Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 10 TRISTAN

I could sit in the window all damn night listening to her talk.

She’s excited as she throws out different ideas for the fundraiser, and it’s clear that her passion lies in helping others. It’s likely why she chose to become a nurse, but for some reason her career is leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. I’m determined to get to the bottom of why she feels that way.

But I got up too damn early this morning to figure it out tonight. I'm the one yawning now as she talks excitedly about rubber duckies with prizes written on the bottom floating in a kiddie pool.

She laughs. “I'm boring you, aren't I?”

“No.” I shake my head. “In fact, this is one of the more interesting conversations I've had recently, but I was up at five to hit the gym and I'm going back tomorrow morning again. I need to get some sleep.”

“Of course,” she says. “Sorry for keeping you up.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I would love to stay here all night planning this with you.” I'm not a party planner by nature, but there's a lot of truth in my words. I love the passion I'm getting from her at the idea of planning this event to raise money for a needy family in our community. And it doesn't even have to be based on need. We can do whatever the fuck we want with it. It could become like a scholarship program for a kid on the football team or it could be based on application essays if my old English teacher chooses to take me up on that idea. It could be a Fallon Ridge thing this year but it could be something else entirely next year.

I have no idea what the limits are here, and that's why I plan to call my publicist and Erin over at the Aces offices tomorrow morning after my workout.

“I should get some rest, too,” she says. “Thank you,” she adds.

My brows draw together as I try to figure out what she could possibly be thanking me for. “For what?”

“For making me feel like I have a purpose again.”

My chest aches at her words, and I can't help but wonder what's going on with her that she’s not sharing with me yet. There has to be more to the mystery of why she left Chicago to come back here. Certainly fate stepping in and intervening on our behalf plays a role, but the fact that she's here the same time I am with so many unanswered questions still lying between us just makes me want to dig even deeper.

I get better rest than the first night as my body starts to adjust to my surroundings, and after my morning workout with the team where I promise Coach I’d run drills with the team on the field as soon as the weather breaks, I drive toward Davenport to meet with Chris, an old football friend from high school.

It’s the same buddy I met yesterday for lunch, an architect who agreed to draft my idea for my dad’s extension into actual plans. He needed the night to finalize the plans, and today I’m taking him to lunch to pick them up.

On the way toward town, I call Ellie, who answers on the first ring.

“Tristan Higgins. Please tell me you’re not causing trouble like all my other clients. Barring your marriage to my husband’s ex-wife, you give me the least amount of trouble.”

I laugh at how flustered she sounds, and I can only imagine what she has to deal with on a daily basis. She’s married to a retired player who recently opened his own agency repping young players, and if I didn’t have such a great relationship with my own agent, I’d consider switching to him.

Incidentally, he’s also the guy who used to be married to Savannah and tried to warn me off her…the guy I didn’t listen to when I should have.

“I promise I’m not causing trouble,” I say, my eyes focused on the road in front of me. “I’ve been thinking about starting a foundation to benefit a family in need in my hometown, but I don’t know how to get it started.”

“When I started Luke’s charity, Erin was a valuable asset, so I’d recommend chatting with her first. If you have any questions about the follow through, I’m happy to help. And as your publicist, I think this is an incredible idea. Where are you from again?”

“Fallon Ridge, Iowa. Population 2600.”

“And what sort of foundation are you thinking?”

“I don't know yet,” I admit. “I’m in the initial stages, but a close friend suggested a craft fair to utilize the talents of our local residents with proceeds benefiting this needy family.”

“Do you have a particular family in mind? Or is something else prompting this?”

“A particular one. I went back to my old high school and my former coach told me about this kid whose dad passed away and his mom is ill. He’s basically supporting his three younger siblings by working at the local market. He might not get to play next year so he can help his mom out, and Coach made it sound like he's a good kid with a lot of talent. I'd hate for him to miss out on his potential future because he’s making sacrifices he shouldn't have to make at his age.” I sigh.

“I am one hundred percent on board with the idea of you starting this foundation, particularly if I can highlight it, but why not just give money to the kid directly?” she asks.

“Coach mentioned something about pride. He's not just going to take a handout, but if he applies for it and happens to be the winning recipient…”

“That's different,” Ellie finishes.

“Right.”

“Start with Erin and let me know what I can do. I’m good to help with the marketing angle, and Leah is great with graphic design if you need anything in that area. Happy to put her to work.”

She giggles as if Leah, her newest assistant, is nearby and giving her the evil eye.

“Thanks, Ellie,” I say, and we say our goodbyes. My phone starts ringing almost immediately after I hang up with her, and I see it's Travis calling.

“What's up, motha-fucka?” I answer in the same way we always greet each other.

He laughs. “The weight room is boring as fuck without you in it, never mind the group chat and the Coax crew.”

“I've only been gone two days,” I protest with a chuckle.

“I know. Imagine if one of us got traded,” he jokes, though the possibility of that is always raw and real and right there on the edge of our minds. “I'm just calling to let you know that Ben Olson's girl had his twins today. Everyone's doing well.”

“Did you get all the details?”

He laughs. “I'm sure someone mentioned all the shit but I don't even know what the fuck that means. Their names are Hailey and Holly. That’s all I know.”

