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39

Holt

There’s a red sports car outside Roland Keating’s house. A familiar red sports car with its owner’s girlfriend leaning against the driver’s side door.

Goldie doesn’t look surprised to see me as I hop out of my Jeep. “Ziggy’s been trying to call you.”

Shit.

My phone doesn’t ring through when I’m driving. Some setting I haven’t fixed yet since the last operating system update. “She inside?”

“Yeah. We got here about thirty seconds ago.”

A scream emanates from inside the house, and that’s all it takes.

I’m in motion, busting through the front door, following the raised voices through a maze of hallways because the house is freaking ridiculous.

I don’t process the words—just the voices—until too late .

Too late being when I’m diving through an open door, following the sound of Ziggy’s high-pitched shrieks, to find?—

Fuck me .

Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me.

“Naked Tuesday,” I gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

“ Holt ?”

“Don’t look. Shield the baby’s eyes. Where are you? I’ll cover your eyes.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Roland snarls.

“My god, Roland, put some pants on before you chew him out,” Deedee says.

“It’s my goddamn house, and these two both need to leave .”

“Then maybe I’m leaving too,” Deedee shouts back.

“ Stop it ,” Ziggy cries. “Just stop .”

I feel her hair and pull her into me. “Don’t look. Don’t look anymore.”

“What the ever-loving fuck are you doing here?” Roland hollers again.

“What the ever-loving fuck do you think ?” Ziggy replies, mostly into my chest now.

Eyes shielded.

Thank god.

I’ve seen too much, and I only saw a glimpse.

A man has limits.

I’ve reached mine.

“You fired Holt.” She’s shaking. “You fired Holt and you didn’t think I’d show up here and fight you on this?”

Ever been both the problem and the most grateful man on the planet?

That’s me right now .

But more than feeling like I’m the issue, I’m overwhelmed that Ziggy’s here to fight for me.

I fight for me.

I fight for everyone around me.

But I’m not used to people fighting for me. Yet, since she came into my life, I’ve discovered they do.

She fights for me.

My team fights for me.

My neighbors fight for me.

The couch croaks like Roland or Deedee is shifting on it.

Bare skin on leather.

I am never walking through this door again.

“You’re not in charge,” Roland says. “I am. He knew the rules.”

“Then congratulations. Your stupid, inane, pointless rule is going to cost you your entire rugby team. They’re quitting. All of them. You fire Holt, they quit. You trade Holt, they quit. And when they quit, Fletcher’s not selling tickets anymore. Crew and Porter and Tatum and the rest of them—they’re not either. The city won’t have any familiar players they want to root for, and all the work you’ve done for the past five years will be for nothing. For nothing . You lose. Game over. Match over.”

Silence settles in the room.

She’s not wrong.

We don’t have fan loyalty yet. We have people who show up because Fletcher’s socials are the kind of train wreck that draws you in and makes you want to see more. We have people who show up because they’re starting to see that Crew has the potential to be a superstar. Because they’re finding out that Silas’s family started a rugby league that another family took over when his parents divorced, but that he’s still involved with. Because the guys on this team are willing to put in the extra time and effort during the season to get out and talk to the fans and make them feel like they’re part of something.

It’s not something you get with a less cohesive group.

Deedee breaks the silence. “That sounds bad, Roland.”

“I can afford the loss.”

Ziggy snorts. “Dick thing to do to the whole city. To the whole league.”

“Language, young lady,” he growls at her.

She switches to a different language with words I haven’t heard her use before.

Italian, I think. Has to be, because it’s not Spanish.

And I think she just called him worse than a dick.

Maybe.

The only thing I know how to say in Italian is gelato despite how much I’ve listened to her listening to her podcasts and newscasts to stay current with her language skills.

“ Sigourney Jane Barnes ,” Deedee says, confirming for me that it was bad. Also confirming for me that I had no idea Ziggy was a nickname.

Huh.

Look at that.

Still so much to learn about this woman that I love.

“Sell the team,” Ziggy says. “If you don’t want me dating one of your players, sell the team.”

My eyes fly open and I accidentally gape at Roland.

He’s at least covered his crotch with a throw pillow.

A throw pillow that looks like something you’d get at a museum, with artwork of stick figures on it that are probably supposed to be groundbreaking in some way .

“I’m not selling the team,” he says.

Deedee’s covered most of her bits too with a strategically placed pillow and the urn that she’s holding in front of her chest.

Big urn.

Very big urn.

I hope it doesn’t have someone’s ashes in it.

“Then we’re done here,” Ziggy says. “If you don’t want me dating one of your players, who’s been my very best friend since I got home, who loves me, who takes care of me, who accepts me for who I am, and you won’t sell the team so he can keep reaching for his dreams, then we’ll find a new team for him to play for, and I’m going with him when we do.”

My heart swells.

Swells and cracks at the same time.

I didn’t want this.

I didn’t want her to have to choose between us.

But she’s choosing me.

Over and over and over again.

She hugs me tightly, then releases me. “Let’s go.”

Roland eyes me.

Deedee leaps to her feet, and I remember to look up at the ceiling before I get another show as Ziggy and I turn toward the door.

