#Fam: A Ten Years Later Novella (Hashtag #9)

Chapter 6

6

Romeo

I was dirty and smelled like sweat. I also had a bad case of helmet hair. The second Braeden was escorted off the field, I moved to go with him, but Coach reminded me there was a game to finish.

“You think I care about the game right now?” I’d growled through my helmet as I towered over him in my uniform.

“Walker is fine.”

My stony silence made it clear what I thought about that shitty response.

Coach shook his head. “What I mean is he’s conscious. His injuries are not life-threatening. You know this, Anderson. You just talked to him. We have five minutes left on the clock. Go finish this. Don’t let them win because you’re distracted.”

The mouthguard between my teeth made an unpleasant sound with the way my teeth ground against it as I swung around to stare across the field at the other team. I was good at staying cool under pressure. I kept my head in the game, didn’t take it personal.

Right now, though, it felt pretty fucking personal.

My eyes swept the sideline for the douche that had plowed into my brother. I knew this was a violent sport. I knew injuries happened, tempers ran hot, and egos crowded the turf. Most injuries were just hazards of the game, men playing balls to the wall.

The second my eyes locked onto the player who’d taken B down and caused a pileup, all reasoning became a magical myth I would have argued didn’t even exist.

He was smirking. The very air around him was proud he’d taken down the Hulk. He saw me staring and lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

Fuck this guy.

“Holmes!” I roared around the purple guard shoved between my lips.

My running back appeared, slapping his hand on my shoulder. “Here, boss.”

Coach made a rude sound.

We ignored him.

I leaned in. “I don’t care what it takes. Get open and go long. We’re going to the endzone and finishing this game.”

Holmes slammed his hands together and nodded. “You got it.”

“That’s not the play I called,” Coach barked.

“You told me to finish this game. I’m going to finish it.”

The team took the field. The ball snapped into my palms. With single-minded focus, I trained all the frustration and pure fuck-you energy into my arm and fired the ball down the field to Holmes who broke free and went long.

All sound fell away. It was just me and the ball as it blazed right into the running back’s arms. Snatching it out of the air, he turned and plowed into the endzone, and as he spiked the ball in victory, the noise of the stadium came back full force.

Game over.

Knights were going wild on the field as I locked eyes once more with the douche. He didn’t look so smug anymore. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I pointed right at him and started walking backward.

That one was for you.

He ripped his helmet off and scowled.

I flipped him off. Yeah, I was probably gonna get fined for that.

Worth the cash.

“Anderson!” Coach bellowed.

I jogged the rest of the way off the field. Special teams was lining up for the extra point. I wasn’t sticking around for that. I did my job.

“Where the hell are you going?” Coach called after me.

“I’m done,” I said and jogged off the field.

In the locker room, I followed the sound of voices to where Braeden and the medical team were assessing the situation. Most of them were standing outside the door, and I frowned but kept right on going. “He’s on the phone,” someone cautioned.

I shouldered through the door, taking in my brother in full gear, sans helmet, with his cell pressed to his ear. One of the physicians was stabilizing his knee, which was already three times its normal size and an ugly shade of purple. Seeing it was like a punch in my gut.

This is bad.

“You really don’t need to come,” B was saying into the line. He grunted. “Don’t cry, Blondie. I’m fine.”

“What’s it looking like?” I asked Tom.

“We’re taking him for imaging.”

“Tear?” I asked.

Tom hesitated, then nodded. “Likely.”

More like a guarantee, and we all knew it.

“I love you too,” Braeden said. A moment later, he dropped the phone in his lap and looked at me. Lines were drawn around his mouth and eyes. Pain was riding him hard.

“Kids were crying. Girls are already packing.”

I cursed beneath my breath and nodded. There was no point in arguing with them. They would come no matter what we said.

“Ambulance is ready to go,” one of the men outside the door called.

“Let me take off these pads,” Braeden grumped, reaching for his jersey.

I went forward and helped him, basically undressing him from the waist up. “Why aren’t you on the field?”

“I finished the game,” I said, clipped, tossing away all this shit. At his feet, Tom was pulling off his cleats and socks.

