25. Riggs

TWENTY-FIVE

RIGGS

"Hurry up, slowpoke!" Monroe says, practically vibrating as she runs ahead of me, making her way up the stone walkway. We're playing against Boston tomorrow, and we decided to fly in a day early so we could visit Tanner and Grace. I had to clear it with the team, but since I'm not pitching and have been keeping my nose clean, they didn't see an issue with it.

"Jesus, Mayhem," I groan. "It's my day off. If I wanted to be bossed around, I'd have flown in with Clyde."

"Whatever, Grandpa," she sasses as I slowly make it up the steps, just to piss her off. Even though we've had a major breakthrough in our relationship, I still enjoy pushing her buttons. I don't think I'll ever get sick of that.

She goes to press the doorbell but hesitates, turning back to me with wide eyes.

"What?" I ask. She's frozen, looking like she's seen a ghost— a total one-eighty from the giddy excitement she was exuding just seconds ago.

"What if they ask if there's something going on between us?" she whispers. "I can't lie to Grace. I've already omitted so much by keeping the fact that we slept together before I met her. That's bad enough, and it eats me alive as it is."

My expression softens. I understand her apprehensions. My sister is her best friend, and she's held onto this secret for two years. I know it hasn't been easy for her, and I just want that weight to be lifted from her shoulders.

"We're not going to keep it from them," I say softly. "That shit snowballs. One omission turns to two, then that turns into a lie. Before you know it, five years have gone by that you've been kept in the dark. And that's a lot harder to forgive." She knows I'm speaking from experience. My best friend fell in love with my sister, broke her heart, and left us all—then I found out years later from my mother what had gone down. That hurt more than I've ever admitted out loud. I don't want to put Grace in that position with Monroe. "We don't have to offer up any information that you aren't comfortable giving. But if they ask, it's better to just rip off the Band-Aid." I cup her cheek with my hand, and she leans into me. "We're in this together, baby. Everything is going to be okay."

She closes her eyes, then nods her head before she stands up straight and smiles. She's so goddamn pretty, I'm almost knocked off my ass as she turns around and pushes the doorbell. I want to kiss her. Touch her. Tell her every single emotion that flows through me when she allows me to calm her raging nerves. But I don't get a chance before the door opens and my sister lets out a high-pitched squeal. She reaches out, pulling Monroe into a tight embrace, both of them swaying from side to side as they hug like they haven't seen each other in years .

"You're here!" Grace says, pulling back and grabbing her best friend by the cheeks, inspecting her face as if she's looking for something new. Her eyes slide to mine. "Are you taking good care of her?" she asks. "Because if not, I'll fuck you up like I did that one summer when Mom and Dad were in Cabo."

I roll my eyes. "First of all, I had the flu. I could barely stand up straight. And you didn't ‘fuck me up' ," I say, using air quotes on the last part. "You sucker punched me while I was chasing your stupid little boyfriend off the porch."

She scoffs. "Whatever you have to tell yourself, dipshit. Just another first kiss ruined by you and Tanner. No wonder I was a virgin until I was eighteen," she mumbles.

"No regrets here," Tanner says, coming into view behind her. "That shit always belonged to me anyway." He wraps his arms around her from behind, dropping a firm kiss to her cheek.

Goddamn it.

"Okay, bye," I say, turning toward the steps. But I'm stopped when Monroe darts her hand out, fisting the sleeve of my t-shirt and yanking me back toward her. I throw my head back, annoyed, before facing them again.

"Stop being a baby," she says with a smirk. "They're in love."

I scoff. "They do this on purpose, you know. I told them I didn't want to know about their sexual"—I pause, searching for a word that doesn't make me want to heave myself off a cliff—" experiences. They just want to see how far they can push me before I freak the fuck out."

She rolls her eyes. "Riggs, relax. They're newlyweds. They fuck. It's not a big deal." She takes my hand and squeezes, and I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling all the tension as it leaves my body.

"Fine," I say quietly, only to her, and she rewards me with a smile. I look over to see Grace's mouth hanging open slightly, her eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

"We almost had him that time," she whines, making her husband chuckle.

These fucking shitheads. I knew they were just trying to get a rise out of me. I fall for it every damn time.

"Come on in, guys," Tanner says, opening the door wider for us to enter their massive house. It's everything you'd expect from a well-paid professional football player who likes to keep his life private. He had this place built, hoping that one day Grace would forgive him and they'd get a second chance, so it's every bit the cozy family home they've made it into. Large windows illuminate every room, with views of the hundred-acre lot we're nestled away in. Soaring ceilings with rich mahogany beams and bright modern light fixtures hang overhead, embodying parts of each of their personalities.

Grace has always been the sunshine to my best friend's intense demeanor, and although I may not love the thought of what they do behind closed doors, I'll be the first to admit that they belong together. Since we were kids, he's put her comfort and happiness above his own, even when it nearly killed him to do so. I'm truly glad they found their way back to one another.

