“Bring Owen. The girls are asking about him.”
I glanced at Owen, who was finishing the last bite of his meal. “You sure? He probably has—”
“I’ll come,” Owen said, easily guessing Simon’s request.
Simon overheard and chuckled. “Good. And tell him not to worry, he doesn’t have to bring presents.”
I repeated that to Owen, who jokingly sighed. “Too late, already bought them.”
Simon laughed. “By the way, Nicole invited you all for dinner.” He then went on to ensure we secured the date.
I hummed a response, but my focus had shifted—to Owen, to the way he leaned back in his chair, studying me like he was trying to piece something together.
Maybe he was.
Because something had changed in the last two days.
I could feel it in my skin, in my breath, in the spaces where he wastoo closeandnot close enough.
I forced down the knot in my throat.
And wondered how much longer I could keep pretending nothing was happening.
14
Owen
SIMON’S VOICE, LOUDenough for me to hear from Rio’s phone, was the jolt of reality I needed. A bucket of cold water. A hand yanking me back from the edge.
Every night under the same roof as his sister, every day seeing Rio, was a slippery slope I wasn’t willing or able to slide down. Because this wasn’t a game I could play. Toying with her heart wasn’t an option even if I was willing to risk mine.
Relationships, for me, had always been a transaction. “Be a winner and we’ll be proud of you,” my parents all but said. “Be a winner and we’ll love you,” the world I worked in said. The transaction continued with women—a warm, beautiful body, for the perks that came with being by my side—the status, the sex, the media attention, the taste of the high life. In return, I got company. Distraction. An easy way to fill the empty spaces.
Because that’s what love was, wasn’t it? Conditional. A give and take. And if I had nothing to give ...?
I checked the sports sites every night, looking for a mention of me. Something to confirm I still existed in that world. But after the first day, there was nothing.
My agent took half a day to text me back, when once he would’ve been at my beck and call.
My contract was still on hold. I was too proud to answer calls from teams I considered beneath me, too stubborn to let go of the belief that I could get back to where I’d been. That Iwouldget back.
Because football—it was everything. It gave me everything. The emotion, the drama, the love, the rush. It was all I needed and all I could get.
Or at least, I told myself it was. Even in the middle of it all—the cheers, the wins, the women—there was a hollow space nothing seemed to reach. And now, with the game gone, that void was all that remained.
But that wasn’t a reason to go to Rio. Not when the need for her was tangled up in everything I’d lost. Not when she deserved more than a man who had nothing to offer her.
And definitely not when I wasn’t sure I could handle what it would mean if she looked at me and saw nothing worth loving at all.
15
Rio
JUNE COVERED CLOSINGfor me that evening so I could leave early.
“We got two more bridal orders!” she announced, coming in through the back where Angelo’s guitar workshop was—right by the stairs leading up to their studio apartment.
I grinned, proud. My video had worked. No one had stopped by the counter with rental leads, though, despite my plea for housing help. The real estate sites I’d checked and the agency I’d called earlier that day had only confirmed what I already knew—bad news all around.
