Page 46 of The Play

“You know he is.” Deacon wished that big brain of Grant’s made him less attractive, but it was actually the opposite. He was so goddamned attracted not to just the parts of him, but to the whole package.

He’d thought his crush in college had been consuming enough, but it was nothing compared to how much he just straight up liked Grant now, now that he knew him. Now that they were friends.

Now that they were partners.

“And you’re hardly a slouch,” Micah said. “Figure it out, but do it together. That’s my advice. Talk to each other.”

“I thought you told me not to go there,” Deacon complained. “Beck was just telling me not go charging in there.”

“Yeah, and I meant it. Don’t go charging in there, blustering around about fucking saving him. He can save himself, can’t he?”

“Maybe,” Deacon said grudgingly. Though that was not entirely true, either. Grant could absolutely save himself.

“So help him. Don’t just show up and expect to solve everything. That’s all I was saying.” Beck sounded so fucking reasonable; Deacon hated it.

“Alright,” Deacon said, though he didn’t know what that looked like.

The one thing about the last few years, the crucible the entire Condors organization had suffered through, was that it had honed all his instincts to take charge and to fix everything.

Why else had he been sure he wanted to leave?

Because he’d known he’d never be able to really fix what was broken.

He’d turned himself inside out trying, and when Grant had come on the scene, he’d finally given up.

But Grant had convinced him not to give up. To trust him. To become his partner.

They’d done it with football—but could they do it with . . .everything else?

Chapter 7

Deacon knew where he’d find him, when he showed up at the facility, early the next day.

It was still dark outside, but he’d waited long enough to give Grant the chance to resolve some of the mess on his own. Now it was time for him to step up.

To make his own feelings clear.

When he walked into the office Grant had claimed as his own, he wasn’t surprised to see Grant already sitting here.

But he wasn’t sitting upright. His head was on the desk, his dark hair mussed, and he was snoring away.

Deacon stopped in his tracks.

Had he been here all night? How often did he sleep like this at his desk? Deacon felt a pulse of serious concern. He could ask Darcy, but suddenly, he wasn’t sure if she would tell him the truth, or if she’d cover for Grant, who was clearly working way too hard.

But before he could turn back around and come back later, maybe much later tonight, when all the coaches and players had finally cleared out of the building—nobody else needed to be here for this conversation; that was the only thing Deacon knew for sure—Grant raised his head, opening his eyes.

He jolted a little when he saw Deacon standing there.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Grant said, pulling himself upright, running a hand through his hair.

“Hi,” Deacon said.

This was the first time they’d been in the same room since the bathroom.

Deacon felt the jolt of knowledge that he’d kissed him jumpstart his pulse.

He took a step closer and then another.

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