His pants were ruined because of the way they’d cut them to get to his knee.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” I said, starting for the door.

“Rome.”

I stopped, turning back. A look passed between us. It said everything and nothing.

“Thanks,” was all he said, his voice gruff.

I nodded once and went to get our clothes. I didn’t bother to shower or wait for the rest of the team on the field. I threw on some sweats and got in the back of the ambulance with B.

And now here I was sitting in an empty room, unkempt and fucking worried while Braeden was down at imaging.

I wasn’t worried about the results. I already knew what they were. It was a matter of severity. A matter of what was next.

The girls were still enroute, and I was glad it would take a little time to get here. It would let us get all the answers and give me some time with my brother.

The door to the room swung in, and a wheelchair appeared with B filling the seat. His busted leg was positioned straight out in front of him, a brace already in place.

His hair was in the same state as mine, and there were grass stains on his forearms. He looked tired, and his shoulders were slumped.

“How’d it go?” I asked, standing from the chair in the corner.

He glanced up instantly. “Considering no one bought me dinner before all those nudes they took, I’m gonna say not well.”

The nurse pushing him rolled her eyes. “An MRI and an X-ray do not count as nudes.”

“Peeping under my skin all the way to the bone seems pretty nosy to me.”

“It’s called medical care,” she refuted, parking the chair beside the bed in the center of the room.

Braeden started to push up, and she made a sound. “Wait. Let me help you.”

“I got it,” I said, moving close to slip my arm around B and haul him up.

His body was stiff, but his muscles trembled either from exhaustion or pain, maybe both. The wheelchair slid back, and he reached for the bed, but I lifted him off his feet and up into a bridal-style hold.

His busted leg stuck straight out, and the gown he was wearing fluttered around him. “Hope you’re wearing drawers. Otherwise, you really will be serving nudes.”

“ Oh, Romeo , what big muscles you have,” Braeden said in a falsetto while fluttering his lashes.

“Not as big as your mouth.”

“Think this is how Drew feels when Trent hauls him around?”

I laughed.

“We’re going to keep your leg elevated with this,” the nurse said, going around to the opposite side of the bed to grab a large foam wedge.

We got Braeden situated with his leg raised.

“I’ll get some ice. Do you need anything else?” the nurse asked.

“Pain meds,” Braeden’s voice was gruff.

I glanced at his leg and frowned.

“I’m not sure it’s time for those, but I’ll check,” she said.

The second the nurse was gone, Braeden released a breath and dropped his head against the propped-up mattress. “It’s bad, Rome.”

I knew he didn’t mean the pain. He meant the injury.

Saying nothing, I grabbed the chair in the corner and dragged it right up to the side of the bed. I sat down, leaning forward to brace my elbows on the edge of the mattress. “We don’t know anything yet. The results?—”

“I heard it pop. I can’t bear any weight on it at all. My knee is on fucking fire, but below it…”

My head whipped up. “Below it?”

“It’s numb,” he whispered.

I stood from the bedside and started to pace. Yeah, injuries were pretty much mandatory in football. But this sucked. “I should have fucking ground him into the turf.”

Braeden made a gruff sound. “You know it’s the game.”

I snorted. It was a Rimmel-level snort. “Yeah? You didn’t see the bastard’s face after you left the field. I swear he got some twisted satisfaction in taking you out.”

“The whole team was out for blood the entire game. You know that. They were hell-bent on getting revenge from the last time we handed them their asses.”

I paced more. “Yeah? Well, they lost again.”

“It wasn’t personal, Romeo.”

I stopped and turned to him.

“He saw his chance to tackle me, and he took it. I don’t think he wanted to do this,” Braeden said, gesturing to his leg.

The nurse came back, a large cold pack in her hand. She gingerly positioned it on his knee and stepped back. “The doc is on his way up with your results,” she said. “He can also talk to you about pain management.”

“Thank you,” Braeden said.

The nurse glanced at me, then quickly away and hurried to the door.

It was barely latched when B cackled. “Never thought I’d see this day.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Me the calm collected one while you rage out.”

“I’m not raging out,” I bitched.

“You scared the nurse.”

