The Wall of Winnipeg and Me (18 page)

“Who?” he asked, perplexed and more than slightly surprised.

“Oh. Um, Richard Caine, Danny West, Cash Bajek, and that linebacker who got traded to Chicago during the offseason.”

“I never heard anything about it.”

I shrugged, trying to smile to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

He made this soft, little thoughtful sound of his, but didn’t add anything. The silence that wrapped around us wasn’t awkward at all. It just was what it was. After a few more stretches, Aiden touched me on the shoulder before disappearing into the house, apparently done.

By the time I made it inside and slipped my glasses back on, I found Zac standing at the stove in the kitchen. Aiden had taken a seat at the kitchen island with a glass of water. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I filled it up with the same.

“What are you making for dinner?” I asked Zac as I peeked over his shoulder.

He gave what smelled like onions and garlic a stir. “Spaghetti, darlin’.”

“I love spaghetti.” I batted my eyelashes when he glanced at me, earning me a grin. I took a seat on the stool one down from Aiden’s.

The tall Texan let out a soft laugh. “There’s more than enough. Aiden, you’re on your own. I put meat in the sauce.”

He just lifted one of those rounded shoulders dismissively.

I got up to get another glass of water when Zac asked from his spot still at the stove, breaking up the two pounds of ground beef he’d added to the vegetables. “Vanny, were you gonna want me to help you with your draft list again this year?”

I groaned. “I forgot. My brother just messaged me about it. I can’t let him win again this year, Zac. I can’t put up with his crap.”

He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I got you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank—what?”

Aiden had his glass halfway to his mouth and was frowning. “You play fantasy football?” he asked, referring to the online role-playing game that millions of people participated in. Participants got to build imaginary teams during a mock draft, made up of players throughout the league. I’d been wrangled into playing against my brother and some of our mutual friends about three years ago and had joined in ever since. Back then, I had no idea what the hell a cornerback was, much less a bye week, but I’d learned a lot since then.

I nodded slowly at him, feeling like I’d done something wrong.

The big guy’s brow furrowed. “Who was on your team last year?”

I named the players I could remember, wondering where this was going and not having a good feeling about it.

“What was your defensive team?”

There it went. I slipped my hands under the counter and averted my eyes to the man at the stove, cursing him silently. “So you see…”

The noise Zac tried to muffle was the most obvious snicker in the world. Asshole.

“Was I not on your team?”

I gulped. “So you see—”

“Dallas wasn’t your team?” he accused me, sounding… well, I didn’t know if it was hurt or outraged, but it was definitely something.

“Ahh…” I slid a look at the traitor who was by that point trying to muffle his laugh. “Zac helped me with it.”

It was the
thump
that said Zac’s knees hit the floor.

“Look, it isn’t that I didn’t choose
you
specifically. I would choose you if I could, but Zac said Minnesota—”

“Minne-sota.”

Jesus, he’d broken the state in two.

The big guy, honest to God, shook his head. His eyes went from me to Zac in… yep, that was outrage. Aiden held out his hand, wiggling those incredibly long fingers. “Let me see it.”

“See what?”

“Your roster from last year.”

I sighed and pulled my phone out of the fanny pack I still had around my waist, unlocking the screen and opening the app. Handing it over, I watched his face as he looked through my roster and felt guilty as hell. I’d been planning on choosing Dallas just because Aiden was on the team, but I really had let Zac steer me elsewhere. Apparently, just because you had the best defensive end in the country on your team, didn’t mean everyone else held up their end of the bargain. Plus, he’d missed almost the entire season. He didn’t have to take it so personally.

It only took a second for him to see who I had on there and he flicked his dark irises back up at me. “Zac helped you?”

“Yes,” I muttered, feeling so, so bad.

“Why didn’t you put Christian Delgado on your team?”

Just the sound of his name made my upper lip begin to snarl.

But before I could say anything, Zac chipped in, “I know I told you to add Christian.”

He had. I just hadn’t because he was a scumbag. Getting up, I went back to the fridge, refilled my glass, and muttered, “I didn’t want to.”

The master of “Why?” didn’t let me down.

