Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)

I invite Paige over the following day so I can unload and get another opinion. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around everything that’s happened the last twenty-four hours.

“I’d like to buy him a drink. God, I wish I could have seen your dad’s face. Did that vein in his forehead bulge?” Paige’s eyes light up with excitement at the visual.

“I don’t know. Brogan ran off and then I followed…” I groan and fall over onto the couch, burying my head in a throw pillow. “I pushed him too hard.”

“He said he was fine.”

“But I knew he wasn’t. I could tell he was faking it and I dragged him into my family drama while he was still reeling from his own.”

“You couldn’t have known that it was going to end with him yelling at your dad.”

“No, I definitely never imagined that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. He said he needed some time.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile, then comes to sit next to me and lets me rest my head in her lap. She strokes my hair, and I close my eyes and let all the sadness wash over me.

“What if he never lets me in?”

“Then we’ll get Pat to recruit some friends to jump him.”

The image makes me laugh. “They’d probably fangirl instead.”

She joins in with my laughter. “My hubby’s got my back.”

She’s just stating facts, but it twists the knife in my gut. Brogan has my back, but he won’t let me have his. Or maybe he just can’t. I don’t know what to do. But I miss him.

Over the next week, I do my best to not hover or worry about Brogan. I fail miserably, but I keep busy. There is an endless list of wedding to-do’s now that the wedding is only weeks away.

Today I’m distracting myself at Sierra’s apartment where I am inundated with little name cards. Her calligrapher bailed at the last minute and what good is an artsy sister if she won’t handwrite a few names? That was her pitch, which was only convincing because I need the distraction. And for the record, a few turned out to be a hundred. Twice as many, really, since nearly a third of them are quickly placed in the redo pile.

“Have you talked to Dad?” she asks only when I’m on the last stack of twenty cards.

“No.” I glance up after I finish writing Gretchen. The G is a little wonky, but I’m not redoing it. “Have you?”

“No. I’m on your side.”

“I don’t want there to be sides.” Especially right before the big day. Especially after comparing it to what Brogan is going through. I’m still hurt that my parents don’t support me, but it doesn’t feel as important as it did. “Everything is such a mess.”

“Look, I’m not thrilled you and Dad aren’t speaking thirteen days before the wedding, but it was bound to happen eventually. And bad timing aside, I’m glad Brogan said something. You never would have, and Dad needed to hear it.”

I avert my stare back to the next name on the list. Sierra reaches out and places a hand over mine, stopping me from my task.

“I’m sorry that it wasn’t me. It should have been.”

“No.” I look up, surprised that she’s trying to take it on. “I don’t blame you at all. If anyone was going to say something, it should have been me.”

“I have listened to Dad dismiss and disregard your art since we were kids. Little jabs or acting like it wasn’t as impressive as me winning a trophy in whatever sport I was playing. I liked that he was proud of me and I think I was afraid that if I did speak up, I’d lose that special bond with him. You are so brave for following your dreams.”

I drop the pen and place my other hand on top of hers. “It was a fucked situation. I would have probably done the same if I were you.”

She gives me a thankful smile, her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Let’s promise each other that we’ll stand up for ourselves from now on. Okay? And for each other.”

“I promise.”

She nods, satisfied with our promise, and I go back to writing names while she stacks them neatly in order of table.

“How is Brogan?” she asks, her voice regaining some of her usual bubbliness. “Is he nervous about the game tonight?” She stops and looks up at the ceiling. “Do they get nervous?”

“I don’t know,” I say, smiling at her.

“Ben is nervous enough for the both of them. Kansas City’s offensive unit is meshing really well right now and their zone defense is the best in the league.”

I stare at her a beat, trying to make sense of the words that just came out of her mouth. “You’ve been watching too much SportsCenter.”

She laughs it off but a second later, she asks, “So how is he?”

“I don’t know.” I’m careful not to look at her but to keep my voice even. For some reason, I don’t want her to know how sad I am. There has been enough drama right before her wedding and she doesn’t need any more. Plus, she’ll probably give me some happily ever after nonsense, and I don’t think I can stomach it today. “We haven’t talked much. He’s dealing with some family stuff.”

“Yeah, I gathered that from his outburst about his dad. I know you probably don’t want to say, but is everything there okay? There’s family drama and there’s family drama, and it sounds like he might have the latter.”

“I really don’t know.”

Her brows furrow.

“He won’t talk to me about it. I have tried, but he always shuts down.” I sit back and drop the pen to the table. “I don’t want to force him to talk to me, but I don’t know how else to be there for him.”

“Sometimes people keep secrets because they don’t want to admit it to themselves, much less to you or me. If his situation is as bad as I think it must have been, then I doubt it’s easy to talk about, even if he cares about you. Which we both know he does. He’s crazy about you.”

“So, what do I do?”

“You just show up for him. Let him know you’re a safe space and when he’s ready, you’ll be there.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

I consider it for a minute. It’s not the worst advice I’ve ever been given.

“When did you get so much smarter than me?”

“Oh, about fourth grade.” She grins.

I toss my pen at her without the cap on it and it lands ink side first on one of the name cards.

“Ah, no. You crossed out Chris.” She holds it up to show me.

“If only it were that easy. He’s been texting me about wedding things.” I make a face.

“Really?” Her brows shoot up. “And you’re replying?”

“Yes.” Begrudgingly. “We have planned the rehearsal dinner and the toasts.”

“And he’s still alive.” She grins. “You really do love me.”

After I finish the name cards, I head home. On my way I go by to check my mail. The time with Sierra did wonders for my mood. I don’t have a clue how to fix any of it—the stuff with my dad or Brogan—but I feel less helpless than I did earlier.

I pull out the envelopes and shove them under one arm while I lock the box and shove the key in my purse. As I’m walking out, I rifle through to see if there’s anything aside from junk. I stop in my tracks when I see the letter addressed to #6. Complete with pink pen and little red hearts. No perfume or lipstick, so that’s something.

Whoever sorted the mail wouldn’t have realized this was meant for Brogan without his name clearly written out, so it didn’t get forwarded with the rest of his mail. I smile at the envelope.

I consider texting him. Maybe I could take a picture of it, break the ice that way? I snap a pic but delete the text before I send it. He wanted space, and I want to honor that.

Sierra’s words are still floating around in my head though. Show up for him. Make sure he knows I’ll be there for him when he’s ready.

I tap my thumb on the envelope and then an idea hits me.

As soon as I get home, I run into Alec in the kitchen. He looks at me with wide eyes that tell me I must look like a woman on a mission. I am. A mission to show the man I love just how much he means to me.

“I need a favor.”