Page 74 of Sideline Play

“Scarlet.”

“Roman,” she taunts right back, making me laugh.

“Yeah keep laughing, fucker. She’s gonna have to let me go at some point.”

Coming around to the truck bed, I reach in for their bags as Colt steps out, muttering something about having raised wild dogs instead of children. Right behind him, a third door opens with Reeves fucking Dawson tumbling out and looking hungover.

Gesturing at him, Colt says to me, “Exhibit C. B’s over there trying to slip A’s leash.” Then looking right at me as he smiles—the wickedness in it a startling mirror of Scar’s own—he throws a maroon duffle at Dawson, the supposed catcher completely missing and instead getting hit by it, shouting, “Look alive, Dawson!”

“Scarlet Amelia Jones!”

“Roman Elijah Jones! See? I can use your whole name too.”

“Please,” Dawson pathetically pleads. “Can we save the squabbles and ass kicking until after I get some sugar or something processed or the hangover stage of this diet passes? Seriously, Sugar, how have you been livin’ like this?”

“Reeves-e’s?” my girl shrieks, finally letting her brother go, her renewed excitement over the surprise of seeing him and their pet names for each other making that sharp flare of jealousy from several weeks ago come alive again. He’s not as steady on his feet as Roman though, so when she barrels into him, they go tumbling to the ground, her brother snatching out to save her as she asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know that too,” I muttered, dropping Roman’s bag at his feet.

With his own duffle slung over his shoulder, Colt comes to stand beside me, arms casually crossed over his chest as he watches the trio of former roommates with more pride than I’ve ever seen him show on the field, quietly dismissing, “It was never anything serious.”

“What?”

“Her and Reeves,” he answers, swatting my chest as Scar reaches a hand down to help her old whatever-he-was-to-her up. “They were never serious. Were never going to be serious.”

Taking her hand just as Roman let’s go of her, sights set on me, Dawson looks to have stepped back from Death’s door as he turns her left hand over, shouting, “NO FUCKING WAY!” his gaze swinging to me. “For real?”

“What?” Colt and Roman both demand as Dawson quickly pops up, examining her ring while Scar and I both answer, “Yes,” hers full of bright excitement and mine unnecessarily territorial, the feeling softening as she smiles up at me, her entire face transforming from how she smiled at him.

Shoving her hand toward her dad and brother, he implores, “Look,” before taking it back to examine. “14k rose gold; peach sapphire; flawless to the eye; emerald—no, radiant—shape, am I right? And about two carats. Tate, I’m impressed. This is quite the ring. Probably could have gone a bit bigger but?—”

“Any bigger and she’d be required to remove it for work,” I answer.

“Let me see that,” Colt says, taking his daughter’s hand. “Scarlet?”

Her eyes have a watery sheen as she rapidly bobs her head in answer and murmurs, “Are you mad?”

“Mad? No,” he assures, hugging her. “Princess, if this is what you want and you’re happy, I could never be mad.” Looking at me over her head, he adds, “It’s fast?—”

“Too fucking fast,” Roman mumbles, taking her hand, ice-blue gaze transfixed upon her ring, the rest of his face unreadable.

“And I would have appreciatedsomesort of deference as her father?—”

Holding my hands up, I defend, “I was going to this weekend, Skip, promise. Things just ended up playing out differently than I had planned.”

“But,” he continues over me, “as I said, I’ve been watching this unfold for months and knew if you two came together this was where things would be headed. If I didn’t approve, I would’ve told Jennings fuck no when he suggested Scarlet handle your rehab.” Kissing his daughter’s head, he pulls back and cups her face, squishing her cheeks together as he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Princess, really.

“As for you,” he says, looking over Scar’s blonde head as he pulls her back in for another hug, “I told ya, you’re family now. That means call me Colt, Dad, whatever you want, but not Skip. Save that shit for the field.” Letting his daughter go, he holds out his hand and the moment I go to shake it, pulls me in for a hug as well, clapping me on the back, as he murmurs, “You make her happy, Remington. Even if I was blindsided by this, I couldn't be angry over it for more than a minute or two. Our girl’s always been sunshine and warmth, but there’s been shadows at the edge for a long time now, and seeing her with you, they vanished,” he finishes, clearing his throat and quickly sniffling.

“Ro-Boat?” Scarlet whispers, her pink lips scrunched to the side as she pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her fingers.

Sighing as he rolls his eyes, he grumbles, “Come here,” prompting her to break back out into a wide smile as she barrels into him. Halting her with hands to her shoulders, Roman rears his head back and scrutinizes her for a moment before confirming, “Not shotgun? ‘Cause you know, you don’t need to marry him if you are. Reeves, dad, and me’ll help you.”

“Nah, look at her, man. Sugar here looks like she’s lost weight not gained,” Reeves observes. Smirking, he adds, “It’s that fuckin’ no sugar, no alcohol, no fun diet Tate keeps to and allthe sex they’re having,” making me groan as Scarlet’s face flames bright red.

“REEVES!” all three Joneses shout with Roman adding, “Man, you’re like my only friend; don’t make me beat your ass by saying shit like that.”

“Oh, so are we just pretending they spend their nights here in the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere playin’ Scrabble and readin’ or some shit? Got it. Didn’t know we were going for delusional.”

---