“You knew better when you took that final glass of wine last night. I saw the hesitation in your eyes,” he half-scolded, returning to the food I still contended was not a breakfast food at all, despite his and his parents’ claim otherwise. I didn’t care that Google backed them up, maintaining beans were common in breakfasts throughout many countries that were once a part of the British Empire. The only way I was eating them at nine in the morning was if I was camping, or it was the apocalypse. Otherwise, they were a lunch or dinner-only menu item.
“Yeah, I did.” Sighing, I shuffled inside the gourmet kitchen and plopped down on one of the four bar stools situated around the island, where we ate ninety-nine percent of our meals. It was
my
seat while we were in this room, which was more often than not if we were home. When we originally bought the house after Colin was drafted by his hometown team, the first thing we did was have the entire thing gutted and redesigned to our liking.
The kitchen was my husband’s pet project, as he claimed it would be the heart of our home. He personally selected everything from the mahogany cabinets and black-and-tan marble countertops, to the natural wood accessories and the toaster that had more settings than a spaceship. Warm, cheery butterscotch walls. Restaurant-quality stainless steel appliances. Ornate hardware on all of the drawers and cupboards. It didn’t make sense to me then, but as we settled into our life together, I soon discovered that if we weren’t in our bedrooms, chances were we were in the kitchen—either comparing our daily schedules over coffee and a healthy breakfast in the mornings or catching up at night over dinner. It was
our
place. Just like this was
my
stool. Unfortunately, our already-busy schedules only seemed to be growing more and more hectic over the previous few months, and we’d been missing each other more frequently than I’d have liked.
“You never told me what this is all for,” I reminded him before I snuck a piece of bacon and shoved it in my mouth.
“We’re celebrating.” Peering over his shoulder, he smirked as he watched me chew the heart-attack inducing deliciousness. “And get your grubby little fingers out of the bacon until it’s time to make our plates.”
I moaned as I swallowed. I couldn’t help it. It was that good. Bacon was my weakness; I could never have a pet pig.
Once I’d finished climaxing with Wilbur’s belly, I realized my husband was still staring at me, his expression unreadable. “I hope you don’t do that in public, Roe. That sound would give a hundred-year-old man on his deathbed a woody.”
My right eyebrow arched high up into my forehead, a combination of confusion over the celebration comment and a where-in-the-hell-did-he-come-up-with-some-of-this-stuff look. I opted to ignore the old-guy-with-a-boner explanation and find out when I could have more bacon. “What are we celebrating?”
He twisted back around to stir the beans, even though I could see the burner was off and they were clearly ready and didn’t need stirring. The only time Colin didn’t face me when he was talking was when he was nervous. And only one subject made Colin nervous.
“Well, the success of the gala, of course. I know I said it last night, but I was so impressed with everything. You kicked ass, babe.” He paused briefly to exhale loudly then continued on. “This is also my last Sunday home before the season starts. After this, we won’t get to do our Funday Sundays until after playoffs next February, and I knew you were going to meet with Allison later, so I wanted breakfast to be awesome.” Another pause. Longer this time. Two deep breaths. “And after we got home last night—”
“This incredible guy showed up,” a familiar male voice that belonged to Colin’s childhood next-door neighbor and best friend finished the sentence from behind me.
I quickly spun around to find Seth Andrews closing in on where I sat, wearing only a pair of loose athletic shorts and with his brown hair all a bedhead mess. He scooped me up off the seat and twirled me in the air as he covered both sides of my cheeks with kisses. I squealed with delight.
“Roe, baby girl, you were amazing last night!” he exclaimed as he eventually lowered me back on the cushion then parked himself two stools away from me.
His
spot. “Not only did you look absolutely stunning, your speech was fuckin’ killah. Those snooty assholes were eating out of the palms of your hands.”
“You do know you’re one of those snooty assholes, right?” Colin scoffed from the refrigerator while pulling out the milk and orange juice. “And watch your language in my house, especially around Monroe.”
