Jamar peeked out of one eye, then quickly shut it again. He forced himself to remain in the massage chair, pressing his head back against the mechanical balls made to mimic thumbs. He still saw a massage therapist monthly, but for the time between his sessions, the therapist had suggested he set up a “tranquility room.”
He’d ordered an obscenely expensive massage chair, along with a commercial-grade aromatherapy diffuser that misted lavender, rosemary, and other shit that was supposed to relax him. He’d even had mood lighting installed, thin LED strips that ran along the crown molding, casting off colors he manipulated by remote control based on the ambience he wanted to set.
None of it was working today.
It would have helped if his “Soothing Sounds” playlist hadn’t filled the room with the sound of gentle raindrops. The moment he heard them, his mind immediately went back to that secluded spot at the summit of Mount Bonnell and the feel of Taylor’s body pressed against his. He felt her hands cradling his face, her hard nipples against his palms as he massaged her breasts through her wet T-shirt.
How was he supposed to relax when every molecule in his body craved her, when her taste still lingered in his mouth? How was he supposed to continue with this pretend relationship after getting a glimpse of what the real thing could be like?
“Fuck,” Jamar whispered. He should have told Alec Mooney the truth from the very beginning. Just two weeks into this fake dating scheme and they were already in too deep to call it off.
His phone rang, startling him. He set the phone to Do Not Disturb while in his tranquility room, so the only people who got through were those he deemed worthy enough to have on his favorites list.
Jamar smiled at the name on the phone. Andrea Cannon, Silas’s older sister by three years. She was one of the few people he always had time for.
“Hey, Drea. What’s up?”
His smile faded as he listened to her share that her grandfather had gone into the hospital. He could tell she was trying to keep her tone even.
“I’m on my way,” Jamar said.
“That’s not necessary, Jamar. I just wanted you to know about Big Silas.”
“Okay, thanks for calling,” he said. He hung up the phone and immediately started for his room. As if he would sit here doing jack shit while Silas’s grandfather lay in a hospital bed.
He grabbed his leather duffel and threw in some clothes, along with a Dopp kit embossed with the Hill Sports Management logo.
He called Taylor as he bounded down the stairs.
“I was just about to call you,” she greeted, answering after the first ring. “I finished the last of your meal prep. I should be there in about an hour.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our workout for today and tomorrow,” he said. “I need to go home—to Katy,” he clarified.
“Is everything okay?” Concern colored her voice.
“I’m not sure. A close . . . ” How could he describe Silas’s grandfather? He wasn’t just a family friend. He was so much more than that. “The grandfather of a really close friend is in the hospital. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Her question sent a wave of gratitude through him. That she would even offer meant more to him than he could describe right now. But accepting her offer meant having to tell her about Silas, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay on my own,” Jamar answered. “I may even be back tonight. According to my friend’s granddaughter, he’ll be out of the hospital soon. I just want to be there, to make sure he’s okay. I’ll let you know when I’m back.”
“Okay,” she said. “Are you driving?”
“Yeah. I can usually make it home in two and a half hours, even less than that if I push the speed limit.”
“How about you not do that,” she said in a warning tone. “Be safe on the road. I hope everything is okay with your friend.”
“Thanks, Taylor.”
For a minute, he thought about reversing course and accepting her offer to join him. But that would create an entirely different set of questions he wasn’t up for fielding right now.
His mom had asked about Taylor the last time she called, after several of her coworkers and friends sent her links to the online chatter that had popped up over the past couple of weeks. He’d avoided the third degree by suggesting that his and Taylor’s relationship wasn’t as serious as the Internet was making it out to be. If he showed up in Katy with Taylor in tow, Jamar would have some serious explaining to do.
He climbed into the Range Rover, then spent the drive in silent prayer that Big Silas was okay.
A sad smile pulled at the corner of Jamar’s mouth. Big Silas had been like a surrogate grandfather to him. He’d treated Jamar no differently than he treated his own grandson, who he’d raised along with Silas’s sister after their mother was sent to prison for life for killing their father.
Silas was the stereotype the media loved to perpetuate.
He and his sister had spent their early years with heroin junkies for parents, who would leave their two young kids for days at a time. Once he was granted custody, Big Silas had scraped together whatever he could find to take care of his grandchildren. It hadn’t been easy for a disabled vet with emphysema and little income coming in from side jobs, but he’d made it work. It had taken Jamar far too long to realize just what his mom was doing when she sent Silas home with so many leftovers on the frequent nights when he would join them for dinner.
