Trevor

Trevor

Erica Pembrooke has been the love of my life since I was twelve years old. It was instant for me. We were inseparable for what seemed like forever at the time. She was two years younger than me, though, and when you’re young, that tiny age difference can feel massive. So I waited until the time was right to make her mine.

When I was a sophomore in high school and Erica was in eighth grade, she got stood up for a dance. I was coming back from football practice, trying to catch a glimpse of her in the dress I helped her pick out before she left when I saw her on the front porch of the house. My heart sank instantly when I saw the tears on her face as I slammed the door of my Mustang and rushed over to her.

She told me about how the guy never showed up, and she was too embarrassed to go inside. I was so fucking pissed. I was ready to hunt down this Jimmy Kowlitz and beat his ass for making my girl shed a single tear. Instead, I grabbed her hand, walked her over to my car, opening the door before letting her get inside. I took us to Moe’s, the best little burger shop Grovebury had to offer, and we ate on the hood of my car out front.

I knew this was my chance, finally. I knew she was ready, or maybe I was sick of waiting for her. Either way, I grabbed her hand, pulling her to my chest before locking our pinkies together. It was our thing and just the touch of her silky skin against mine and the overwhelming scent of peaches had my heart jackhammering inside my chest. My eyes locked onto hers, those sparkling aqua blues, as I leaned in and stole Erica’s first kiss. I wanted to be her last kiss, too, and everything in between.

We were happy for years, so fucking happy. But when it was time for me to go to college hours away, I got self-doubt. The guys on the football team had me convinced that I shouldn’t go to college with a girlfriend. They said college girls were different, the parties were different, and Brighton University practically worshipped their football team. They told me if I didn’t break up with Erica, we’d end up breaking up anyway.

At first I told them to fuck off, but I’m ashamed to admit fear crept in. I was worried about the distance, and if I’m honest, I was worried I’d do something I’d regret and hurt Erica. So, I ended things. Biggest fucking mistake of my life. Somehow the angel of a woman managed to stay my best friend, and when it was her turn to come to Brighton, I knew I was about to get my girl back, for good this time.

Plans don’t always work out the way they do in your head, though. I always thought that when I saw Erica Pembrooke in a wedding dress, I’d be at the other end of the aisle, waiting for my bride. Instead, I was in the front pew, not even in the wedding party as I watched her marry my best friend, or I guess, former best friend. It hurt like hell, and I left shortly after the ceremony where I got trashed and woke up in bed with a few girls the next morning. It didn’t matter, though. None of them were her.

It’s been nearly ten years since I blew it with Erica, again. Sebastian stole her out from under me, and even though what he did was shitty, what I did after was worse. I’m thankful every day that Erica forgave me. Seb, not as much, but that’s fine. All I need is Erica.

I take a sip of my bourbon, staring out the window at the cloud-covered sky. Man, they really do not exaggerate when they say Seattle is gray. I’ve been in the NFL for eight years, all of those were spent playing for the San Antonio Cobras. They were good to me, and I enjoyed Texas, but I knew it was time to come back to my roots. Be closer to my friends.

And her.

Don’t worry if you hate me for being in love with a married woman, then rest assured I hate myself more. I know she’s happily married, and I wish that I could say Sebastian Caldwell doesn’t deserve her, but…he does. He treats her like she’s a queen, a goddess, and that’s the way it should be because she is.

I asked for the trade at the end of last season, and even though the majority of that reason was my redheaded best friend, it felt right. Our other friends and teammates from college all play for the Seattle Crusaders. Declan even came out of retirement to play one more season where we are all together. Slater is our running back, Declan our defensive end, Sebastian our tight end, and I’m the Crusaders’ new quarterback.

From the outside, you’d think I had it all. I own multiple properties, have more money than I know what to do with, and I’m on the fast track to go down in the hall of fame. As far as companionship goes, my bed never goes cold. Women hear that I’m a professional football player, and their panties practically disintegrate right then and there. It was fun for a while, drowning my pain and heartache in booze and faceless nameless women. But it’s grown a little boring. At the end of the day, I’ll never have a real connection with any of them because it’s against the rules. I’m safer that way.

I came up with the rules shortly after Erica and Sebastian had their twin girls, Delilah and Rosie. Delilah looks like a spitting image of Sebastian, but Rosie…god. Some days when I stare at her for too long, she looks exactly like Erica, and it breaks my fucking heart. So, after that day, I came up with a list of rules, and they’ve proved to keep my heart locked down and my feelings unscathed since.

No kissing on the mouth

No sleepovers

No women at my place

No repeats

No falling in love

Some have said my rules are too much, douchey even. But I never even touch a woman without laying out the ground rules. I’m out to have a good time, find a little peace where I can, and go home. I’m not trying to break anyone’s heart. I wouldn’t wish that feeling on my worst enemy.

When the plane lands, it doesn’t take long before the stewardess I just fucked in the bathroom tells me it’s safe to de-plane now, not so subtly slipping me her number. I give her a smile but toss her number in the trash on my way down the stairs. Sorry, babe. Rule number four.

Flying private definitely has its perks, and it gives me the chance to keep a low profile. That’s the part you don’t think about too much. When you’re young and just getting into the game, you’re almost desperate for someone to recognize you off the field, give you that validation that you’re someone important. Now, I can’t even go to the gym or grab a coffee without being swarmed. It’s fucking exhausting.

I slide into the waiting town car as the flight crew loads my bags into the trunk. I already bought a condo up here while I was still in Texas, and I had all of my things shipped. It’s all waiting for me, which is a nice relief. I pull out my phone, turning off Airplane Mode before shooting out a text.

Me: Just landed. I can’t wait to see you.

Her reply comes instantly.

Erica: Yay! Me too.

I can’t help but smile at that as I type out my next response.

Me: Dinner tonight?

The hope blooming in my chest at the idea of seeing Erica tonight shrivels up and dies when she texts me back.

Erica: Sorry. Seb and I have date night tonight. Rain check?

Blowing out a breath, I shake my head as I type out my response.

Me: Sure, no problem. Have fun.

Is this what living in Seattle is going to be like? I thought it would feel good being closer to Erica and the girls. But am I just going to get a front-row seat of how perfect Erica and Seb’s life is? About how glaringly obvious it is that I don’t belong in any of their lives?

Shaking my head, I decide to push away the self-deprecating shit and send another text. I need to get laid, and I know just the guy to be my wingman for the night.