22. Chapter 22

Gazing up at my parents" house, I can't help but wonder, when did everything change? When did my parents go from fun-loving parents to parents who only care about my NFL prospects?

I get it. My dad was an NFL badass. Kids grew up wanting to be my dad. They wanted to ball like Howard Boyd. And I'm the lucky son of a bitch who was born a Boyd.

But I miss everything that was before. Before the pressure. Before the constant nagging. Back when my mom cared about me, not who my agent was. Back when my dad threw the ball for fun. Before, he only cared about my stats.

At one point, this white colonial home with the burnt-orange front door felt like home. The front flower beds were full of life and welcomed you inside. It housed my greatest memories. My favorite people lived under this roof. But somewhere along the way, everything changed. Somewhere along the way, fame and success shadowed love and admiration. Jealousy and envy seeped into our bones—especially mine and my brothers'. There was a time when my brothers and I were best friends, but that changed just like everything else.

Now I envy my older brother and the life he created. I don't want to give up football, but I'm envious that my brother chose to further his education and become a doctor instead of focusing on football. My younger brother is jealous of my success on and off the field. He acts out constantly in hopes the scouts will notice him. We went from brothers who joked around with each other and who laughed at the dumb shit we came up with to brothers who barely speak to each other. We've let our parents control the narrative.

Taking a deep breath, I pull my hand from my pocket and ring the video doorbell. Yeah, I have to ring the doorbell in my own damn house. Isn't that fucked up? My childhood bedroom is still inside, decorated in navy and gray with posters of my favorite athletes and musicians, trophies line my shelves, and I still have most of my clothes here. But it's not my home—it's a house I visit.

"Quinton, baby, you made it," my mother says as she opens the door.

"Hi, Mom," I greet, stepping in through the open door she's holding open for me.

Glancing around, I notice that the decor is changing. Mom has always had good taste, but every time I come home, it's becoming more high-end. The bronze chandelier has been replaced with a crystal one, the entryway table is new with a large floral arrangement in the center, and the family photo is no longer the focal point, replaced with a piece of art. I don't know who she's trying to impress, but it feels like a showroom.

"You've changed things."

"Do you like it?" she asks, gesturing to the new pieces. "We hired a designer to come and give the decor a more luxurious taste."

"I didn't think there was anything wrong with it before," I mumble, slipping off my Air Force 1s.

Mom chuckles as she leads the way into the dining room, which is to the left of the entryway and opening to the kitchen.

"Oh sweetie, that's why you need to find yourself a woman with good taste."

I take in the dining room and notice that that, too, has changed.

"You're sayin' I need a woman who's gonna spend my money?" I ask her, following her into the kitchen.

This is a total contradiction of everything my parents have taught me. Knowing that we come from money and that there was a good chance each of us boys would end up with a large amount of money, it was ingrained in us to look out for the women that were only after our bank accounts. Those were the women we were taught to avoid. Now it sounds like that's what she wants. I swear these two fell and hit their heads.

She stops just inside the kitchen, spinning to look up at me.

"Quinton, find yourself a woman with good taste, who isn't a ho who's going to bed hop. She needs to be high-class and look good on your arm."

Fighting hard not to roll my eyes, I just agree with her.

"Okay, Mom. Thanks for the advice."

Reaching up, she places her hand on my cheek. It used to be comforting, but now it's just demeaning.

"Of course, sweetie, that's what I'm here for. I'm here to make sure you find yourself a good, strong woman who won't embarrass you. Not like that friend of yours." She mumbles that last part, but I heard it. Knowing she's talking about Brynn makes my skin crawl. She never goes without that little dig. "Speaking of that friend, we need to talk about Chicago."

"There's nothing to talk about," I state, sliding around my mom and heading toward the refrigerator.

I'm going to need alcohol to get through tonight. Opening the fridge, I look inside for anything. There's a bottle of Shiner in the back, which I grab and immediately pop the top.

Bringing the bottle to my lips, I take a very long pull of beer, draining half of it as I let the cold lager slide down my throat. It's at that moment my father walks in.

