Dating the Defensive Back (The Nash Brothers Book 1)

Football is the Distraction

“Just stay away from him. Okay?” Lincoln demands, and I nod.

“Yes, Coach.” I use the term more as one of endearment than as one of respect, but it works either way.

“I mean it. Don’t get cute on me.”

“Full disclosure…you know what happened, right?” I ask.

He sighs. “Yeah. The viral video, the fight at the Gridiron…I know all of it.”

“I know you know that since you yelled at the two of us and told us to work it out like grown men. But did you also know that he was fucking around with Ava’s roommate and got her pregnant, and now the roommate is moving to Louisiana to get far, far away from Graham?”

Lincoln narrows his eyes at me as he crosses his arms over his chest. “No. That I did not know.”

“Well, now you do,” I say.

“I guess I do. And I’m still telling you the same thing. Stay away from him. I don’t need you causing issues your first year here when my other brother was suspended his first year here. Got it?”

I blow out a breath, but I mutter my agreement. “Got it.”

He confronted me the second we arrived in California, where we’re going to be for the next two weeks. The Aces always travel for the first two weeks of camp as a way to completely immerse ourselves back into the game.

And I have to say, it’s nice to be back at it.

Nice isn’t the right word. It’s incredible. It’s the exact distraction I need.

But I’ve never thought of football as the distraction. Everything else was always the distraction. Football has always come first. Everything else is secondary to that.

It’s how I was raised, and it’s how I’ve always lived my life up to this point.

It’s that exact mindset that drove me to do what I did before I left for camp.

But now…something feels off.

Something feels wrong.

Despite having the distraction of football—my job, my life’s work, my livelihood—there’s still something that’s just plain missing right now.

I refuse to let myself think it, but what it is that’s missing is obvious.

Over the last few months, something else seems to have edged its way past football on my list of priorities, and being back at camp, building a brotherhood where we all share a common goal…it’s a reminder that this is what matters.

At least…that’s what I keep telling myself. Whether or not it’s true is another matter entirely.

We’re working on footwork skills today—my least favorite of all the drills we do. I love the mirror drills where I mirror the movements of a receiver and stay in tight coverage. I love coverage drills through a route. I especially love ball drills where we focus on deflections and interceptions.

But today we have hip flips, and fuck if I’m not going to be feeling that tomorrow. It’s my least favorite partner drill where we have to change direction—from shuffling to planting, or from backpedaling to sprinting as we cover the receiver running routes.

I put my all into it, proving I still have speed and agility despite my advanced age.

After skills, we head into a scrimmage, and all of that is before lunch. After lunch, defense hits the weight room, and we move into meetings with our position coaches before dinner.

We have some walkthroughs of our newly installed plays after dinner, and then we get free time before curfew, though free time is mostly rehab and rest ahead of going hard again tomorrow.

Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s two weeks of the same routine, but it’s a routine I’ve come to rely on. And seeing Lincoln at the helm of all of it is something else entirely.

He’s my big brother. I always idolized him, and then somehow we became actual friends. But now…he’s at ease in this position. It’s as if it was made for him. His deep knowledge of formations and plays is impressive, and his motivation to create a cohesive team experience is some of the best coaching I’ve ever worked with in my decade in the league.

And that’s my brother.

On other teams, I’ve seen divisiveness. It’s the offense against the defense. Here, we’re all one unit, and what’s even more impressive is how Lincoln fosters bonds between players of the same position when each of us is out here fighting for our own playing time and spot on the roster.

The only weak link I can seem to find is Austin Graham…but it helps to watch Asher kick his ass in camp.

I haven’t spoken to Asher about what happened between Austin and me, and I haven’t admitted to Austin that I know about his baby with Kelly.

I’ve stayed as far away from the guy as I can at the request of our head coach, and I’ve largely ignored my phone because the constant reminders of Ava are overwhelming.

I fucked up.

I know I fucked up.

And I don’t know how to fix it.

It’s the end of day eight at camp when I get back to my room. I’ve been sharing with Patrick, who has become a good friend—though I’ve been careful not to talk about Ava.

No distractions.

Football is the distraction.

I’m so goddamn confused.

I check my phone after my shower and see I have a new voicemail from my mother.

“Grayson Michael Nash, it’s your mother.”

