The Way We Play (Bradford Boys #2)

Chapter 3

3

Zane

R achel Wells is her own woman.

I’m walking beside a tall, brown horse with my hand on his shoulder. A teenage boy sits upright, stock still in the saddle, watching silently as we circle the stadium.

The horse’s muscles ripple under his shiny black-brown coat, and his spindly legs lift in practiced steps, trained for racing around a track.

My mind keeps traveling back to Rachel standing in Miss Gina’s driveway with her blonde hair in those two braids, that sweatshirt falling off one shoulder, and her green eyes flashing with defiance like an angry pixie.

She’s Jayden Wells’s daughter.

It’s pretty much all I need to know.

It doesn’t matter how bright her eyes shine or how much she helps Miss Gina. Or how sexy her body is, those breasts, narrow waist, bare pussy… shit .

I clear my throat, quickly adjusting my jeans as I turn the horse .

I’ve fought to keep that image out of my mind. She was having a problem, for chrissakes. Am I going to hell for being aroused? Ultimately she was okay, and I can’t help it if she’s a fucking centerfold.

I also can’t help that her father is a lying, double-crossing, untrustworthy asshole.

He’d sit on our back porch with my parents, looking out at the bay and making big plans to turn the old home with the tin roof and wrap-around porch into a destination restaurant. I was only seven, but I can still hear him laughing full-throated when my dad suggested the name.

He seemed like their friend for a long time, until he ghosted.

“Howdy, handsome. That sure is a serious look on your face.” Sandra joins us on the other side of the horse, placing her hand on his side. “Good morning, Mark.”

“Good morning, Ms. Hightower.” The boy’s voice is high-pitched, right on the verge of dropping, and his eyes don’t leave the horse’s mane.

“Something on your mind?” Sandra peeps at me over the horse’s back.

“I’m good.” The last thing I need is Sandra and Gloria in my business. “Just planning my day.”

We make the turn and start back to the stalls as the boy counts the horse’s steps under his breath.

I started working here when I came back after my injury. The therapist said it would help me process my feelings, since I found talk therapy annoying. I didn’t like rehashing what happened. I didn’t like talking about losing a football career I’d just started to love.

Time passed, and I was able to relax. Then, when I got off the crutches and could move around more easily, I saw how far I’d come, and I asked Gloria if she needed extra help.

I like the equine therapy kids. I don’t mind their stoic demeanors or confusion about how to show emotions. I like that they’re not bullshitters. They’re straight-shooters, not afraid to say what they really think.

You don’t have to watch your back around them. Whatever they’re thinking comes right out of their mouths—at least the highly functional ones. The ones who work with me.

We’re back at the stall, and Sandra squints an eye up at me as she helps the kid off the horse’s back. “You’re not planning to leave us, are you?”

Another student is right behind Mark. She walks him to the door, pausing to rest her arm on it, waiting for my answer.

“Just the opposite, actually. I have a kid who might be a good fit here. I’m pretty sure he’s on the spectrum, but it’s mild. He could help when I’m not around.”

She nods, pushing out her lips. “Those kinds of decisions are up to Gloria, but we can talk to him.”

I look down, passing a hand over the back of my neck and wondering why I’m sticking it out for this kid. Why is Edward different from Rachel?

“If you want, come by the restaurant tonight. He’ll be there with his sister Rachel.”

“Oh, is that the new girl working with Miss Gina?” Her voice rises. “I’ve heard she’s really cute.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I step to the center of the horse to check the billet strap.

“But you see her every day at work, don’t you? I heard she’s a yoga instructor.” Her tone turns conspiratorial. “Yoga instructors are very flexible from what I understand.”

Heat rises around my collar—because I’m annoyed or possibly even angry. “She sticks to her side of the house, and I stay on mine.”

My voice is sharper than I intend, but Sandra isn’t deterred. Her brows rise, and I can feel her grinning even if I can’t see her. “Okay, okay. I’ll see if Gloria wants to make the drive to town. Maybe we’ll see you both at the ole Coot-Shoot.”

I give the horse a pat before leaving the stall. “See you later. ”

She mutters something under her breath about overreactions, but I don’t stop.

It’s Thursday, so I go straight from the stables to the small, former weather-alert station Logan bought and is turning into a sports-radio hub. He’s been putting in long hours to get it up to speed, and on Thursdays, the two of us have a show where we discuss the marquee games each week.

Some days we do interviews, and today we’re chatting with Hendrix and Garrett over Zoom. It always ends up with more content than we can use in a ninety-minute program.

Walking into the small, white-painted, cinder-block building, I’m still irritated by my interaction with Sandra. I didn’t bring up the subject of Edward to have a discussion of Rachel’s flexibility. In fact, I’ve done my best not to think about her at all since our conversation on Monday.

