“Happy birthday to my old-as-fuck brother.” He holds up a glass, and Ivy is pulling hers back.
“Happy birthday, Ford! Love you!”
She blows a kiss at the screen, and then she puts her hand over it. When the hand pulls away, it’s Madden.
“Thirty is the new twenty, except when it comes to hangovers. Make it a great one, bro.”
The video transitions from his siblings—minus Archer—to his teammates. I got Cole’s number during our own wedding, and I put it to good use. Several of his teammates sent in videos, and when they’re all done wishing him a happy birthday and the video ends, his eyes move up to meet mine.
“This is incredible, Tatum. Thank you. It means everything to me.”
That’s exactly what I was trying to go for up until a few hours ago.
I have got to get over this. It’s only going to drive a wedge between us.
I’m just not sure how to move forward.
CHAPTER 43: Ford Bradley
Riding the Bradley Coattails
Something’s going on with her, but since I’ve never been around her during one of her weddings, I’m trying to chalk it up to that. She’s stressed and wants this to be amazing. She told me so, and I’m choosing to believe that’s why she’s been a little quiet with me lately.
I also had football to focus on before. I was gone a good chunk of time each day. Maybe this is too much Ford for her.
I’m doing my best to strike a balance where she’s getting the independence she needs while implementing systems to help automate some of her business.
And I’ve been actively looking for an assistant for her. As it turns out, the woman about to become Devon’s wife has experience as an assistant, and I think depending how today’s wedding goes, she may be interested in learning more about working for Tatum.
I peek into her room to see if she needs anything, but she’s in the shower. While she’s moved into my bed physically each night, she still works in here, and she hasn’tyet made the transition to my closet and my bathroom. We’ve been a little busy, I guess.
An article is pulled up on her computer, and I glance at the headline.
How the Bradley Connection Landed an NFL Star’s Wedding.
She has seventeen tabs open—not unusual for her—but as I scan the tabs, it looks like at least half of them are articles with a similar headline from the few words I can see of each.
Zillow is open, too. Nothing unusual about that. She’s always looking at houses that could become potential venues.
I don’t click on anything but instead slip out of her room as I hear the shower turn off.
I wonder why she’s looking at those headlines. Is it true? Is she just using me for my name? Was she using Archer all those years for that same name? She built a thriving business in Vegas—a business that’s still thriving and largely being run by her assistant there. Did she build it off Archer’s back, though? Off his connections? Are we both so blinded by how we feel about her that we completely missed that?
Or is it just a lucky byproduct of being with professional athletes? She’s damn good at what she does. She could’ve built this business without us. Easily. And it must be devastating to continually see accusations that she couldn’t have.
Maybe that’s why she’s been quiet with me lately.
But something tells me that’s not it.
It’s neither the time nor the place, but when she joins me in the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee before she finishes getting ready, I can’t help but bring it up.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“I wish you’d stop asking me that,” she snaps. “Everything’s fine.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you are incredible, Tatum. Today is going to be amazing.”
She presses her lips together and nods as she moves to walk out of the room.