I gave him the finger.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and then it pushed open. A man in green scrubs and a lab coat walked in along with two of the team doctors and another doctor dressed the same as the first. The first doc had a tablet in his hand, and his buddy had a large envelope.

“Mr. Walker,” the man with the tablet said. “I’m Dr. Granger. I’m the orthopedist on call tonight.” He introduced himself. “And this”—he gestured to the man with the envelope—“is our resident sports medicine physician, Dr. Finnegan. And of course, you are familiar with your team physicians,” he said, nodding at the men. “I’m assuming you gave consent for them to be here.”

“Of course,” Braeden said.

The team docs would be the ones coordinating his treatment and recovery.

Dr. Granger looked at me.

“Romeo Anderson,” I said, gruff, but didn’t offer my hand.

“He’s my brother,” B supplied.

“We have your results here.” The doctor went on. “We’ve consulted?—”

“Just tell me,” Braeden said, impatience ripe in his tone.

“Unfortunately, it’s a grade-three ACL tear.”

Fuck.

“The meniscus is also torn.”

I started pacing again.

Braeden said nothing, so the doctor continued.

“A grade-three tear occurs when the ACL is completely severed. That would explain why you can’t bear any weight and the swelling and bruising are so severe.”

A somber, morose mood dropped over the room. It made my skin feel tight, and I hated it.

“Because of the severity, you will need reconstructive surgery. We recommend waiting for about three weeks for the swelling to subside. We can also get you into some physical therapy leading up to it to try and regain some knee flexion. You will need to be in a brace at all times.”

“And after?” I asked, jumping in before B.

“Recovery. Rehabilitation. Physical therapy.”

“How long until I can play?” Braeden asked.

Tom spoke up. “You’re out the rest of the season, Walker.”

Dr. Granger cleared his throat. “Probably next season too.”

Our eyes crashed. We shared a silent moment of pain, mourning, and what the fuck . Nine out of the ten years I’d been playing pro ball, B had been on the field with me. Sure, we both missed games for injuries and shit, but the rest of this season and all of next?

“With your age”—Dr. Granger interrupted our bro moment—“and pending any complications, it could be longer.”

I swung to the doc, anger burning in my eyes. “ His age? ” I snapped. “He’s in his early thirties.”

“And you know that means he’s practically geriatric in ball,” Tom refuted.

I felt myself stiffen and rotated to our team doc. How dare he back up that outsider? Braeden was a Knight. Family. “What did you just say?” I said quietly. Deadly.

Tom cleared his throat.

“Sorry about him, Tom. He’s on edge,” B mused.

I gave my brother an irritated look. Why isn’t he freaking out? Why am I?

They showed us the slides and the X-ray film, going into more detail. When they were done, Dr. Finnegan turned to Braeden. “You are in excellent physical shape. And while you might be a little old on the field, you are still young in years. You also have an excellent medical team. I see no reason why there will be complications from surgery.”

“Maybe you should be on the team,” I quipped, sliding a pointed glance at Tom.

He avoided my stare.

“What about pain management?” B asked, shifting a little. I could tell the pain was starting to worsen by the paleness of his skin and the way he gingerly adjusted the ice.

“Grade-three tears are painful. I can prescribe some stronger painkillers in lieu of over-the-counter anti-inflammatories.”

“No.” B was gruff. “Don’t want anything too heavy. Wouldn’t say no to some beefy ibuprofen, though.”

Dr. Granger nodded. “We can get you a script for a higher dose because of your size and also so you don’t have to swallow so many pills at the same time.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll note it in your chart and have the nurse bring some in,” Dr. Granger said, doing something on the tablet in his hands. “Any other questions?”

“When’s my surgery?”

“As I mentioned, it’s best to do it in roughly three weeks. We can go ahead and get it scheduled before you leave.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit the screen. “I’m calling Gamble.”

“There’s no need to call Ron Gamble,” Tom said, his tone nervous.

I hit him with a pointed look. “You don’t think there’s a need to get the owner of this team and the most powerful man in the state on the phone so he can call in the best surgeon in the country?”

Dr. Granger bristled. “I’m perfectly capable?—”

“This is my brother. I don’t want capable. I want the best,” I snapped and then turned my back to the room and pressed the phone to my ear.

