Stars (Penmore #1) (29 page)

“Young Mr. Waters, what a pleasure it is to see you again,” Mr. Simons greets as he brings a thick cigar to his mouth then slowly blows smoke out the right side passenger window. His Armani suit and everything in the car reeked of money and the thick stench of illegally imported cigars.

“What do you want?” I demand. I knew who I was dealing with, knew that he had done worse to men for doing less than speaking to him with disrespect, but I couldn’t—or, I guess, wouldn’t—hold back. Not when my brother’s body still lay in a wooden box across the road, within spitting distance.

“Just a chance to get my money back, boy,” he states clearly and casually, turning his head to stare out the window. As if discussing the weather, he appears completely serene and lacking in emotion.

That is until he starts chatting about my father. Then the unchained rage that hides behind this sociopath can be heard and felt between his words. “Your father has cost me greatly since his return to town. Making promises about new investors and struggling to deliver anything he may have collected from new businesses in need of my protection. I’m afraid I’ll be needing another payment to keep from sending any further messages to your father through your family.”

“How the fuck am I going to do that? You cleaned me out last time, man. I have nothing left to give,” I state, emphasizing each word to stress the absence of funds currently sitting in my bank account.

“The boy had possessions. Your father’s other son. He wasn’t willing to part with them a week ago when my associates decided to pay a visit, but I imagine you might think differently.”

“You want me to give you, and the men who killed my brother, his last remaining assets?” I ask him, gritting my teeth. It was ludicrous. I wanted to inform him how bat-shit crazy he was, how he belonged in a fucking insane asylum, but while I previously had no experience with this level of insanity, I doubt me holding up a mirror would make a difference to this current moment. What a whack-job.

“The boy no longer needs them. I don’t see why this would be a hardship. You’re his only brother; surely you would be receiving some sort of financial gain,” he murmurs as he blows smoke calmly out his window. Again, as if we were talking about the changing of seasons rather than the personal effects of someone I cared about changing hands.

“All of his stuff, his truck and anything valuable, were sold. It’s gone in a trust to pay medical insurance and baby supplies. He knocked up some random girl. She’s inheriting everything he had left,” I say, raking my fingers through my hair. “There is nothing I can get worth a damn to give you.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to get creative. That is unless you would prefer I move on to other associates of your father. Maybe even a chat to your mother, or I’ll send my associates to speak with your clever girlfriend. Future doctor, I hear. Inspired by her father, the doctor. I do believe doctors make a lot of money. I’m sure she might be happy to help.”

“Don’t go near my mother or my girlfriend. And you want creative? What the hell is that meant to mean?”

“You’re a talented boy. Play a brilliant game.”

“What the fuck are you getting at?” I snarl. Feeling awareness slowly sink and knot in the pit of my stomach.

“I hear your team is on the road to the National Championship.” A sly grin tugs at his thin lips as his small yellow eyes lock onto mine. “Big game. Lots of money changes hands on that day. Wouldn’t mind most of that money going into
my
hand, boy.”

“I don’t know how the fuck I can help you with that.”

“Everyone says you’re a sure thing. Best quarterback in the country. Going to be better than Joe Montana one day,” he tells me, chuckling.

“So bet on me, I’m good odds,” I state, praying this is where it ends.

“Now, boy. The odds are stacked high for your team to win, for sure,” Mr. Simons ponders. “But the problem is I like sure things after dealing with your daddy. Guaranteed victory and whatnot. A big payday I can count on, if you get my meaning. So I think, what with being a star and all, you would know what plays to run that might, say, give the advantage to the other team.”

“I don’t know what the hell you expect me to say,” I wheeze.

“Well, boy, you can say, ‘Gavin, I couldn’t be happier to ensure my family is safe, and I would love to make up for my father’s mistake. Whatever it takes.’”

“Whatever it takes?”

“Exactly.”

*****

“So, I’ve made a decision,” I tell her.

“Huh?” Parker asks, looking up from where she’s lying on my couch reading her textbooks. Her curly hair is wildly escaping the bun she tried to put on the top of her head. Her oversized ragdoll kitten sweater exposes her naked left shoulder, and her skinny jeans molding her ass in a way that makes me completely forget what it was I was trying to tell her.

Her eyes sparkle as they follow mine. “Babe, you were saying?”

“Damn, you look good. But, yeah. Serious discussion. The professor of my children’s literature class informed me of a competition she thinks I should enter. I handed in the picture book I did of your first attempt at speaking with me for my last assignment. She loved it, the wood nymph who follows a prince and protects him without him knowing. Who, on her seventeenth birthday, discovers that she’s a fairy princess and, through magic, allows the prince to see her for the first time. They, of course, live happily ever after, because how could the prince not immediately fall for a fairy princess? Anyway, Professor Fielding thinks there’s a high probability it’ll win the picture book category in this writer’s competition and possibly land me a literary agent.”

“Gray, that sounds awesome!” Parker squeals, dropping her study notes to run and jump on me. When I catch her, feel her legs wrap around my waist and see her bright smile, I almost forget how miserable the past week has been. The joy that shines from her eyes replaces the worry she had only days ago when I convinced her to move into my apartment. Just for the short term. Until I knew everything would be okay. Until I stopped waking up from nightmares that involved racing to Parker’s apartment. Finding her lifeless body slumped in a very real kitchen. A kitchen that looks just like Nate’s did.

