Page 29

Chapter 29

Zck

“Those look great,” I say as my dad puts seasoned steaks on the grill.

There’s a hesitancy between us, a weighted silence. We were supposed to go to a golf simulator spot together a few days ago, but he bailed last minute. As in, I was already there, waiting for him, and he texted saying something came up.

The last time he did this, it was because he talked trash about one of my teammates while he was getting a beer with a friend, and he was afraid it was going to come out in the press.

It never did. No one was listening who cared enough. To be honest, few people knew who the long snapper was from the mediocre team in Florida. When he finally told me what was going on, you could see the weight lift with each word that came out of his mouth.

“Hey, ugh, sorry about the other day. I got wrapped up in something here and couldn’t make the golf thing work,” he says, like he’s reading my mind, but his eyes don’t leave the grill.

It feels like there’s something. Something in the way, between us. We’ve always had an open relationship, able to talk about anything, and I know he’ll come to me when he’s ready. I don’t want to push him because that’s now how we operate.

“It’s not a big deal, Dad. We can always reschedule,” I assure him while sitting down in one of the patio chairs.

It’s got the vibes of an early fall day—one of my favorite times of year. The air is still warm, but it was much cooler in the morning. Some of the leaves on the trees, and some that have already fallen off their branch, are changing from green to a burning red, kind of like Emilie’s hair.

Our backyard, fenced in with enough space to teach me how to properly snap a ball, is meticulously landscaped. Not a surprise, considering my parents love doing yard work together—enough that they rarely asked Riley or me to help when we were younger. We had chores but never anything to do with the yard.

We spent a ton of time out here as a family—dinners on the patio in the summer, jumping in piles of leaves in the fall, and playing in the first heavy snow. The wave of nostalgia, and gratitude, hits me at the same time. I love those memories and being able to come back to this home.

I already told my parents if they ever want to sell the house, I'd buy it—no questions asked. I can’t imagine not being able to make the drive and come back here.

“Are you making a career change we should know about?” my dad questions.

I don’t get it, and when I don’t answer he says, “You know, porn? Or the adult film industry? OnlyFans?”

The joke warms my chest. “No, not a career change. Hoping to keep playing football and not give the world access to my junk.”

“Maybe don’t agree to any sort of filming in the bedroom, yes?” My dad is more awkward about that line than he was when he gave Riley and me countless talks about sex.

I nod and reply, “Great advice. I'll be using that one.”

He smiles at me before clapping me on the back. A few seconds later, he changes the subject. “Team looks solid so far. You feel good?”

My dad turns the steaks, the sizzle a satisfying sound, as we talk about football.

Riley is monopolizing Emilie, and I fucking love it. We’re at the dining room table, almost ready to eat, and the two of them laugh and chat like they’ve been friends for years. My mom joins in every once in a while, and who knows what they’re talking about.

“He didn’t!” Emilie gasps, her hand flying to her mouth when she sees I’m in hearing distance.

“Riley. What are you doing?” I ask cautiously.

“Oh, nothing. Definitely not telling Emilie about the time we went trick-or-treating as Beauty and the Beast.” She takes a drink and locks her eyes on mine.

I smile, shaking my head. It was Riley’s idea to match, and she wanted to be the Beast, so I went as Belle. Riley may be younger than me, but she’s always had a knack for getting me to do exactly what she wanted.

My sister nudges Emilie and says, “I’ll send you pictures.”

I shake my head and scoff, kind of laughing, mostly because I know it doesn’t matter what I say. Riley and Emilie have probably already exchanged numbers and incriminating photos of me. Compared to some of the things that are out there, including the video where you can see 95% of my naked body, a picture of me dressed as a princess shouldn’t even move the needle.

“Time to eat,” my mom announces, setting a massive bowl of pasta on the table. “The pasta is fresh. Chris and I made it this morning, and it’s just garlic, parmesan, a little salt and pepper.”

My mouth is watering, and I'm already putting a pile of it on my plate.

“Fresh pasta. Yum! I learned how to do that at a cooking class this year,” Emilie says, before grabbing some for her plate .

“I need the details. Chris and I love cooking together.” Mom reaches over and rubs my dad’s forearm, her sleeves rolled up a little.

“Oh my gosh, is that a tattoo?” Emilie asks, looking at my mom’s wrist.

It is. My jersey number, 34, in a blocky font, with a small airplane. Jersey number for me and the airplane for Riley.

“Yes. We all have one. Riley asked for matching tattoos for her eighteenth birthday.”

“Stop, I love that so much,” Emilie says to the table. Then she turns to me with her brows raised. “Where’s yours?” she asks, quietly enough for just the two of us.

“My ribs.” I lift my arm, rubbing the place where the ink lives on my skin. I look to see Riley, not paying attention and I’m thankful. If Emilie and I had really been dating for almost eight weeks at this point, she wouldn’t buy that Emilie hasn’t seen me naked yet.

“Do you have any tattoos?” Riley asks.

