Page 51 of Second Quarter Comeback
My pulse jumps. A small, traitorous smile tugs at my lips before I remind myself why this is a bad idea. I haven’t even had the time to think about what happened between us. The break up, my parents meddling and . . . I can’t just fall back into something, I know it has to end.
I dress, slipping on fresh underwear and a comfortable pair yoga pants, I can’t help but wonder what I’d say if I didn’t have that next meeting.
Balance. Right.
I shake my head and grab my bag, determined to stay focused. Except as I step outside and the door clicks shut behind me, I realize one thing.
Killion isn’t just tipping the scale. He’s flipping the damn thing over entirely and I’m not sure how I’m going to avoid him. Not when I’m craving it just as much as I craved him when we were younger.
Chapter Thirty-One
Killion
How to Avoid Losing Everything
I’ve always loved the house where we grew up in upstate New York. We weren’t there full time until Kade and I started high school, but that was our home base. The sprawling property has this timeless charm, with rolling green hills,towering oak trees, and all the space you won’t find in the city. Eighty acres with everything you need to help your children become the athletes they could be.
I barely make it to the front door before it swings open, and Scottie, my younger sister, barrels out like a whirlwind, her long hair streaming behind her. “Look who decided to grace us with his presence—the prodigal son returns,” she teases, throwing her arms around me.
“Prodigal?” I smirk, hugging her back. “Pretty sure that’s your title. When was the last time you were in Manhattan?”
She pulls back, narrowing her gray eyes at me with mock indignation. “I’ve been busy with my practice, unlike some people. And for the record, I call our dads more than once a month—or when I have problems. What’s your excuse, oh absent one?”
Before I can retort, Greyson, our youngest brother, appears in the doorway, grinning like he’s up to no good. “I thought it was going to be an asshole-free weekend. Your twin is inside if you’re here to see him.”
“Good to see you too,” I reply dryly as he walks away.
I glance at Scottie, who shrugs. “I think he broke up with his boyfriend or . . . who knows?” She rolls her eyes. “He’s always moody when he comes to visit our fathers. I’m sure it’s about going professional. It’s a sensitive subject for him.”
“That it is,” I agree, nodding toward the sprawling estate. “So, why are you here?”
Unless it’s family dinner night—which has become more sporadic lately with everyone busy training, playing games, and pretending to have a life—we don’t get together that often. When we do, it’s usually for something pressing. Like today, for example. I’m here to talk to my fathers about my future and maybe get some wisdom. After all, they managed to make their relationship work while playing for two different teams in two different cities. Sure, it got easier when Dad retired, but they made it work.
Would I have loved to bring Camille with me so Dad could finally meet her in person? Absolutely. But let’s be real: Cam isn’t anywhere near ready for that. I still can’t believe I got as lucky as I did last night. She let me in—not completely, of course—but enough to touch her. Enough to remind her of us, of what we were.
We were more than sex and lust, though. We were friends. We were each other’s person in such a short time.
She had become my everything.
“Hey, are you still here?” Scottie asks, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
“Umm, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted,” I mumble, shaking off my thoughts. “You were saying?”
“Never mind,” she says, crossing her arms with anexaggerated sigh. “Let me guess—you’re here to talk about your next-door neighbor.”
“Not you too,” I groan, glaring at her.
“Oh, me too,” she mocks, mimicking my voice. “Do I get to meet her this time, or did you already fuck the whole thing up?”
“Language, Ella,” I say mockingly, slipping into the tone our fathers used to use when she was younger and got caught swearing.
She sticks her tongue out at me, spinning on her heel to walk away. “Oh, don’t be mad, Scottie. I was just kidding,” I call after her, smirking.
“Whatever. I hope she doesn’t take you back,” she shoots over her shoulder, but there’s a playful lilt to her voice.
“Wait a second,” I say, trying to reel her back. “You know, she might need an investor for her business.”
That stops her. She turns, her curiosity piqued. “Go on . . .”