Gamble picked up immediately. “Anderson. How is Walker?”

“He needs surgery. Complete ACL reconstruction.”

“I’ll make some calls,” he said without me having to explain anything else.

“Three weeks from today.” I informed him.

“I understand. I’ll be in touch.”

The call disconnected, and I shoved the device into my sweats. When I turned back, the room was empty and Braeden was in the center of the bed with a damn near gleeful look on his pasty face.

“What?” I grumbled.

“I’ll never quit you, Rome!” he declared.

“Can you believe that guy? Capable, ” I muttered. I was gonna have to talk to Gamble about Tom. What a shitshow.

“He didn’t seem like a bad dude.”

“Did you hit your head?” I asked, going over to the side of the bed. “Did they check you for a concussion?”

B’s laugh was more of a rumble in his chest. “You know I don’t have a concussion.”

“Then why are you being like this?”

“You mean like you?”

“That is not how I am,” I said, jabbing a finger at him.

He snorted. We hung out with my wife way too much. “You mean calm and reasonable? Bet.”

I scowled.

Reaching down, he fiddled with the cold pack again. His voice was quiet. “What the fuck else am I supposed to do? Ivy and the kids were crying. Rim was worried. You’re being me. Someone has to be the calm one. Besides, I can’t do pissed off and pain at the same time.”

I felt my shoulders droop. “ Fuck ,” I cursed beneath my breath. He was right. I was the calm one. The one the family called the alpha. I wasn’t the one that roared and threw attitude. I was the one who smiled and charmed. Who kept everything together.

Except, right now, things feel like they’re splintering apart.

It doesn’t matter. Get your shit together. Your family needs you.

“I’m sorry, man.” I rubbed my hand over my face, dried sweat flaking away under my fingertips. “I’m being an ass. I didn’t mean to make this harder on you.”

Guilt ate at my insides like acid. He was the one in the hospital bed. He was the one out of the game. So close to the Bowl too. But what was the first thing he did?

Called the fam. Reassured everyone. Smiled through the blow he’d just been delivered.

“Are you kidding? This is some good shit. Front row seat to the alpha unhinged. I haven’t seen you like this since Lo-Lo was born.”

“That nurse made Rimmel cry,” I said, anger boiling my blood once more.

Braeden cackled.

I exhaled.

“Your rage kinda makes me feel better to be honest.”

Braeden’s admission lifted my eyes. “Yeah?”

He half smiled. “Gets it all out, and I don’t even have to be the one to do it.”

“I’m proud of you.”

He blinked, a surprised light shining in his eyes before he blinked again, washing it away. Pressing a hand to his chest, he said, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered, and then we both laughed.

When the humor died away, I sat on the edge of the mattress by his feet, making sure to not jostle his elevated leg. “Seriously, though. Braeden ten years ago would have been hulking out over this. Hell, Braeden five years ago probably would be too.”

“You heard the docs. I’m geriatric now. Can’t be acting a fool.”

“You’re not geriatric,” I demanded, a hard edge lacing my tone.

“You having a midlife crisis?” he asked. “Freaking out about our age? Pretty sure we’re both too young for that. But yeah, you wanna go buy some fancy sports car or a yacht to get it all out, I’m down. Hell, I’ll pay half.”

“A boat might be nice,” I mused.

“We can’t let Drew drive. We’d all end up puking over the side.”

I laughed. His accident several years ago didn’t keep him sidelined long. He was still a certified adrenaline #junkie.

Braeden hitched his chin. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I answered, decisive. “It just pissed me off when they told me to finish the game. When they came in here like they were telling you the weather and not about something that affects your whole life.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Honestly, we’re lucky we’ve played this long without any major injuries.”

I stood. “We hanging out ‘til the girls get here?”

B nodded. “I’ll ice the leg a little longer, let these pain meds kick in. When the girls get here, they can grill the doc, and then he’ll discharge us.”

I glanced at the door. “I’ll see if the doc will clear you to fly home tomorrow.”

“You think you could maybe find some coffee too? Might help with the adrenaline crash.”

My eyes went back to his face, searching. “How are you really?”

