Page 51 of Go Deep

Until the realization makes the muscles in my legs twitch with a need to get the hell away from here as fast as I can.

Gabe reluctantly pulls away. He rises to his feet and stands over me as I try to catch my breath. “If you tell me that didn’t mean anything to you, that you didn’t feel everything I did, then you’re a fucking liar.”

But this time I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.

We both know the truth.

And it’s the hardest goddamn truth I’ve ever chosen to live with.

Chapter 21

Gabe

“Fucking Neil,” I grumble as I pull my black Audi R8 into the VIP parking lot at Ohio Stadium. A shuddering sigh slumps my shoulders. I know I can’t blame my agent. It’s not his fault I’m a complete idiot for letting my dick grab hold of my mind the other night.

What the hell was I thinking, kissing Vince like that? How fucking desperate was that move? I’m an NFL quarterback, for Christ’s sake. I don’t need to beg for cock, especially from someone who keeps trying to convince himself that he has zero interest in mine.

I just need to get through the next few hours with Vince and then I can just walk away forever. I’ll give Neil approval to handle the transfer of my portfolio from Vince’s company since he’s the one who got me into this mess in the first place. He can find me another financial manager, too.

After today, I’ll never have to see Vince Castro again.

A sharp pain shoots down the back of my skull. I turn off the ignition and press my fingers hard against my temple, a futile attempt to blunt the assault. Headaches I’ve dealt withon and off since my coming-out announcement have gotten worse, especially over the past few months.

A chill licks at the hairs on the back of my neck.

I can keep telling myself that it’s because of the ridiculous obsession I’ve developed for Vince, but it’s the alternative to what’s the cause of these headaches that’s flipping me the fuck out.

I watch everything I do out of fear that I’m on the same path as my father. If I’m irritable or depressed, if I forget little things, if I have a fucking knee jerk.

It could be something.

It could be nothing.

One simple blood test can give me the answer.

The problem is, the wrong answer will effectively end my life. So I keep burying my aching head in the sand because I can’t accept that.

Maybe it’s just stress.

Yeah, let’s go with that.

I grab my navy blue sport jacket, push open my car door, and step onto the pavement. A deep ache invades the front of my skull as I squint up at the bright sunlight. I grab my sunglasses from the center console and slide them on, the pressure on my head immediately easing.

My phone buzzes against my leg and I grab it from my pocket. My brother’s name flashes across the screen. I swallow a groan. He must need cash. I hover my finger over the screen, debating whether or not to send him to voicemail when a nagging feeling gnaws at my gut.

I’d avoided Austin’s calls a week before my father’s death. I was so angry that my father cut me out of his life and didn’t want me around even though he knew he was dying. I didn’t want to hear from any of them, especially my brother, who’d taken up my father’s narrow-minded preaching.

Turns out, it wasn’t Austin calling me after all. It was my father, using my brother’s phone because he didn’t think I’d answer otherwise. I almost missed hearing his apology in person when I finally made my way back home to his deathbed.

This call could be important.

It could be about Mom.

Something tells me not to ignore my vibrating phone this time. Guilt grabs me by the throat, and I stab the accept button. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Heard you’re announcing at the Ohio State game today.”

“Yeah, I just got to the stadium.” I pinch the knot on the back of my neck. “How’s everything?”

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