Emilie swallows, and I can see her rubbing her hands together in her lap before she answers. “No. I want to get one though. My family had a drastically different view on them, and even though I’m a grown adult, I'm still afraid of what my parents would say.”

Naturally. Her family stepping in and making her feel some type of way about something that doesn’t impact them at all seems completely on brand.

My mom shakes her head. “We’ve always wanted Riley and Zack to be able to express themselves, however it worked for them.”

“Like him spelling his name with a ‘K,’” Emilie says, spinning pasta on her spoon.

“Just like that,” my mom responds with a look of fondness, like she’s pleased I told Emilie that story .

“Now, do I wish there were times where someone didn’t express themselves so much? Like when the beginning of a sex tape drops?” My dad gives me a look and Riley starts to laugh, before my parents join in, and then Emilie and me.

I know it was stupid and a bit careless, but my parents supporting me, no matter what, means the world to me.

Her laugh runs out, and she looks at me, eyes bright but watery. I reach my hand over, squeezing Emilie’s knee.

After the goodbyes are said, phone numbers are exchanged between my mom and Emilie, and we both leave with containers full of leftover pasta, we’re in the car.

While I’m turning the GPS on to avoid any accidents or traffic, I hear a sniffle.

I look over to see Emilie crying.

Panic runs over my body in thick, heavy waves. “What’s the matter?” I ask, turning my body toward her, as much as my Jeep will allow.

She wipes her eyes with her fingers and replies, “I’m being stupid. Don’t mind me.”

Is she for real? Thinks she’s going to get in my car, start to cry, and I’m just going to be like sure, whatever you say? Not a chance.

I don’t say anything—letting the silence drag on, letting her know I’m not going to accept her previous answer.

“I had such a lovely time,” she says, right into a sob.

“It doesn’t sound like you did.” I hand her a tissue from the center console. “EJ, what is this?”

Emilie takes a couple deep breaths, calming herself down .

“No, I really did. Your family is a dream come true. I feel like the universe is showing me what it’s like to have one that truly loves you, flaws and all. I’ll never have that. Fuck, I never had it when I was younger and needed it most.” She takes a few seconds to gather herself before she continues. “I felt like myself with them. No mask needed, and it’s so refreshing; like my bones feel lighter. I know every family has their issues but they just joked with you about your recent leaked video like it was nothing. I once got a B- in the fifth grade on a midterm, and my parents brought it up for years.”

I take my fingers and tuck a stray curl behind her ear. I don’t want to interrupt. I want her to keep going, get it all out.

She shakes her head. “Your family really loves you. That’s all. I don’t know what that’s like.”

Ouch.

“I know you’re going to tell me that they love me. And they do. I feel like they love me the programmed amount, but nothing more. It’s not surprising. I've never seen my parents hold hands, or kiss, like really kiss, you know?”

I frown before speaking, “That isn’t what I was going to say. I was going to tell you that you deserve better than that. They might think they know what they’re giving up, but they don’t have a fucking clue. You’re brilliant, brave, strong, and you love them even when they don’t deserve it.”

She cries harder, but it’s silent as her shoulders shake with tears.

“EJ, look at me.” I try to keep my voice gentle and level.

When her eyes finally look up to mine, there’s some part of me that splinters and cracks. Her eyelids are rimmed with red, some of her mascara is smeared on the sides of her eyes, and her lip trembles.

I put my mouth on hers, doing anything to stop that trembling lip. The one that could damn near ruin me .

Her lips are soft and hesitant under mine. I can’t tell if she’s surprised or if she’s holding back. But it doesn’t matter. She tastes like Aperol and orange. When she kisses me back, it’s like she falls into it. I could spend days holding onto her just like this.

This is much different than the first time we kissed in my apartment. That was deliciously frantic and like I’d never catch my breath again if I wasn’t touching her, covering as much of her body with mine. It was scorching. Tense. Hot as hell.

This kiss means something else. I’m trying to tell her things I don’t have the words for. It’s comfort. Reassurance. An apology that shouldn’t come from me but I do it anyway.

When we break the kiss, our foreheads press together, and it’s just our breaths in the front seat of my Jeep. I twirl a curl of her hair around my finger.

“Do you really want a tattoo?” I ask, changing the subject but something I’ve been thinking about since dinner.

She laughs, wiping her eyes. “Yes. I don’t even know what I’d want. I’ve almost gotten one a few times but never could see it all the way through. I feel like I have enough going on with my family, and I don’t need something else that would just be problematic.”

I’m surprised. Emilie always seems like she’s got the upper hand, with everything, but maybe not her family. The differences between her family and mine couldn’t be louder tonight.

“Thank you for everything. For bringing me here, introducing me to your family, ” she says, tears still heavy on her thick black lashes. “For kissing me the way you do.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back.” I kiss her forehead.

I don’t have it in me to tell her that I’ve never brought home a girlfriend as an adult man. How I've never let myself get close enough. How I’ve put up the silly, go-lucky, version of myself as the mask I wear .

How I've never put myself at risk, honestly.

But now? I'm wondering if I'd risk it all for her.