Good.
She’s doing exactly what she said she would. Staying away from O’Ryan territory. Free from her brothers and charting her own course. And I just need to make her steer clear of me.
My chest tightens anyway, watching how she’s confident in her abilities here but not in the bedroom.
“She’s good,” Greyson says beside me, his voice casual but proud as hell.
I don’t look at him. “She’s always been.”
Greyson snorts. “I wasn’t disagreeing.”
He shifts, hands on his hips, scanning the field like he still belongs out there throwing passes instead of managing them. He looks wrecked in the way only new fathers do—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped—but there’s something lighter about him too. Happier. Softer around the edges.
“How’s Witley?” I ask.
His whole face changes. “Three days old and already running the house. Sutton hasn’t slept. I haven’t slept. Even Paulina is in dire need of some shut-eye. Pretty sure I cried during a diaper change this morning.”
“Is that because you’re sentimental or because you forgot how gross babies are?”
Greyson grins. “Both. Why do babies look like Winston Churchill when they frown? But Witley is worth it.”
I chuckle, even as something twists low in my gut. Greyson gets all of this. A family. A future measured in birthdays and first steps.
Me? I get a timeline based on lab results.
“You look tired,” I say.
He scoffs. “You’re one to talk.”
“Fair.”
We watch another drill in silence, the air thick with heat and noise. My vision blurs at the edges when I turn too fast, and I have to pause longer than I want to let the dizziness pass.
Greyson notices, like the best friend he is. Our relationship started out rocky, but he’s the one person in Texas that I tell my secrets, except for how I feel about Noelle. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You sure you’re ready to be back?”
Ready? Yes. Should I be? Probably not.
I keep my eyes on the field. “What, you think rookie camp’s too much for me?”
“I think you almost walked into a tackling dummy.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “The sun's bright.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He lowers his voice. “How are your eyes?”
I hesitate, then shrug. “After Noelle and I cooked and decorated, the doctor stuck a four-inch needle straight into my eyeball.”
Greyson winces. “Jesus Christ.”
“Fun party trick,” I add. “I don’t recommend it.”
“Matt.”
“I’m fine,” I say, sounding like a rehearsed line. “Pressure was up. They drained it. Adjusted meds.”
“And the rest of it?” he presses. “The stuff you keep dodging.”
I glance at Noelle again without meaning to. She laughs at something the receiver says, throws her head back just a little. Looks alive. Focused. Free.
