Reckless (38 page)

D
elilah

T
hree Months Later
. . .

“
D
on’t forget
, Delilah, you signed up to bring peanut butter brownies.” Krissy Caldwell flags me down as I leave the Thunder Girls meeting Saturday afternoon. It’s a club some of the players’ wives put together to create the sort of camaraderie you can only get when you’re part of a football family.

Of course, I’m only Zane’s girlfriend, but he spoke with Krissy, and they welcomed me with open arms. Her husband is the starting quarterback for the Chicago Thunder, and he and Zane have become fast friends these last few months.

“The bake sale is in two weeks, everyone!” Krissy calls out above the chatter of players’ wives. “Two PM. Saint Michael’s Cathedral. Remember, bring your A game. All proceeds are going to provide Christmas dinners to the homeless this year.”

“All right, I’m out of here,” I say to her. “Thanks for putting this together. I’m so grateful to be involved.”

“Of course.” She rubs my arm. “What are you and Zane doing for Christmas this year? Will you be in town? We’re having a bunch of friends over Christmas Eve. We’d love it if you and Zane could stop by.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m actually taking him home for Christmas,” I say. “He’s finally going to meet the rest of my family, so wish him luck.”

I give her a wink, and she chuckles.

“Aw, well, if they’re anything like you, they’re good people.” She rubs my arm before turning to flag down another woman. “Hilary, don’t forget, I have you down to bring cranberry walnut cookies.” She turns back to me. “I’ll see you next weekend. Thunder versus Rivets. Now
those
are the games I live for.”

* * *

“
H
ey
, gorgeous.” Zane glances up from a moving box as I step into my apartment. “Just a few more to go, and then you’re all packed.”

“Thanks, de la Cruz.” I wink, walking to him. “You’re a pretty all right guy sometimes . . .”

His hand slinks up my thigh before cupping my ass, and then he pulls me to the ground, into his lap.

“It’s going to be so weird living with you,” I say. “I’ve never lived with a guy before. Still haven’t told my parents. Not that they’re super conservative or anything, but this is all happening so fast.”

“Yeah, well, can we tell them after Christmas? I kind of don’t feel like introducing myself and then informing them that their daughter is sleeping in my bed on a nightly basis. One thing at a time.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so worried they won’t like you.” I press my palm flat on his chest. “They’re going to
love
you.”

“Don’t have the best track record with parents.” His lips purse at the sides. “They see some tatted-up, tall and dark football player with too much money and freedom and they tend to not want me to date their daughters.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I kiss him. I kiss my
boyfriend
. “Stop worrying. They’re going to love you. I promise. And Derek and Demi, too. You’ll get to meet everyone, and they’ll just love you.”

He kisses me back, his big hands circling my waist. “If you say so.”

“I know so.” I push off of him, rising slowly. “Come on. Let’s finish packing. I’ve been waiting months for this day.”

I skip toward the kitchenette and work on wrapping dishes in newspaper, humming a quiet tune under my breath, when I spot Zane checking his phone.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Contractor, calling about Magdalena’s,” he says. A couple months ago, Magda’s old house finally hit the market, and he made an all-cash offer that day. Little by little, he’s been hiring contractors to fix it up. It’s been hard to give it the attention it needs when we’re in the throes of football season, but come spring, that place is going to be fully restored and the most beautiful house on its block. “Just letting me know the drywall guys will be there Monday.”

“Perfect.” I beam. “Everything’s running on schedule.”

Zane isn’t sure what he’s going to do with the house when it’s done. He might rent it out or he may donate it to charity. He’d been tossing around the idea of starting a football club for underprivileged youth, a way to sort of “pay it forward,” and they could use the house as headquarters. I told him it was genius, and I offered to do whatever it took to get it off the ground.

He seals up the box on the floor, standing up and stacking it on top of two others by the door.

“Just about finished,” I call out.

“I’m going to start loading up.” He lifts two boxes, making them look light as feathers in his broad arms, and I get the door for him. “Sooner we get going, the sooner our happily ever after can finally begin.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, de la Cruz.” I let out a happy sigh. “It began the day you showed up at my door.”

*
T
his scene takes
place shortly after the epilogue in FILTHY.

D
emi

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.” I press my palm into Royal’s shoulder, shaking him gently, an enormous smile on my face, my sing-song voice fit for a Disney princess. “It’s Christmas morning . . .”

Royal utters some semblance of a groan before rolling toward me, but his eyes remain closed. He hooks his arm over my side, pinning me down, and buries his face into the pillow. It’s crazy being in my childhood bedroom, my high school sweetheart half-asleep beside me. My parents never would have allowed him to sleep in my room back in the day.

The muted clanking and clamoring of pots and pans echoes upstairs from the kitchen. The sun’s not up yet, but my mother’s already hard at work making breakfast. I should help. I’ve always loved rolling the cinnamon roll dough and slicing off spiraled pieces. Plus she sometimes lets me lick the cinnamon and sugar filling off the bowl when we’re done, and if I get down there early enough, I won’t have to fight Derek for it.

“Come on, Haven’s here,” I say. “I want to watch her open presents. She’s going to flip when she sees what we got her.”

Sure, we could have stayed at our place a half hour away, but what fun would that be? This Christmas is different. This Christmas is special. We’re all here, each of us at different stages in our lives than we were a year ago.

It’s funny how quickly life changes, and how when you’re least expecting things become wonderfully unpredictable.

I slide out from under Royal’s arm and throw the covers off my legs before heading to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom I used to share with my sisters. Haven’s sleeping in their room with Daphne, and I swear I hear the soft padding of tiny footsteps.

