Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Blakely

Everything hurts.

Groaning, I roll over and squint against the muted sunlight. The softest mattress in the universe dips as I move onto my side. The bedding smells faintly of Renn and fabric softener, making me smile from ear to ear.

I know he’s gone, but I tap against his side of the bed anyway. My fingers curl against the empty sheets.

“Ugh.”

My brain is foggy. I have no clue what time it is and even less of an idea about the day of the week. Time changes and jet lag, surfing, and three rounds of sex yesterday have left me clueless.

It takes a few minutes to fully awaken and convince myself I can stand without dying.

I get to my feet, slipping on a Tennessee Royals shirt that Renn let me borrow to walk to the kitchen last night. It hangs like a dress. But there’s something wonderful about being encompassed by something of his.

My toiletries are in a bag on the counter in the bathroom. I’m not sure how they got there, but when we woke in the middle of the night, still wonky from our traveling, and hopped in the shower, there they were.

I quickly brush my teeth, wash my face, and comb my hair. Then I venture into the closet.

Just as Astrid promised, a box of my things is on the square table in the center of the room. The llama propped up beside it makes me smile.

Brock packed a random assortment of shirts, shorts, shoes, and dresses. Thank God he didn’t get into my lingerie drawer. That would’ve been awkward. He added my computer and planner—because I refuse to go fully digital, and every item sitting on my vanity. At the bottom of the box is a note on top of a framed picture of me, him, and our mother from my living room.

Tears fill my eyes.

B,

You have twenty-six lip balms. Did you know that? WHY?

Renn asked me to grab you some things. I did my best. I locked everything when I left and set the security system. You had food in the fridge, and I’m sure you’re not returning to get it. So I took it. You know I love hummus.

I know I’ve been an asshole, and I’d like to apologize to you in person. You’re my favorite person in the world (don’t tell Ella that). You deserve a face-to-face conversation. Please call me when you get back.

Brock

I place the note on the counter and dress. Oh, Brock.

It’s felt so wrong to be at odds with my brother. He’s been my person for so long, so for him to write this note means he’s struggled with the past few days as much as I have. I could use one of your hugs right now, brother.

I blink back a tear.

My emotions are all over the place. I’m sure it’s the culmination of the past week, topped with Brock remembering to send a picture of us with our mother that’s the cause. Still … I hate being overly emotional .

I trace my fingers over the glass—something I’ve done a million times. The three of us are so happy in the image. I remember Mom asking a stranger to stop and snap a picture that day, slinging her arms around our waists. Brock is bent, whispering something that I’m sure was wholly inappropriate. Her face is mid-laugh. My head is on Mom’s shoulder while I cheese for the camera.

Sniffling, I stand the picture under the llama. “Keep this safe, okay?”

My cheeks are damp. I wipe them with the hem of my shirt as I journey through Renn’s house.

The ceilings look higher, the molding more detailed. The rooms are more magical today. Ceiling fans cause the extra-long curtains to flutter against the beautiful floor.

I find my phone next to the sink. Leaning against the cabinet, I open the screen and see a list of texts—but my interest goes to the one on top. Renn’s .

Renn: Good morning, cutie. It was so hard, pun intended, to get out of bed with you still in it this morning. Why aren’t we still in Australia again? I have a physical and a meeting with the Royals today. Their facility is close to Bianca’s office, so I might swing by before coming home. Mom has already “suggested” we have a family dinner tomorrow night so everyone can meet you. If that’s too much pressure, say the word. I’ll never argue about getting to keep you all to myself.

I smile.

Me: Good morning, handsome. You’ll have to wake up a little earlier so it’s not so hard when you get out of bed. Pun intended. I will check my email, try to figure out what I still need, and grab it from my house. Family dinner sounds fun. Will I get to meet Tate? I hope you have a great day. I’ll be home when you get here. heart emoji

This . I hold my phone to my chest and close my eyes. This feeling is what I’ve always been after .

The device buzzes against me.

Renn: Tate isn’t invited. You can be mad at me, but Foxx is there with you. I asked him to accompany you if you leave. Please don’t fight me on this. We can talk about it tonight, but I need to focus today, and I can’t do that if I’m worried about you. praying hands emoji

I want to be annoyed at him. If it were any other person or situation, I would be. I’d probably leave to prove a point. But … I’m not. And I won’t.

His words make me feel safe. Protected. Valued. He’s not trying to take over my life or control my movement. He genuinely cares about me.

Me: I promise I won’t go anywhere without Foxx.

Renn: Thank you.

Me: It’s going to cost you …

Renn: I was hoping you were going to say that. devil emoji

Me: kissing emoji

I send quick texts to Ella and Brock, letting them know I’m back. They reply to tell me they’re coming over—separately.

“Let’s hope they’ve figured their stuff out,” I say, making a cup of coffee. “Because I don’t want them ruining my vibe.”

