Stars (Penmore #1) (20 page)

I could reason away my omissions during the beginning of our relationship. Tell myself they weren’t lies or that it couldn’t possibly be a real relationship, so I needn’t say anything when he was bound to break up with me any day now. I thought I would only get one date, one memory to savor, and I didn’t want to ruin it with a confession.

And when he made it clear that we were exclusive and he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, I could justify not telling him that we were next-door neighbors because I was insecure and nervous. We had
just
started dating. It was too soon. Then I blinked and it became too late. If I hadn’t brought it up earlier, how do I bring it up now?

I know after spending the last few weeks together, sharing our dreams and fears for the future, that he would have understood. He would have forgiven me in the beginning for not telling him I was the biggest nerd in high school, where he was the ruler of popularity, and I kept that to myself.

But I spent nearly every other night at his house now.

I occasionally went to his training sessions and watched from the sidelines.

I was still the biggest nerd, insisting we watch David Attenborough documentaries on the nights we wanted to snuggle on the couch. He didn’t seem to care though. In fact, this smile I’ve never before seen crosses his face when I do things that are particularly nerdy.

He tugs me down, pulls the duvet over our heads, hiding us from the approaching day, and whispers, “Two more minutes then I promise we’ll both get up.” However, he doesn’t need to say anything to convince me to prolong our time together. I wasn’t rushing to start the day I knew would be the hardest one I’ve faced in years.

In all the years I had spent daydreaming about sleeping with Grayson Waters, the evenings and mornings I get with Gray were better, beyond my imagination.

They were sweeter, slower and more life altering than I could ever have anticipated.

Which felt amazing.

Until they didn’t.

Because after we lay wrapped in each other’s arms last night, Grayson chuckled and said, “Pretty glad we both decided to study sociology, Stars.” Causing my heart that had been so full with love to crack just a little.

He didn’t know.

Which I realized, on even the best days we spent together, tainted what we had.

So I knew it had to be today.

Today, I would share the skeletons in my closet and pray that he won’t run away.

GRAYSON

I yank off my helmet and tip the contents of my water bottle over my face. Water drops trickle down my neck, cooling my body. I was grateful the afternoon sun had set; even with winter fast approaching, I was happy to no longer be dealing with the heat coursing through my body as well as the sun’s rays.

The guys around me were all doing the same thing, trying to cool down and fight the heat still pumping through their bodies. Coach Hardy had demanded we push ourselves today more than he’s ever done before. None of us complained. We knew what we were working toward. If we got through the next few games, we were heading to the Cotton Bowl and ultimately anticipating a championship game against the Redbirds. They had one of the best defensive units in the country, so we were training harder. Preparing ourselves in the best way we can, with long hours and hard tackles. Between preparing for finals, practice and Parker, I was exhausted.

I was ready to hit the showers and message Parker about dinner plans. That’s when I see him. Over by the stands, both thumbs hooked into the hoops of a pair of worn Levi’s, a plaid shirt covering his broad chest and a white Stetson cowboy hat partially hiding his salt-and-pepper hair.

Unlike what his outfit might outwardly suggest, my father is no fucking cowboy. He grew up in the city. The closest thing to riding a horse he’s ever come to was probably the plastic ones mounted on the miniature merry-go-rounds you occasionally find out front of local grocery stores. Fuck if him dressed as someone he isn’t doesn’t make me stop, though, and remember all the fucking characters I’ve seen him play in the past year. My old man has been an aged rocker, smarmy businessman and a new oil tycoon. And three months ago, when I saw him last, he was in a John Deere baseball cap, baggy Penmore sweater and pretending to be a proud father. All lies. All for some hidden agenda. Each time he visits, it always starts the same way, with him standing on the fucking sidelines of the football field waiting to pounce. His bullshit never changes.

I didn’t want to deal with this. If I thought I could get away with it, I would walk straight past him and treat him like the stranger he’s pretending to be. Unfortunately, he was making himself known. Congratulating each of the players as they walk past him, wishing them luck in the upcoming game and tapping their shoulders, telling them, “Don’t you boys worry now, my son will take y’all straight to the top. Best college quarterback in the country.”

What a fucking dick.

“Boy, get over here,” he calls out with a damn near perfect Southern drawl. I do have to admit, with every character he embodies, he’s damn convincing. If I didn’t know the sound of his original grating twang, I’d have believed he just rode up to the stadium on the back of a black bronco.

“What do you want?” I ask, cutting right to the chase as I stand in front of him.

“Is that any way for a boy to speak to his father?”

I can’t help but smirk and reply sarcastically, “You seen my father round here, cowboy? Maybe at one of your rodeos, perhaps?”

He just chuckles, ignores the repulsion in my voice and tells me, “Now, boy, I know this hat may be a little strange to you, but the ladies love it. Trust me, if you didn’t have a little girl in tow these days, I’d invite you to join me at one the honky-tonks I went to the other week.” He pauses then grins at me disgustingly before stating, “Hell, you let the girl wear the hat and I swear she thinks she’s being scored and does all the work.”

While he’s still chuckling over some girl trying to save horses, I’m caught on his earlier statement. When the reality of his words sink in, I can’t keep the anger out of my stance or my words.

“How the fuck do you know I got a girl?” I ask him.

Unlike my earlier contempt, my old man picks up on my barely caged rage and lets me know a little too casually, “Well, Gav gave me a call.”

