“Hey,” he said. HelikedTom, genuinely. He’d been a good partner for his mom, and loved her a whole lot. He’d raisedTrevor well—maybe a little too well, but it wasn’t like Lane could complain to him about that.
And even more, whenever Lane came home, he seemed genuinely pleased to see him. Not like Lane was an interloper who he wished would show up even less frequently than he already did.
“Delia and I are so glad you could make it. I also know how much this means for Trevor,” Tom said. “Ever since you were drafted three years ago, he couldn’t wait to follow in your footsteps.”
Lane swallowed hard. “Right.”
“He told me you tried to convince him not to finish his degree,” Tom said.
Lane braced, waiting for the inevitable lecture. But to his shock, it didn’t come. Instead, Tom said, wryly, “And you were right, he should have declared for the draft after his junior season.”
It wasn’t like Trevor’s senior season had beenbad, exactly, but it hadn’t had that mystical,everything-slots-into-placequality of his junior season. He’d broken all kinds of records. Led all Division 1 tight ends in yards and receptions and touchdowns.
Had scored the winning touchdown that had given Oregon their first ever national championship.
“He’s going to be just fine,” Lane said. Trevor was universally considered a first-round pick. It was just a matter of what teams had what need, and how valuable a GM considered him.
Would someone have potentially taken him in the top five or the top ten after his junior season? Probably. But first round was still first round.
“I know, but still. You’ve been good to him.”Nota good brother. Justgood to him.
Tom slanted a look at him, brown eyes several shades darker than his son’s, and not for the first time Lane wondered if he suspected.
Tom, of everyone in the family, never referred to Lane as Trevor’s brother. Went out of his way, Lane was pretty sure, tonotdo it.
“I’ve tried,” Lane admitted. It was hard to admit, because if you asked his mother or Trevor himself, they probably wouldn’t be that generous, but hehadtried. The problem was the gap between what he was capable of and what everyone else thought he was capable of.
“You have,” Tom said, patting him on the shoulder, hand lingering. “I know it hasn’t always been easy.”
He didn’t say what hadn’t been easy, but it was the closest Tom had ever come to acknowledging the thing Lane didn’t talk about.
“Yeah,” Lane agreed. He didn’t know if he should say more; had never wanted to draw a line between Tom and his mom, and hurt their relationship. Didn’t want to ask Tom to keep a secret like that.
But it did help that maybe Tomsaw.
“We should probably go in, it’s starting soon,” Tom said, checking his watch. “You good?”
Was he good? Not really. But he’dbegood. He could fake it for a little while, at least, especially if he knew that tomorrow he’d be on a plane back to Toronto.
“Yeah,” Lane said.
Tom patted him again, his touch lingering even longer this time, the reassurance of it pulling him into the house, into the living room, where all the cameras and monitors were set up. Trevor was in the middle, dressed in an olive-green button-up and jeans, laughing at something Delia said.
There was no girl there, no future mother of his children waiting to see how much signing bonus he’d make. For a year or two Trevor had dated a girl at Oregon, and for awhile, whenever Delia brought her up—what a nice girl she was, so smart and pretty—he’d thought,finally, maybe my dick will get the memo that Trevor’s not ours.But then after his junior year, they’d broken up.
Delia had never said why, but she’d hinted more than once that the girl had been pissed that Trevor hadn’t cashed in the way she thought he should.
The way even Lane had thought he should—albeit for very different reasons.
“Come here,” Delia insisted, gesturing both Tom and Lane over. “It’s starting soon.”
Tom took the spot on the other side of Trevor, and Lane settled in next to his mother. He knew better than to believe he wouldn’t be some kind of draw. He was already an NFL player, and every time the feed switched to the Thompson household, he’d inevitably be included in every shot.
He’d dressed in a plain black T-shirt and black hat. Not wanting to draw attention to himself or to draw attention away from Trevor.
It was bad enough that probably anyone who mentioned Trevor would be inevitably bringing up his stepbrother, Toronto Thunder tight end, Lane Robinson.
Lane had never seen it once bother Trevor, but then maybe he was good at hiding it. Wasn’t like Lane wasn’t hiding some secrets of his own.