It’s been annoyingly difficult.

Sometimes when she looks at me, her neck and chest go all pink. I’m not sure why, because she isn’t afraid at all to stand her ground when we’re forced to interact. It makes me think about things I pretty much put on the back-burner after my accident.

Things like how soft her skin is and how the early-morning sun shining through the open door of the Jeep makes her cheeks look like velvet as we drive to Miss Gina’s. My throat tightens and I think about sliding my nose along her jaw, inhaling her clean scent of honeysuckle, the body wash she leaves in our shared bathroom.

It’s been a battle in my mind since I burst through the door to save her, when I tore my eyes away from her soft, full breasts slick with water.

Exhaling a low growl, I fight these thoughts. She was ill, and I’m a sick bastard for thinking of her perfect breasts. Fuck, but she has really great tits.

As I requested, for the last three days she’s kept to her side of the house—both at Miss Gina’s and at our place—and I’ve kept to mine. Still, I wonder what they’re doing .

Dylan hasn’t noticed a thing, but school’s back in session, which means she’s running back and forth between teaching ballet classes at the high school, helping Jack with his six-year-old daughter Kimmie Joy, managing the restaurant, and making time for Logan.

Logan doesn’t notice anything outside of my little sister and this station, which is pretty typical male.

Since he bought WNFO last year, he’s been consumed with making it the hottest sports radio channel in his dad’s media empire.

I’ve never met Kellan Murphy, but from what I’ve heard and observed in the behavior of my future brother-in-law, he’s an impossible man to please.

Luckily, our dad left us pretty well connected in the football world, and Jack kept the tradition going when he was the star quarterback in Houston. He retired at the top of his game, and now that he’s the head coach at the high school, there’s a legion of fans still interested in what he’s doing and who’s playing for him.

Any time we have a slow night, we can always pull Jack in for a conversation that pulls in big numbers. Logan retired with a record-setting reputation, and even though I was pretty much a loner in the league, I still have a few friends who make interesting interview subjects.

Logan’s in the booth wearing a pair of headphones when I enter, and he signals for me to wait. He fit right into our clan, and after sitting up one night, shooting the shit about the future of the game and how it’s impacting players, we got the idea for this talk show. I let him take the lead, since he’s got the broadcasting degree.

“Ready?” He meets me at the door to the small studio, slapping me on the shoulder. “The guys are calling in in five. What do you think about recording these chats and putting them on a YouTube channel? A lot of podcasters are doing that now, and it might bring in a new audience—and a new revenue stream. ”

“Sounds good to me.” I follow him into the room where a round table holds two very expensive microphones. “We’d have to find somebody to produce it.”

I sit in one of the office chairs and pick up the black headset. The guys will appear in a split screen on the giant television hanging on the wall in front of us.

“Maybe an intern?” Logan picks up his headset and puts it around his neck. “Maybe Allie could help us find a high school kid who needs college credit?”

Allie is the librarian at the high school. She’s also a single-mom, who works at our family restaurant in the summer and is another of Dylan’s many best friends.

“She’s usually at the restaurant for Dare night.”

A few years back, Dylan became obsessed with hot peppers. Now, every Thursday night, she prepares a free “Dare Dish” for customers to try using one of the hottest peppers on the Scoville scale. It’s turned into a big party night with “hot” themed dance music and lights and dancing.

I wouldn’t know anything about hot peppers if it wasn’t for her, but I’ve become a fan—unlike Logan, who steers clear of all fiery foods.

The television flickers, and I pull on my headset in time for Garrett to appear on the big screen.

“Thunder and Lightning,” he calls playfully, leaning back in his chair. “How’s it hanging?”

Logan’s nickname when he played ball was Lightning. I’m not sure how I got branded as Thunder, but since we started doing the show, it stuck.

“You ready to get your ass whipped tonight?” Hendrix appears on the screen, already teasing his older brother.

At six-four, Garrett is the biggest one of us, but Hendrix is a fast six-foot. Jack and I fall right in the middle at six-two each. Dylan’s a shrimp, and she stopped watching the games after our dad died of what we’re pretty certain was chronic traumatic encephalopathy. It was never confirmed, but all the symptoms were there.

Now she keeps a steady drumbeat of trying to get us all to retire.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Garrett quips back.

Garrett’s an offensive lineman, so he and Hendrix are never on the field at the same time, much to Dylan’s relief.

“Ricky Berke’s been making waves this season.” Logan’s smooth voice keeps us on track. “How’s he fitting in as the newest member of the Pirates offense?”

After Logan retired, his old rival transferred into Logan’s position, playing closely with Garrett.