“You’re talking about Gavin Simons, right? Gavin Simons, the same man who runs all the underground businesses within a hundred-mile radius of the college? The same fucking Gavin Simons who hounded me about a month back, for weeks, telling me how you owed him a shit-ton of cash and were on the lamb. The same man who made me pay him 10K to stop threatening Ma and everyone else that I loved in my life.”

“Now, boy, that was just an honest misunderstanding,” he says as he removes his Stetson and runs his fingertips along the brim.

His casual attitude and ‘Aw shucks, ma’am, it ain’t mean nothing’ actions push me to remind him, “Like when the IRS came knocking on Ma’s door, Dad? Like that honest misunderstanding?”

“Clearly, I’ve come at the wrong time. You’re exhausted from training. Maybe I’ll swing by your place in a day or two. Mr. Simons mentioned your girl was real cute. Smart too. Thought you’d like to bring her to a poker night I’m hosting. A lot of Texas ranchers and big cattle head-honchos are going to be there. I’m sure they’d love to see the next Cowboys quarterback,” he tells me, finally providing me with the real reason he’s come to visit.

“Yeah, this
is
the wrong time. Every time you’ve showed up here since you left Mom and me behind when I was eight, has been the wrong fucking time. “

“Now, boy—”

“No. I don’t want to hear your excuses or justifications. I’m too used to your piss-poor actions to listen to some trumped-up lie. I just want to see you leave this field. Not breathe a word about my girl, especially when talking to mobsters like Gavin Simons, and go away for another month at least. I’d say my life, but I’m too much of a realist and I know how much you love to drop by for your invitations.”

“Now, son—”

“Seriously, if you don’t leave me alone, or if you mention Parker in any of your dealings, I will go straight to the local authorities or any event you’re hosting and loudly discuss your questionable past characters. Pretty sure fraud charges have yet to be laid by that family who thought you were a qualified lawyer.”

I watch him put on his cowboy hat, take a step back and tell me, “Okay, you’ve made your point, boy. Just thought I’d drop by to extend an invitation. You don’t want to come and introduce your girl, suit yourself.” Then he turns around and walks away.

It’s ridiculous how after only minutes in that man’s company I feel like an angry eight-year old again. Wanting to kick rocks into the stream and run away from everything and everyone in fear that I’ll punch someone. I wasn’t still living by a creek, which means I’ll just have to do the next best thing. I’ll find Andy. If he doesn’t let me throw a punch at him, he’ll at least go to the gym with me and help me run off my anger before I pick Parker up from work.

PARKER

I was sitting at the bar, watching Nate do a last wipe-down and talking about how I was going to tell Gray that I grew up living next door to him. With the topic we were discussing, I was also swirling a drink Nate poured after hours. I sort of hated the taste of bourbon, but he thought I needed strong liquid courage tonight and was willing to risk his job giving it to me. It seemed like too nice of a gesture to ruin it with, “Hey, I’m a complete lightweight when it comes to alcohol, so how about putting some Diet Coke in this?” So each time I took a sip, I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible and the coughing to a minimum.

I took a tiny sip and was just about to tell Nate how his idea that I ask Gray to show me how he jerks off and then
nonchalantly
mention how I saw that he had jerked off for the first time with a lingerie catalog he stole from his mom was
flipping
ridiculous.

Grayson, however, chose that moment to open the door of Lucky’s and barge through the empty space, clearly looking for me. At first, I noticed he seemed a little frightened, his eyes rapidly scanning the booths and dance floor before landing on me, but then I was greeted with relieved smile and twinkling eyes. Until he noticed who I was chatting with, and suddenly I knew I hadn’t just avoided conversations about my upbringing. I may have maneuvered around discussions of my favorite work colleague.

“He works with you? No fucking way,” Grayson snarls as he storms toward us.

“I’ll see you next shift,” I call out to Nate as I rush toward my boyfriend, grab his hand and drag him outside.

Thankfully, Gray lets me, because I’m not stupid enough to believe that I could have moved him one inch if his 200-pound body didn’t feel like moving. Before we completely exit the building, Gray does manage to rein in his frustration and grunts over my shoulder, “Bro, heads-up, dear old Dad’s in town.”

When we get outside, I don’t know what to say first. Do I ask him about his dad? Yell at him for reacting that way to Nate and me chatting? Or ask him to hold my hair, because after two straight bourbons, then running and dragging Gray out of the building my stomach was contemplating a revolt. I decide to cross my arms in front of my chest, steady my breathing and glare at him while he paces back and forth. Stomping out his fear and frustration.

When he finally stops and goes to reach for me, I take a step back and ask sarcastically, “So, how was your day? Did you get the first two little piggies?”

“Sorry, what?” he asks.

“Well, you come storming in huffing and puffing growling at everyone like the big bad wolf. I figure you must have already been to the house of sticks and straw. Lucky’s must be the house of bricks, am I right?”

“Babe, stop being cute. I’m pissed. And we need to talk.”

“Good, I feel like talking. I get that you and Nate have some serious family stuff going on. But he and I are friends, which means—”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. That shit has to stop.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You and him being friends. It’s not okay,” he tells me, raking his fingers through the strands of hair that have fallen in front of his face in exasperation.

“Excuse me? I clearly misheard you, because I do believe I thought you just tried to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with,” I growl.