Freshening up, I check on Royal again, prepared to yank him out of my bed by his pinky toes if I have to, but he’s already up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning.

Slinking up from behind, I wrap my arms around his still-warm body and nuzzle my nose into his neck. I love the way he smells, all clean and woodsy, even in the morning. He drags a hand through his hair, smoothing down the parts that are sticking every which way, and then places his hand on mine.

The sky is lighter than it was a few minutes ago, shifting from a deep, sapphire blue to a twilight cobalt.

“Delilah should be here any minute,” I say. She and Zane took a red-eye from Chicago. They were supposed to get here last night, but their plane was overbooked. They offered to give up their seats so a family of five wouldn’t get split up. “Are you excited to meet Zane?”

Royal turns to me, mouth half-smirking. “Yeah. I guess.”

I playfully pat his chest. “I don’t care what you say, you’re excited. You see him on TV all the time, and now he’s going to be here. You love the Cougars. Gainesville is your team.”

“All right, all right. I’m excited.” He kisses the top of my head. “Just like you were excited when Serena Randall came over for a spaghetti dinner.

“I still can’t get over the fact that she lived with us.”

“Well get over it. She’s probably going to be around for a long time.”

“God, I hope so.”

Royal makes his way to the bathroom, and I secretly wonder if today’s the day Derek’s going to propose to Serena. They’ve only been together six months, but I’ve never seen my big brother like this before. He’s completely and utterly smitten. Obsessed. Head over heels in love with her. And she’s perfect for him. She’s perfect for Haven too. We all adore her – even my father.

By the time we trek downstairs, the sound of Bing Crosby crooning about a white Christmas plays softly from the living room speakers, filtering through the rest of the main floor. Mom’s singing along from the kitchen, Dad quietly harmonizing from behind an unfolded newspaper.

“Morning,” Mom calls a pot of coffee in hand. “Would you two like some?”

“Yes, please.” Royal takes a spot at the long table, slinging his legs over the bench seat, and Mom brings him a steaming cup of Joe, black, no milk or sugar, just the way he likes it.

“You need any help, Mom?” I glance at the elaborate ingredient set up she’s got going. The kitchen island is covered. I can’t see a single square inch of counter.

She moves to the refrigerator, coming back with a roll of dough wrapped in plastic.

“Let me guess,” she says with a wink. “You want to be in charge of cinnamon rolls?”

Grinning, I take the ball of dough from her and get to work, catching a glimpse of something from the corner of my eye. Derek’s come up from his room downstairs, wearing a white t-shirt and red, plaid pajama bottoms. Some things never change. If I squint hard enough he looks like his younger self, and it almost feels like we’ve stepped back in time.

“Where’s Serena?” I ask.

“Oh, I sent her to the store this morning to grab a few things,” Mom answers. “She just loves to grocery shop so she offered, and me, I’ve done it a million times, and I’m sick of it. More power to her.”

Ever since Serena moved to Rixton Falls, she’s fully embraced the simple life. I still get a kick out of the fact that she’d never grocery shopped until this year. Now she loves it, making organized lists and strategizing with coupons and specials for the fun of it.

“The grocery stores are open today?” Royal asks.

“Palmer Foods is,” Mom says. “But only from eight to noon.”

“Morning.” Daphne shuffles into the kitchen, her feet in cable-knit slippers and Haven on her hip. “Merry Christmas!”

“I’m hungry.” Haven drags the back of her hand across her eyes, brushing her messy blonde hair out of the way.

“We’re making breakfast right now, sweetie,” Mom calls out. “Why don’t you go check out the Christmas tree? I think I heard sleigh bells last night. Maybe Santa was here?”

Haven’s face lights, her big blue eyes round as saucers, and she slides down Daphne’s leg and makes a running leap toward the living room. A second later we hear a squeal of joy, and she runs back into the kitchen carrying a square package cloaked in reindeer wrapping paper and a big, gold bow.

“There are so many presents!” Haven jumps up and down, and whatever’s in her box rattles. “Can I hope them right now? Please?”

“We have to wait for Aunt Delilah to get here,” Dad says. “Should be any minute, Haven. Be patient, angel.”

The front door creaks open a few minute later, and the sound of tromping boots fills the foyer.

“I think they’re here . . .” I say, grinning. I rinse my sticky hands and pat them dry before running to greet Delilah and Zane. I thought I’d be more nervous about meeting Zane, but I’m not at all. I’ve never watched a game of football in my life, except when Royal has it playing in the background and I’m nose deep in a glossy magazine, and until Delilah mentioned his name, I’d never heard it before.

The foyer is dark, but I see their outlines; one clearly bigger than the other. I didn’t realize he’d be so big, then again, it makes sense. Professional athletes train hard, and they’re usually not small.

There’s a bag of presents in Zane’s hands, and he sits them down carefully.

Mom comes from behind me, flicking on the overhead light and rushing toward the two of them. She wraps them in a simultaneous hug, her standard greeting whether or not you know her that well.

“Look at you!” Mom stares up at Zane, and he smiles. He’s handsome. Even better looking than on TV. His skin is smooth like caramel and his eyes are almost a golden-brown. When he grins, he has dimples, like Royal’s.

Delilah and I make eye contact, exchanging smiles and watching as Mom fawns all over this poor guy.

“Did you have a nice flight?” Mom takes Zane by the hand, leading him to the kitchen. She’s always been a sort of one-woman welcoming committee, taking all our friends and visitors into her home with open arms. “Are you any good in the kitchen? Delilah tells me you make excellent Spanish food. I found a recipe for
torrijas
. Am I saying that right? Anyway, I thought we could make something together . . .”

Mom’s voice fades as they move to the kitchen, and my sister and I laugh.