The Bridge to a Better Life (21 page)

Picking up the frame, she stared at the picture inside. She radiated all the good things about life in that one snapshot: life, love, joy, and hope. Looking at it, she could finally admit she wasn’t happy, not like she’d been before Kim’s death. She’d given up believing that she could be, that she deserved to be. How had it ever come to this? Blake living next door and taking care of her when she was drunk, even though they were divorced.

Her eyes tracked to the imprint of his body on the covers and the pillow.

Her stomach rolled, but this time, it wasn’t from excess.

It was from grief.

Sam was reading the Sunday paper at the kitchen table when Blake let himself in through the garage. He and Andy had orchestrated the return of Natalie’s car—Andy had dropped it off, and then Blake had dropped Andy off. They hadn’t really talked about last night, thank God. All he really wanted to do now was take a long shower before the caterers arrived.

“Everyone still asleep?”

“I think a few are showering. We might need to wake the others up with ice water after last night’s antics.”

He wasn’t even going to ask what they’d gotten up to after he left. “I’d be particularly happy to wake up Jordan that way.”

“Sounds like fun. How is Natalie?” Sam asked, folding
The Western Independent
and settling it in his lap.

“Hung over. Shock.” He made jazz hands, which normally would have made Sam laugh. But his friend didn’t play along.

“How are you after playing husband last night?”

The bold question would have gone unanswered had anyone else asked it. “Shitty. She pulled one of her Natalie Shows and danced in her underwear.”

His memory couldn’t seem to stop replaying that scene, and the mere memory was enough to arouse him. It was embarrassing. And heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly and rose from the kitchen table. He poured a cup of coffee and slid it to Blake.

The coffee burned his lips, but he kept gulping, needing the pain as much as the caffeine. He’d barely slept. Being next to her again, feeling her warm, soft body so close, hearing her breathe…even those cute little snores she made when she was conked out had been like finding a trove of long-awaited treasure. And it had made him cry, dammit.

Sam’s hand rested on his shoulder, and he welcomed the show of support.

“She threw herself at me and was shocked when I turned her away. She said…she loved me.” The knife slid under his ribs again, tearing open his flesh.

“Then you were right to come here,” Sam said. “She might have been drunk, but you know what they say—in vino veritas. Everything will work out. Somehow.”

He couldn’t think about that right now. When the guys left later, he would take a long hike in the mountains and try to clear his mind.

“I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Don’t be surprised if you don’t find any clean underwear,” Sam told him when he was halfway across the room.

He did a double take. “What did they do?”

Sam grimaced. “I tried to put a stop to it after the first few, but…I gave up under duress. Some of the guys—not saying who—climbed one of your trees and stuck all your briefs on the branches. In hindsight, it’s not as bad as the time we put all of Jordan’s briefs in the freezer.”

He glanced out the window, but couldn’t see anything from his vantage point, so he walked out the back door. “You’re shitting me.”

“Wish I was, although I did think it was pretty creative in the beginning.”

He watched a squirrel carry one of his navy briefs in its mouth and run up a tree. Were they using his underwear for blankets or something? He could see the ad now.

Ride the Squirrel Craze. Discover men’s underwear for blankets. Keep your nuts warm.

His eyes tracked to the right, and sure enough, his underwear were flapping in the breeze on the highest branches possible, like a men’s-only May Pole. The sheer number of them and the amount of colors he wore made his face flush.

“Whose brilliant idea was this?” he asked.

“Jordan and Grant’s. Who else?”

He growled in his throat. Normally he would laugh something like this off, but he’d slept two hours tops and had woken up with blue balls.

“You’re telling me they used all my briefs?”

“Cleared out your drawer,” Sam said with barely disguised glee.

Blake turned at the sound of heavy footfalls in the hallway. When no one emerged, he strode over and discovered Grant hiding behind the wall like a little kid.

When the lineman saw him, he held up his hands. “Don’t kill me. It was Jordan’s idea.”

“Right.” He rubbed the stubble on his face. “I’m showering now, and I want all my underwear down by the time I finish.”

Grant shook his head. “No way, Ace. We…ah…made a brother’s pact. The only person who can get them down is you.”

He and Sam had started the brother’s pact at camp to make sure no one welshed on a dare or a bet or a practical joke. Now he was eating his own words.

“Terrific. Let the caterers in if I’m not out yet.”

He headed straight to the shower. It was intolerably brief and cold, and he elected not to shave as he tugged on yesterday’s underwear and Don Johnson getup. No way was he going commando in tight acid-washed jeans. He didn’t need anything rubbing or chafing down south. When he returned to the kitchen, the caterers were already setting up. He started when he saw Natalie slowly peeling saran wrap off a bowl of fruit, wincing with every inch uncovered.

Of course she’d come. She prided herself on her professionalism—always had. The smell of food had to be pure torture for her, not to mention the noise from the five guys who had emerged from back rooms with wet hair and clean-shaven jaws. Jordan wasn’t among them and neither was Zack.

Sam waggled his brow as if he knew what he was thinking. He nodded.

As he passed Natalie on the way to the cabinet, he rested his hand briefly on her shoulder. She looked back at him. Her skin had a gray pallor, and her hair was still wet from her own shower. But she stole his breath away.

“I told you that you didn’t have to come,” he said. What he really wanted to tell her was that she looked beautiful, even hung over.

“I know you did. Thanks for helping Andy this morning.”

“You’re welcome.”

He moved to the cabinet and pulled out two pitchers. Sam grabbed one, and they filled them first with ice and then with water before tiptoeing into the room where Zack and Jordan were bunking. Once they were inside enemy territory, Blake crooked his finger for Sam to take Zack while he positioned himself over Jordan.

