Cal dabbed some makeup remover onto a cotton pad and started wiping his face. “So, how’s Jersey treating you so far? Is it the refuge you hoped it would be?”
Alec took a seat on the couch opposite Hugh—the smaller bloody couch—and considered his words carefully, debating how much he should tell Cal. Despite the two years Alec and Phoebe were together, his brother had never warmed to her. Cal had told him so. Often.
“I ran into Phoebe. Or more accurately, I was caught staring at a woman who, in turn, ran into Phoebe. Literally.”
Cal paused in his makeup removal, leaving the ghostly pallor and haunting shadows of Marley’s eyes to bore into Alec through the phone, reminding him of all his fuck-ups of Christmas past. “I don’t know what I should be asking about more. Your ex or the woman who stunned you stupid.”
“That woman, believe it or not, is now my fake girlfriend.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean? Fake girlfriend? Does that come with all the perks of the regular kind?”
“Don’t be an arse. Her name’s Marisa, and we’re meeting up in a few days to discuss things. Nice girl. Ran into a bit of trouble because of me.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“What is?”
“That you’re causing nice girls all sorts of trouble.”
Alec sighed and launched into the whole messy story, standing and pacing at points when the absurdities became too much to share sitting down. By the time he finished, Cal had changed fully out of his costume and was looking at him with a grim sort of wariness.
Alec knew that look. Hated that look. Wanted to punch the ever-loving shit out of that look.
It was their mother’s look. The look of quiet consternation and worry over the hurdles ahead.
“Have you spoken to Dr. Campbell yet?” Cal asked.
The change of topic wasn’t entirely unexpected, but Alec had hoped he’d have at least a few more minutes of shooting the shit with his brother before Cal dragged the infuriating sensible storm cloud into the room.
Alec nodded, suddenly wishing he hadn’t just mentioned the fuss made about his rugby fame drawing a crowd. But this was Cal. Not his agent or teammates. If there was one person he could talk to about this stuff, it was the man who’d offered him the reprieve of his home to sort through it all.
“I talked to her a few days ago. I’ve still got some pain in my neck and jaw, but the headaches aren’t as bad. Sleeping’s a bit tricky, and I do have a bit of double vision at times, but she gave me some prescriptions that should help. Otherwise, I’m to keep at it with my home exercises and call her if anything changes or gets worse.”
“Good. That’s good, Alec. Really good.”
“I—” Alec broke off and shook his head, not wanting to think about what had chased him to the States in the first place but finding it impossible. “I— Look, I’m fine. Everything will be all right.”
“I know it will. Eventually. We just don’t know what all right looks like quite yet, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Alec said, resigned to being stuck in the mire of his present circumstances. “I just wish I knew what was coming for me. In the future, I mean. I’m not ready to stop playing. Not yet. Rugby is—” His life? His career? His purpose? After he’d given so much of himself to the game, was there even a possibility of life without it? On some level, he knew he couldn’t play forever—that was why he was looking at investment opportunities in New Jersey—but that had always been a tomorrow problem.
And now that tomorrow was at his doorstep, what the hell was he supposed to do with today?
“Go on a date,” Cal said, shifting his duffel bag over his shoulder, readying to leave. “With your girlfriend. The one you can’t stop staring at, if I remember correctly. Sounds like you both could use a bit of company, anyway.”
Alec hadn’t realized he’d spoken his worries aloud, but it was the lighthearted jest in Callum’s tone that softened the grim harshness on the horizon and turned his attention toward far more festive offerings.
It was the holiday season, after all. December held loads more than a weekend rugby tournament he was exempt from playing in anyway.
It held a date. Many, if fake relationships followed similar paths as real ones.
“Maybe you’re right,” Alec mused, trying the cheerful offering on for size while remembering how Marisa’s warm hand had felt in his. Surprisingly, he didn’t hate the fit of either.
“Of course I’m right. I’m the oldest.”
“That literally means nothing.”
“Sure it does. You wouldn’t understand, because you’re not the oldest,” Cal whispered out of the side of his mouth, his gap-toothed grin on full display.
