7. Down to F

DOWN TO F

Hudson

That motherfucker called me fat and I'm in the best fucking shape of my life.

"Fuck him." I grumble as I add the last ingredient into the mixing bowl.

"Jesus, man, how can you be hungry after the spread they put out tonight?" Roman laughs as he walks into the kitchen and sees me in front of my mixer.

"He's feeding his feels," Jillian says, walking toward us in one of her man's tees. "Operating heavy machinery when you're drunk is a bad?—"

I point the spatula at her. "I said you could break a bed, but for fuck's sake, Jill, put some pants on before you leave the room."

I won't address the fact that I am, in fact, pretty fucked up because that would mean I sobered up enough to deal with the mess I've made.

"I've accepted that my sister is with one of my best friends"—Rome waves his hand up and down toward Jillian—"but I draw the line at this kind of talk."

Jillian drops down low, starts twerking, and pulls up their shirt. "I have shorts on, and I'm a grown-ass woman. Accept it."

I bite back a laugh at Jillian, but mostly at Mom's face as she walks into the kitchen, with her man and Nour right behind him.

"Jillian Hart," Mom gasps.

Jill's face turns beet-red as she stands up, but embarrassment doesn't detour her; it eggs her on. "Me? How about the fact that I would have died with an unpunched V-card if these two had their way and never experienced?—"

"Jillian." Nour shakes his head. "Fate."

She grins.

"Okay, why don't we all try to be a little bit more aware of our surroundings and respectful of?—"

I look up from my recipe, glance around to see what I'm missing, and quickly realize they're all staring at me.

I point to myself. "Me?"

They don't answer.

"My team just tied for number one in the division, fam. I made two touchdowns and ran more yards today than in any game I've ever played. I'm good. Better than good. I'm?—"

"Riley Brooks," Roman says. Just that. Her name. Her. Name.

"Not ever gonna happen." I force a laugh.

"Because he?—"

"Jillian, the fuck?" I cut my grown-ass sister off. "No. Just no."

"This family doesn't get a just no." She turns and looks at them all, and I know what's coming—she's gonna word vomit.

"His words a few months ago: I adore her. He said he'd like to put her on a shelf high enough that she won't get broken."

"Stand by that," I call over her. "Felt that way about you too until about ten seconds ago."

Little shit waves me off and continues, "I told him he should go for it. He says, no , she's related to the owners."

I interrupt. "Update: her parents are part of the owners co-op."

"They built the house you kids surprised me with?" Mom asks.

"Yep."

"Hard workers," Mom says appreciatively. "If you like her, I think they'd?—"

Jillian cuts her off with a delight-filled, "Hold up, I'm not finished."

"Rome, when's the wedding? I'm gonna need a new favorite sister."

"And speaking of sisters …" Jillian waves her hands like, come here and leaves it up to their imaginations.

"You like her sister, too?" Mom asks.

"He liked her like these players like all their women—for a night."

"You fucked Lauren Brooks?" Roman says in such a judgmental way that I don't bother looking up.

"Yep."

"In his defense, he didn't know who she was." Jillian snickers.

"What do you mean, you didn't know who the girl you laid down?—"

"Didn't lay her down. Picked her up." And smashed her against a bathroom wall in a bar.

"Hudson Hart," Mom scolds me like I'm five.

Before she can continue, I hit the on switch to the mixer, let that shit stir up, hit off, turn the handle on the bowl, take it out of the stand, shove the spatula in it, and walk my ass out of the kitchen, heading toward the stairs. "Goodnight, fam. Love you."

"If you don't tell her, she's going to marry the guy, and that's on you," Jillian calls to me.

Inside my room, I lock the door, take a giant scoop of cookie dough—Gram's recipe—and shove it in my mouth as I look around my room.

When I see a bright light coming from under my door, I swallow down the dough and point the spatula at the door. "That's bullshit." I turn away from the hallucination and head to my bed. "Go away and let me enjoy my chocolate chip cookie dough."

A fat boy needs to eat.

I flop on my bed and commence shoveling as I stare at the fucking ceiling, wondering what the fuck I was thinking.