“Wait,” Deedee says.

“Holt gets his job back and Dad sells the team, or we’re gone,” Ziggy says.

“ Wait .” There’s no mistaking the desperation in Deedee’s voice.

It’s the same desperation I’d feel if Ziggy told me I couldn’t be part of her life anymore. That she and the baby don’t want me anymore. That she’s taking Jessica too .

Jessica, who’s finally starting to warm up to me.

She hasn’t snorted snot on me in three full days now.

Almost three full days.

Not since Saturday night when Ziggy got home.

I glance at Ziggy, and I don’t miss the pain that she’s trying to hide as she squeezes her eyes shut. “Dad sells the team. Holt keeps his job,” she repeats.

“He’ll sell it,” Deedee says. “He’ll sell it.”

Roland makes a rough noise. “The hell I?—”

“You’d pick the goddamn team over our daughter?” Deedee says. Squawks, really. “I won’t. I don’t . Sell the team. Quit with this—this—this stupid rule . She’s an adult, and he’s one of the finest young men I’ve had the privilege of meeting.”

Ziggy sags against me and I hear a telltale sniffle.

Fucking fearless.

But she was still willing to give up her family for me.

“I love you,” I whisper to her.

“You are my everything,” she whispers back.

“Her father—” Roland starts, and both of us turn.

Both of us regret it and look back at the door.

Throw pillows and the urn are gone.

“What about my father?” Ziggy asks.

Can you hear someone wince?

Because I’m not looking, but I swear Deedee’s wincing.

“He played football,” she says quietly.

“My father played football,” Ziggy repeats. “My biological father. The college professor who died in a car accident when I was three. He played football.”

“He wasn’t a college professor,” Deedee says. “He was a football player. And football came first. He didn’t want me to have you. He didn’t want anything disrupting his career. And I—I want better for you than what I had.”

I look my girlfriend’s naked mother straight in the eye. “I am fucking better than what you had.”

She flinches.

I’m not done, and this time, I’m talking to both of them. “I’m not standing here asking her to choose between us. You’re doing that. You’re putting her in an impossible situation. She’s smart. She’s strong. She’s kind. And all she’s asking is for you to accept who she is and what she wants. I don’t give two shits what you do to me. But don’t make her life harder because you want to lump me into the same bucket as some ass-nugget who could’ve had her in his life.”

Deedee flinches again, but I keep going. “I know what I have. I know what an amazing person she is. I cannot wait to be the kind of father to her baby that apparently neither of us had, but both of us deserved. And I’m doing everything I fucking can to not be the reason she hurts. If you’re not willing to do the same, then you don’t deserve her.”

Ziggy squeezes my hand.

“Roland, sell the team,” Deedee says. “So help me, if you don’t sell the team, you’ll lose your daughter and your wife.”

He grunts at all of us, but there’s no heat to it.

“Love you, Mom,” Ziggy whispers, “but there’s no fucking way I’m hugging you right now.”

Deedee’s head bobs, and she discreetly covers herself as best she can. “I’ll hug you later. I’ll—I’ll come see you later. At your house. Your house. With clothes.”

“Tomorrow’s fine.” Ziggy sniffles.

Deedee sniffles too. “No, I can get dressed and come over today. ”

Roland’s still eyeing me, but I’m not worried he’ll try to hit me.

Be a dumb thing to do with his balls hanging out.

Especially considering he fired me.

Ziggy squeezes my hand again.

I squeeze back, and we duck out of the office together.

Neither of us says a word as we walk through the house.

When we get outside, Goldie straightens.

She’s still alone, but I suspect she won’t be for long. And it won’t just be Fletcher.

It’ll be the whole team.

Fuck me. I haven’t wanted to cry this much since Caden died, but this is different.

This isn’t grief.

This is family .

“All okay?” she asks.

“Don’t go in there,” Ziggy says.

I cough.

She whimpers.

“Did someone have a digestive issue?” Goldie asks.

“Naked Tuesdays,” Ziggy whispers back.

Goldie stares at her. Blinks once. Once more. “Well, that’s some extortion material that I wish I didn’t know and will definitely not be sharing with Fletcher. Actually, I heard you wrong. I am a thousand percent positive I heard you wrong.”

I look at Ziggy.

She looks back at me.

“I don’t want you to give up your—” I start but don’t finish.

Because she’s throwing herself into my arms and kissing me, gripping my head and holding me while her lips caress mine, pausing only to whisper quick I love you s and least I can do for you s.

We startle apart when the Maserati’s engine roars to life beside us.

Goldie rolls down the window and waves. “You two might want to take it home,” she calls with a grin.

And then she’s gone.

“Home,” Ziggy says.

I look back at the front door of her parents’ house. “You’re good?”

“Mom’s on our side. She’ll either convince Dad, or she won’t, and I believe her when she says she’ll pick me. She has before.”

I wrap her in a hug, then swing her up into my arms to carry her to the Jeep. “Anyone would be a fool to not pick you.”

“They’d be a fool to not pick you ,” she replies.

For the first time in days, she’s smiling.

We’re not all the way there with her parents, but we will be.

And that’s what matters.