“Babe, that’s amazing,” she tells me, grinning and making me hold her that little bit tighter. “I’m sure it will win.”

“Yeah well, Stars, if my work is in the competition, my split passions will no longer be a secret. So I’ve made the decision. After the championship, I’m quitting football,” I tell her quickly. Keeping the pain out of my eyes and my words. “People will think I’m not completely focused on the game eventually. And I think I’m ready to just focus on my writing dream.”

“Gray, that’s ridiculous,” she scoffs. “No one trains harder than you do. No one would judge you if you tried to do both.”

“Stars, everyone trains as hard as I do,” I state, grinning at her defensive furrowed brow. “A team doesn’t get ranked in the top ten college football teams without everyone at the school working hard for it. They deserve someone to only be focused on getting to each championship and not worrying about landing an agent or editing their next publication.”

“Okay then. Forgetting about what other people think or deserve for a moment, can you really give up something that you love, Gray? What makes you happy for two hours when other things are clouding your mind?”

“That’s just it, Stars. I love both. I love being a part of the team. But I also really love writing.”

“But you’re going to only be writing? Give up part of yourself?”

“It’s writing that has made me stronger through my grief, Stars. Made me whole. Being able to imagine other worlds has kept me from going insane with worry or anger.”

“Okay, so you do both,” Parker tells me before giving me a quick kiss and jumping down.

“
Sorry, what?” I ask her, as she merrily goes back to picking up her study notes and sitting on the couch.

“Well, you just told me that you love writing. And I’ve watched you long enough to know you love football. So, there’s your answer.”

“I can’t do both.”

“Why not?” she challenges, one eyebrow raised and a knowing grin gracing her lips. “Look, I’m a woman planning on becoming a doctor and I still plan on having kids. Will that be easy? No. Is having it all ever easy? No. But is it worth the challenge rather than giving up on one dream for another? Yes. You write or you go pro. Either way, I’ll love you. But I think you should try for both.”

“You honestly think I can do both?” I ask her, trying to think of something to say for her to stop making me dream or want the impossible.

“Yes,” she tells me with complete sincerity, “I think you can. I think we’re too young to close any doors. So, you write. Enter the competition Professor Fielding wants you to enter.”

“You think the team’s not going to say shit? The town won’t think I’m letting everyone down?” I challenge her.

“Babe, if the town wants to prevent you from doing the things you need to do to live a happy life, I say screw ‘em. If the boys on the team give you shit, tell them your girlfriend will go after them.”

“My girlfriend will go after guys twice her height and triple her size?” I chuckle.

“If they plan on standing in front of my man’s dreams, fuck yes, I will,” she states adamantly. “You’re talented. I refuse the idea that you might even for a second not explore and build on both. Now, go away, I’m trying to study. Let’s not waste time on non-issues.”

“Babe, I don’t … I can’t…” I groan, skimming my hands through my hair and sitting on the arm of the couch.

“Look, if I told you that I’m going to drop out of medicine tomorrow because I plan on having kids, what would you tell me?” she asks me seriously.

“I’d tell you not to be stupid. You’re too smart. When you have my kids, I’ll be there to help.”

“Exactly,” she says, smiling. “So, Mr. Genius, it would be the advice you would give anyone else. So, you should take it. Although, who said I planned on having your kids?”

“Nice try,” I tell her, tugging her elbow so she falls lightly onto my knees, her eyes looking up at my face.

“I’m serious. You’ll probably want to name them some crazy name inspired by a fantasy novel, like Vanier and Tallery,” she replies cheekily.

“If we have girls, I like Elliot or Stella. Wouldn’t mind loving another Elliot girl. Boys can be Colt or Landon,” I state before gently brushing my lips across hers.

“Another Elliot, huh?” She smiles before she furrows her brow and says, “We shouldn’t name our boy after a horse though! The kids will start calling him Horsie!

But I like the rest. Okay, we can have children together.” she giggles, reaching up and bringing my mouth firmly against hers.

God, I love the taste of honey.

PARKER

He kept telling me he had made his decision. Nothing I could say would change his mind.

But I knew that on game days, the only place Grayson wanted to be was on the field. Hell, those two hours brought him back to life last week. I even see how he smiles over the disgusting smell of sweat and hard work in the locker room. He’s confident on the field, and everyone always tells him what an amazing job he’s doing. And I know that how he feels throwing a pass over sixty yards to be grasped tightly by one of his receivers is a gift, a beautiful skill that others would die for, not something he should think about throwing away.

Not for the money.

Or for the stardom.

But for his ability to use the gifts he was blessed with in a place that makes him forget his worries.

I can’t let him make a decision this serious yet. It’s too soon.

I planned on hounding him.

Becoming a dog with a bone and interfering somewhere I might not belong.

Going against my shy, awkward and clumsy nature to remain steadfast in my passion to see him succeed.

I figured that was what love was.

Love was willing to be someone different, someone the other person needs over your own inadequacies or beliefs, to ensure they were the happiest version of themselves.

Love was wanting
more
in every possible way.

There was just so much on his mind right now for him to want more for himself.

Too much.

Trying to decide on the future was unreasonable when the present was a struggle.

I knew he was barely sleeping. He wouldn’t tell me what he feared, what was keeping him up at night and panicked most days.

He asked me to stay at his place until after the championship.