As expected, I feel like shit today. It's deserving. I drank a hell of a lot more than my typical two-drink limit, and then consumed a double batch of raw cookie dough. And because I've made enough bad choices in the past twenty-four hours to last ten lifetimes, I decided hitting the gym while feeling like shit was a good start to punishing myself for my insanity.

Now I'm sitting in my comfy chair in the film room, sunglasses on, half asleep.

Boone flops down beside me. "You look like shit, man."

"Feel like it, too." I turn my head in his direction and see he looks … giddy . "Lily still in town?"

"No, but by Christmas, they'll both be here." He beams.

"Lindsey—"

"She broke up with S-twat McDipshit. I'm going to find them a place, and she and I are going to go to counseling, figure out if there's a way to start over, you know."

"Can you afford two places and, I assume, continue taking care of your mom and brothers?"

"I'm gonna figure it out. Gotta find something nice, you know, for the girls."

"You're at my place all the time; move in with me until you figure it out."

"I don't wanna cramp your style, man."

"Trust me; you won't." But you may keep me from further self-destructive behaviors.

"I feel like you're trying to tell me something, but?—"

"Gonna need to sit with it for a while, but I'm sure it'll come out."

Tucker Cohen, our head coach; Jo?e Cox, offensive line coach; Mitchell Moore, our defensive line coach; and Logan Links, who doesn't take the coach title since he, too, is an owner, walk in.

Logan nods his head up and down a few times and laughs. "I had a speech all planned out, but really, what could I say that you don't already know?" He cups his mouth and yells, "Number one in the NFC, baby!"

Headache be damned, me and the rest of the team cheer right along with him.

Then Cohen steps forward and raises his hand for us to all settle down, and today, he's wearing his three rings. "You played your best game yesterday, and we're all fucking proud of you, but facts are the facts, and we're tied for number one. The Eagles are playing the Panthers this weekend and will no doubt grab another W. We're headed to Vegas to take on players like Davante Adams and Maxx Crosby. Best case scenario is you're still tied for number one after this week."

Coach Moore steps in. "D line, Davante Adams is one of the best you'll ever come up against. You wanna remain at number one, you stop him."

"Offense, you play just like you did this week, and we're going to stay tied at one. You blink at the wrong time, you're fighting for a position you may not get again this season," Coach Cox adds.

Coach Cohen holds up his hand. "I've never asked you to give more than I did when I played in the NFL, but right now, I'm going to tell you that fourth ring was stolen from me and my team. I can never give it back to them, but you can get it for me." He nods to the others. "If not for me, Cox and Moore left teams that would have earned them jewelry, and the owners who decided to build this team, this legacy, this family, they deserve it, too."

When I walk into my place, Jillian is sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, and Nour is leaning against the wall, looking down, clearly avoiding eye contact.

When she looks at me, I am momentarily concerned that her face is possibly going to split in half from the smile she sports. I eye her skeptically.

"Lucy, you've got some explaining to do." Then she busts up laughing.

"What the hell is so funny?" Boone chuckles from behind me.

I glare at her, a warning. "Nothing."

"Hey man, if you want me to move into your home, there can't be any secrets between us." He winks. "It won't work that way."

"The hell there can't be." I turn and look at him. "And that's why this will work."

"I don't know … I need more of a connection. I don't want skeletons jumping out of your closet at me and making me scream like a little girl, wondering who the monster I'm living with truly is."

Jillian is laughing even harder now. "Oh my God." She stands and wipes tears from under her eyes. "Those skeletons will get you every damn time."

The thought she was going to bust on me as she did last night sucks, but right now, I'm realizing it was a dream compared to the nightmare I'm pretty sure I'm facing right now.

"Jillian"—Nour pushes off the wall—"how about we go see what time your mother and Marks want to head to the airport?"

"You're going back to Jersey tonight?" I ask, trying to hide the relief I feel inside at the thought.

"Oh no, it's the off-season for the Jags. We decided why not head to Vegas to watch the number one team in the NFC keep that title."

"Spoiler alert: we're going to win," I say through my teeth. "Don't feel obligated."