Seth rolled his eyes and snatched two pieces of bacon from the platter, giving one to me and keeping the other for himself. I giggled as Colin flared his nostrils when he caught us. “Roe doesn’t care if I curse. She works with teenagers. Kids these days throw
fuck
around like it’s an everyday word. I bet Oscar the Grouch teaches them how to spell it on Sesame Street now or some shit.”
I wanted to agree that he probably wasn’t far off, but instead of riling up Colin even more and forcing him to get out the swear jar, I redirected the conversation. “I was wondering if I was gonna see you here this morning,” I said to Seth, “but when you weren’t around at the end of the gala, I thought maybe you had to take Effie home and didn’t feel like driving back into town.”
“Nah,” he shook his head as he grabbed a strawberry, “she wanted to go meet some of her friends at a bar, and I didn’t want her on the streets by herself, especially considering the fancy shit she was wearing. So I escorted her there and hand-delivered her to a girl I somewhat trust. Then I ran into a guy I knew from school, so I stayed and had a couple beers while I waited for you two to get home.”
“You must’ve been quiet when you got here. Or I was so tired that I just passed out, oblivious to the world around me.” I shrugged my shoulders, not surprised.
Colin rounded the island with his hands full of plates and silverware, first arranging a place setting on the mat in front of me then doing the same for the two of them. “It must’ve been the latter,” he chuckled as he looped his arms around Seth’s neck from behind, “because somebody was
not
very quiet last night.”
Seth craned his neck up and back to meet Colin’s gaze, a mischievous gleam in his eyes matching the roguish grin tugging up the corners of his mouth. When their lips met in a tender, but passionate kiss, the electric charge in the room shifted instantly and goose bumps painted my arms. My heart soared for them as I said a prayer that they finally worked out some of their ongoing issues. They loved each other in a way I believed I’d never fully appreciate or experience, but regardless, there was no denying when you were around them—or at least when
I
was around them and they could be their true selves—that they shared a connection so deep it rooted in the very fiber of their beings.
Colin and I were soulmates, but he and Seth were each other’s true love. They both knew if they ever wanted to take their relationship to the next level—outside the confines of our home—I’d happily step aside for that to happen. It wouldn’t change things between Colin and me; we’d always be there for each other to the very end, but things weren’t that simple for the two of them. Colin was raised a devout Catholic by two extremely intelligent, yet very staunch-in-their-ways, parents. His dad was the football coach and Ethics teacher at St. Thomas More, the high school Colin had graduated from, and his mom was the Associate Dean of the Religion Department at Wellesley College, one of the most revered and respected institutes of higher education in the country. Their family had never missed a Sunday Mass, and up until Colin left home to attend the University of Michigan, he was required to read and discuss Scripture with them weekly. They still invited us to attend church with them regularly, though we rarely went in the fall and winter due to his games always being on a Sunday.
It wasn’t until he and Seth—who grew up next door to each other since they were seven—discovered their sexual attraction to each other the summer after their senior year of high school that Colin began to question his spirituality and beliefs. He’d only discussed that time in his life with me once. The day his secret had been revealed.
I smiled at the handwritten note taped to the classroom door in the Social Work building before abruptly spinning around on the heel of my snow boots and heading back in the direction I’d just come from. Even though I thoroughly enjoyed the weekly Community Intervention seminar with my graduate advisor, any time a Friday afternoon class was cancelled, it was a win in my book, and I didn’t ask any questions. Plus, I had an awards dinner to get ready for and still needed to shower and blow-dry my hair.
I still couldn’t believe the life I’d discovered at the University of Michigan. A life that included fancy awards dinners, random interviews by members of the media, and many Saturdays spent watching the football team play at the Big House. And it was all because of my best friend, my soul mate, my other half—Colin Cassidy, the man who had led the Wolverine football team to their first national championship in over fifteen years.
It all seemed like some sort of fairy tale, and truth be told, there were still some days I wondered if I was going to wake up to find out it was all just a dream. It wasn’t how I planned for my college years to go. I wasn’t looking for him; that’s for damn sure. But he just sort of appeared and implanted himself in my life, and we never looked back. Inseparable from the word go.
