CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WALKER

The first week of training camp has been brutal, but my body welcomes the soreness. It’s the only thing helping to keep Riley off my mind twenty-four seven. Instead, I’m down to about twenty hours of her on my mind.

I haven’t seen her since I walked out of her office ten days ago. I had gone with the hopes of just being with her. Maybe taking a walk around the city. Grabbing lunch. Not that sex is off the table, but that’s never going to happen if she won’t even talk to me.

I’m sure I overreacted to her legitimate question.

Talk about what?

But it was another stab in the chest. I overheard enough of her conversation with the Kyle guy to know they were just hanging out, and he was offering some sound advice. I should be glad she has people to talk to freely. I would be, if I was one of those.

Instead, I have to have a reason for being in her presence. The few times I was invited into her inner sanctum, by Jackson no less, I felt like an outsider to their jokes, to their stories.

I wrap my towel around my waist and cross the shower room to the locker room.

“Good practice, man.” Declan Anderson slaps me on the back.

He’s young, but a damn good quarterback. The rookie earned his spot on the team this week, especially since Derek Tibbits threw out his throwing shoulder at the end of last year’s abysmal season. He’s still on the roster this year, but chances are he won’t be ready to start for another month or two.

“Keep throwing like you do and there’ll be no need for me.”

Dec laughs. “As if. Boston would strangle me if I never handed the ball off to you. You’re a fucking beast tearing through the D-line. Not bad for an old man.”

“Everyone’s an old man to you. Let me know when you’re ready to shave. I’ll give you some pointers.”

“Douche.”

“Old man douche to you.”

The rest of the team filters in from their showers, and typical locker room banter picks up. I’m not usually into it, preferring to listen in and observe rather than start it or be the center of it. Keeping my back to the room, I dress in shorts and a T-shirt and pick up my phone, noticing three missed text messages.

Like my social life, my messages are few and far between. When I see who they’re from, I can’t help the way my lip quirks. She must have unblocked my number.

PERFECTION: I hope preseason is going well and you’re enjoying your teammates.

PERFECTION: Sorry. That sounded stupid. I hope you’re doing well.

I reread her messages a dozen times. She didn’t ask me a question, so I’m not sure how to respond. Is this an olive branch? If so, it’s weak. I can’t let myself look too deep into her messages. They’re nice, formal, and almost friendly.

Cordial at most. Unlike the string of flirting texts from months ago. Because I seem to enjoy inflicting pain on myself, I scroll through our previous messages from when all was right between us. Or rather, I believed all was right.

I’ve forgiven her for the lies, and understand where she came from, but for once I believed someone was interested in me for just being me without an ulterior motive. I wasn’t the right person, the right son, for my parents. My fans adore me when I rush over a hundred yards and score touchdowns.

If I have a bad game, they toss me aside. It’s true with all athletes, not just me. Most can brush it off. I would be able to if I had something—some one— else in my life to hold on to. I want that someone to be Riley, but if I try to hold on to her, she’ll only push me away.

I wish she could forgive my words and trust me as quickly as I’ve forgiven her. My fingers hover over her text. It’s not in my nature to leave someone on read, so I type a quick reply.

ME: Thanks.

Same tone as her message. Nothing flirty. Nothing deep. Simple. Barely friendly, like her texts.

Two days later, she surprises me with another text.

PERFECTION: You’re getting lots of media coverage. Boston loves you. I’m glad things are looking up for you.

Professionally, sure. Personally, not so much. They’d be a lot more up if she was back in my life as more than a kind of friend person.

ME: Thanks.

Not wanting to be a total dick, I add a second text.

ME: I hope you’re doing well too.

I toss my phone on my couch and head to the kitchen to make dinner. My new apartment is just outside the city, halfway to the stadium, so my drive is less than twenty minutes. It also means I’m twenty minutes from Riley, which is the separation I needed to keep my head in the game.

I’m doing a shit ass job at winning her back. Christ. I don’t have a fucking clue how to win her back. My ego’s been stomped on. Before meeting Riley I didn’t even realize I had an ego.

She’s sent two more toneless but somewhat friendly texts in the past week, and I’ve replied to both as a standoffish douche. Way to let her know how badly I want her back in my life.

I fucking suck at this. Chasing a girl. I can run over two hundred-fifty-pound linemen to get a fucking pigskin ball to an endzone, but I can’t even take one step in the right direction to run after the woman of my dreams.

I’m a fumbling mess and in desperate need of help. My teammates are decent guys, and some I may be able to call friends one day when I get out of my own head, but I’m not about to go to them for dating advice.

There’s only one person who can help me. Swallowing my pride, I pick up my phone and call my brother.

“Hey, Walker. You’re the talk of the town lately. I saw your mugshot on the side of a bus yesterday. Almost scuffed my Gucci loafers on the sidewalk.”

“That would have been tragic.”

