Page 81 of Tight End

“Didn’t I meet Dean?” Heath’s gaze volleys between us, his lips twisted to one side. “Yeah. He seemed really?—”

“If you say anything nice, you won’t be able to hang out with us. The guy is a total tool.”

“That’s what I was going to say.” Heath nods toward Gunner. “He seems like a fucking tool.”

I chuckle, giving Gunner a look, one that shows my displeasure. “Dean’s my half brother. This asshole can’t seem to play nice in the sandbox. You don’t have to listen to him.” I glance between the three of them, knowing full well I’m about to drop one more bomb. “And you should also know our dad is Patrick Kingsley.”

This time Gunner’s face turns slightly murderous, and I get it. Being married was a big deal, and this is a huge one. Patrick Kingsley is a football legend. One of the greats. He’s one of those players the new guys strive to be like and the older players are compared to. He has everyone fooled.

“I only ever talked to him once, and he’s a huge dick bag. You know, don’t meet your heroes and all that,” I tack on quickly, but there isn’t much left to say.

Doesn’t matter anyway, I’m saved by the music. The rock list we had queued up changes to “Party Like a Rockstar” by the Shop Boyz, and the volume goes up exponentially. Thebass vibrates through the room, and while I’m glad I avoided a complete ass chewing, I’m annoyed it was Isaac Hughes coming to my rescue. King Dick himself, with a few of his disciples.

These are the guys who walk around like their shit don’t stink. They give football players a bad name.

“Party at my house tonight, bitches.” And just when I think he can’t be more of a jackass, he raises his arms, swaying his hips to what I’m sure he thinks is the beat, and points in our direction. “You in, Devlin?”

“Sorry, it’s a little late for me.” Plus, I have zero desire to go. I’ve got my family waiting for me at home, and I’m planning on coercing June to cuddle with me on the couch and watch a movie once we put Oliver to bed. Wait. Did I say cuddle? Jesus, I really am a simp.

Isaac laughs and his cronies follow suit. “I knew you were old, but didn’t know it was that bad. I better make sure they have oatmeal for you in the morning. Don’t forget to take your blood pressure medicine before bed.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

I ignore them—as well as Gunner’s heated glare—as they close the distance, taking up the weight benches right next to us. Of course.

“Don’t think we’re done talking about this.” Gunner’s face is stone, telling me the conversation won’t be put off long.

Theo remains silent, almost like he’s mulling everything over, and Heath leans toward me, lowering his voice a bit. “Does that mean Anders Kingsley, the Motherfucking King, is your brother.”

I nod, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. And I don’t think he has a fucking clue.”

THIRTY-NINE

Ryan

The guys are stilla bit pissed. Or should I say Gunner. He gave me the silent treatment for the rest of practice despite the multiple apologies. Heath couldn’t give two fucks, although he did keep mentioning my brother, and every time he looked at me, it was like he had stars in his eyes.

He probably has a boner for the guy, and I guess I get it. He’s a good player and blah, blah, blah. I don’t know. I’m not really impressed.

And to make it worse? More awkward? Poor timing? All of the above?

We play his team on Sunday, and I bet you anything they’re worried it’s going to turn into some kind of sibling rivalry. In truth, it doesn’t bother me at all. I’ve been playing against him for years, and he’s never given me a single hint he knows we’re related.

I don’t talk to him. He has no reason to talk to me. We’re all good.

And my piece-of-shit sperm donor can’t say shit to me. I’d like to keep it that way too.

Unless dear old Dad told Anders about Dean and me, I don’t see how he’d know about us anyway. Not that it would really make a fuck of a difference to him. I’d bet any amount of money the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I sure as fuck don’t need him or any of his family members poking around in my life. No, thanks.

My life is finally good. I have everything and everyone I want right here.

A thought that has me grinning like the village idiot—or Isaac Hughes—as I push open the door to my apartment and head inside. There’s country music playing in the kitchen. It’s low so I can’t make out exactly what it is, but it sounds like old-school country, which has to mean Oliver is in control of the music selection.

I’m sure June is happy about that.

But as I round the corner to the kitchen the smile on my face wobbles, and I think my eye twitches just a bit.

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