Page 45 of Hart Breaker

“You’re pissed they lied to you.”

“Fuck yes, I am. I thought they were salt-of-the-earth kind of people, and they pull that shit? Even if I could understand, which BTW, I do not, how the hell could Riley ask her sister to do that?”

“You wanna know the answer, or are you sticking with you not wanting to talk about it?”

“What I wanna do is sleep.”

“Then do so knowing Riley didn’t ask; Lauren offered, and she did that because her sister was just coming out of what I’m gathering was a pretty low place.”

Her ex and the accident.

“Brett blamed Lauren for the missing dress.” He pushes off the bed. “She and Riley haven’t been speaking, aside from texts. And tonight, she told Riley if she didn’t tell you, she would. She’s on the same side as you.”

“I’m on the side of pissed off and don’t give a fuck.”

“But you do, Hart. You stole a fucking dress to stop her from making a mistake. That’s the kind of story couples tell their kids.” He heads for the door. “Just gotta decide if you’re gonna let them be his, or you’re gonna allow yourself to see what could be between you and Riley.”

Before I have a chance to respond, he’s out the door, and I’m pissed off knowing I’m not getting shit for sleep because I have no fucking clue what to think other than she lied to me.

When I walk down the stairs, old-school headphones plugged into my old-school iPod shuffle, because my phone’s fucked, Boone is at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me with his bags slung over his shoulder, chuckling as he looks at his screen. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he nods to the door and says something I don’t hear.

I push my headphones back and lift my chin in question.

His eyes dance with amusement, no doubt at my old-school electronics. “Gonna guess I’m driving?”

“I’m good.”

“You threw up last night on the way back from the bar,” he reminds me.

“Haven’t done that shit since college, and that was only one time. Won’t happen again.”

And it won’t.

Having a father who used alcohol and drugs to work through everything that was wrong in his life taught me to avoid that shit like the plague until one night when my brother, Rome, pointed out that alcohol was not at fault for our father’s abuse; it was his excuse. The first time I drank, I overdid it and threw up. After that, I had three, maybe four max, at social gatherings. During the season, I have a two-drink limit, and it’s typically not more than once a week that I have more than one, and I never drink alone.

Last night, I lay in bed, thinking about how fucked up it was I was using alcohol as a coping mechanism in dealing with the fact I have some feelings that really came to the surface when that piece of shit put a ring on Riley’s finger and really kicked in when Lauren told me her wedding dress had been delivered.

“All right then, let’s roll.”

Before sliding into the passenger seat of his Expedition, I tell him, “Football and only football from the minute my ass hits leather until after the game Thursday.”

He shuts the door and chuckles. “What else would the number one team on the NFC talk about besides defending that position?”

I lean back in the passenger seat and buckle up. “Used to hate Thursday night games, but I kinda love that means we have Sunday free.”

Boone starts up his vehicle and chuckles again. “You got big plans for your off time?”

I eye him skeptically, hoping he does not already break his word. “Yeah, I do. I’m going to sleep, eat shit food, and maybe head to Jersey for a couple days. Not gonna ask you one personal question before we get back that’s not football after this, but are you gonna head down and see Lily?”

“Nah, just going to stick around here and train unless you want some company,” he says, pulling out. “I don’t know if I ever told you this, but Max Steel was my roommate in college.”

Max is one of the owners of the New Jersey Jaguars, my brother Roman’s MLB team. And yeah, he’s told me that a few times, but I never thought he was waiting for an invite.

“Damn right you can come with me, anytime. Surprised you never asked before.”

“Bro, the shit you had going on in Jersey, I wanted to stay the fuck away. Needed to. Sure as hell don’t need Lindsay’s parents to have more ammo against me.” He chuckles and waves his hand through the air. “We’re not taking this to a personal level; it’s fucking football time, Hart.”

“It’s fucking football time, Boone.”

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