“In need of coffee.”

“I’ll be back in a few.” I headed for the door. There was more for us to say, but I recognized we both needed a minute to process.

Downstairs, I found a coffee cart that was still open and ordered two lattes with double shots of espresso. I also grabbed some bottled water and two donuts with pink frosting and sprinkles out of the case.

I was sort of glad we were in New York because I didn’t get as much attention here as I would have if we were in Maryland, and it was nice to have even a small amount of anonymity.

‘Course, maybe it was my black mood and un-showered ass that kept people away. Either way, I’d take it.

B’s words echoed in my head, bothering me in a way I wish they didn’t. Was I having some sort of midlife crisis?

I shook my head. That was Braeden talk. I was not having a crisis. Still, I couldn’t deny I felt unsettled. I had since my talk with Blue and then Rimmel. It felt like I was at a fork in the road. As if I could sense a shift in life… in our family. I’d been mulling over it for a couple weeks now.

It was distracting. And now my brother was in the hospital. I felt somewhat responsible. Rationally, I knew it was bullshit. But irrationally? What if what I’d been feeling had somehow affected B’s game? Our game? What I’d somehow caused the shift I’d been worrying about?

Alphas were supposed to be the strongest. Impenetrable. What if this was a sign?

Outside of B’s room, I heard the rumble of his voice, but it was low enough I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I didn’t bother hesitating. We invaded each other’s personal space more often than we respected it, so why would now be any different?

I strolled in, and he gestured with an old-school “what-up” nod. I held out his coffee, and he took it, instantly taking a sip.

“You’re my hero,” he mouthed. “That’s all I know for now, Mom.”

He made a few noises as he drank more coffee. “Yeah, icing it now… Yeah… Will do… Okay.” He glanced at me. “Mom says hi.”

“Hi, Mom,” I called as I lowered into the chair beside his bed.

“She said she loves me more than you.”

I heard her scolding him on the line, and I laughed.

“Kiss the kids for me,” he told her.

When the call ended, he grabbed the bag I’d set beside him and shoved his face inside. “Sprinkles!” He groaned.

Diving one hand inside, he pulled out the pastry and shoved half in his mouth. “ Ohmygoddd, ” he practically prayed, shoving a quarter of what was left between his lips. “The one good thing about retirement is I can eat what I want when I want,” he mused, shoving in the rest of the donut and chomping like a cow.

I froze. “What did you just say?”

He stopped chewing, his cheek still puffed out with food. “Rome?—”

I stood up rapidly, the chair sliding across the floor behind me. “Who said anything about retirement?”

Heavy silence filled the room. It was so intense it was as if everything else faded away. All I knew was the heartbeat in my ears, the heat of the coffee in my palm, and the weight suddenly parked on my chest.

His quiet voice restarted the room but also left me reeling. “We both know there’s no coming back from this.”

“The fuck you just say?” I whispered, my eyes lasering into his face.

His dark head leaned against the mattress and rolled toward me. He dropped whatever shield he had in his eyes and let me see the pain and panic he was feeling. “I need my best friend right now, Rome. The one I can say anything to. The one who doesn’t bullshit. I need that right now because, in about an hour, the fam will be here and…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. I knew. Long ago, before Rimmel and Ivy—hell, even before Trent and Drew—it was just me and B. We had each other’s backs from an early age, and while we still did, we’d shifted from brothers into family. The urge to protect him was screaming, but he didn’t need my protection. He needed his brother.

I grabbed the chair and dragged it back to sit down. The coffee in my hand was abandoned to the bedside table, and I leaned in. “Lay it on me.”

He took another sip of the coffee, and I waited, not rushing him. “This is a career-ender. We all know it.”

“They didn’t say?—”

Amusement lit his eyes. “Because you practically ripped off their balls for calling me old.”

“You aren’t.”

“We both know, in terms of football, I am. The average pro player’s career lasts two and a half years, bro.”

“We aren’t average.”

“Holler,” he called, holding out his fist.

I bumped mine against it.

“Nine years is a long run.” He went on.

My stomach tightened, but he didn’t want me to argue. I was trying not to. I wanted him to pour it out before everyone arrived and he felt he couldn’t.

