Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

The next morning, I feel like death warmed over, but for some reason I can’t stop smiling. No, that’s a lie. I know exactly why.

Archer Holland.

Before the asthma attack, I had planned to go to the studio today. But after everything my body went through last night, I decided to let myself sleep in instead.

When I walk out into the living area, London is seated at the dining room table.

“Hey,” she says, looking up from her laptop screen. Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head and she quirks one eyebrow at me. I’m sure I look as rough as I feel.

“Morning.” My voice is tight and gruff.

“You mean, afternoon.” She laughs softly. “Late night?”

“Kind of,” I say, knowing she probably thinks I stayed out partying after the bar closed or something. “I had an asthma attack when I got home from work.”

“Oh my gosh.” Her eyes widen and she sits taller in her chair “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m okay now. It didn’t last too long, and I only had to take one puff from my inhaler.”

“I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds scary.”

“It was. It is.” That part never changes. No matter how prepared I am for it, not being able to breathe is terrifying.

“You should have woken us up. I don’t know how we would have helped, but you shouldn’t go through that alone.”

“I didn’t.” I take a seat across from her after I’ve filled a mug with coffee and grabbed a banana from the bowl on the island. “Archer woke up and he stayed with me.”

Surprise registers on her face and then slowly morphs into a smile.

“That’s so…” she trails off like she can’t quite find the right word to describe the situation.

“Surprising?”

“I was going to say nice.”

“It was that too.” Nice. Fun. And sexy—though I already knew that.

I can feel my face heating the longer she stares at me. I glance down into my coffee and take a small sip. “Did you see him this morning? We were up until nearly sunrise. I hope he’s not feeling it as much as I am.”

“He was already gone when Brogan and I woke up, but he’ll be okay. During the season their schedule is so nuts, I think they thrive on adrenaline alone some days.”

Her words reassure me only slightly.

“Speaking of the game, you’re still coming with me tonight, right?” The eagerness in her expression flashes and then dims. “Or do you need to rest?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say, reassuring her. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

“The energy of the stadium will cure that,” she promises.

I hope so. “What time do we need to leave?”

I slept through half the day and I still need a shower and to figure out what to wear tonight. I should probably call my doctor too and let him know about the attack. He’ll tell me what I already know. I should avoid the studio until it is cleaned out, but that isn’t really an option. Eleanor is renting me the space even cheaper than it was listed because I agreed to do the cleanup myself.

I can wait a day or two, but eventually I am going to have to go back. I’ll get a respirator, something I should have done initially, and take it slow. It might take me a little longer than planned to get the studio ready, but that’ll have to be okay.

After a very long shower, followed by several hours of overthinking my wardrobe, hairstyle, and makeup, London and I head to the game.

I’ve liked my brother’s fiancée since the moment I met her, but we haven’t spent much time alone. Within a few minutes sitting together at the game, though, I decide we’re going to get along just fine. She orders popcorn and a hotdog, plus nachos. And she talks to me like we’re long-lost friends. I thought she was quiet, but it turns out that is only true if you’re comparing her to Brogan.

“Are you a football fan?” she asks over the noise as the guys take the field.

Brogan and Archer run out together. Brogan holds his helmet in one hand and lifts it to the crowd, pure elation splashed across his face. Archer wears his helmet, masking his expression, but it’s clear his focus is completely on the field as opposed to the eighty-thousand people watching him. Their difference in personality is as evident here as it is at the apartment.

“Yeah. My dad watched the Mavericks growing up and we even came to a few games over the years. We all cried when they won the Super Bowl in 2019.”

She lets out a small laugh. “You would fit right in with my family. I’m the only one that never got into it.”

“And now you’re engaged to one of them,” I say, pointing out the irony.

“Life does work in mysterious ways.” She smiles at me and then we both turn our attention to the field. The guys stretch and warm up. Brogan and Archer spend as much time standing around talking as they do preparing for the game, but there is a gravity in their stance and movements that tells me they’re taking it seriously.