I find some milk and add it to my mug. As I put it back, I spot the notebook Astrid was telling me about yesterday. Sipping the liquid caffeine, I open the bright yellow cover. Sure enough, there are phone numbers, notes, dates, and times listed across three pages. Each item is categorized—the house, Renn, food, staff, family, emergency contacts, schedules, and miscellaneous. The top of the first page in bold letters reads I’M HERE TO HELP.

There’s a quality about Astrid that I love; I liked her as soon as I met her. I think we could be friends, and the thought makes me smile.

Maybe I can fit into Renn’s world .

I save her number on my phone before getting up. My mug warms my hands as I mosey my way through the house.

Renn’s home is a balance of understated and grand. There’s no way to look at it and not know it costs millions. Yet there’s not one singular thing that screams pretentiousness. I can imagine the rooms filled with friends at Thanksgiving and presents at Christmas. A party by the pool with the grill going and music playing. And babies scooting across the floor in walkers, babbling their first words.

I pause in the sunroom doorway with my chest on fire. I stare across the expansive lawn at the back of the house.

This house was built for a family. It was designed for memories and holidays—for birthday parties and backyard rugby games. But he’s never said he wants any of that with me.

I try to swallow around the lump in my throat.

Things between us have been heavenly. Almost too good to be true.

Maybe they are too good to be true.

Yet having had days with Renn—having him open himself up to me in ways I didn’t expect—it’s hard not to feel blissful. He’s a good man. I knew this, but I had written him off, possibly much like his father, and I feel terrible for that. I hadn’t realized how lonely it must truly be for someone at the top. He trusts some of his family, he trusts Astrid and Brock, but he doesn’t really have many people in his corner. He doesn’t feel like it, at least. And if there’s one thing I’m convinced of, I want to be one of those people he can count on.

And I can’t see that stopping in ninety days.

I fight against my inclination to hope for the best—to put what I want into the universe. I fight even harder to keep from admitting what I really want for myself … Renn .

The way he makes me feel is incredible. Who would’ve thought the bad boy of rugby would be so … everything. He’s passionate and kind. He has major protector vibes. The sex is incredible, and he makes me feel like I’m the only person who matters to him. Hell, he even volunteered to give me a baby.

I’m mid-drink when the realization hits me. He’s a nice man .

Slowly, I lower the mug and get the mouthful of coffee swallowed.

The room begins to spin.

I’m in love with Renn Brewer.

“No. No, no, no,” I say, carrying my drink back to the kitchen. “This can’t be happening. I’m just in a sex haze. That’s all.”

Despite saying the words out loud, I know I’m lying. I really do love him.

A hundred thoughts race through my mind. Everything from how did this happen ? to what do I do now ?

I set my coffee next to the sink and breathe deeply.

We promised to abort this mission if either of us had real feelings for the other. I made the damn rule. But the thought of walking away from him makes me want to vomit.

Quickly, my thoughts turn to rationalization.

What will it hurt to ride this out? It’s just three months. We’re having fun. If I keep my mouth shut and don’t make this weird, I can slowly detach myself from him over the next few months so it hurts less when it’s over.

I nod as my plan coalesces in my brain. “Yes. Just admit reality, and you’ll be fine. Like Ella said in Vegas—manage the explosion so you don’t implode.” My brows pull together. “Or whatever.”

I need to do something to distract myself from this rabbit hole. Renn’s mention of dinner at his mother’s house jumps to my mind as if my declaration of love somehow puts pressure on meeting his family.

“I’m a fool,” I say, reaching for my phone anyway.

Me: Hi, Astrid! It’s Blakely. I promise I’m not needy. But can you give me some advice on what to wear to Renn’s parents’ house for dinner? I’m trying not to freak out.

Her response is immediate.

Astrid: No panicking. It’s not allowed. winking emoji They are very casual, in a rich people way, when they’re together. I’d suggest a maxi dress or maybe dark denim jeans with a nice white button-down—chic but not overdone. Honestly, they aren’t going to judge you for what you wear.

Me: A white button-down? It’s obvious you don’t know me at all.

Astrid: laughing emoji Would you like me to send you a few options this afternoon? Whatever you don’t want, we’ll send back.

Is she kidding?

Me: That’s unnecessary.

Astrid: This is my job, Blakely. And I’m under your husband’s exact orders to ensure you are happy and comfortable. If he finds out you’re worried about what to wear, and I know it … I like my job. Let’s keep it at that.

Me: We could not tell him.

Astrid: I’m sure it’s an adjustment, but this is your life now. I’m here to help. I get paid to help you. And, if I’m being honest, shopping for you will be much more fun than what I’m currently doing.

I pace the kitchen, nibbling my bottom lip.

Me: I feel very awkward about this.