Pretty boy Jordan was sleeping in the nude on his stomach, tangled in the covers with one butt cheek sticking out. Zack was sleeping on a blowup bed in the corner by the closet. He must have lost the coin toss.

Blake raised one finger at a time, counting to three, and then he and Sam simultaneously upended the pitcher all over the guys. Atlanta’s marquee quarterback screeched, lashing out with his hands as the water soaked his bed. Zack squealed bloody murder and rolled off onto the floor.

Shoulders shaking with laughter, Blake watched as Jordan rose onto his haunches and glared at him.

“Payback’s a bitch,” he said, letting one eyebrow rise.

“You guys so suck,” Zack shouted, tossing water-soaked pillows and sheets in their direction.

“How does it feel to be wearing the same underwear, Ace?” Jordan fired back.

The man never cried uncle. It was what made him a great player. Sack him, and he sneered.

“About as great as an ice bath to the privates. Brunch is ready.” With that, Blake left the room, Sam chuckling as he followed him out.

The guys were stuffing their faces when they came back into the room. He spotted Natalie in the corner of the kitchen, fiddling with a container of something. All of her assistants were gone. She must have sent them home since everything was laid out. He wondered why she was lingering. Did she want to talk to him? His heart clutched with hope.

Logan set aside his bagel with a grin. “How badly did you get Jordan?”

“Pretty bad, from the sound of it,” Grant said. “Zack could have doubled for some exotic bird.”

“Must be all those Vegas entertainers he’s been dating.” Blake affected a hard gleam in his eyes as he scanned the group. “Let that be a warning. Next time you want to decorate my tree with my briefs do me a favor and leave one clean pair for me to wear. These jeans chafe like hell.”

The guys all laughed, and Natalie looked over, her eyes wide. Then she stepped over to the window and looked out, likely to see the spectacle. She was biting her lip when she turned around. When she waggled her finger at him, he walked over without hesitation, as if she were a magnet.

“I’ll go get you some new briefs,” she whispered when he lowered his head to hear her.

His mouth parted in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What are you going to do? Climb the tree and wash them? I know you. The guys touched your briefs, and I think I saw a few robins perching on a red pair.”

Ugh. He hadn’t thought about the birds. Or the guys’ hands.

“I can have my assistant get some tomorrow,” he told her. “Be faster than the mail.” The tips of his ears burned as he considered what it would be like to ask her. Usually he ordered them online himself, which Natalie had reason to know.

Three years ago someone had taken a picture of him buying his briefs at Cherry Creek Mall and tweeted it. The picture had instantly gone viral. His fans had started tweeting about switching to his brand for good luck on game day, and several had shared pics. If there was one thing he didn’t need to see in a pic, it was a hairy man with a big belly pointing at the waistband of his briefs.

“I know…what you like.” Her cheeks flushed, putting a dent in her gray pallor. “And I owe you. After last night.”

“I told you, you don’t owe me,” he said as Jordan walked into the kitchen and glared at him. He shot him a wide-toothed smile.

“I know, but I want to do this, Blake. I’ll send Touchdown over when I leave for the store. He was taking a nap.”

The dog probably hadn’t slept much better than Blake. Maybe he was as confused as Blake was about this whole situation. Still, after last night, Blake could feel the simple bonds of intimacy wrapping around them once more. Here he was, talking with her in the kitchen about buying his briefs. He had to remind himself she was his
ex
-wife, but in truth, he didn’t think of her that way. Never had.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he wanted so badly to kiss her, just a simple husband-and-wife thank-you kiss, for being in the kitchen while he hosted his friends, for running personal errands for him. For being his partner. Her lashes lowered, and he knew she was aware of him. Then she licked her lips. Lightning struck. She always licked her lips when she was thinking about kissing him in public.

Stepping back was a challenge, but if he planned to win her back—and he did—he had to give her the space to realize
she
wanted him back. All the way.

“Thanks, Nat. Just text me when you return, and I’ll jog over to get them. I don’t want the guys commandeering them and adding them to that poor tree out back. Do you think it’s embarrassed?”

A puzzled crease appeared between her brows. “Who?”

“The tree.”

A shy smile played up those gorgeous lips of hers. “Maybe. I’ll just…head out.”

He clenched his hands to stop them from reaching for her. She moved by him so slowly, he felt her body heat penetrate his sensitized skin.

“I’ll see you guys later,” she said at the door. “Jordan, the next time you come around with tequila, I’m going to kill you.”

The quarterback blew her a kiss. “The next time I have tequila, you can make us some of your famous margaritas.”

“Deal.”

The other guys waved and said their goodbyes. He watched her walk off in the sunshine, the light picking up the red and gold highlights in her hair. He slumped against the counter.

The next time…

She was including him in her future again, even if she didn’t fully realize it yet. He dished himself a plate of food and came over to the table, checking to make sure the lone chair wasn’t oozing with honey or some other disgusting substance. He’d bet money the practical jokes weren’t over for the weekend, and time was running out.

“So…”
Jordan said as he bit into blueberry multi-grain French Toast. “Looks like tequila wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“Shut it,” Blake said as he chewed. Good manners flew out the window when they were together. Then his neck prickled. “Wait. Did you get Natalie drunk on purpose?”

“Who could forget The Natalie Show?” His friend lifted a shoulder. “You ended up staying over, didn’t you? And she just agreed to buy you new briefs, right?”

Of course. Everyone knew about the Twitter incident. “What are you? A lip reader?” The question was rhetorical. They all read lips pretty well after spending most of their adult lives playing in ear-splitting crowd noise.