“Did you ever imagine having a brother that was a professional football player?” London asks while I’m trying not to notice how good Archer’s arms look in his jersey. Now that I’ve seen his tattoos up close, I can picture the intricate details wrapped around his muscles.

“No. I wished for a sibling a lot, but I never could have imagined this,” I tell her honestly.

I thought about it of course. I always knew that I was adopted and so I wondered like any adopted kid what my birth parents were like. Did I look like them? Did I get my habits or mannerisms from them? I never felt like I missed out. My mom and dad were all I knew, and I had a great childhood. They were loving and playful. They wanted kids so badly and by the time they finally gave up trying to have their own and adopted me, they were so beyond grateful that they never took a second for granted.

Or that’s what they tell me. My dad said he took one look at me in my little pink hospital hat, cute button nose, and just knew their family was finally complete.

“You just have the one sister?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She nods, smiling. “Sierra. She’s great. And for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you moved in so you could get to know Brogan better. He’s ecstatic. I can’t even tell you. He’s trying to play it cool and give you your space, but he’s really happy.”

My chest squeezes. I’ve been so worried about overstepping or infringing on his space and to hear that he’s been holding back for the same reasons, is comforting and also makes me feel silly for keeping my distance.

“I am too,” I tell her. “The more I learn about him, the happier I am to have found him.”

London takes a sip of her drink and fires another question. “And Archer? Are you also happy to have found him?”

With a small laugh, I glance out onto the field directly at the man in question. “Yet to be determined.”

“Fair.” A smile stretches across her face. “For what it’s worth, I can vouch for him generally being a good guy. I know he’s been a bit of a bear lately. He’s really protective of Brogan. I love him for it, but sometimes it makes him come across like…”

“An asshole?”

Her mouth pulls up at the corners. “So you have noticed?”

A laugh escapes from my lips. “It would be pretty hard to miss.”

She winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I understand him even if I don’t agree with his view of me.”

“Sounds like that might be changing. For both of you.”

I hope so. “I would never hurt Brogan intentionally.”

“I know.” London reaches over and squeezes my arm.

“The reason I left…” I trail off, voice wavering.

“Hey, you don’t owe me any explanation,” she says when it’s clear I’m struggling to finish the sentence.

I nod.

We fall quiet for a few beats until I find my voice again. I need her to understand, at least part of why I left.

“The thing is, I’ve had a lot of time to wrap my head around everything. How I was adopted but Brogan wasn’t. All my life I wondered why my birth parents didn’t want me.”

“Oh, Sabrina.” Her voice is soft and sympathetic.

I shake my head because it sounds sad, but I don’t want her sympathy. “I would tell myself all sorts of stories about how they did it to give me a better life or they were spies who didn’t want to endanger my life,” I say with a small laugh. “But until I met Brogan, I couldn’t stop wondering. Then after hearing some of what he went through, it made me realize how lucky I am. I already knew my parents were amazing, but the past year has really put things in perspective for me. So the thing is…” My throat is tight and burns as I swallow. “I am glad that Brogan has someone like Archer. Even if it means he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just worried. You’re right, Brogan went through a lot. And Archer had a front-row seat. But he’ll come around. In fact, I think he already is. He wouldn’t stay up all night with just anyone.”

Another laugh slips free. My emotions are all over the place. I can’t decide if I’m going to laugh or cry. I’m glad I found Brogan when I did, but I wouldn’t change my parents for anything. Imagining what he went through, wondering if I would have been as resilient as him, makes me appreciate my life so much.

And all that has me missing my parents in such a crushing way that I find myself getting to my feet quickly. “I just remembered I need to make a quick call.”

“Oh.” She moves her legs to let me pass, surprise and confusion in her expression. “Is everything okay? Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” I wave her off. “I’ll just be a minute.”

The stadium is crowded with people going up and down the stairs to get to their seats or hit the concession stand before the game starts.

When I get out to the concourse, I find a space against an empty wall and pull out my phone.