Astrid: I’ll have a few things delivered this afternoon. I’ll let Foxx know to expect them. Let me know how they work. We’ll stay on it until we get it right.

Me: How do I pay for them?

Astrid: You’re funny. I’m off to shop!

“Dammit,” I say, setting my phone down and blowing out an exasperated breath.

A door shuts in the distance. I watch the doorway, hoping it’s Renn. But Foxx appears.

“Mrs. Brewer, Ella St. James is here to see you,” he says.

I plant my hands on the counter, grateful he can’t see that I don’t have on pants.

“He’s under an NDA. He won’t tell anyone how you sound when you’re moaning my name and begging me to fuck you harder.”

My cheeks flush. “Can you call me Blakely, please?”

“If you’d like.”

I stare at him, dazzled by his blue eyes.

“Blakely?” he asks again.

“What? Oh. Yeah.” I stand. “She’s my best friend.”

“Should I send her in?”

“Yes, Foxx. Please.”

He gives me a side-eye that makes me think he’s irritated with me. I hate to tell him, but he fails if he’s trying to get me to change my behavior. He’s hot as hell when he’s grumpy.

A few moments later, Ella rounds the corner. “Jealousy is a very ugly shade on my skin tone. But, dammit, Blakely—your life is unfair.”

I laugh, pulling her into a hug. “I missed you.”

“You did not.” She swats my shoulder. “And if you did, then Renn isn’t nearly as good in bed as I’ve imagined.”

I gasp. “Don’t imagine my husband in bed.”

She giggles. “Sorry. What’s done is done.”

We move into the living room and plop down on the sofa.

“Tell me about your honeymoon. I hope the length of time was the only thing that was fast,” she says, winking at me.

I laugh. Oh, how I missed her.

“It was beautiful, Ella. The pictures I sent didn’t do it justice. The vibe of the place was so chill. Maybe it was just where we were, but the sun seemed brighter, the pace slower, and I just felt so …” I search for the right word, but only one will suffice. “Happy.”

“That makes me happy.”

“That’s why you’re the best.”

She smiles. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to really celebrate your birthday, though. I felt like you got shortchanged.”

I shove my hand in her face. “How can you say that with a straight face?”

“ Holy crap .” She jerks my finger at a weird angle for better inspection. “Blakely. My lord .”

“I know. It’s perfect. I can’t say I would’ve picked it because I wouldn’t have even looked at rocks this size …”

Ella laughs, letting my hand go. “Us mortals can’t afford things like that. But I guess you aren’t one of us anymore.” She surveys the space. “This is quite the pad you have here. Renn’s taste is more sophisticated and less bachelor. I’m impressed.”

“Ella, you have no idea how impressive he really is.”

“Saturday night. Me and you. Not here . I want every dirty, nasty detail you’re willing to share.”

I grin. “Deal. Now, what’s up with you and Brock?”

The levity melts off her face. She smiles, but I see through it. What’s wrong ?

“El?”

“We’re good. Honestly. Probably better than ever, really.”

My stomach knots. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“He came over, and we had a long talk … about a lot of things. And I think …” She gazes through the window. “I think we’re on the same page in a way we’ve never been before.”

I watch her work through something in her head.

“I love him, Blakely.”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

She turns to me. “I do. We’ll talk about it this weekend, okay? I don’t want to get into it right now.”

Don’t want to get into what? What a weird thing to say. Since when has Miss Shameless held anything back? She’s not telling me something. Hmm …

A voice clears behind us. “Blakely?”

I look over my shoulder. “Are you a genie or something, Foxx? You show up out of nowhere.”

“Doubtful,” Ella mutters, loud enough so only I can hear. “Otherwise, women would be rubbing all kinds of things, hoping he shows up.”

I shake my head, fighting a laugh.

“Your brother is here to see you,” Foxx says, clearly unamused.

“We’re going to have to work on this,” I say. “I don’t want to waste your time by announcing every visitor. You keep scaring the shit out of me.”

He lifts a brow. “I’ll wear bells on my shoes.”

I burst out laughing. The corner of his lip quirks, but he refuses to smile.

“Send him in, please,” I say. “Thank you.”

He nods, and I’m pretty sure he rolls his eyes once his back is to me.

Ella stands. “I need to get going. I have a massage in an hour, and traffic will be miserable. I just had to see you before you got caught up in life and put me on the back burner.”

I laugh. “Right. Like you ever stay on the back burner.”

She laughs. “Call me later, and we’ll plan our dirty dinner discussion.”

“Okay.”

She heads for the door but stops when Brock walks in. Her arms go to his neck, and they embrace. Whispers are exchanged, and my brother gives her a single, sweet kiss. He waits until she’s out of the room before he makes his way to me.

“Hey,” I say, getting to my feet to hug him. “Are you okay? You have bags bigger than mine under your eyes.”