While most kids with after-school jobs spent their paycheck on the latest pair of Air Jordans or Madden video game, Silas used his to buy groceries and toilet paper. When they would talk about what they would do with the money from their first big NFL contract, the first thing Silas spoke about was fixing up his grandfather’s house, because he knew Big Silas would never move into a brand-new one.
After he signed with the Bears, Jamar made sure that small two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Katy was renovated before he bought his own house. He’d vowed to Silas on his deathbed that he would take care of his grandfather and sister. He even put money on Rashida Cannon’s books at the maximum security prison in Gatesville every month, because he knew Silas would want him to take care of his mother too.
Despite Taylor’s warning, Jamar made it to Katy in just over two hours. He pulled into a parking spot at the VA clinic on Westgreen and went straight for the information desk. He was directed to a room down the hall.
His heart dropped when he walked in and found the bed empty.
“God, please no.”
“Jamar? What are you doing here?”
He whipped around to find Andrea stirring coffee in a foam cup.
“Drea, how is he? Where is he?”
“They took him to get X-rays,” she said. She set the coffee on the rolling tray that was against the wall, then turned to Jamar, enveloping him in a hug. She slapped him on the back of the head. “Why did you come all the way here? I told you he would be okay.”
“I had to see him with my own eyes,” Jamar said. He gave her a squeeze before releasing her. “What happened?”
Drea rolled her eyes as she picked up her coffee. “Well, first, he cut himself trying to open a can of tuna. And then, as he was looking in the bathroom cabinet for something to use as a bandage, he fell.” She took a sip, then set it back down. “They don’t think anything is broken, but it’s possible that he bruised a couple of ribs.”
She walked over to the bed where the red and black plaid flannel shirt Big Silas wore all the time lay crumpled against the thin pillow. She picked it up and started to fold it.
She was stalling.
“What is it?” Jamar asked.
“The doctor thinks he needs round-the-clock care,” she said, releasing a deep sigh. “His home health nurse has been a godsend, but she’s only there for a few hours a day. It’s a good thing this happened before her visit, because if it had happened after, he would have spent the entire night on the bathroom floor. I had already called to do my daily check on him before starting my shift, so I wouldn’t have even thought to call until tomorrow.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I think about what could have happened and it just . . . ”
“Don’t think about that,” Jamar said. “We’ll get him in a facility that can offer him round-the-clock care, or if he still doesn’t want to leave the house, we can hire a live-in nurse to look after him.”
Andrea placed the shirt on the bed and then folded her arms over her stomach. “Look, I know you’ve made this pledge to Silas, but I can’t ask you to pay for long-term care for my grandfather.”
“You’re not asking,” Jamar said.
“Jamar—”
“I mean it, Drea. He may not be my grandfather by blood, but he is in every other way.”
She shook her head, a somber smile pulling at her lips. “You’re just as stubborn as my brother was.”
“Wrong. I’m way more stubborn than Silas was.”
“I can’t argue with that,” she said with a laugh. She made her way back to where he stood, just inside the door to the small hospital room. “He would have been so proud of you,” Drea said, kissing his cheek. “Thank you for always being there for us.”
The weight of her words settled heavy in Jamar’s chest.
Money wasn’t at the top of his list of reasons for wanting to return to the League. Fulfilling his promise to Silas that he would have the career they’d both dreamed of and shoving crow into the mouths of those haters who counted him out following his knee injury both ranked higher. But Jamar couldn’t deny that a new NFL contract would go a long way in helping to take care of both his family and Silas’s family for decades to come.
This quest to make it back into the League wasn’t just about him; it was about all the other people in his life that he wanted—needed—to provide for. Drea’s words drove home just how stupid and irresponsible it was to get caught up in all these feelings for Taylor. He’d hired her for a reason, and she was damn good at her job. He would not allow his overexcited dick to mess things up. Too many people were counting on him.
Just then, the door swung open and Big Silas was wheeled into the room by a harried-looking nursing assistant. Jamar got another earful from him about making the drive from Austin, but then he and Drea spent the next half hour laughing as Big Silas regaled them with the latest stories of him and his dominoes buddies.
The nurse came in carrying two small plastic cups. She scanned the hospital bracelet, then explained each medication as she handed the tiny cups to Big Silas.
“Radiology will be here in about ten minutes to take you up for your CT scan.”
