Page 50 of Sideline Play

As the long tones of my phone trying to connect begin to sound, I realize I’m still naked and jump up from the bed, leaving my phone to get lost in the duvet. Spinning around several times as Remington returns wrapped in a towel, I mouth, “Help.” Bending down, he snatches up a shirt and throws it to me, biting back a laugh. Sticking my tongue out at him as I get back into the bed, I tug it on and pull my hair free from the collar as Ro’s and our dad’s muffled voices sound out from my phone. Making sure my lap is covered so there’s no chance of my panty-less state being exposed, I fish my phone out, my eyes darting away from Remington as he drops his towel, leaving his tight ass on display.

It’s only as our dad eyes me quizzically for a moment before giving a single nod and Ro asks, “What are you wearing?” that Inotice I have on a World Series Champion t-shirt that, with the amount of fabric I’m swimming in, is most noticeablynotmine.

Rolling my eyes, I play it off and sarcastically respond, “A shirt? You should try it some time,” referencing his bare, tattooed chest, the open petals from the Scarlet Carpet Rose vine creeping up his ribs just barely visible. Scrutinizing the two of them in my phone’s screen, I ask, “Wait, were you two sitting next to each other while texting?”

“Oh please,” our dad answers in exasperation. “As if you two don’t do it all the time.”

“But whyhisshirt?” Ro interrogates, undettered.

“Roman,” I say, my patience with him nonexistent since Remi can hear every word being spoken. “What is your problem with Remington?”

“He wants?—”

“So what if he does?” I shout. “Whether or not I sleep with him ismychoice. Not yours.”

“But—”

“But what?”

Sighing as he scrubs his hand over his face, he answers, “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust him or you don’t trust your judgment?” our dad asks. “It’s an important distinction, Ro.”

“God, do we really have to do this now? I mean Squeaks is still in bed, so she hasn’t even had her coffee yet,” my brother deflects.

Equally stubborn, Dad responds, “You brought it up.”

Sitting across from me, Remington is careful to keep himself out of frame as he reaches for my hand. Lacing our fingers together, he squeezes my hand and silently sits with me as I’m unexpectedly forced to confront the root of Ro’s issue with the idea of Remi and me.

Taking pity on my brother as he begins to shut down, I say, “I told him.” Roman’s head snaps up at the same time as Remi’s, his hazel eyes briefly captivating mine before letting me go.

“About?” our dad asks, searching for clarification.

“Castor.”

Pushing his chair back from the table, Roman walks out of frame, swearing, “Holy fuck,” before coming back.

“How much?” dad asks, the mirror of my blues briefly flicking down to Remi’s shirt.

“Enough to explain why I flipped him on his ass when he startled me post nightmare.”

Plucking the phone from our dad’s hands, Roman has an almost desperate hold on it as he softly asks, “You trust him? Feel safe with him?”

Meeting Remi’s eyes over my phone, I answer, “With my life,” calling back his own response from when we left the hospital and I asked him the same thing.

“Okay… I’ll try…” he mumbles, handing the phone back. “I can’t promise?—”

“All I ever want is for you to try, Ro-Boat. Nothing more.”

“Love you, Squeaks.”

“Love you too,” I smile.

Slinging an arm around Roman’s shoulders, our dad kisses his head—something seven years ago we never would have thought Roman would accept and so easily welcome—and jovially says, “And I love both of you, but my house is too quiet for this time of year with only two of my kids at home, so how ‘bout it, Princess?”

Checking to be sure, I offer, “Well, Remington only has the one guest room furnished right now but maybe if we can get the ones down stairs ready?—”

“It’s the offseason, Princess; just give us a day and we’re there.”

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