The fact was, I was a terrible liar, and I wouldn’t be surprised if both Aiden and Zac realized I was making things up if I did. “I don’t like him,” I answered bluntly, hoping but knowing that wasn’t going to be a good enough answer for either one of their nosey asses.

“Why?”

“I just don’t. He’s a slimeball.”

“I don’t like him much either, darlin’,” Zac claimed.

Keeping my gaze on my glass for longer than necessary, I gradually lifted my head and immediately noticed Aiden’s dark irises on me. He was thinking, and I was pretty sure disbelieving at the same time, that intelligent face making me antsy. Did he know I was hedging around the answer?

If he did, he let it go for the time being when he dropped his attention back to my phone. That little line between his brows left me on guard. The line deepened as he asked, Zac, “Why did you tell her to choose Michaels?”

Zac responded something that left Aiden shaking his big head. “Don’t listen to him. I’d help you if you asked.”

We were having another moment like the one earlier when he’d asked about my work. I thought about not bringing it up, then decided against it. “I did once. Two years ago. I asked you a question about wide receivers and you told me to look it up on the Internet.”

He winced. Aiden literally winced. And I felt just the teensiest bit guilty for reminding him of something that hadn’t been important enough for him to remember.

In the spirit of being nice since he’d gone for a run with me, I reached across the counter and patted his hand. “Hey, we have the next five years for you to help me out.”

I
t was amazing
how easily you could settle into a major change in your life.

Or maybe it just amazed me how easily it was for me to live with Aiden and Zac, and keep living my life in the same way I’d been doing in that month after I quit. Really, it wasn’t that life itself had changed much; I was just in a new environment, but still doing the same thing I’d done back at my apartment.

A few weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and before I knew it, I’d been at my new house for a month. I’d
signed paperwork
two weeks ago. The season had started for the guys last week. Basically, life was going and heading in its same old trajectory.

Except the house didn’t completely feel like my own. It reminded me of back when I was a kid, sleeping over at Diana’s, when I couldn’t walk around in my underwear or go braless because it wasn’t my house. Then again, I spent the majority of my time in my room working and no one was ever home, so I could pull off whatever outfit—or lack of an outfit and underwear—I felt like wearing, only running up the stairs like a crazy person when the garage door opened. Then there was the small issue of having to turn down the volume on my computer’s speakers when one of the guy’s was home and I was working.

I still hadn’t talked myself into spending time in the living room watching television even when the guys weren’t around. Fortunately, claustrophobia hadn’t gotten to me yet considering most of my time was spent in the same place, and that was because I made sure to go to the gym a couple times a week, to see Diana once a week or every other week, and took my time going to the grocery store. I watched Netflix on my TV when I was bored. I drew in my sketchpad when I felt like it. Sometimes I hung out with Zac, but that didn’t happen often because he’d been spending a lot of time away from the house after practices and meetings, seeing his girl of the season.

By the time I woke up each morning, both guys were already gone. They were basically the best roommates ever. Best of all, Aiden was the type of roommate who you didn’t have to pay rent to.

I’d brought it up, of course. That day that I’d moved in, I’d asked him what bills I could help him pay, and all he’d done was give me that bored face that my temper hadn’t become immune to. Then I’d asked again, and he’d just ignored me.

He’d said he would work on being my friend, but I couldn’t expect a miracle overnight, could I?

If it was strange for either one of them having me in this house, they didn’t say anything about it or make me feel like an intruder, mostly because they both had enough on their plates. Zac had passingly mentioned to me how stressed he was about another quarterback the team had picked up, and Aiden lived and breathed for his sport, never allowing himself to slack off. Not that that was anything new. He nodded at me every time we happened to be in the same room together and offered me his leftovers if there were any, which there usually wasn’t because the poor guy seemed to be surviving off smoothies, fresh fruit, sweet potatoes, canned beans, nuts, brown rice, and at least one frozen meal daily.

That wasn’t my business though, was it?

But every day, I would find the recyclable bin filled with more cardboard containers than the day before. It made me feel bad, guilty.