“You’re telling me. Hang on a sec.” I hear muffled conversation, like Jackson is covering his phone while he talks to whoever is in the room. “Sorry about that. Crazy ass busy here.”

“You’re still at the office at seven?”

“No sleep for the wealthy.”

“I sleep.”

Jackson laughs. It’s rare that I say something that makes someone else laugh. Except for Riley. I used to make her laugh all the time. She’s the first person I felt I could be myself around.

“I won’t keep you if you’re busy.”

“You called for a reason, brother. What’s up?”

“It’s alright. You’ve got a lot going on. I didn’t realize you were still at work.”

“Ew. Don’t tell me you’re the passive aggressive type. Just spit it out. You okay? If you’re in trouble or need anything, or whatever, I’m here for you, man. I know we’re not close yet, but I want to be.”

It’s the first time anyone asked me that outside of football, and this weird fluttery thing goes off in my gut. It’s nice to be worried over.

“I, uh, it’s not really a phone conversation. Maybe we can get together for a drink or dinner or something.”

“Cryptic.”

“I don’t mean to be dramatic about it. I’ll be in touch another—”

“I’m going to be at the office until late. Catching up from my second honeymoon, but it was worth taking a week off in July. I don’t remember the last time I ate. I think it was today, but I’ve been in meeting after meeting. Why don’t you come by. Bring me sustenance.”

I’ve never been to Bankes Inc. and I never want to. Running into our father is the last thing I want to do.

“No offense, Jackson, but I have no desire to be in that office.”

“Shit. That was insensitive of me. Don’t blame you. For the record, Daddy Warbucks rarely makes an appearance anymore, and I’m pretty sure he’s still in Europe. Italy, maybe? Could be Greece now. No idea. Anyway, we can meet in the cafeteria on the fourth floor.”

The fact that Jackson doesn’t keep in contact with our father on the daily makes me like my brother a little more. I’d always thought they were attached at the hip. The father and his protegé.

“You don’t seem like the cafeteria type.”

“Riley hates my stuffy office. We don’t often have time to meet up during the day, but on the rare occasion she comes by, she insists on the cafeteria. It’s the only time I allow myself to eat mass produced food. I’m willing to do the same for you.”

Putting Riley and me in the same category is fitting for this meeting. “I can be there in thirty. That work?”

“Call me when you get here.”

I turn off the oven and toss the chicken I was about to prepare back in the fridge. Looking down at my workout shorts and shirt, I’m tempted to say fuck it. This is how I dress in August unless it’s a travel day, but I change for my brother’s sake.

Khaki shorts, a plain navy T-shirt, and slides aren't much better, but at least I don’t look like I just rolled out of bed. Since I’ve become more recognizable in Boston these days, I pull a Red Sox hat low on my forehead and head out to my SUV.

When I pull into the parking garage, I fire off a text and make my way up to the cafeteria to wait for Jackson. It’s not crowded this late at night. A few minutes later, Jackson, dressed to impress in his tailor-made suit, greets me with a handshake and pulls me in for a chest-bump hug. It’s our new thing. We’ve done it three times, but he’s proud to have a manly shake with me. And not gonna lie, I like it too.

“Their chicken salad is passable. Riley likes their meatball subs. I have no idea how anything else on the menu rates.”

We step up to the counter and I order two meatball subs, a side salad, and an iced tea. Jackson chuckles.

“Could have predicted that one.” He orders the chicken salad.

I insist on paying, and it isn’t until I’m halfway through my second sub that Jackson tosses his napkin on the tray and rests his elbows on the table.

“Bellies are full. So, what ails you, brother Bankes?”

I wipe my mouth and take a sip of iced tea. On my drive over, I practiced a few different ways to broach the subject. None of them sounded right.

“I need some advice.”

Jackson beams at my statement. “I love giving advice! Please, fire away.”

I clear my throat and push the rest of my sub aside. I’ll polish it off for dessert. Training camp always leaves me ravenous.

“I’m asking you as my brother, not as...” I scratch at my neck. “Not as Riley’s friend.”

He narrows his eyes for a moment before he quirks a brow. “You’ve come for dating advice?” He rubs his hands together in excitement.

I huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Dating? I’m working on getting her to be my friend again. Once she doesn’t hate my guts, maybe then we can get to that stage.”

“She doesn’t hate your guts.”

I shake my head. “Brotherly advice. Forget you know the woman I’m referring to. Be objective.”

Jackson nods. “I’ll try, but she tells me everything, so it’s going to be hard to forget about all the sex you two have had.”

“Fucking Christ.” I rub my hand over my mouth. “This isn’t going to work.”

He taps his fingers on the edge of the table to get my attention. “Sorry. Erasing all the hotel sex stories from my memory.”

“She told you about—never mind. We’re starting over. That Riley is in the past, as is that Walker. We’ve both done and said some things we’re not proud of.”

