Page 31

Me: Eight more days. Can’t wait either…

Me: Are we being terrible gays right now btw? Forgetting our anniversary? Or is that stereotyping?

Three messages come in back-to-back:

Jace: I think we’re more like stereotype dudes , dude.

Jace: I don’t care about a date. I only care about you.

Jace : Missy says it’s October 20th btw. That was when we performed at Tight Spot…

Oh, we’re so doomed.

Me: Jesus. That was more than a week ago.

Jace : Yup. Happy belated, babe. We suck at anniversaries but excel at sucking other things, so I think it evens out.

I snort, the corners of my mouth pulling up in an amused grin.

Before I can type anything back, his face pops up on my screen as he calls me, and my heart lifts instantly, the sour mood I’d been dragging around evaporating just like that, like fucking magic.

Because that’s what Jace is.

Magic. My magic.

“Happy anniversary, Ty,” he says the second I pick up.

I can only stare at him for a second, grinning, taking him in from the blonde strands he’s pushing back to that full bottom lip I’m dying to pull between my teeth again.

He’s back on the bus, curled up in his bunk, the curtain pulled shut to give us a bit of privacy and the lighting just soft enough to make him look even more unreal than usual. I swear my heart skips a fucking beat.

“Happy anniversary, Jacie,” I reply softly, my voice catching just a little. “It might be a little late, but I mean it more than ever.”

His answering smile is just as soft and full of warmth and love as mine.

“How’d your interviews go?” I ask before he can reply, settling back on the bench, giving him all my focus.

“Ah, same old, same old,” he says with a shrug. “People ask me shit, I answer and flirt and smile a bit… There really isn’t much to it.”

I huff. “Don’t tell me it’s already getting boring. You just started in the business.”

“Should I start a scandal just to spice things up? Show my ass on stage? Make out with Missy on stage? That shit will blow up in an instant.”

I glare at him, suppressing a grin. “Don’t even joke like that.”

“Relax. My lips are only for you. And occasionally your dick.”

I groan. “ Jacie.. .”

He grins, unapologetic, eyes sparkling.

With a tap on my screen, I switch to the back camera and tilt it toward the view. The path, the sand, the waves crashing in the distance. “Recognize it?”

His silver-flecked eyes seem to shimmer as he spots it. “Our bench.”

“Yup.” I run my hand over the scratched-in heart, show it to him. “You’re still carved in here.”

A soft sigh. “Tell me something new,” he says, voice quieter now, like he’s holding his breath.

“Something new?” I exhale slowly, not even having to think about my response. “I miss you more today than yesterday. But less than I’ll miss you tomorrow.”

I can see him swallow, eyes intent on mine. “I love you so fucking much…”

The sky’s deep orange now, the sun kissing the edge of the horizon. Warm, golden light paints the ocean in fire. And I can’t wait to go back out there with him. Just us and our surfboards, chasing waves and leaving the rest of the world behind.

“Next week, you’ll see it with me. You’ll be here.”

“I will. Eight more days, Ty,” he replies, that soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“We got this, right?” I say.

“Of course we do, baby,” he whispers. “It’s countdown time, I can almost feel you in my arms. I’ve got a few minutes. Let me just... watch the sunset with you.”

I do as he says, turn the camera back toward the sea and let the silence speak for us. We stay like that, just us, quiet and connected, watching the sky burn down into the night. Until he apologizes he has to go and the screen goes dark after a soft goodbye.

And even though I’m still sitting on our bench, with our ocean in front of me and his voice still echoing in my ears, my hand still flies to my chest, like I can stop it from aching.

When I get back to the house, it’s quiet. According to the pile of duffles just inside the back door and the lingering smell of one too many body sprays, the guys already went out.

I smile at that, kinda glad, since I’m just not in the right headspace to go with them today, and I know that if they’d be here, they’d have pushed until I caved and went with them.

Deciding tonight is a good night for some comfort food, since I did almost play an entire game and need my weekly fill of carbs again, I open the fridge for a beer and grab a stack of takeout folders from the counter.

“Grab two, would ya? I already ordered pizzas for the both of us.”

I tilt back, peering around the doorway into the living room, brows high. Lamar.

He’s lounging on one of the couches, Patrick beside him, and the front pouch of his team hoodie is twitching. Guess he decided to stay in as well.

“Please tell me that’s Meatball,” I say flatly as I drop two beers on the tiny table before settling down on the other couch. I’d barely broken a sweat on my short jog and ended up walking most of the way back, so the shower can wait.

“What else could it be, babes?” he says cheerfully, gently tapping the bulge beneath his sweater. “He gets separation anxiety.”

I blink. Slowly. “You mean you get separation anxiety.”

“Semantics,” he says, stroking Patrick’s head before giving him a little nudge my way. I swear, if he shits on my lap one more time, I might bring them back to my parents myself.

“Anyway, you looked mopey when you stormed off the field—we won, by the way—so I brought the emotional support animals. You’re welcome.”

I let out a breath and shake my head when he plops Meatball in my lap, snatching Patrick back for himself. The little guy lifts his pink nose, blinking up at me with those cute beady eyes, and shit, it actually helps. I can’t help but grin a little as I scratch under his chin.

“Congrats on the win, I guess,” I say as Meatball nestles into the crook of my arm like he owns the place.

“Pfft. We already had it in the bag before you left, dipshit. You know why they pulled you, right?”

“I fumbled.”

He gives me a look. “To give Rafa some playing time. Was this your best game? Definitely not. Far from it, even. But even when you’re not at your best like you were tonight, you’re still better than any other fucking player on the field.