"You know"—Jillian links her arm through mine as I start up the stairs—"I never imagined a tiny little town like Blue Valley could be as exciting as it is in Trenton, New Jersey, but boy, was I wrong."

I don't feed into her ramblings, hoping she'll peel off my side and leave me to wallow in my misery.

She doesn't.

Once inside my room, she unlinks her arm and asks, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was drunk, so there wasn't much thinking involved," I say, glancing at the closet door to make sure it's closed before climbing into my bed. "I'd really like to sleep through the next?—"

"Oh no, you don't, Hudson Hart. You made the biggest play of your life; you don't get to just leave the field now when the game's just started, champ ."

"I just want to sleep through this fog so I can wake up fresh and decide how I'm going to get the fucking thing back there."

"Pussy," she mumbles as she climbs onto the bed, rolls to her side, and faces me.

I exhale slowly and whisper quietly, "The fuck did I do?"

She smiles slightly as she tucks her hands under the side of her face. "You, Hudson?—"

"You getting these texts, Hart?" Boone asks, walking into my room, stopping, and holding up his hands. "This is some shit I shouldn't want to see, but would be lying if I said it doesn't have the blood heating up and flowing down there at my tinkle spot."

Laughing, Jillian throws a pillow at him.

"You're fucking sick, man." I pull a pillow out from under my head and cover my face.

"Nah, man." He laughs, walking over and sliding onto the bed from the bottom, positioning himself between us.

"The hell are you doing?" I snarl when he tries to roll my ass to face the opposite direction.

"Big spoon." He sighs as he wiggles closer.

What the fuck?

"I had Lily for six nights. It's going to take a while to wean myself." He gives me a squeeze. "I appreciate you."

"And I'm gonna elbow you if you appreciate me any more than this right here."

He whispers, "I'll try."

"Boone, I'm exhausted. Quit fucking around, yeah?"

"Well, get a power nap in. We have plans tonight."

"My plan doesn't leave this room."

"This shit doesn't happen in baseball," comes from Nour, and Jillian laughs. "Maybe you got it wrong, little Hart."

I know exactly what he's referring to, asshole. I look over and glare at him.

"It was right there." He lifts a shoulder. "Had to do it."

"Hudson needs to sleep. We have a high-stakes card game tonight." Boone rolls to his back.

"That's tomorrow night, and we'll be?—"

"Lauren rescheduled because she knew the OG Players would want to hang out with us." He sits up, looks at me, and laughs. "Do you not pay attention to your messages?"

"The whole family is here; if anyone needs me, they know where I am."

"Fuck, man, the team group text is blowing up. One of the guys heard someone stole Riley's wedding dress right from her place." He laughs. "They're not sure when, but it's gone."

"Don't they have security cameras?" Nour asks.

"Sure do, but they've been down for a couple of days, and no one knew."

Thank God .

He slides off the bed. "I'm betting it's her fiancé. One of the guys said he's seen him a couple of times with some blonde chick in Ithaca."

My eyes meet Jillian's, and her brows raise.

"Any of them tell Jackson?" I ask.

"Nobody wants drama," he says, yawning.

" You should tell Jackson," I strongly suggest.

"Hell no, I save my drama for my baby's mama." He shakes his head. "I pick you."

Jillian coughs out, "Bad idea."

Boone is a giant child, the joker. He plays the village idiot with pride and is as laidback as anyone I've ever met, but the son of a bitch is quick.

He looks from her to me and sighs out, "Hart."

Jillian jumps in for the save. "You said it yourself; you think it's the boyfriend. He hates my brother, so if it comes from him, Riley's going to think it was Hudson."

I catch him glancing down at the pink scrunchy on his wrist. "Not getting involved directly, but I do have a little birdie whose ear I could whisper in."

"Not to shoot myself in the foot, but be careful with little birdies—they're fragile as fuck."

"You're gonna make one hell of a girl Dad, Hart." He winks as he walks out of my room.

I turn and glare at Jillian. "Remind me never to pick you to be on my team for theapocalypse."

"Oh please." She turns her phone to me show me her screen and a text she sent …

"You told Mom and Marks!" I yell.

"Pfft, you really think I'm up in here, putting your laundry away?"

