The Way We Touch: or Wrangling the Wide Receiver (The Bradford Boys)

My fingers ache by the time we approach the small airport east of Newhope. I’ve spent the entire five-hour flight gripping the arms of my chair. The flight attendant offered me a drink to help me relax, but I just said no.

I don’t want a drink. I want Dylan.

Then I want to beat the shit out of Callum Cross.

It took longer to get out of New York than I’d hoped. We weren’t in the air until after seven. I tried FaceTimeing her, but it rang several times before going to voicemail.

It’s Thursday, which is always a busy night. It’s possible she doesn’t have her phone with her. It’s possible she’s having fun at the restaurant, and I’ll get to her before that fucking article does.

Is it possible she hasn’t seen it? Then I remember how much she knew when she was with me in New York. She knew all about Natalia’s book. She knew about the Met Gala…

At the same time, she didn’t know about me until I walked into her restaurant. It’s possible…

Staring out the window into the darkness, I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. Rubbing my fingers over my forehead, I add that asshole Davis Kent to my to-do list.

She knows he’s an entitled asshole, but Natalia, Lainey? Tightening my fist, I worry their words hurt her.

She seemed a little starstruck by my ex, and I know she had a good time with Lainey. Hell, Lainey was Garrett’s date. I exhale a growl remembering how sweet Dylan was to everyone. How beautiful she was in that glittering dress, and how they all knifed her in the back.

Again, my fingers tighten on the arms of my chair.

What’s worse is knowing this is my fault. If she hadn’t gone to that event with me, she wouldn’t be in this situation. She’d be anonymous, a private citizen. Now, her family will see that photo of us on the balcony—so will her coworkers, her students.

Protective anger burns in my chest, and as soon as we touch down, as soon as the flight attendant lets me off, I hustle into the SUV I ordered before we left five hours ago.

Speeding through the night, I try calling her again.

Again it goes to voicemail.

When I finally arrive at the house, it’s after midnight. No lights are on and the doors are locked, but Garrett told me where to find the hidden key the last time we were here.

Quietly, I unlock the back door and slip off my shoes. She told me she sleeps in the guest room now. The last time we FaceTimed after one of my games, she said she moved down here for Zane’s sake.

Hesitating outside the door where I spent that entire, golden month, I tap softly. “Dylan?”

My voice feels loud in the quiet house, but no one responds.

Turning the handle, I open the door and step inside. My eyes adjust slowly, but in the dim light from the bathroom, I see her lying on the floor beside the bed. She’s curled up on her side, and a bottle of tequila is beside her. It looks like a quarter of it has been drunk, and I glance around for food, limes, salt. Even a shot glass?

I don’t see any of those things, and I know. She saw the article.

It hits me like a punch in the gut, and I bend down, hating that she’s in pain because of me.

“Dylan?” My voice is soft, and I lift her in my arms.

Her head wobbles, and she murmurs something I don’t understand.

Placing her on the bed, I dash across the hall to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. It would be great if I could get her to eat something, but I don’t know if that’s going to happen tonight.

When I return, she’s curled into a ball again, and it hits me just as hard the second time. It’s such a self-protective pose, an ache moves through my chest.

I want to be the one to keep her safe from whatever tries to hurt her. Instead, I’ve brought shame into her life.

Sitting on the side of the bed, I reach out to touch her cheek. “Dylan, babe? Will you drink some water?”

She doesn’t move, and with a sigh, I put the bottle on the nightstand. I stand and slip off my jacket. I take off my T-shirt and jeans, stripping down to my boxer briefs.

I manage to get the blankets down on one side, then I move her over to do the same on the other side. I slide into the bed behind her, wrapping my arms around her soft body and pulling her tightly against my chest.

A fist grips my lungs as I lower my mouth to her shoulder and kiss her skin. Then I inhale the soft scent of her hair, lavender and vanilla. I kiss her behind her ear, and she stirs with a little noise.

Loosening my arms, I let her shift to face me. She blinks a few times, confused, before focusing on my face.

“Is this a dream?” Her voice is rough.

“No, honey, I’m here.”

“Why?”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “Because I need you.”

Her head bows, and she seems to close in on herself. “Do you?”

“Yes, Dylan. I need you in my life more than you know.”

“Even if they’re right?”

“How could you ever think any of those words are right?”