“I know I’ll come through the surgery fine. The recovery too. But my knee won’t be the same. I’ve taken a lot of hits over the years. I feel it. I know you do too. I keep playing because I love the game. Because I’m fucking grateful. Because I can’t imagine not playing with you…”

My eyes got misty. The air quality in this room was terrible.

“You know, I never in a million years would have guessed this would be my life,” he mused. “I always knew you were destined for the NFL. That you’d be a hall-of-famer by the time you were thirty.” Smiling, he shook his head. “I never thought I’d be one too.”

“You deserve it. You’re a damn good player,” I said fiercely.

“Yeah. I am,” he replied boldly. “And that’s not something I would have ever been able to admit back in the day.”

“Now you sound geriatric. Back in the day ,” I cracked.

“I want my cane to have a gold football on the top,” he contemplated. “Engrave my name on the wood.”

I laughed.

“For real, though.” He went on. “Back at Alpha U, I was a total mess. Having fun, buried under the baggage of my dad and the belief I was just like him. I didn’t expect a big future. Hell, just having your friendship and keeping myself from ending up like him seemed like enough.”

“You’re too good for that.”

“Yeah, you made me see that. You nudged me into the NFL, talked me up even when I didn’t deserve it. You fought for it even when it looked like it wouldn’t happen and I’d given up. You made me believe I was worthy.”

There was a lump in my throat. It made it hard to talk. “It was always gonna happen. With or without me.”

He shook his head. “Don’t downplay it, Rome. I did the work to haul myself out of that headspace but only because you held out your hand and helped me. I put in the work on the field, but I wouldn’t have been on that field if you hadn’t believed in me.”

I lifted my shirt and swiped my eyes. “I’ll never quit you, B,” I said into the fabric.

“Me either. We’re for life. Football or no football.”

I stared at him.

“An entire year or more off the field. I’ll be in shape with PT, but it’s not gonna keep me conditioned, and I’ll be even older when I’m cleared to play.”

“You know I’ll work with you. Just like you did when I broke my arm.”

“We were twenty then,” he refuted. “And yeah, I know you will.” He was quiet a moment before his brown eyes met mine. “I want to go out on top. I don’t want to come back and play like a secondhand version of myself.”

I swallowed the thousands of protests coating my tongue. I swallowed so many I probably wouldn’t be hungry for a month.

“I hate this,” I confessed.

“I’m right.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

He expelled a deep breath, and it was as though a major weight lifted off his shoulders. Relief smoothed his features, the lines of pain softening around his eyes.

He needed to hear that. He needed me to say it.

“I know this isn’t exactly going out on top… I mean…” He waved a hand at his bum leg. “But I’ve had a good season. Good stats. My career has been fucking impressive.”

“It has.” I agreed because it was the truth. Braeden Walker was one of the best running backs in professional football history.

His best shit-eating grin graced his face. “And when you take us to the Bowl and get me another ring… Well, is there any better way to retire?”

Yeah. With me. I didn’t say it out loud.

“You’ll get another ring,” I vowed. If this was what he wanted, I’d make it happen.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to decide right now.” I cautioned. “Maybe think about it. Talk to Ivy.”

“Truth? I’ve been thinking about it a while.”

I sat back. “What? You never said anything.”

“You didn’t either.”

Shock must have rippled over my face because he laughed. “I know you, Romeo. I know when you got thoughts. It’s been harder this season, right? To be gone so much.”

I propped my dirty sneakers on the edge of the bed. “Yeah.”

Braeden drank some more coffee and fished the other donut out of the bag. I waited until he took a bite and said, “That was for me.”

“You can’t eat this. You gotta win the Super Bowl.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m just looking out for you, bro. It tastes good. I’ll enjoy it for you.”

“I feel the love,” I cracked.

“Rome.” His voice was knowing. Sincere.

My shoulders drooped. “How am I supposed to play without you?”

“I might not be on the field, but I’ll still be with you.”

“That was corny.”

“It’s true.”

“I worry I’m putting my dream over my family.”

“I get that. The older the kids get, the harder it is to be away. But they know you love them, and you spend all your spare time at home. Plus, it’s good to show them hard work pays off.”