In true mom fashion, she calls a few seconds later. I answer and put the phone up to my ear, pressing it tightly to help me hear over the noise.

“Hi! I’m at a football game so I’m not sure you’re going to be able to hear me,” I say by way of greeting.

“Hi.” My mother’s voice on the other end of the phone soothes the ache in my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Sabrina? Can you hear me?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing thickly around the emotion clogging my throat. “I’m here. How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s smiling. “Don’t worry about me. Your dad is hovering around enough for the both of you.”

I hear him in the background but can’t quite make out his words. Dad doted on her even before she got sick. My parents are one of those couples that love each other so much you can see it in their every interaction. I thought that was just how all parents were until around junior high when my friends started commenting on how cute my parents were. I paid attention in a way I hadn’t before. Their parents seemed to like each other well enough but weren’t affectionate or sweet with each other the same way mine were always being so loving and considerate.

Other friends had parents who were divorced or separated, and then of course there were some whose parents were still together, but you’d never guess it from the way they treated each other so horribly. My parents were different. Still are. Sometimes it’s embarrassing, like the time I came home from school with two friends, and we walked in on my mom sitting on my dad’s lap while they were full-on making out.

But as I’ve gotten older, their love has become a standard. I want that. To be loved and cherished, even when I’m old and gray, and to love someone through all of life’s ups and downs.

“Are you still there?” Mom asks.

“Yeah. I’m here.” The tightness in my chest loosens enough to take a deep breath. “I’m glad Dad is hovering. Tell him I say hi.”

“Hi, pumpkin.” Dad’s voice is closer now.

“You’re on speaker,” Mom says.

“Yeah, I got that.” I smile, almost able to picture them huddled together with the phone between them.

“What are you up to tonight?” Dad asks. “Sounds like a party or are you at work?”

Most dads probably wouldn’t be thrilled that their daughter was dancing at a night club, and maybe he isn’t, but I tell them everything and they’ve always been supportive.

“I’m at a Mavericks game,” I say.

“Oh, you’re going to watch Brogan play?” Mom asks, but before I answer, Dad says, “Should be a good game tonight.”

“We have the game on the TV,” Mom confirms what I already suspected.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Dad says.

“We’re sitting at the fifty-yard line behind the team.”

“Ooooh. Fancy,” Dad croons.

“Did Olivia go with you?” Mom asks.

“No, I’m with Brogan’s fiancée, London.” The concourse is starting to clear out and the National Anthem is playing.

“I better go,” I say quietly into the phone.

“All right, honey. Have fun.”

“I will.” I pause. “Love you guys.”

“We love you too,” Mom says, and I wait until she hangs up before I pull the phone away from my ear.

I take a deep breath, relaxing in a way I haven’t in days. Being back here away from them has been hard, but talking to them always makes me feel better.

My mood has lifted significantly by the time I make it back to my seat. The teams are both on the field and a few seconds have ticked down on the clock.

London smiles big. There’s a hint of concern as she takes me in, but she doesn’t question me and I’m grateful.

Seeing a football game in person is exciting. The atmosphere is like a big party and every time the Mavericks are on offense, the stadium cheers so loudly that it’s impossible not to get caught up in it all.

London brings both hands up to cup her mouth and yells, “Let’s go, Six!” as Brogan gets set at the line of scrimmage. Instinctively I find number six and then immediately look for number eighteen.

I finally locate him on the sideline. His helmet is on, and his back is to me, but I can practically feel the adrenaline coming off him in waves. Archer shifts his weight from side to side, holding the neck of his jersey with both hands.

I’m still watching him when the crowd around me gets to their feet, including London.

I glance to the field where the Mavericks have gained twenty yards. Brogan’s teammates are hitting him on the helmet and London is yelling for him.

I clap along with the home crowd, but my gaze goes back to Archer. His profile is to me now and his body language is all pride and adoration. My insides go soft. The friendship they share is beautiful. I doubt they’d love me calling it that, but I can think of no better word.