“It looks as if they have everything under control here,” Jamar said once the nurse left the room. “I should probably head over to see my folks.” He shoved one hand in his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck with the other, preparing himself for pushback.
He glanced at Drea, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
“So . . . umm . . . Big Silas,” Jamar started. “As I was driving in, I noticed that new place they built out there on Bartlett Road. The one with the nice fountain in front.”
“That old folks home?” Big Silas asked.
“It’s called an assisted-living facility,” Drea said.
“I don’t care what they call it. I know it’s an old folks home. Now why you bringing it up?”
Jamar raised his hands. “I was just saying how nice it is. You know . . . with the fountain and everything.”
This conversation had gone a lot differently in his head. He looked to Drea, waiting for her to back him up. She just stared at him, her eyes teeming with I told you so.
He stared back at her and tipped his head toward her grandfather.
“We don’t have to talk about any of this now,” Drea said as she unfolded the plaid shirt and draped it across Big Silas’s bony shoulders. “I’ll stay at the house for a few days once they spring you loose from this place.”
Jamar nodded in agreement. He would call Drea once he was back in Austin and they would come up with an alternate game plan. Maybe they could convince him to give the live-in nurse a chance.
Once Jamar was assured that things were all good with Drea and Big Silas, he left the VA clinic and headed for his parents’ house, or as he tended to refer to it: home. That seven-bedroom house he lived in back in Georgetown was the kind of place he’d always dreamed of living in. He’d paid cash for it, snatching it up for what his real estate agent considered a steal at five million. It was spacious and professionally decorated and had every bit of luxury he could ever hope for.
But it was the simple two-story ranch-style house with the basketball hoop attached to the garage that would always be home. He’d offered to buy his parents a new place when he made it to the NFL and had felt no small bit of relief when they’d turned him down. This house provided comfort when he needed it. His old bedroom remained a sanctuary that he could return to when he yearned for peace and quiet.
Although they wouldn’t allow him to do too much to the house, Jamar had convinced his dad to let him add on the woodworking room he’d always wanted. This past summer he’d built his mom a “she shed” that his dad now complained about because she spent too much time in there.
He pulled up to the house, happy to find both their cars parked in the driveway. They weren’t expecting him home for a few weeks yet—not until Thanksgiving. It would be fun to surprise them.
He used his house key to let himself inside.
“Hey,” he called. “Anybody home?”
His question was initially met with silence, but then he heard, “Jamar?”
The panicked lilt to his mom’s voice sent him racing to the kitchen.
Jamar made it to the arched entryway and stopped short. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to burn his eyes out or go to his old room and cry.
His mom sat atop the kitchen counter, her skirt hiked up. She held her unbuttoned shirt tight over her breasts. His dad was bare-chested, his pants and belt gathered at his ankles.
“What are you doing here?” they yelled at him.
“Dying inside,” Jamar answered.
He pivoted and started for the front door. He wasn’t mature enough to accept the fact that his parents had sex. He would never be fucking mature enough for that.
“Jamar, come back here,” his mother called.
“That’s okay,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys at Thanksgiving.”
“Boy, would you get back here!” His mother caught him by the arm. She still held her shirt together with her fist.
Jamar squeezed his eyes shut. “Please button your shirt. God, I’m never surprising you guys again,” he said. He went into the living room and plopped down on the sofa, propping his elbows on his thighs and cradling his head in his hands.
“You’ve got to expect to see some things you may not want to see when you come sneaking up on empty nesters.”
He groaned. “I don’t want to hear this.”
His dad came into the room, his belt buckle still flapping. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I will be asking myself that same question for the rest of my natural-born life,” Jamar said.
He told them about Big Silas’s medical scare. They then informed him that they’d booked a last-minute cruise out of Galveston that was leaving the Monday before Thanksgiving.
“So you won’t be here for Thanksgiving? When were you going to tell me?” Jamar asked.
“Today,” his mom answered. “After I finished thanking your dad for the cruise. That’s what you interrupted.”
“That’s it, I’m out.” He pushed up from the sofa.
“Oh, stop.” His mom laughed. As if any of this shit was funny. “You really need to lighten up,” she added.
So now he was a prude. Great.
He hugged them both goodbye and left the house, wondering why mind bleach wasn’t an actual thing.
For the entire drive home, all Jamar could think of was how messed up it was that his fifty-year-old dad was getting laid more than he was these days.