“He’s no Logan Murphy.” Garrett adjusts the ball cap over his short brown hair.

“I hear you’re still calling him The Dick,” Hendrix laughs, rocking in his chair. “I’m sure that’s great for team building.”

His blue eyes sparkle and Garrett shakes his head, looking over his shoulder. I’m thinking of this group on video. Despite the shit his dad gives him, Logan has good instincts. He’s barely making ends meet as it is, but a YouTube channel could change that.

“He’s got a lot of maturing to do.” Garrett’s voice is serious, and I study my middle brother.

He was the youngest long enough that he never lost that teasing, playful manner, but now I think he might be growing up. He’s getting to that point we all do, where he’s thinking about the future and how many years he has left in him.

Logan keeps our conversation focused on the game, despite the nonstop teasing between my two brothers. We discuss last week’s highlights, and it feels like we’ve just sat down when the ninety-minute bell sounds.

We all make our final comments, then Logan switches off the recording. The guys stay on screen a bit longer. Garrett is usually an hour ahead of us in New York, but today he’s on the West Coast with our brother for the game. It’s not even lunchtime in LA.

“What’s Dylan making for tonight’s Dare dish?” He shifts in his chair.

“Is she still doing those?” Hendrix stands, stretching his arms side to side.

“Roasted chile de árbol salsa.” Logan taps a few buttons on the control panel.

“Of which you will have none,” Garrett teases. “Man, I wish I was there to try it. It sounds delicious.”

“It sounds like you’re retiring—is that true?” Hendrix leans into his camera.

Logan’s eyes flicker up to his friend’s face on the screen. “You’re retiring?”

“No!” Garrett hits the word hard enough to make us all exchange a glance. “I’m not. It’s just, it’s different now that you’re gone. The other guys all have families. I don’t like being the old man at the club, but what else am I going to do?”

Hell, I know that feeling from my own forced retirement two years ago. I was fucking lost, depressed, pissed—but I try to encourage him.

“There’s actually a lot more to do around here than you realize.” It’s not a lie.

“You sound like Dylan.” Garrett squints his hazel eyes at me. “Tell me what you’re doing around there with Rachel. When are you getting your head out of your ass and asking her on a date?”

“What the fuck?” My chin pulls back. “Rachel’s my coworker, and I was trying to ease your mind.”

Fool me once.

“Miss Gina won’t care if you date her. Hell, if I know that old lady, she’s already figuring out ways to put you two together.”

He’s not wrong, and my jaw tightens. “Worry about your own love life.” I stand too fast, and a jab of pain shoots through my hip, forcing a growl from my throat.

“I heard Rachel has a degree in sports medicine.” Garrett’s not letting it drop. “I bet she’d be glad to give you a personalized massage, put her hands on that ass. You got a pretty decent ass, bro.”

Logan leans forward, covering his grin with his hand.

“No.” My tone is flat.

“You’re not getting any younger, and she’s right there.”

“Don’t listen to him, Zee,” Hendrix interrupts. “You have fun while you can.”

“Who are you talking to?” Garrett’s voice is pure sarcasm. “That has never been Zane’s style. Hell, have you even dated anybody since you got home?”

He looks at me, and I take off the headphones.

“You’re all so ready to play house,” Hendrix continues. “I don’t get it. There’s plenty of time for all that when you’re old.”

“Spoken like a true thirty-year-old player.”

“I’m not a player. I’m just not into marriage and babies and poop.”

“I can’t wait to meet the girl who knocks you on your ass,” Garrett quips. “I’ll get one of the old ladies to cross-stitch those famous last words on a pillow.”

“And I’ll sleep on it comfortably.” Hendrix points at the screen.

“Bye.” I flick my wrist in a wave. “Y’all be safe out there tonight.”

“Love ya, Zee!” Hendrix yells, but I’m gone.

Nothing annoys me more than my siblings hovering over me, or worse, trying to meddle in my love life. Ever since my injury, I’ve been dodging their “helpful” suggestions—more like meddling. It’s part of the reason I lost my cool with Rachel the first day we met.

I don’t need help, and I don’t like hovering. I’m not interested in being anyone’s project, especially not hers. Finding out about her dad was the final straw I needed.

Stalking to my Jeep, I consider I could’ve told them who her dad is. Although, to be honest, only Garrett might remember the name. Logan wasn’t around, and Hendrix was only a baby.

Maybe it was the way she responded when I told her what he did. I won’t be surprised if she’s the same as her dad, but I don’t spread rumors or talk out of school.

It’s a lesson I wish my siblings would learn, but their small-town minds are dead set on interfering in my business. I’m not giving them any more ammo.