London turns to me, breaking my focus from the field.

“I knew it was going to be a good game,” she says. “Brogan wants to show off for his little sister.”

That thought never occurred to me, but it makes me smile anyway.

But no matter how much I try to focus on Brogan, my gaze keeps going back to Archer. He finally takes the field halfway through the first quarter. His every movement is powerful and athletic. He doesn’t get the ball, but I watch him just the same.

Last night he was a calming force when I was anxious and scared. It’s the first attack I’ve had in a while. My asthma is generally under control. When I get really stressed it’s the worst. And I guess moving, adjusting to three new roommates, undertaking a new career, mixed with the hundreds of layers of dust that I was surrounded by yesterday was too much for my lungs to handle.

As I watch Archer, I notice a lot of things. Like how his teammates and coaches are thoughtful of his hearing loss. It’s subtle things that other people might not notice. Like how Brogan elbows him gently to get his attention or the quarterback speaks in the huddle looking directly at Archer. At one point, I even catch Tripp signing on the sideline with him.

By the end of the game, the Mavericks have extended their lead by twenty-one points and the crowd can’t get enough.

“I forgot how exciting it is to be here in person!” I’m clapping along with everyone else as the Mavericks celebrate the win. Reporters and cameras flood the field to interview the players and capture photos.

Our phones buzz at the same time and a heartwarming smile pulls at my lips as I read it, then glance up at London.

Brogan sent a group text to Archer, London, and me. Two words. Let’s party!

The atmosphere at the bar is similar to the stadium. Lots of Mavericks players are here and people huddle around them. Most give them space, but they hover close enough to watch and feel the excitement that radiates off them.

“What’d you think?” Brogan asks me as he leans one hip against the bar. Someone thrust a beer in his hand the moment he walked in, and he lifts it now to his lips, taking a generous drink.

“It was so much fun. It’s been years since I saw a game in person. And you were on fire tonight.”

His crooked smile pulls high, making him look almost boyish in his glee. “I’m so glad you came. It was the coolest looking over and seeing you and London in the crowd together.”

“And this one actually knows the game.” London slips in between me and Brogan. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close.

“You do too. All those lessons with Merrick paid off.”

“Yeah, well, she knows more.”

“My dad is a big fan,” I tell them. “They were watching the game on TV tonight.”

“You should invite them to come sometime. I can get tickets or a box.” He pauses. “I never thought I’d have enough family to fill a box.”

London swivels her head and kisses his jaw.

His dazed expression softens, and he leans down to brush his lips over hers before saying to me, “But seriously, any time they want to come.”

It’s such a nice gesture, but I doubt my mom is going to be up for traveling any time soon, so I just smile and say, “Thank you.”

My gaze shifts as Archer comes into view. He came in with Brogan but got caught up talking to other people before I was able to say hello.

We lock eyes and I smile at him. He returns the gesture, but even with his lips curved up, he doesn’t look happy.

Someone nudges him and he looks away.

“Is Archer okay?” I ask Brogan.

“Yeah. Why?” He turns to find his friend.

“He looks kind of bummed.”

“Eh…He didn’t get the opportunities he was hoping for tonight.”

“Is his ankle bothering him?” London asks.

“No, nothing like that.” Brogan gives his head a small shake. “Coach has been trying some new groupings, that’s all. Since we got Graham this season, he and Archer are often rotating to see who works better in different scenarios. Tonight, Graham was finding openings. Archer will bounce back. He’s the better player, but some nights other guys are just hot, and Coach runs with it.”

I glance back at Archer. His head is bowed slightly as he stands in a group of his teammates. He laughs at the same time everyone else does, but I can tell he doesn’t really want to be here.

When he slips away and goes to the bar for another drink, I excuse myself from Brogan and London.

As I approach, I take in his defeated expression. For a guy whose team dominated tonight, he doesn’t seem to be in the same party mood as the rest of the guys.

