The End Zone (Atlanta Lightning 2)

I’d always appreciated Bobby’s honesty and ability to get to the point, which was what he was doing now. “I guess you’re right.”

He nodded. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

We said our goodbyes and ended the video call.

Now I wasn’t only obsessing about the job, but about the crush too. I didn’t feel like I had it for Darren. He was hot, yeah; and fucking duh, if he were queer, I’d definitely want to bang him. But he wasn’t, and we were simply friends who enjoyed giving each other shit. The fact that he so often was the one who led that proved it was just a fun friendship thing between us.

I forced myself to forget what Bobby said and looked at my phone.

Troublemaker: It was aight. What are you doing tonight?

Me: Thinking about going out to get laid. You?

Troublemaker: I’m planning to do the same.

I waited to see if any jealousy started to form in my gut, and it didn’t. But Bobby and I had an open marriage. We’d had rules in place, but we’d slept with other men while we were together, so I didn’t know if I was really the jealous type. Maybe I wasn’t built that way.

Me: Hopefully you show her a better time than just what it’s like to take a spin around the block.

Troublemaker: First, it’s an Aston fucking Martin. Don’t make it sound like it’s any old car, and second, I can promise you I will. I don’t ever leave a woman unsatisfied.

I didn’t doubt it.

Me: Eh, not sure if I believe you.

Troublemaker: LOL. Good night, Angel. Have fun. Talk to you tomorrow.

It was weird, the whole Angel thing. I knew why he did it—the blond hair and me not wanting to get into trouble—but it sounded so much like a term of endearment. Other than the first night he used it, the only time he ever said it was when we got off the phone.

Darren was just that kind of guy, I figured. He was silly and confident and open. He wouldn’t be weird about a nickname.

Me: Night, Troublemaker. Talk soon.

Chapter Six

Darren

September

“Hey, Momma,” I said, and kissed her on the cheek. I’d come over after practice. We’d be leaving later in the week for the first game of the regular season, and I was pumped. Something about this season felt right…and different. Like there was magic in the air, this electrifying energy, and somehow, I knew we were going to go all the way. We’d won before, but not for the past couple of years. I just knew it was going to be ours again.

“Hey, baby. How’s my boy doing?”

I always thought that what connected Anson and me in the beginning, at least in part, was how close my mom and I were. Anson and I, we were both Georgia boys who’d come from nothing but had mad love for our families. We both wanted to protect them, take care of them in the best ways we could.

I sat down beside her on the couch. “Doing all right.”

She cocked a perfectly sculpted brow. She didn’t play; she always looked flawless. “You sure about that? I know you.”

Shit. She did. After all this time, I didn’t know why it mattered, why I got weird like this. “It’s a coincidence.” Definitely a coincidence I came over moping on my biological dad’s birthday—yep.

“Yet you know exactly what I’m talking about?”

I groaned. Why were moms so perceptive? It didn’t matter how fucking old you were, they always knew everything about you. Well, not everything. “Fuck, Ma, seriously, I don’t want to talk about it.”

She gave me the look that said I fucked up. “Don’t curse at me like that.”

She was right. I’d told myself I just went to see her because she was my mom and I loved her. That it had nothing to do with what today was. Hell, I probably believed it myself since I walked in here chest puffed out and thinking about football, but again, moms always knew, and now all my shit was dredged to the surface.

“It doesn’t matter what he did to me. He’s still your daddy and you miss him.”

“I don’t miss him, and Deon is my dad.” Deon treated her like the queen she was. He didn’t use her and then throw her away.

“You’re the most honorable man I know.”

I rolled my eyes, and she playfully swatted me. “Ouch!”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. You need to start believing some of that confidence you show the rest of the world. You’re a good man, Darren. The best. And you love your family fiercely. You feel guilty for missing your father, and you don’t need to. If you want to talk to him—”

“I don’t.” I was too damn old to have parent issues. “What will you give me if we win the Super Bowl this year?” I teased.