"Mom?" I gasp. "Mom is the one?—"

"You want privacy, do your own damn laundry." She heads to the door. "And you're welcome."

I glare at her as she walks out and realize Nour hasn't moved. I look over. "What?"

"The obvious is she may be your sister, but she's my world, so go easy on her." He shakes his head. "I was you once, but middle Hart, all I have to say is don't stop at the dress; steal the girl."

Standing in the bathroom mirror, looking at my blurry reflection, I realize it's not the mirror. "This is so fucked."

Laughter from the stall behind me alerts me that I am not alone. Sober me would have already known this, but no, I need liquid courage, so I pre-gamed like an off-season college athlete and did some shots … in season … here at Brooks Barn and Brew.

The bathroom stall swings open, and Jackson Brooks steps out. "You good?"

I answer the only way I know how—honestly—as I open the door to exit the bathroom. "Not sure, but I know I'm drunk … again."

He smirks as he turns off the water after washing his hands. "Good thing you have drivers for tonight's festivities."

Tonight's festivities? The final tournament of the season, and the winner gets the golden pitchfork until they start again after the holidays.

I'm not giving up on it that easily. I mean, we lost, so I have to, but they'll have to pry it out of my cold dead hands.

"There you are, cupcake." Boone smiles tightly and drags me away from Jackson.

"If you're gonna handle me like one of your little playthings, Boone, you better at least give me a kiss when the night ends."

"Yeah, okay, all Hart, no action. I'll try my very best to"— he cringes as we step out of the hallway and back into the bar—"forget you ever said that shit to me. The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Fuck you, Big Daddy Boone. You big-spooned the hell out of me not too long ago, and what the hell does all Hart, no action mean? I get action." I puff my chest out. "I get so much action I had to stop … getting action because my dick was pussy burned."

"What the hell did he just say?" comes from one of the tables alongside the outer wall of the brewery.

I glance toward what I think is a familiar voice and see Ava Lane, who's in charge of the legal team for the New York Knights. She has tears in her eyes she's laughing so hard. Wonder if she'll be laughing when she has to bail me out of BV jail for a home invasion, and then a robbery … Is there even a jail here, and why does Ava sound like that?

"Did you just talk to me in a man's voice?"

Laughing harder now, she nods.

"Cool party trick, but I'm not so sure how I feel about that." I scratch my head. "It wasn't hot, but it wasn't … not hot. Do it again so I can finger it out."

"All right, Hart, line crossed." Boone chuckles awkwardly as he attempts to move me, but I'm not having it.

"The hell are you doing?" I snarl at him, or slur, or slur-snarl.

"Saving a drunk Knight from getting a well-deserved ass kicking," Ava does a repeat with her party trick.

I turn back, smile, and focus. That's when I see Ava's husband, Luke. "Hey man, your wife has you in her mouth. I mean, your voice in her mouth. I mean?—"

Luke leans forward, and Ava throws her hand across his middle. "Let Hart be; he's harmless."

I narrow my eyes because it's occurred to me that I am being fucked with. "Oh no, I'm not playing the role of the village idiot. That's Boone's job. I'm the fucker, not the fucked with."

"I find that term offensive," Boone states. "I prefer?—"

Jackson Brooks grips my shoulder. "I call bullshit. The conversation I overheard you having with yourself in the men's room, you straight up said you were fucked."

That voice booms again, "You two sit down and eat some food to soak up the alcohol."

Jackson pulls out two chairs and waves his hand out to them.

Eyes narrowed at Ava, I let her know, "I'm trying to watch my figure, man ." But I do sit down because there's one hell of a spread laid out before them, and I can always eat.

Ava's bestie, Harper, asks, "So, aside from the fact you have a flight to catch in the morning and are going to feel like complete shit, why are you fucked?"

I shake my head and grab a potato wedge. "Because I did a bad thing. A terrible thing. Actually"—I chuckle—"I've done a few real shitty things and, well, that's pretty much why I'm fucked." I scratch my head. "If I get caught, I'm fucked, but if I don't, the old Catholic guilt will kick in."

"You're Catholic?" Jackson asks.

"No, but I am guilty."