Page 57 of Their Greatest Strength

Shit, my head hurts.

It’s too hard to kick my shoes off, so I keep them on as I sway down the hall to the kitchen. I’m starving, even if I did pound back at least an eighth of the buffet and dessert table. My workout tomorrow is going to be intense.

It’s dark in every room of the house that I pass. When I tripinto the kitchen, I flail and slap a hand to the light switch. With it lit up, I have to blink to soothe the sting in my eyes and immediately head to the fridge.

My stomach grumbles again while I scour my eyes over the fridge’s contents and squint at a clear-wrapped plate. The food on it isn’t anything I cooked. At least, I don’t remember cooking it.

No. I’ve never made . . . chicken pot pie?

My stomach growls again, fiercer this time. I snake the plate and go to tear the wrapping off when I see the Post-it note on top.

In case you come home hungry. It’s no burger, but it should help soak up the booze. And if you’re sober, I don’t care. Eat it anyway.

Night,

Blakely

My grin is lopsided as hell, but goddamn, I think my almost wife is starting to warm up to me. Never thought she’d be the type of woman to write cute notes on home-cooked meals, but I think I love being surprised by her.

After folding the note and putting it in my pocket, I tear the wrapping off before putting the dish in the microwave. Once it’s started to spin and heat up, I fill a glass with tap water and gulp it down.

My agent called me a few times tonight, but I didn’t answer. Rude as hell for him to call during my brother’s wedding. I don’t care if it’s an emergency. When I’m with my family, I’m not up for business talk.

Sighing, I pull my phone out and struggle with the passcode before opening the missed texts.

The Agent: I have an update on your upcoming marriage arrangement. Call me when you can please.

The Agent: Can you step away from the wedding? Just want to touch base.

The Agent: I’ll pop it in here then. The engagement announcement is expected on Friday before the game. There’s a pass for Blakely. Please make sure she’s in attendance. Enjoy the wedding tonight, Jamie.

The microwave beeps as my stomach flops around like a fish. I knew it was only a matter of time, considering the wedding is set for next weekend, but it’s suddenly very real. Once we announce an engagement and our plans for a wedding, there won’t be any hiding away.

The game is about to start, and we have no option but to win.

Tony is a great agent. He likes to give me my space to figure things out on my own before getting involved. My dad helped me hire him before I was drafted, and with how picky the old man was, it’s no surprise that I wound up with a good guy on my side.

When Tony wasn’t against this idea of marriage, I took that as an extra good sign. He’s supposed to be helping coordinate with a wedding planner for Blakely, and while I haven’t heard anything about it from her, I don’t think that’s odd. She hasn’t seemed overly eager to plan anything. I don’t blame her for that. This isn’t a real wedding despite the legality of it.

I lean over the counter and shovel back the pot pie she made me, filling my booze-heavy stomach with something to soak it up. The flavours that hit my tongue have me speeding up my bites, desperate for more. Somehow, she got the crispiest shell without drying the shit out of the chicken. The filling is good enough I’d eat it on its own.

When it’s gone, I stare at my empty plate in shock.

Disappointment strikes harder when I put the plate into the dishwasher and go to my bedroom. Pretty sure I forgot to turn the light off, but fuck it. My feet are killing me, and now I’m in a food coma so intense I’m genuinely considering whether I’ll be able to get up for practice tomorrow afternoon.

The stairs seem to go on forever as I lean against the railing and slump my way up them?—

“Fuck,” I grunt, nearly missing a step and stubbing my toe.

Wincing at my outburst, I open my bedroom door and step inside. It’s dark in here, but the moon leaks in through the sliding glass patio door, so at least I can see where I’m going.

Then again, if I do stub my toe a second time, maybe Blakely can bandage me up.

With a groan, I shrug off my suit jacket and unzip the fly of my pants. The cuffs on my shirt are tight, so those go next?—

I come to a jerky stop at the edge of my bed. I’m pretty sure I didn’t pile pillows under my duvet when I left this morning, but there’s most definitely a lump there right now. A human-sized-and-shaped lump.

I steady myself with a hand on the mattress and lean over the body. It moves with deep, steady breaths, and as I get closer, I can make out brown hair splayed all over my pillow and usually tight features completely relaxed. Brown brows flat, pink lips parted slightly, and lashes fluttering.

---