Oh, shit. I got middle named. That’s never good.

“What’s going on with you and Ava? I just spoke to Sandra, who didn’t even know you were dating, and then she checked in with Beckett, who said you two were just faking it, but it didn’t seem awfully fake to me, and then I saw this video online that seems to confirm that it was fake…so what is it? I know you’re at camp, but you better make time to talk to your mother no matter where you are. Okay, love you honey, bye!”

I chuckle at the end of her message, though the message itself really wasn’t all that amusing.

I don’t really want to call her back, but I also don’t really think I have a choice. She did middle name me, after all. Patrick is still in the shower, so I don’t bother leaving our room to make the phone call. I realize it’s late in New York, but I am also fully aware that she’s going to be waiting for this call. The longer I make her wait, the more trouble I’ll be in when I finally call.

I click the call button, and she answers almost immediately. “Grayson Michael Nash, what is going on?”

“Sorry, Mom. It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated? Either you’re with her or you’re not.”

Theoretically, she’s right…but in practice, it really is a little more complicated than that.

I launch into the story from the beginning. “When we first got together, I didn’t realize who she was. I guess she had some unrequited childhood crush and didn’t know how to come clean with who she really was. We had a great connection, and then I found out a week later that she had kept the truth about who she was from me. Around the same time, I had to come up with some explanation since Beckett saw some photos of us kissing after he specifically asked me to watch out for his little sister. She suggested we tell him that it was a fake relationship. The lie seemed better than having him feel like I betrayed him even though I didn’t do it knowingly. Eventually, I got around to forgiving her for keeping that secret, and I started to fall for her. I’m pretty sure she fell for me too, and things were going well until I uncovered another secret. But this time…it just triggered that flight response in me. I saw what these secrets did to your marriage. I can’t be in the kind of relationship that was doomed to fail from the start because of secrets. Not after I watched you and Dad fall apart.”

“Oh, honey. Baby.” She sighs. “I’ll admit, I was hurt by some of the things your father was keeping from me, but just because the end was rough doesn’t mean I would trade in the first forty years we spent together. Well, maybe except for the last couple.” She chuckles a little at the end, and that little laugh there tells me that she’s okay. She’s fine. She lived through it, and she emerged on the other side. Laughing.

“You really wouldn’t trade it in? You wouldn’t do it over if you could?” I ask, and I hear the begging sound in my own voice.

“No. And I was never quite as sure about that as I was when we were together as a family in Jolene’s hospital room and I held my first grandbaby. I sat there, and this realization plowed into me that as hard as it was in the end, this is what we created. We created this beautiful family of four boys, this new generation. Things weren’t always perfect, and maybe we messed you guys up. But if I traded those hard years with your dad to make it all easy, then I wouldn’t have the four of you. I wouldn’t have my first grandbaby. There were thirty-eight mostly good years before the last two, but honey…that’s life. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s sad. But sometimes it’s beautiful and lovely and happy.”

She pauses for a beat as I process her words, and before I get the chance to say anything, she adds, “I really want you to think long and hard about whether whatever secrets are between you two are so bad that you’d give up even one more minute of the delirious happiness I saw when you were with her. Maybe you told Beck you were faking it, but you can’t fake those genuine smiles I saw on both of you.”

I blow out a breath. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Promise me. Because I have to tell you, honey, the pain was worth it for the happiness I had for a long time. And she’s worth it, too.”

I clear my throat of the sudden clog of emotion that seems to gather there. “Fine. I promise.”

“Okay. I love you, baby. Forever.”

“I love you forever too, Mom,” I mutter just as Patrick walks back into the room.

We say our goodbyes, and Patrick glances over at me. “That was your mom?”

I nod.

“Heard she’s single.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I warn.

“Yeah…probably not a smart plan to hook up with Coach’s mom, anyway.” He smirks at me.

“You know I can kick your ass, right?”

“Pfft. In your dreams, maybe.” He shrugs, and while the exchange is meant in good fun, I’m not feeling very fun after that conversation.

Not after my mom issued so many points for me to ponder.

Is she right?

Were we really that happy together?

Am I giving up things I never even knew I wanted because I’m scared?

Yes. Only, I’m not scared. I’m fucking terrified, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to battle against those fears to find my way back home to her.