“I grew up in a loud house, and I play a loud game, and don’t get me wrong, I love my family somethin’ crazy, and I love football, but until I moved here, I didn’t really know what it was like to have quiet,” he says, as his fingers trace a slow pattern against my hip through my sweater. “And sometimes I’m not sure what to do with it.”
I shift slightly, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. “I can understand that.”
“But now things feel different,” he says softly, his grip tightening around my waist, pulling me closer into his chest. “When I’m sitting here with you, the silence makes sense. Because having you here finally makes it feel like a home. We don’t need to fill it with noise.”
I turn in his arms, shifting until I’m looking up at his face. I reach up, my fingers smoothing the tiny, rough lines of fatigue near his eyes, tracing the strong, unyielding line of his jaw.
“We’re about to have a lot of weeks where we’ll barely see each other, Aston. I’ll see you at your games, but then I’ll have to fly right back out,” I remind him. “Our jobs will constantly pull at us.”
“Yeah, they will,” Aston agrees, his eyes steady on mine. “But that doesn’t change what this is. Every mile I travel, every stadium I’m in, I’ll be working my way back here. Back to you.”
I smile, leaning up to kiss his jaw, the rough stubble scratching my lips before I rest my head against his chest.
He squeezes me gently, like he’s trying to keep me all to himself, despite all the noise, the upcoming travel, and the cameras waiting on both of us. In the quiet of his house, surrounded by family photos and the comforting smell of the wood burning in the fireplace, I close my eyes and let myself sink into the chest of the man I’m falling for. Hard.
Right now, the world is ours, and I’m exactly where I belong.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ASTON
The Jersey suburbsalways feel a little different by late November. The trees are bare now, and the dark sky smells of incoming rain, which means sleet will be covering the roads by dark. I drive with the windows of the truck cracked just an inch, letting the cool air cut through the heat in the cabin, helping me stay alert after hours of studying film.
We’d spent six hours dissecting Dallas’s front seven, which includes my brother Archie. My neck is stiff, my knee tight from sitting for hours, and the bitter chill in the air outside. Normally, after a long day like today, I’d be horizontal on my couch watching TV and have a plate of plain grilled chicken and veggies in my lap.
But Alie caught me by the locker room just as I was walking out of it to leave. She was heading somewhere with a stack of paperwork in the authoritative rhythm she always had when she was working.
“Seven o’clock, Griffith,” she’d said, pointing a manicured finger at my chest. “I’m making that brisket you like. Brody’s coming, and Saint’s bringing the kids because Presley has afoundation meeting until late tonight. Don’t you dare skip out and hide out in your woods tonight.”
When Alie gives you that look—the one she’s cultivated from years of dealing with professional athletes and all the nonsense that entails—you don’t tell her no.
So, here I am, pulling into their driveway, parking right between Brody’s lifted truck and Saint’s big truck. Their house is different than mine; my place is stone and wood, tucked into the woods. Liam and Alie’s place is more sprawled out, with white siding and the unmistakable warmth that comes with family. The porch lights are already on, casting a yellow glow across the lawn.
I cut the engine and grab the six-pack of Lone Star from the passenger seat and climb out. The minute my boots hit the porch, I can hear the noise from the inside—the shriek of Rhyan, chasing someone through the hall, and the low rumbling bass of Brody’s laugh.
I push the front door open without knocking, the sudden blast of heat and the rich scent of garlic and smoked beef hitting me square in the face.
“There he is!” Pitzy shouts from the living room. He’s stretched out on the couch with a bag of frozen peas balanced on his shoulder. “Don’t let him take all the brisket, baby, he looks hungry.” He holds out a fist, and I tap it as I walk by.
Brody sits next to him, his eyes glued to the television, but he glances my way and lifts his head in a nod hello.
“Come on in, Aston!” Alie’s voice carries from the kitchen.
I walk into the kitchen ready to set my beer in the fridge and stretch out my legs for a bit. But I stop in my tracks when I see Eva sitting on a stool at the island.
She has a glass of wine in her hand, and her hair is pulled back into a soft, messy bun that leaves a few stray brown pieces hanging loose at the back of her neck. She’s wearing an oversized cream colored knit sweater that makes her look soft andcozy, and like I should just pick her up and carry her out of here right now.
She laughs at something Alie says, her eyes bright and crinkled at the corners, her lips parted.
My hand tightens around the cardboard handle of the six-pack. Alie hadn’t mentioned that Eva would be here, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet. I tried calling her on my way here, but she hadn’t answered, so I just assumed she was still at work. And I didn’t see her car outside.
“Hey, Aston,” Alie says with a wave.
“What’s up, y’all?” I mumble, my eyes still on Eva.
Eva looks over at me then, and our eyes meet. I see the subtle intake of her breath and the way her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass. Her eyes widen just enough for me to notice.
“Finally, we can eat now that the golden boy is here,” Saint rumbles, stepping out of the pantry with a box of juice pouches in his hand. He clamps a heavy palm on my shoulder, grounding me before I do something stupid, like walk over to her and put my mouth on hers in front of everyone. “You gonna stand there all night, holding that beer, or what?”
