Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

The next morning, I report to the stadium for treatment and meetings. Walking into the building has all the frustrations of the game re-emerging.

I have been waiting for moments to show I can contribute to the team. Last night the opportunities were there, and I blew it.

Not even an hour-long massage can work out all the stress I’m carrying in my shoulders and neck. Especially when I get to my position meeting and we’re reviewing game film.

My fumble has played on a constant loop since it happened but seeing it on the screen is a whole other kind of torture.

Coach pauses the video. I look straight ahead, but I can feel Graham’s gaze and I just know the asshole is grinning without looking at him.

“Holland, you did a good job of getting open last night. You caught a tough break but keep giving yourself good looks and things will start going your way.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Speaking of, we’ve got the Vikings at home this week. Same groupings, same starters. We’ll spend the rest of the week preparing for their defense.”

“Wait a second.” Graham sits forward in his seat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Same starters? Don’t you think we should switch things up after that disastrous game?”

I know he’s talking about me, since the other starting receiver rarely changes. Bobby is a seven-year veteran and the most consistent player we have. So what Graham is really asking is why the hell am I getting to start again after arguably my worst performance this season?

To be fair, I’m asking myself the same question. He’s still an asshole though.

Coach’s jaw tightens as he studies Graham for a beat. “Why don’t you let me worry about the roster and you can focus on improving your footwork. I don’t remember you getting into the end zone last night either.”

Oh shit. I fight a smile, knowing it’s not appropriate but loving that Graham got scolded.

“That’s all. See you tomorrow.” Coach walks out without another word.

“This isn’t over, Holland,” Graham says just loud enough that I can hear his pathetic threat. He stands and shoots me an angry glare as he storms toward the door.

The rest of the guys are slower, some even giving me nods that I take as encouragement but might also be pity.

Brogan cackles as I repeat the story to him later. London and Sabrina went out for drinks and we’re watching the Twins game at home.

“Oh man, I wish I’d been there.” Brogan smiles big as he lets his head lean back against the couch. “Graham is such a fucking prick.”

“I mean, he probably only said what the others were thinking, but it did feel good.” A hint of a smile pulls at my lips.

Brogan’s expression shifts and he sits forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Fuck that. You had a tough game, but it happens. I think it’s smart that Coach is letting you start again. It gives you a chance to shake it off.”

Yeah. Maybe.

Our attention moves to the TV as the inning changes and Flynn walks out to the pitcher’s mound. It’s the second time he’s pitched during this series, and I know he has to be tired.

But it’s a make-or-break game and in my experience, you can push through a lot when it matters. The Twins are down in the series two to three. A loss tonight ends their season. I texted with Flynn earlier and he seemed relaxed and ready to go, but there’s no way he isn’t feeling the pressure.

Which is exactly what the announcers are saying as Flynn throws the first pitch of the sixth inning. It’s high and inside. The batter moves away from the plate, shooting Flynn a glare.

“Ooooh.” Brogan covers his mouth with a fist, then claps his hands in front of him. “You’ve got this, Baby Holland.”

The next pitch goes over the catcher’s head. I don’t hear anything the announcers are saying after that. I focus only on Flynn. His expression is filled with determination and frustration. Flynn has been hot so I don’t blame the Twins coach for sticking with my brother, but I can see how tired he is. It’s subtle and probably not obvious to anyone else, but it’s in the way he shifts his shoulders and works his jaw back and forth.

The first batter gets a single off a fastball. Then Flynn walks the next two batters. I can practically feel the tension as I watch him prepare for the next pitch. He shakes off the catcher’s signal twice before nodding.

“Come on, Baby Holland,” Brogan mutters.

I barely breathe as Flynn winds up. The crack of the bat makes my stomach sink and when it sails over the wall for a grand slam, I sink back into the couch.

“Well fuck,” I say.

When the women get back, Brogan and I are still sitting on the couch, staring at the TV. The game is over. Flynn got pulled after the grand slam and the Twins lost. It feels worse to watch him lose than it did fumbling the ball last night.

I get up and kiss Sabrina hello. “How was your night?”

“Good.” She smiles then lets it fall. “I saw the final score of the Twins game. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” I wrap my arms around her. “Not the ending we were all hoping for, but he had a hell of a season.”

“He did. You Holland boys are pretty impressive. Especially you.” She tries to wink but both eyes close instead of just one.

“Are you drunk, baby?” I ask with a chuckle.

“No, but I am just tipsy enough that all I can think about is having sex with you,” she whispers and signs.

Another rough chuckle leaves my lips. “I don’t even need to be tipsy for that to be true for me.”

She bites the corner of her lip. “Want to listen to some Ariana?”

I scoop her up without warning. She squeals next to my ear and her body shakes with laughter as I carry her toward my room shouting “Night” to anyone listening.

Inside my bedroom, I shut the door with my foot and then set her down in front of me.

Squatting down, I glide my hand up her leg and under her skirt. She quivers as I hook my fingers along the band of her panties and pull them down. She steps out of them and then I lift her right leg and hook it over my shoulder.

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful,” I say as I push her skirt up around her hips. Leaning in, I kiss her softly on the inside of her thigh.

She squeezes my bicep twice and I stop, glancing up at her.

“What about Ariana?” she asks.

With a little maneuvering I manage to get my phone out of my front pocket and give her exactly what she wants.

“All good?” I ask.

She nods with a pleased smile, but as soon as I bring my mouth back to her pussy, her smile softens and morphs into something that looks a lot like bliss.

Her fingers thread through my hair, and as I devour her, she grips me like maybe she’s as gone for me as I am for her.