Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)

It feels like someone is sitting on my face. And not in the good way.

In the head-throbbing, brain feeling like it’s being squeezed, afraid to open my eyes kind of way. “I drank too much last night” is probably the understatement of the century.

London. My eyes fly open when I remember my girlfriend and brief visions of her helping me into bed last night. Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut after I realize I’m in bed alone.

I rub two fingers along my forehead as I try to think of what happened after. Did I tell her?

“Hey.” Her soft voice is like music to my ears. My lashes lift tentatively, and she smiles at me from the doorway. She’s wearing my shirt over her jeans and it hangs down almost to her knees. I must not have fucked things up too badly if she’s here.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Better now.” I glance down at myself, still dressed in the jeans I wore last night. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“It’s okay. You had a good game. I’d say that’s cause for celebrating.”

Is that what I told her I was doing last night? I guess that answers the question of if I told her. Fuck. How do you even bring something like that up?

I aim as much of a smile as I’m capable of at her and get out of bed. I’m nauseous and stumbling as I walk to her.

“What time is it?”

“Just after ten.”

“You don’t have work?”

“I called in sick.” She grins. “I thought you might need someone to hold your hair back this morning.”

“I’ll be all right after I get some food in me.”

“I got bagels from the place down the street.”

“You’re a goddess.” I wrap myself around her and breathe her in. My mind is spinning and my heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest. I squeeze her like I never want to let her go because I don’t. “You should come back to bed with me.”

“Come on.” She takes my hand with a small laugh and starts out of the room. “Let’s feed you and then we can nap.”

I think I agree, but I feel like I’m wading through mud. Everything sounds far away, like I’m not really present.

My phone rings as I’m taking a seat on a barstool in front of the island. I must have left it there last night when we got home.

“Are you gonna get that?” London asks. She sets the bag of bagels in front of me.

“No. It’s probably spam.”

The call ends and a second later it starts up again.

“Want me to check?” she asks.

“Yeah. Please.”

It’s only when she’s stepping over to get closer to see the screen that I remember another key detail from last night. Oh shit.

I hop up from the stool as London says, “It’s Sabrina.”

My head sways, so does the rest of me.

“I should…” Fuck. I need to answer it, but this is going to be awkward.

“Who’s Sabrina?” she asks.

“She’s the girl from the bar last night.”

“O-kay. Why is she calling?” Her brows are marred in confusion.

A totally reasonable question, but I can’t think of how to explain.

“I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I forgot. I thought you’d be at work.”

Not the right thing to say.

“Oh my god.” The color drains from her face. “Is she someone you’re interested in? Are you seeing her? Or planning to see her after you and I are done?” The hurt on her face makes me think of Chris and how he jerked her around. Of course, I’d never do that to her. But I can’t seem to make my brain function enough to figure out what to say or how to explain.

“Brogan?” London’s voice is filled with that fire I love.

“No,” I say. “It’s not like that.”

The ringing starts up again. London glances at the screen, and by her expression I know it’s Sabrina calling back.

London walks over to the couch where her purse is lying, picks it up, and puts it on one shoulder. She’s assuming the worst and honestly, I can’t blame her. Nothing I’m saying or doing is right.

“Please don’t go,” I tell her.

I blow out a breath and then my feet move toward her without thought. Thank fuck, because my thoughts suck.

I’m barefoot as I hurry after her down the stairs and outside. The sidewalk is cool from the morning.

“Wait, London.”

She pauses and glances back at me.

“I’m sorry. I need to explain. Just give me one second.”

She turns to me and waits.

“Last night at the bar I got drunk because Sabrina showed up. I wasn’t expecting to see her. She’s been texting me and trying to contact me for months, but I thought…” I trail off. A lump has lodged in my throat. “Sabrina isn’t someone I’m interested in like that.”

“Does she know that? Because she’s pretty eager to talk to you.”

“Yes, she is. At first, I thought it was a scam or she was just making shit up, but then she showed up at the bar last night.”

“What are you trying to say?” London asks. “Is she someone you hooked up with in the past? Is she pregnant? What? Just say it.”

Pregnant? Whoa. Wait. I shake my head.

“She’s my sister,” I blurt out.

London rears back like that is more surprising than some random woman calling me up and saying she’s pregnant. Her mouth falls open.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Or she says she is. I don’t know for sure yet, but her story adds up.”

“How would you not know if you had a sister?”

“That is a complicated answer.” I run a hand over my head. “I told you my family was shit and I meant it. I moved in with the Hollands when I was a kid, and I haven’t seen them since. The only time they’ve bothered to reach out since then was for money after I got drafted.”

Her eyes take on a pitying, soft edge. “Brogan.”

“I don’t want your sympathy.”

She wraps her arms around my middle and places her head against my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

My throat tightens with emotion as she hugs me. “It’s fine. I’ve accepted it, but then Sabrina started contacting me and I didn’t know what to do. I’ve ignored her for months. I had no idea about her. I don’t even know if she’s telling the truth. Archer thinks it could be my parents using some random girl to get more money.”

“But you don’t?”

“I don’t know what to think.” I shake my head. “She looks like my mom.”

Fuck, maybe it’s all in my head.

“So, she tracked you down at the bar last night because you’ve been avoiding her texts?”

“Yeah.” I let out a short laugh. “She’s as relentless as I am.”

The thought sobers me. I have a sister. Maybe. A part of me wants it to be true and the other part is afraid anyone who shares my blood can’t possibly have pure intentions.

“I should get back. She’s probably going to call back until I answer. I don’t have any idea what to say to her.”

“I think you just…talk to her. Be you. Sweet, open-minded Brogan Six.”

I don’t think it will be that easy, but I can’t keep going without knowing the truth.

“Yeah. All right.” I blow out a long breath, then voice that fear that’s been picking at me since last night. “What if she isn’t really my sister?”

What if I let myself hope and then it turns out she’s just another person who doesn’t give a shit about me?

“Either way, you’ll know.” She studies me. “Do you want me to come back up with you while you talk to her?”

Absolutely, I do. I want to wrap London around me like a security blanket, but this isn’t her mess and I’ve already dropped one bomb on her today. If she sits through this conversation with Sabrina, she’ll know just how fucked up my parents are. How could they never mention that I have a sister?

“That’s all right. I should talk to her alone. It’s going to be awkward as fuck.”

“Will you call me later?” she asks. “Let me know how it goes?”

“Of course. We have dinner with your parents, right?”

“Brogan, you don’t have to come to that. I’ll cover for you. This is a lot. You should take time to sit with it.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I want to come. I’ll be there.”

She searches my face. I wonder if I look as wrecked as I feel.

“Okay,” she says finally, lingering a little longer. “Text me if you need anything or just want to talk. I can stop back by if you want.”

“I don’t deserve you.” I hug her and breathe her in one last time.

“You do, and I’m yours.”