"Son," he greets. "Nice to see you're serious about your diet."

And the digs keep coming.

Pulling the beer from my lips, I use the back of my hand and wipe away any remaining liquid.

"Dad," I greet in return, ignoring the dig on my diet.

"Boys, let's go to the table. Cressida will serve us once we are all seated. Xavier should be here any moment." Mom leads the way to the dining room, and we all take our seats around the six-person table.

Dad and Mom sit at either end of the table. I sit in the seat to the left of my father. The seat to the right of my dad is reserved for my older brother. And the seat to the left of my mom is for Xavier. The seat directly beside me is always empty.

Just as we sit down, the front door flies open and Xavier waltzes in. He looks like a wreck, like something is off. But I don't have the energy to dwell on it. It's not my problem.

"There's my baby," Mom exclaims, standing from her seat and rushing to the door to hug Xavier.

Her baby is right. She's always babied him, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. The two of them have a long, drawn-out welcome. My dad and I sit at the table waiting for them to join us. The sooner we get this dinner started, the sooner we can get it over with.

"How's football going, Q?" Dad asks.

"It's goin' good. Looking forward to the game this week. Coach has been working us hard, just hoping the O-line is prepared."

"If they do their job, you should have a really good run game. Coach better be ready to put the ball in your hands." Our conversation is interrupted as Mom and Xavier join. "Son," Dad greets Xav, not bothering to get up.

"Cressida, we are ready," Mom says loudly from the dining room, calling for our maid, because we are apparently too good to serve ourselves.

My mood is just bitter. I'm pissed I'm here. I'm pissed this doesn't feel like home, and I'm pissed my parents don't feel like parents anymore. I'm pissed Xavier is acting strange like he's on something. And I'm pissed Brynn doesn't want me with her.

That's where my mind keeps going all dinner long. Cressida serves us roasted chicken with root vegetables and mashed potatoes. It's healthy and delicious. Dinner is quiet while we all eat. Too busy enjoying the food. Glancing around the table, I notice that everyone is still engrossed in their food. Taking the opportunity, I slide my phone out of my jeans pocket and pull up Brynn's message thread.

I watch the message change to delivered, but it doesn't get read right away.

"Really? Quinton, you can't be present for one meal," Mom says, disappointment coating her tone.

"Sorry, just checking on a friend."

Xavier takes the moment to chime in. "Brynn?" he asks with a smirk.

He knows this is a sore subject.

"Yes. Today is a rough day for her."

Staring at me from across the table, Xavier doesn't let the conversation die.

"Oh yeah, I saw her post on Instagram. Something about her brother and boyfriend dying?"

"Quinton, see, that girl is nothing but drama," Mom chides.

At the same time, Dad says, "Losing them both on the same day has to be tough."

My eyes immediately snap to my mother's. "Really? That"s some bullshit, Ma."

"Quinton Alexander Boyd, how dare you speak to me like that."

Tossing my napkin on the table, the rage begins to boil. "How dare I? Who says something like that?"

"Quinton, Abigail. That's enough." Dad raises his voice at the both of us, our eyes snapping to him. "Quinton, we invited you over to discuss the draft. We have an agent we'd like you to speak to. We feel he is a better fit for you."

I'm taken aback at the change of topic. I'm fuming. The girl that I'm falling for gets absolutely no respect from my parents. It's not just her who doesn't get any respect, it's me too. How dare Ma turn Brynn's tragedy into a negative attribute? And how dare my parents try to steamroll my agent's decision?

"I'm good. I have an agent."

Staring my father down, I'm inadvertently daring him to keep this conversation going. And he takes the bait.

"Your mother and I feel that by going with Prospect Agency, you'll do better financially," he adds.

"Eliza is doing a great job. She's my agent. I still haven't decided if I'll enter the draft this year or not."

I knew this dinner was a bad idea. I knew it was going to be an ambush.

Dad's face scrunches up with anger. He's pissed. His dark skin keeps the red from showing but I know that it would be as red as a cherry if it could.