I didn’t say anything, warring with myself over everything in my head and heart.

“It’s only a few more years.” B supplied.

My eyes widened.

“You want fifteen, right?”

“How’d you know that?”

“It’s the bromance.” He said it with a total straight face. “It knows things.”

I scoffed, but deep down, I believed him.

“You have five more years in you. Hell, even then, you won’t be at the age to have a midlife crisis,” Braeden heckled. “We can still buy a yacht, though. Tie sweaters around our shoulders and drink dry martinis while we stand on deck in loafers.”

I made a face. “No.”

“Oh, thank God. I mean, I’ll do it for you, Rome. But it was hurting my heart a little.”

I laughed.

“It’s my turn to tell you I believe in you. That I know you can do this. I’ll be at home, keeping an eye on things now. If I get even a small whiff of anything that I think you need to be there for, I’ll come get you myself.”

“It’s not your job to take care of my family,” I argued.

“Newsflash, asshole. It’s not your family. It’s ours .”

“You’re right.”

“I know,” he said, shoveling the rest of the donut in his mouth. Sprinkles fell onto the ugly hospital gown.

“I really meant it when I said I was proud of you. You’re a good man, and I’m proud to call you my brother.”

“Bring it in,” he said, holding out his arms.

Laughing, I leaned over the side and hugged him.

“Glad we had this talk. Kinda blows I had to smash my knee for it to happen, but I do it for you.”

“If you change your mind, you decide you want to play?—”

“You’ll be there. I know.” He nodded. “Honestly, though, this feels good.” He made a face. “Not this,” he said, pointing to his leg. “But the decision. It feels right. Now that I know you’re cool.”

“You’ve been worrying about this because of me?” I said, guilt once more piercing me.

“I’m a big boy.” He interrupted my thoughts. “This ain’t on you. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about bringing up retirement, though. I was gonna try and hit fifteen with you.”

“But you would have been doing that for me, not you.”

He shrugged a shoulder. I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand. “And before you go acting all crazy, I wasn’t distracted on the field. I wasn’t just going through the game for you. I love football. It was an unfortunate tackle that hit in just the right spot.”

Maybe, but it was an opportunity. For him to follow his heart and be home with the fam.

“You should retire,” I announced.

“Thanks for the permission.”

“Tell me you didn’t need it,” I countered.

He pursed his lips. “It’s just nice to have is all.”

I smiled. The first real smile of the entire night. “I just want you to be happy. We might not be teammates much longer, but we will always be brothers.”

Braeden settled back into the bed, a large smile curving the lower half of his face. “I’m gonna start planning a bomb-ass retirement party for you. I got five years… This is gonna be epic.”

“We gotta have yours first.”

Down the hall, I heard Ivy call for Braeden.

“Incoming,” I said, moving to the door so I could put an end to their worrying.

“Romeo?”

I turned back. “Hm?”

“Maybe let’s keep my retirement on the DL for a while. Just between us.” He pointed to his lower half. “This is gonna be enough drama for a while.”

“Anything for you, bro.”

“Don’t forget about the ring!” he called. I laughed. “And the cane!” His voice followed me out into the hall.

Down near the nurses’ station, Rimmel, Ivy, Trent, and Drew stood. Drew saw me first and told the group.

Ivy started running.

Rimmel followed suit. She tripped halfway down the hall, and I rushed forward, but Trent scooped her up before she face-planted in the hall. He didn’t even put her down, just handed her off to me.

Inside the room, Ivy was already fussing over Braeden, and Drew was giving him shit about having a bum knee.

Rimmel climbed up my body, wrapping her legs around my waist. Her nose wrinkled, and her glasses dipped lower on her scrunched nose. “You smell.”

“Kiss me anyway.”

She did.

“Braeden?” she asked when we parted.

“There are sprinkles all over this bed.” Ivy’s exasperated voice carried out into the hall.

Rimmel giggled.

“He’s gonna be just fine,” I told her.

“And what about you, Romeo?” she asked, knowingly gazing into my eyes. “How are you?”

I kissed her again. “I’m all good, baby. All good.”