When we’d been married, she buried the pain I caused her by shopping and taking spa trips with her friends whenever Hunter was at a football camp or I was home to keep an eye on him. And I couldn’t be angry with her, because the more time she spent away from the house, the less guilt I had to feel when I looked at her, knowing I would someday crush her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she kissed your cheek and told you it’s about time we both got our shit together.”
“Really?” Nixon seemed stunned that my ex-wife wouldn’t be angry about me moving on with someone she’d known for years as a friend.
“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “Now that she’s gone through all the stages of grief over our marriage, she’s been on my case to find someone to share the house with. The only problem I could see where she’s concerned is she’d hold it over my head forever that she was right.”
“How so?” Nixon shifted in his chair. I couldn’t figure out why he sat there since he was constantly fidgeting around like he couldn’t get comfortable. He’d done the same earlier. If things didn’t feel so tense between us, I’d invite him to sit on the couch with me.
“There were a few times when she asked me if I was leaving her because of you.” My chest tightened as the words came out of my mouth. Was Isabella part of why I’d rebuffed him when he suggested getting together? Because I was worried about what Isabella might say? Because I felt so damn guilty about leading her on that I subconsciously refused to think about Nixon the way I had more nights than I cared to admit? “Damn, now I’m the one who needs to apologize. I spent so much time trying to sort and organize the parts of my life, now I’m wondering if her accusations kept me from you.”
“Whatever the reasons were, we can’t change the past, and that’s exactly where we should have left this,” Nixon said somberly as he stood and walked out of the room.
He’d been gone a few minutes when I looked over to see him leaning against the kitchen counter. He was shutting down on me again, but this time, I wasn’t going to let him go.
I crossed the room, ignoring the pang of guilt when his body tensed as I rested a hand on his back. His sun-streaked hair hung over his eyes, but even through his beard, I could see the frown lines at the corners of his mouth. “Would you really be happier if we hadn’t talked about this? Be honest, Nix. Were you better off before Teddy asked you to call me about the situation with Zach?”
“No,” he admitted, so softly I barely heard his response. I moved my hand around his back, wishing everything wasn’t so complicated between us. “I just… I need some time to think about what all this means, Linc.”
“That’s fine, as long as by time, you don’t mean three more years of silence, with the exception of holidays and birthdays.” I’d back off a bit, even though I hated the thought of leaving town with unresolved issues, as long as there was some sort of promise that we’d talk more. Soon.
“Yeah, I won’t do that again,” he agreed. “I have to figure out what I want. You twist me up, scramble my brains. I missed you like you wouldn’t believe, and part of me says being your friend isn’t enough. But I’ll never be the guy who’s comfortable being seen in public. And that’s not because of you, or because I don’t want people to know I’m gay. Even if I was straight and had a supermodel in my bed at night, I don’t think I’d want the world to know. It’s who I am.”
“I get it, Nix,” I assured him, stepping closer. Nixon turned and pressed his hand to my chest, pushing me away. I wanted nothing more than to touch him, to be close to him, but he wasn’t ready for anything more tonight.Message received.“I think it’s probably for the best if I head out. If you want to meet up before I leave, let me know.”
“I will,” Nixon responded, but his lack of eye contact said it was going to take him longer to figure out what he wanted. I’d give him however much time he wanted, because as long as there was a chance for us, I wasn’t going to lose hope. And even if he still adamantly refused to address the attraction he obviously felt, at least we’d remain be friends.
Now, if only that word didn’t burn like acid.
6
Nixon
It’d been almosta month since Lincoln flew home. Since then, the Breakers had gone through the first round of cuts and were in better shape than I could remember a pre-season squad being in years.
On top of that, Zach had come out to his teammates and nearly everyone was vocal in their support of him. I felt like a proud father, watching the men follow Zach’s lead. Rather than allowingOutside the Pocketto control his fate, he’d changed his relationship status on social media and posted a few pictures of him and Griffin together.
The only downfall was that Griffin was now out of a job and it was causing a bit of tension between the men, but they’d find a way through it.
The one thing I hadn’t done was call Lincoln. I’d promised to be a better friend to him, but I still found myself wishing that was enough. Seeing him again had rekindled everything that made our friendship so dangerous in the past. The brilliant white of his infectious smile, the kindness he exuded, the way he always spoke what was on his mine, but tempered in a way that’d put the other person at ease.
The desire I’d buried away for so long had all rushed back to the surface, and I’d avoided him because I was afraid I’d crack and beg him to find a way to get his ass back to North Carolina. I had twenty minutes before the end of practice, and I’d promised myself today was the day I broke my silence.
There was no room for thoughts of Lincoln while I sat on the sidelines, watching the last few minutes of this morning’s scrimmage. Zach was lightning fast, almost too fast given deShawn’s inability to get the ball down field. That was something I was going to have to have one of the trainers take a look at tonight. If his shoulder was giving him fits, I’d talk to Teddy and make sure he sat his ass on the bench this weekend. It was the last week of pre-season and we needed him healthy once the games counted. He could work as a mentor to the backups, giving them pointers on their own form.
“I don’t know what you’re doing with them, but it’s working,” Teddy praised.
I grunted in response. As much as I’d love to take credit for the team’s performance, I’d been distracted since Lincoln left. These guys were professionals who knew, down to the penny, how much money was on the line if they slacked off, and the first round of cuts had been a rude awakening when a couple of veterans who thought they were safe were sent packing.
“I’m not doing a second practice this afternoon. It’s already over ninety and the temperature’s going to keep climbing. I think they’re about as good they’re going to get before this weekend. Is there anyone you feel needs time in the training room, or are you okay with us giving them a little time to unwind?”
“Nope, I’m good,” I told him, looking over the field again to see deShawn massaging his shoulder. That wasn’t good. “Have Wall go see one of the trainers before he takes off. He’s tight and we need to figure out why.”
“You noticed that too, huh?”
I scoffed. Of course I noticed—observing the players for signs of injury they were trying to hide from us was part of my job.
“Okay, I’ll send him down there and tell Dean to have it checked out,” Teddy responded. He turned to walk away, then stopped to look back. “Speaking of injuries, I have another favor to ask of you.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” I asked, trying to hide my annoyance. In all the years Teddy and I had worked together, he’d never been one to ask favors. Now, he was asking for the second in just over a month.