“So I take it you didn't get weight, length, time of birth?” I press.

“Fuck no.”

“Dude, you’ve got to get better at the details,” I chide. I think about how the big game is a mere ten days away. If we would’ve beat the Titans, Ben might’ve missed these moments with his girls.

What’s more important?

It’s a question I’ve been pondering a lot lately, and I’m not sure why.

“I'll work on it, man.” He laughs. “Doing anything in that boring-ass town of yours?”

My first instinct is to protect whatever I’m getting into with Tessa. “Just hanging out at my old alma mater and offering my services wherever I can.”

“How's your dad doing?” he asks.

“Better than I was expecting. We're starting up a project together—an extension on his garage so I can have a space to work out. I've gone to my old high school the last two mornings, which is great, except sometimes I just want to get in my zone and not feel like these kids are staring at me and judging my every move, either idolizing me for having what they want or hating me for achieving it.”

“I get that, man,” he says. “I feel the same way when I go back home.”

There are less than seventeen hundred active players in the NFL, so it helps to have a close relationship with someone who can sympathize.

“I’m thinking about putting together a fundraiser in town. Any interest in coming out for the event? I’m looking at the end of March and I bet we could get you in a dunk tank or something.” I signal at my exit.

“Your little town need a little Trav-love to spice things up? You can’t do the job yourself?”

“Jesus, no,” I mutter. “You’d scare all the religious old ladies.”

“And corrupt their granddaughters.”

“On second thought, I’m un-inviting you to the charity event,” I say. “Forget I asked.”

He laughs. “In all seriousness, Higs, you know I’m up for anything.”

I know he is, but it’s still fun to tease him. “Right. Just keep it in your pants, okay?”

“No promises there.”

“If you see Olson, send him my best,” I say, remembering the reason for Travis’s call in the first place.

“You got it, man.” We hang up, and I can’t help but think of Ben Olson holding two little baby girls in his arms.

This is the guy who got in trouble less than a year ago because a video went viral where he was crushing beer cans on his forehead and getting handsy with strippers. And now he’s a father. His words that he never wanted kids were well-documented, but I guess things change.

Strange how they don’t change in the opposite direction as often. I’ve always wanted kids, and the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve wanted them.

Tessa and I talked a lot when we were younger about how we both wanted to be young parents with big families. We each came from families where we were the only child, and so we both know how it felt not to have a sibling. Maybe if I had one, I’d be wishing I was an only child, but somehow I doubt it. I’d have a permanent teammate, someone I’d always know was there for me. I’d have someone I could rely on, someone I could’ve tormented my parents with, someone I could’ve gone through my childhood with as we shared experiences nobody else would’ve shared with us.

Instead, I had only myself to rely on…until Tessa entered the picture. Then I had a teammate…until I didn’t.

Players come and go from the Aces, which means friends come and go.

Is it any wonder I ended up with abandonment issues? Why I want kids…or why I just want something permanent in my life that will always be mine?

I shake it off as I meet Chris for lunch. His blueprints are perfect, and on my way home, I call Erin. I learn that I could set up a private foundation, which takes as little as a few days to do, and I can start handing out grants almost immediately. She offers to set it up for me, asking me hundreds of questions and submitting the paperwork while we’re on the phone together. I drop the blueprints off to Hank’s office on my way through town, and I end up back at home a little after three.

Tessa’s car is in the driveway next door, and I’m excited to tell her about my chats with Ellie and Erin. I head next door and ring the bell, and she looks surprised to see me standing on her front porch grinning at her as she opens the door.

“Come on in,” she says, opening the door a little wider.

I step inside, and it’s like stepping back in time. It looks exactly the same.

I probably entered through her window more times than through the front door, but I spent plenty of time on the couch to the left. I spent hours at the kitchen table in front of us.

I even fucked her on both those surfaces once upon a time.

I had quite the lunch on that kitchen table. I can still picture her spread out as I sat in a chair and feasted…

My dick wakes up at the thought, and I blow out a breath.

“What’s up? Why are you smiling?” she asks, and I follow her toward the scene of the crime in my head—the kitchen table.

I clear my throat as I try to shake out that image. “I got the ball rolling today and I have the paperwork submitted for the TNT Higs Foundation.” I added the Higs since it’s what everybody in this town used to call me—what people still call me today.

She giggles a little nervously as a hand flies up to her chest. “TNT?”

“Since you offered your services in planning the first annual event, I figured the least I could do is nod to our history with the name.”

“I haven’t thought about that in years,” she admits.

“I think about it often,” I say, my voice low and suggestive.

I’m transported back to the day after Homecoming our sophomore year. It’s a town tradition to have a picnic lunch at the town park the day after a school dance, and we were no different. We sat under a tree with the lunch my mom packed for us—crackers with dip, grapes, cheese cubes, and cookies—with some of our friends, and when they got bored and left, Tessa and I stayed. We were the last two there, and it was when we were done eating that I took the little butter knife we’d used for the dip and wiped it clean. I carved a heart into the tree.

“T and T,” I’d said to her as I started carving our first initials with a plus between them.

“We’re dynamite,” she sang.

I laughed. “That’s TNT.”

From that day forward, we were TNT. Dynamite. Together we could blast through anything in our way.

I never saw the actual explosion coming.