He wraps me up into a giant bear hug. “I’m fine. Glad you’re back.”

I squeeze him tight before releasing him. We sit down on opposite ends of the sofa.

“Thanks for bringing me clothes and my twenty-five lip balms,” I say, joking.

“ Twenty-six , and you’re welcome. How was your honeymoon?”

I pause, studying him—trying to get a hint as to the direction of this conversation. Is he asking because he’s curious? Or because he’s ready to pick a fight?

He must read my apprehension because he sighs. “Renn said you had a great time. He said you tried to surf.”

“I was catching waves left and right.”

He lifts a brow.

“Kidding. I was awful.” I laugh. “But it was a lot of fun, though. You’d be good at it.”

“I’m glad you had fun, B.” He runs a hand over his head. “Look, I want to say I’m sorry for being a dick in Vegas and for not calling you the past few days. I should’ve been more supportive, and I feel like a piece of shit for letting you down.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. But something tells me that this talking point isn’t over.

A knot forms in my stomach, pulling tighter with every second it takes him to continue.

Finally, his hand drops to his side, and he raises his gaze to mine. “Has Renn said anything to you about my physical?”

I bolt upright. “No. Why ? What’s wrong?”

He blows out a breath. “I’m fine. Okay. Let’s get that out of the way. I’m fine .”

“You’re reiterating that a lot for someone who is fine.”

My heart pounds so hard that I feel dizzy. I search his face for any indication that he’s lying and try really, really hard not to shake him until he explains wherever he’s going with this.

He shifts in his seat. “To make a long story short, I’ve been told I should retire.”

“What? Why?”

“There is a study I joined a couple of years ago to learn more about head impacts on athletes. It’s a data-gathering project. But when I had my scans as a part of my physical, I showed signs of neurological damage.”

My hand flies to my mouth. Tears fill my eyes.

“I’m fine, B.” He touches my knee. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Remember, this is a study. They don’t know anything for sure.”

“But enough that someone thinks you should quit rugby?”

He nods slowly.

“And you quit, right?” I blink back tears, my mind racing. “Tell me you put in your resignation.”

“Blakely …”

I scoot to the edge of the sofa and twist to face him. Adrenaline spikes through my veins. It’s matched only by the hysteria building inside me. “ You’re quitting .”

“I wanted to talk to you about it—”

“ You’re quitting .” Tears break the dam and spill down my cheeks. They’re hot and salty as they cross my lips. My voice cracks. “You’re all I have, Brock. You can’t risk it. Please . Don’t do that to me.”

I fight the sob as it climbs up my throat. But it’s no use.

He pulls me into a hug, rocking me back and forth like our mother used to do when we were little.

Memories of our life with her roll through my mind, duller than they used to be. Less vivid. Mom’s voice less distinct.

Making homemade ice cream on hot summer days. Building forts in the living room, using every blanket in the house. Watching her sitting proudly as she watched Brock graduate from high school.

The hole in my heart from the loss of our mother is as gaping as it was the day she passed. Imagining adding Brock to that wound is unbearable.

I pull away, wiping my hands down my face.

His eyes are watery—something I’ve only seen on him once before. It breaks my heart.

“I’ll quit,” he says softly.

I take his hand.

He smiles sadly. “I’ve tried to talk myself out of it, telling myself I only have two years left on my contract. That it’s a lot of money to turn down. That the odds I’d get hurt are pretty low …” He sighs. “But I can’t do that to you. I know I can’t anyway.” He sniffles, the sound transforming into a laugh. “Ella is pregnant.”

“ What ?” My voice is a shriek, and I spring to my feet. “What did you say?”

“I’m gonna be a daddy, B.”

“ Oh. My. God !” I bounce on the tips of my toes, laughing. “Brock! When is she due? How long have you known? Why did no one tell me?”

He chuckles. “She found out the day she got home from Vegas. I found out yesterday.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Marry the fuck out of her.”

I smile so big it hurts. Then reality hits me. I smack him in the arm. “And Renn knew all of this, and I didn’t?”

“He didn’t know about the baby. Just the physical part.”

“Why did he not tell me? Why am I just finding out?”

“I asked him not to,” he says, standing. “I wanted to tell you in person so I could assure you I was okay.” He hugs me again. “You’re kind of my little sister but kind of my kid, too. I want to protect you as much as I can.”

“I know you do. And I appreciate you more than I can ever tell you.”

He rubs the top of my head. I swat his hand away.

“Okay. I have to go file some paperwork with my attorneys,” he says.

“And I need to call my best friend and yell at her for not telling me she’s having my niece or nephew.”

He gives me a wide, genuine smile. “We’re going to be okay. You know that right? Somehow, we made it.”

I give him his smile back.

I hope you’re right, Brock. I really freaking do.