“Wait. I thought this was about you not trusting her? Did you do something to piss her off?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

Jackson narrows his eyes. “She’s been off lately, since our sham of an almost wedding, but I thought that was because she felt guilty about her lies and she was being shy about how to win you back. Why is she mad at you?”

I lean back in my chair and stare at my empty salad bowl. “I may have called her a lying slut.”

“Is this where I’m supposed to pretend not to be her best friend and know all her secrets?”

I give my brother an unamused roll of the eyes, and he lets out a dramatic gasp. Yeah, I know. I’m a fucking dick for calling her that.

“And I accused her of trapping me with a baby.”

“I told you—”

“With a baby I’d never want because I don’t want kids.”

“Fuck. Me. Nail. In. Coffin.”

Maybe he didn’t know about that part. “Exactly. I’ve been trying to undo this, but she won’t give me a chance. That night on the yacht, I asked her forgiveness. I told her I wanted to prove to her how much I still want to be with her.”

“And she’s turned down your advances?”

I lift a shoulder. “I haven’t exactly made any. The few times I’ve tried to talk to her, it’s awkward. She’ll say something that I’ll take the wrong way and I storm off. She’s even texted me these past few weeks asking me about training camp, but I’ve blown her off.”

“Why?”

“Good fucking question.” I rest my forehead against my palm. “One minute I think chasing after her is the way to go, and the next I think sitting back and taking it slow is best. What would you recommend?”

“Brother advice or best friend of the woman you want to bone advice?”

“I’d punch you in the mouth for talking about her that way if you were anyone else.”

The idle threat makes him grin like a little dipshit. If I weren’t so desperate for advice, I’d laugh at his boyish charm.

“Okay. In all seriousness, as your brother, I’d say chase her ass. Don’t take no for an answer. Show up on her doorstep. At her work. Spoil her with flowers and Almond Joys. They’re her vice. Maybe even show up with a date when you know she’ll be out with friends to make her jealous.”

“I’m not that guy. The fake date to make someone jealous. Spoiling her? Yeah, I can do that.”

“Well, I haven’t been a very good brother, so I’d steer clear of brother Jackson’s advice. I’m new to this kind of conversation unless it’s with the ladies. And I’d offer them similar advice about flaunting a date, or better yet, ghosting the guy. Nothing hurts our ego more than being easily forgotten and replaced.”

“Word.” I pick up the rest of my meatball sub and finish it in two bites.

That’s exactly the problem. I’ve been forgotten, if not replaced. Maybe not by another man, but by her work. Her friends. Her future plans that she doesn’t want me involved in.

“However,” Jackson says with an air of drama. “I have more experience as the object of your obsession’s best friend than I have as your brother. So if you want the inside scoop on how to win our little Riley’s heart...” He lifts a shoulder and pierces me with his blue eyes.

“We’ll keep working on the brother thing. I’ll take Riley’s best friend for four hundred, Alex.”

“RIP. Good man. Good man. Jeopardy hasn’t been the same since Trebek entered the pearly gates.”

“What do you suggest?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I’m not liking what I’m currently doing, so anything different is better.”

Jackson chuckles. “Well, my advice is to keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“Exactly.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s not working.”

“You said she texted you this week.”

I take out my phone and show him the thread. “Does that sound like she’s dying to get back together with me?”

That boyish grin is back. “Hells, yeah.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s because you don’t know our Riley girl as well as I do.”

“Explain.”

“She doesn’t want to be chased, but she doesn’t want to be ignored. She wants to feel cherished, but she doesn’t want to be bought. She wants to love fearlessly, and to be loved the same.”

“Okay. So how do I not ignore her and cherish her without spoiling her?” I ignore the love part, because I’m not sure if we’re there yet.

“Be there for her when she comes around. Let her know you’re still interested.”

“Did you not notice the way she ignored me a few weeks ago when you happened to invite me to the bar where you two were having drinks after work?”

“I happened to notice the constant blush on her cheeks. I also noticed how anytime you weren’t looking at her, she was looking at you.”

“Hm.” I finish my iced tea and stack our dirty plates on the tray at the end of the table.

“Give it time, Walker. She has a lot on her plate right now and refuses any help. Her stubborn pride is one of her greatest assets and her biggest weakness. If you push too hard, she’ll push back just to protect herself.”

With the first preseason game coming up, I don’t have much time to start a new relationship anyway. Definitely not enough time to chase, wine and dine, and get Riley to fall in love with me.

Not that love is off the table, but it’s not something I ever expected to have in my life. Companionship would be nice. With a woman like Riley.

Fuck. Not a woman like Riley. I need Riley herself.

“One more thing.” Jackson scoots his chair back. “Riley isn’t going to settle for anyone who doesn’t want the same thing she wants.”

“Which is?”

He stands and tosses his napkin on the tray I’m holding. “A family.”