Nope. Coach didn’t pull you because you fumbled.

He pulled you because we’re gone next year, and he needs to prep his new starter. ”

I scoff. “Coach said I wasn’t in the game.”

“And that’s true. But that’s not why they pulled you and you know it.” He cracks open both beers against the edge of the table like some damn frat king and hands me one. “You know what’ll cheer you right up? Something amazing happened when we got back.”

I take a sip and lift a brow, not entirely sure I want to know what qualifies as “amazing” in Lam-Lam Land.

He holds out Patrick like he’s the almighty Simba. “Patrick defies all the laws of nature!”

I want to roll my eyes, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the twenty-something years we’ve been best friends, it’s to just roll with whatever nonsense he comes up with. “Okay… and why does our duck defy the laws of nature?”

“He just laid eggs!”

I blink at him and don’t even bother to catch Meatball when he uses my legs as a ramp to the floor and scurries off. “He what?”

“I think Patrick’s a Patrice! We’re gonna get babies!”

“You know that’s not how it works, right? You now have two female ducks and no male duck. They need to be fertilized and shit.”

“Yeah? But they laid eggs, right? Eggs mean baby ducks. He sat right on top of them.”

I blink slowly, raise my brows, and press my mouth into a tight line. Sometimes I honestly wonder if we hit him in the head with a football one too many times. “Do I need to call Kaylee?” I ask, mentioning my ex. Her mom’s the vet who gave us the ducks.

The big goof cocks his head. “Maybe. I’m also thinking Patrice might be a Patrick . I think we switched genders.”

I swear my head’s spinning. “So what? Do we have transgender ducks now?”

“I mean, they can be whatever they want to be, right?”

I open my mouth, then close it again, and just decide to send Kaylee a picture of the ducks, because fuck it.

“Wanna watch Reacher ? Come on, buddy,” Lam says as he puts Patrick on the floor. “Go back to your babies like the good daddy you are.”

I shake my head as I watch him, or her , wander off to the open window. “Won’t the guys be mad we’ll finish this season without them?”

“Fuck ’em,” he says as he turns on the TV. “We’ve been trying to watch the last episodes for ages. There’s always someone who’s not at home.”

I nod, just as a text comes in. I snicker at Kaylee’s reply. I don’t talk to her much; she moved halfway across the country, and, well, she’s my ex . But we’re still on good terms. We like each other’s Instagram pics and shit, send the occasional meme or funny reel.

“You were right. Patrick’s a Patrice and Patrice is a Patrick,” I say, grinning. “She asked why we couldn’t fucking Google that ourselves. It’s apparently pretty damn clear by their colors.”

A laugh comes from the other couch. “Knew it. Called it. Transgender ducks it is. Congrats dude.” He holds out his beer, and I tap it with mine before taking a sip. “We’re gonna be duck-daddies.”

“Again, you mean.” I’m not gonna get into it right now, but those ducks can’t stay here much longer.

It’s not the right setup for them. They stink, they need so much attention and I don’t think it’s wise to have more.

Tomorrow, I’ll corner Tuck and ask if his mom wants to take them in. He grew up on a farm, after all.

We fall into an easy silence as we turn our attention back to the TV.

Reacher’s currently beating the ever-loving shit out of someone twice his size, which is both absurd and weirdly therapeutic.

Exactly what I need. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself while zoning out to Alan Ritchson’s ridiculously perfect body.

After the first episode ends, Lam lets out a dramatic sigh and shifts on the couch, flopping onto his side. “Dude, come here,” he says, patting the cushion in front of him. “It’s time.”

I frown. “For what? You wanna cuddle up or something?”

“Fuck yeah. I know you miss Jace. But I miss her too, man,” he says without hesitation. Then adds, deadpan, “You can be the little spoon. You’re used to having a guy behind you.”

I grumble all the way over there. “As long as you’re not trying to hump me.”

“Penis promise I won’t hump you.”

“Penis promise?”

“Yeah, it’s like a pinky promise, only bigger.”

I can’t help it, I fucking chuckle. “Please tell me you’re not intending to wrap Kaa the cock around mine. I don’t think Jace will like that.”

“Nah. It’s just a figure of speech.” He slaps the cushion again. “C’mere. Let us be each other’s emotional support animals, since those little fuckers are nowhere to be found. All inclusivity means I can get included in cuddle-time as well, right?”

I snort, shaking my head as I lower myself in front of him. Shit, I’ve known this dude my entire fucking life. We’ve shared baths as little kids, beds on road trips, passed out on each other after games, cuddled more times than I can count. He’s more of a brother to me than my actual brothers.

If he wants a hug, he’s getting a damn hug. Even if, maybe, I might need one myself just as bad.

It takes us a little maneuvering before he settles in behind me, arm slung over my waist like this is just another Saturday night.

“That’s better, huh?” He taps my stomach over my shirt.

“Stupidly enough? I think it kinda is.”

“Okay. And now shut it. We’re gonna watch Alan take off his shirt again,” he mutters, already zoned back in on the TV.

“Lam?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna tell me something?”

It’s quiet for a bit, and honestly, that’s a victory all on its own, before he finally sighs. “Nah. Not yet, anyway. But I’ll tell you when I get there. Promise.”

I smile, tapping his hand. That’s the least I could ask of him. “Penis promise?”

He chuckles softly. “Yes, penis promise. Now shut the fuck up and let me emotional-support you in silence. I think they’re about to blow some shit up.”