"Don't be stupid. You will do as we say. Do you understand me? You'll call Peter at Prospect, and you'll sign him as your agent, and then you'll announce you're entering the draft."

That's it. I've had enough. Standing abruptly, my chair scrapes against the floor.

"No. I'm done. We're done."

Making my way to the front door, Mom reaches out to grab my elbow as I slide past her, but I jerk my arm to avoid contact. My feet slide into my shoes, and I'm out the door, ignoring my parents shouting at me to sit down.

Rage takes over my body. It doesn't feel like mine anymore. My chest heaves with anger. Slamming the car door shut, I start the car and gun the engine.

I should've never accepted the dinner invite tonight. I should've never listened to Brynn when she said she wanted to be alone. But that is about to change.

My girl needs me. And I need my girl.

Pulling into the parking lot of Brynn's complex, I turn off my car, and my body relaxes. Climbing from the car, I make my way to the front door. I give a light tap on the door, hoping Brynn answers the door since she hasn't read my message. I'm starting to worry about her. I know she wanted to be alone, but it's me. We don't ignore each other. But after last weekend, everything is weird between us.

The door opens in front of me, but it's not Brynn who answers.

"Q?" Chloe asks, surprised to see me.

"Hey, Chloe, Brynn home?" I ask.

Chloe opens the door wider for me to step inside. I toe my shoes off just like I did at my parents'. She shuts the door behind me.

"Yeah, she's upstairs with, uh, um, Cody," she sputters out.

Once again, my body feels the rage. I hate the jealousy that courses through me at the mention of his name. I shouldn't feel this way. Cody and Brynn have been friends just like Brynn and I have. But I know he has feelings for her, just like I do.

Chloe must sense the change in my mood. She looks uncomfortable, which isn't like her. Yes, she's the quietest one out of the group, but we've all been friends for years.

"Go up there, Quinton. She's going to be glad you stopped by."

Nodding my head at her, I make my way up the stairs. Pausing outside her door, I listen for anything coming from her room. The only sound is from the TV. Her door is cracked, and I slowly nudge it open. My eyes find two bodies in her bed real quick. Both of them are lying in her bed. Brynn is wrapped up in his embrace, sound asleep. Cody is just lying there, watching Home Alone 2. That should be me. That should've been me comforting her all day. Instead, she kept pushing me away.

Cody's gaze flicks my way, startled.

"Shit, Q," he whispers. "You scared the fuck out of me."

I don't say anything, just stare him down, my eyes bouncing from his to where his arm is wrapped around my girl. He must sense my mood. Apparently, my face is giving away every thought tonight.

"Relax, Q," he says with an eye roll. "I need to head out, I was hoping your ass would show up. Come take my spot."

Slowly, he untangles himself from Brynn's long limbs. She stirs but never wakes. While I'm waiting for him to remove himself from her bed, I take in the chaotic state of her room. There are empty beer bottles, a baggie with a joint, pizza boxes, and tissues strewn around the room. Cody slips his shoes on before pointing toward the door. With a shake of his head, I step into the hallway with him.

"How is she?" I ask.

"She's hurting. I've never seen her like this. She's just…" He pauses, looking back into the room. "Numb. Take care of our girl."

I groan at his possessive comment. "My girl."

"Yeah, Q, whatever," he says, running his hand down the back of his neck. "I care about her too."

And with that, he leaves, and I make my way into her room. Sliding out of my jeans, I slip under the covers in my boxers and T-shirt. She rolls into my body immediately, her head running up and down my side.

"Quinton?" she asks in a sleepy voice.

"Hi, beautiful," I answer, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. After tasting her in Chicago, I can't keep my lips off her. I want to kiss her again. "I missed you."

Wrapping her arms tighter around my stomach, I can feel her smile against my skin.

"I missed you, too. Don't leave me, okay?"

"I'm here, baby."

And with that, she drifts back off to sleep. My girl in my arms once again. Even though she's hurting. Even though it's killing me that she's in pain. I'm going to be happy. The air has shifted around us. And right before I drift off, I feel her pull herself closer to me, snuggling into my skin, burying herself even deeper in my soul.