I slide into the space next to him at the bar. My arm brushes against his and goosebumps spread over my skin.

“Hey,” I say when he glances over at me.

His expression immediately morphs, and he smiles as he stands a little taller. “Hey.”

The bartender comes and takes his order, then looks to me.

“I’ll have the same,” I say.

We remain silent until we have fresh beers in hand.

“Congratulations on the game,” I say, tipping my bottle to him.

“Thanks.” He nods, smile slipping slightly. “I hope you know after Brogan’s performance tonight, he’s never going to let you skip another game.”

“Yeah, he might have said something about that already.” I laugh lightly.

Archer keeps smiling at me, but his features are all a little too tense for him to truly look happy.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Any more trouble today?”

“No. I’m feeling better. Thanks for last night. I really appreciate what you did.”

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.”

He lifts one shoulder and lets it fall in a small shrug.

Laughter behind us makes my stare shift. Archer glances over his shoulder and takes in the scene then looks back at me.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying the win as much as your teammates,” I point out.

“I’m glad we won. It was a great game. I’m just sulking. I’ll get over it.”

I laugh at his honesty. “Why are you sulking?”

He takes a drink of his beer, and I wait, not sure if he’ll answer me or not.

“Last season I missed ten games due to injuries. I’m finally back, but things have changed on the team.”

“You mean the Graham guy?”

His brows rise in surprise.

“You’re a fan of his?” He steps closer, gaze locked on my mouth. Even though I know he’s just trying to follow the conversation, my body comes alive with him standing so close and so intently focused on my face.

“No. I’ve never even heard of him before tonight.” I don’t even remember seeing a Graham on the field tonight. Then again, I was pretty focused on another player. The one standing in front of me.

The bartender sets two shot glasses in front of us. “Fireball. From your friend.” He tips his head to the right. I follow the motion to Tripp at the other end who raises his glass to us.

Archer picks up one and holds it out to me. I take it, our fingers brushing and sending another rush of warmth through me. He grabs the other shot glass and holds it up.

“I’m not keeping up with Tripp tonight,” I say, in case he thinks this is the first shot of many. Ugh. No way I can handle that again so soon.

“Good choice.”

“Should we cheers to something?” I ask.

“How about…” He thinks, stare still heavy on me. “To a clean slate.”

“To a clean slate,” I say and clink my glass against his.

He waits until I raise the glass to my lips before he tosses his back. The cinnamon-flavored liquor burns and I cough, placing a hand to my chest.

He grins at me but waits until I’ve recovered to ask, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” I rub at my sternum. My chest aches slightly from last night still. “Little sore.”

His brows pinch together. “Did you go into the studio today?”

“No. I slept in. I need to get a respirator and maybe a couple air purifiers, and I didn’t have the time today.”

“A respirator? For what?”

“Oh, uh, the place is a little dirty.”

He raises one brow but doesn’t comment on that. “Sorry we didn’t get to watch The Replacements tonight.”

He remembered.

“Celebrating with your team is important.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Well, no, not currently, but you could be.” I tip my head toward the table of his teammates and then take a step. He hesitates for a second before following me, though not all that excitedly.

We take seats at the end beside Brogan and London, but they’re in conversation with another couple so it feels like it’s just me and Archer.

Something about sitting here with him makes my pulse kick up a notch. Which is silly considering I was in his bedroom last night.

The neon bar lights dance across his face as he smiles at me. “Am I celebrating now?”

“You’re getting warmer. I think—” I start, but Archer reaches over to my chair and drags me closer.

“Sorry. I couldn’t see your lips as well with you so far away. The lighting in here isn’t great.”

My heart rate speeds up. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

I swallow thickly as our knees bump.

“You were saying?” he prompts.

Right. I was. “I think you might need to take a few more shots with Tripp for it to really be a celebration. At least that’s how I did it.”

“I think I’d rather sit here and slowly drink my beer and⁠—”

“Sulk?”

He grins and shakes his head slowly side to side. “And talk to you.”