He was an exception to my general rule of not letting people get too close. Having been raised in the Hidden Hills of Los Angeles, especially with the mom I had, I’d learned early that most anyone who wanted to get close to me was either using me or trying to manipulate me for their own benefit, so I kept to myself as much as possible. Which was exactly why the day after I graduated high school, I stuffed all of my personal belongings inside my Porsche Cayenne—a sixteenth birthday present from my fourth stepfather—and hastily sped away from the West Coast, never to return. For three long but gloriously peaceful days, I’d driven cross country until I’d reached my final destination of Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Michigan was the college I’d set my sights on early in high school because of its top-rated Social Work program and the fact it was located over twenty-two hundred miles away from my mother. When I was awarded several academic scholarships my senior year—enough to cover my full tuition, as well as room and board—no longer did I have to worry about depending on my mom footing any part of the bill, and I was free to make a clean break. A fresh start to just be me. Monroe Taylor, a wallflower who was one part quiet, four parts nerd, and totally okay with being invisible, as long as she was making a positive difference in the lives of children who needed someone to stand up for them.
No, Colin was never a part of the plan, but he had proven time and time again to be the best thing that ever happened to me. He was my rock.
A gust of frigid air snapped me out of my reminiscent haze as the door swung open and a couple of girls entered the building, both greeting me with a nod and cheery smile as they slipped by. I returned the friendly gesture and wrapped the gray cashmere scarf tighter around my neck before braving the sub-zero temperatures yet again, the grin on my face never faltering as I skipped my way down the front steps and across E. University Avenue to my apartment, which was strategically chosen for its close proximity to the building most of my classes were in and my part-time job at the Ginsberg Center for Community Service.
After a quick elevator ride up to the top floor, I dropped my book bag off in my small one-bedroom studio and took a few minutes to freshen up before heading to Colin’s place for the weekend. Even though I knew Colin didn’t care if I was wearing makeup or if my hair was done, ever since winning the big game the month before, it seemed like pictures of us continued to end up plastered across social media. And despite the hatred I had for the fake-and-phony life I left behind in L.A., I still didn’t want to look like a house troll next to my nationally-worshipped “boyfriend,” as had been deemed by the local paper.
Colin Cassidy, the Catholic kid from Boston, who was once only known for his strong religious beliefs and antics both on and off the field, had become a household name after he led our team back from what many thought was an insurmountable thirty point deficit in the second half of the big game. The broadcast announcers had deemed him “Clutch” Cassidy at some point during the fourth quarter, and when the television cameras caught the two of us sharing an emotional embrace on the field after the game, headlines ran pondering if I would be the future “Sundance Wife.”
The immediate attention we’d received afterward had thrown us both for a loop, being interviewed together on morning talk shows and invited to all sorts of events and parties, but with the strong bond we shared, the two of us sat down, talked it all out, and decided to play along with it, as the publicity it was providing for Colin was invaluable. NFL teams, as well as a countless number of sponsors, were watching him closely, and the fandom he was creating played a huge part in his worth both in the draft and in the open-market of commercialism. However, Colin knew one of the main reasons I escaped my life in California was to get out of the limelight, but I assured him that as long as he was by my side, I was more than fine playing along for him. Not to mention, it gave me multiple opportunities to raise awareness and bring in donations for the Mending Hearts home I volunteered at.
Growing up as the only child of Hollywood actress, and known party animal, Vivian Taylor, meant I had paparazzi following me around from an early age, all of them waiting for me to follow in my mother’s scandalous footsteps. But once most of them figured out I was nothing at all like the woman who gave birth to me, other than our long blonde hair and heart-shaped face, they began to lose interest. I supposed photos of me at National Honor Society meetings or volunteering at women and children’s shelters didn’t sell to the tabloids like snapshots of other stars’ kids stumbling out of dance clubs, drunk and high, and making out with a new warm body each weekend. Not that I’d minded fading into the background one bit.