Her shoulder rises in a shrug. “Because it’s true—you’re all those things, and I’m… nothing.”

Reaching up, I slide my hand over her forehead, moving her hair back and lifting her face to mine. “You are not nothing, Dylan Bradford. You’re everything to me. I dream about you every night. I ache for you every day. Nothing any of those assholes say will change the truth, and the truth is, I love you. Everyone else can go to hell.”

She hiccups a breath, and I’m worried she’s crying again.

“What is it, beautiful?”

“You should come with a warning.” Her voice is small.

“Why?”

“My heart just exploded.”

The knot in my throat unfurls, and I pull her to me again. I slide my hands slowly down her petite frame, and I make a vow to fix this.

If it’s the fucking last thing I do, I’m going to make this right. She’s not going to be humiliated for being with me. Those assholes are never going to hurt her again. They’ll be too scared to.

Garrett

Coach is blowing a fuse. I said family emergency, but what family? Your dad?

Garrett’s text is on my screen when I open my eyes.

Dylan is curled into my side, and warmth spreads through my chest. My instinct is to text back My wife. Instead, I leave her brother on Read and turn back to wrap her in my arms again.

The situation isn’t fixed, far from it, but I didn’t lose her. She didn’t tell me to go to hell or say she didn’t sign up for this or say all the things she could’ve said. All the things she had the right to say.

She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way or spoken about like that, or have pictures of our intimate times published on the fucking Internet. That’s the main one that has me seeing blazing red.

I’ve already left a message with my lawyer, even though I know what he’ll say. I’m a celebrity. I’ve given up my right to privacy. Embarrassment isn’t the basis for a lawsuit.

Fuck it. I’m trying anyway.

“Oooooh, why did I drink all that tequila?” Dylan cringes in my arms, curling forward.

“What can I bring you? I’ve got water here, ibuprofen.” I slowly lift us to a sitting position, taking the tablets off the nightstand.

She blinks up at me, squinting through bloodshot eyes. “How are you here? Don’t you have practice?”

“Take these.” I hold out the pills, waiting as she takes them then handing her the water. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I am worried about you.” Her voice is quiet, and I recognize the low tone—it’s hangover volume. “They’ll fine you for missing practice, and you can’t miss practice!”

“Look at me.” I put my finger under her chin. “Do you remember what I told you last night?”

Her lips press together, and she nods, blinking fast. “Every word.”

It’s a thick whisper, and I dip down to kiss her lips. “You needed me last night. And I needed you.”

She reaches out to thread her fingers in my hair. “It means a lot to me that you’re here. It feels so good to be in your arms.”

I hug her closer. “I should’ve done a better job protecting you from them. I’ve asked a lot from you, and I never want you to be sorry you’re my girl.”

“You didn’t ask for anything I didn’t want to give you.” Her hand moves to my cheek. “And I love being your girl.”

“I can’t wait to have you in my box at Thanksgiving.” The thought of looking up and seeing her watching me play sends a surge of adrenaline racing through my veins. “Do you want to sleep a little longer? Are you hungry? I can bring you coffee, toast…”

She shakes her head, exhaling a laugh. “I have to get out of bed. I’ve got class, and you have to get back to New York.”

“New York will be fine without me.”

“Maybe, but you’ve worked too hard for TMI to knock you off track, and I’ve met that Ricky guy. He’s gunning for you.” She steps out of the bed then puts her hand on her head, sitting down again. “Damn, what was I thinking last night?”

“You were hurt.” I stand in front of her. “I’m going to do what I can to get them to print a retraction or at least take down that damn photo. It’s going to be hard, but I’ve messaged my lawyer.”

“We’ll just have to deal with it.” She slowly rises to her feet again. “I remember when Jack went through it. He was so upset, and I didn’t really understand. I understand now. It’s brutal.”

“Get back in bed. I’ll bring you some toast. You’ve got time.”

She’s standing right in front of me, and her head only reaches the center of my chest. If anything, what happened has made me more sure than ever this is where I want to be. I want to be with this little firecracker who’s stronger than she knows.

Then she reaches up to touch my face. “About what you said last night…”

“Yeah?” My brow furrows.

“I love you, too, Logan Murphy.”

Her whiskey eyes hold mine, and I cup her face in my hands. I seal my mouth to hers, parting her lips, and we’re lost together in our little paradise.