I just wish they wouldn't have sex. Or kiss. Or touch each other at all.

"Oh my God!" my sister says, grabbing Monroe by the hand as Tanner closes the door behind us. "I have to show you the dress I made for Bella to wear to the home opener. You're going to die !"

"I'll never get over the fact that you make clothes for the world's biggest pop star. It's fucking insane," Monroe replies with a smile as Grace pulls her toward her sewing room.

"Go do guy things," she says, waving a dismissive hand in our direction. "We'll be back."

We watch them go up the stairs like two lovesick puppy dogs until they disappear down the hallway. I only realize I'm still staring when Tanner blows out a quiet whistle and sucks his teeth.

"So, you're gone then, huh?" he asks, a cocky smirk tipping up the corner of his mouth.

"Deader than a fucking doornail, bro," I reply, not even trying to deny it. I'm crazy about the girl, and I'm exhausted from holding it in. I need to talk about it. I can't tell my teammates the truth since they all think my relationship with Monroe was real from the start. I was honest with my family about why we were doing this, including my best friend, but I can tell he knows that everything has changed. And I'm glad because I think I need his advice.

"Let's go downstairs," he says, leading me to the basement, where he has a fully stocked bar. I go willingly, because I'm about to lay it all out for him and say some things I've never uttered out loud, so a little lubrication is definitely necessary.

I pull out one of the lush high-back stools, sidling up to the bar as he reaches for the top shelf, pulling down a bottle of Macallan Single Malt Scotch and pouring two fingers into each of our glasses. He turns, setting one down in front of me. I tip it back slowly, allowing the dark liquid to burn my throat as I swallow.

"Alright," he says, leaning forward with his elbows on the shiny wooden surface. "Talk."

I slump in my chair, dragging both hands down my face. "I don't know what's happening," I groan. "One minute, we're at each other's throats. Next thing I know, she's in my bed and I feel like I can't breathe when we're apart." It feels good to let the words out. I told Monroe that I was tired of fighting the way I feel about her, but I'm afraid that if I let her know how deep it all runs, it'll scare her away. Plus, it terrifies me that she won't feel the same. She's still holding back parts of herself. That fact is painfully clear.

"Let's rewind," he says, raising a brow. "How about you stop leaving out the beginning of this story? The real beginning." This motherfucker is the most observant human being on the planet, so I'm not surprised that he noticed there's more to Monroe and me than we've let on.

I start from the beginning, telling him all about our mind-blowing night in Boston. I don't leave out a single thing, including the way I felt that she was different from the very first sentence that came out of her mouth. He listens intently, taking in every detail. If he's surprised by any of it, he doesn't let on. He just absorbs all the information, letting me purge the emotions I've been holding inside like the good friend he's always been. When I'm done, I look at him with pleading eyes, desperate for him to tell me what to do.

He throws back what's left of his whiskey, setting the glass down onto the bar before looking at me. "I don't know what I was expecting out of this conversation, but it wasn't that ." I roll my eyes, but he continues. "Have you told her you love her?"

"I don't?—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," he says, cutting me off. "I've known you since you were shitting your Pampers. I've seen you with plenty of girls, but you've never been this bent out of shape. You can lie to yourself if it helps you sleep at night, bro. But I know the truth. You love that girl. So, when are you going to tell her?"

I sigh in defeat. "Maybe never," I reply. "I know she has a past, but she hasn't opened up to me about it. The first night we were together, she refused to give me any personal details, and I know I hit a nerve in Hope Harbor when I told her she needed me as much as I needed her. At first, she acted like every kind thing I did was going to be used against her at some point, and I still think a part of her feels that now. Somebody fucking hurt her, but she obviously doesn't trust me enough to tell me who."

"I know you don't like hearing about my past with Grace, but I'll tell you that the worst fucking thing I ever did was leave words unsaid with her," he says. "I thought I'd be able to keep shit between us strictly physical, so when I realized I was in love with her, I panicked. I should've laid all my cards on the table, and we could've worked through it together. But I didn't."

He hangs his head, looking into his empty glass. I can tell he still struggles with the regret of leaving my sister behind all those years ago.

"Eighteen hundred and ninety-six days went by that I didn't get a chance to tell her I loved her. Don't make the same fucking mistake I did, man. You'll never get that time back. "

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to rein in all the emotions that are running rampant inside me. I may be new at all of this, but I know he's right. I'm not doing either of us any favors by not telling her exactly how deep this shit is for me. If she feels it too, we're wasting precious minutes not saying it. If she doesn't, I'm only giving myself false hope and she's going to feel worse for leaving me when she decides it's time to go.

As scary as it is, I know I'm going to have to say the words soon.