff’s chastisement hit harder than it should have. I’d been breaking my own rules since the moment I met Tempest. My two-week limit had flown by weeks ago, and instead of losing interest, I thought about her more, not less.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s... different. She’s different. I…like her. A lot.”

My phone buzzed from the nightstand. I reached for it, unsurprised to see Tempest’s name on the screen.

Tempest: The Donkey Sitters Club sends their congratulations on today’s performance. Apparently your vertical jump was, and I quote, “absolutely divine.”

I smiled, fingers already typing a response.

Me: I’m more interested in what you thought.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.

Tempest: It was pretty amazing to see you in your element like that. And...*blush* kind of hot. I’m a bit mad I never went to football games now.

Me: I can give you your own personal football game when I get back.

She didn’t take the bait. Because she was never charmed by any flirting I ever did with her. I needed to step up my game.

Tempest: It was like your future was right in front of you, and I’m really happy for you.

I swallowed hard. She was right. My future was right in front of me. I just wasn’t sure anymore what shape I wanted it to take.

Football, the League, and Tempest. That’s what I wanted. And it scared the shit out of me.

But there was only one way I knew how to deal with fear and that was to tackle it head on. And I was an excellent tackle.

I texted Tempest one more time.

Me: I’m home on Saturday. Let me take you out on a date. A date date. A real one.

Her message took a few minutes and a lot of me watching the dots appear and disappear. What was she writing me, a novel for an answer?

Tempest: Okay.

I was about to worry over that one word response, until I got the kissy lips emoji one moment later.

The last few days of the combine were bangers, and in the evenings I planned that date. It had to be fucking perfect.

Saturday night, I caught a flash of movement at an upstairs window, several faces pressed against the glass, quickly disappearing when they realized I’d spotted them. The Donkey Sitters Club was clearly on surveillance duty.

Tempest emerged before I could text that I’d arrived. She wore a deep-green sweater that made her dark eyes seem even more luminous and a pair of jeans that hugged her curves. Her hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders instead of her usual practical but cute AF messy bun.

“Hi,” she said simply, a small smile playing at her lips as she approached the car.

I opened the passenger door for her, catching a hint of her perfume as she slid past me, something floral with a spicy undertone that suited her perfectly.

“So,” she asked once I was back behind the wheel, “where are we going?”

“Oh no, you’re not gonna get it out of me with promises of more sweet kisses.” I gave her wink, but my eyes dipped down to her lips and back up, which was a mistake if I wanted to keep my zipper from creating a permanent imprint in my dick.

Tempest gasped and rolled her eyes at me, but it was matched with an adorable smile, which was exactly what I was going for. “I never promised any such thing.”