It also made me wonder again why Trevor hadn’t hired him someone who did all the same duties I’d been responsible for. I knew he’d hired Aiden someone to answer his e-mails because I’d logged on to his account just to see what the damage was and found that every few days there were replies, but no one ever appeared at the house, and sometimes I’d find mail from his PO Box sitting in the kitchen after he got home. Where was his Vanessa 2.0?

T
he problem
with being friends with someone is that unless you want to be a shitty friend—or at least a fake friend because real ones shouldn’t be shitty—you couldn’t pretend you don’t notice if something is wrong with your buddy.

The biggest problem with my newfound friendship with Aiden was how complicated it was. What we’d done was technically a business transaction. But we sort of knew each other, and I knew that even if he wasn’t perfect and wasn’t truly my friend-friend who would donate a kidney if I needed one, I still cared about him anyway. I was a sucker like that. I figured, best-case scenario, he liked me enough to chip in for someone to donate whatever I needed. I mean, he’d gone running with me so that I wouldn’t go by myself when it was late out.

On top of that, we lived together. We were technically married.

Complicated was the best word to describe the situation.

So when I found Aiden in the breakfast nook with his leg propped on one of the other chairs and an icepack over his foot days after we’d gone for a run, mere weeks after the regular NFO season had started, I couldn’t pretend not to see it. Friends didn’t do that. Not people who had known each other for two years. Not when I knew Aiden well enough that I was aware he treated his body like a temple. So for him to have an icepack on his ankle?

Guilt flooded my chest. The Three Hundreds had some of the best trainers and physical therapists in the country. They had all kinds of advanced technology to get their players back in shape. The staff wouldn’t have let Aiden leave the facility until they’d done as much as they could for whatever was troubling him.

His facial expression only confirmed something was wrong. His jaw was jutting out and the cords lining his thick neck were more pronounced than usual. He was in pain, or at least incredibly uncomfortable.

This man whom I’d seen walk off the field like his ribs hadn’t just been fractured two years ago, much less without crying out, “Owwie,” was in clear and visible pain.

And I couldn’t ignore it. Because friends didn’t do that, did they?

I took my time circling the kitchen island, watching him, not minding that all he’d done was lift an index finger to greet me. He was eating a sandwich and reading a book on… it had the word ‘dumb’ on the front. I opened the refrigerator door to grab ingredients to make a soup, and turned my attention back as discreetly as possible to watch the big man at the small table.

“I’m going to make some soup, do you want some?” I offered.

“What kind?” he had the nerve to ask without looking away from his hardback.

I held back my smirk. “A kind you like.”

“Okay.” There was a pause. “Thanks.”

I chopped a few vegetables while occasionally glancing up. Running through a few different scenarios in my head on how to go about approaching him to find out if he was in pain or not, I realized I was being dumb.

“Aiden?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong with your foot?” I just blurted out.

“I sprained it.” That was easy, effortless, no bullshit Aiden for me.

Unfortunately, his comment didn’t help or reassure me. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had hit him with a car and the tendon wasn’t even attached to his leg any more, and he was insisting it was just a sprain.

But was I going to say that? Nope.

“High sprain or low sprain?” I asked carefully, as casually as I could.

“High,” he replied just as nonchalantly.

Between his injuries and Zac’s, I’d become familiar with the different kinds possible. High sprains tended to take less time to heal, usually a week or two. Lower ankle sprain recovery ranged from a month to two. So, it was bad but it could have been a lot worse.

“What did the trainers say?”

That had his jaw tightening. “I’m questionable for the next game.”

Not probable,
questionable
. Oh, brother. Questionable statuses made Aiden Graves a grumpy goose.

I lowered my gaze back down to the cutting board and the celery I had on there. “It might be a good idea for you to go see that acupuncturist you went to last year when your shoulder was bothering you.” The more I listed his past injuries, the more it made me wince. Zac had told me once that every football player he knew constantly lived with pain; it was inevitable.

“That might be a good idea,” he murmured, turning a page in his book.

“Do you want some Advil?” I suggested, glancing up, knowing damn well he never took painkillers. Then again, he rarely ever busted out the icepack.

When he said, “Two would be nice,” I had to hold back my gasp.

E
arly the next afternoon
, the sound of the garage door opening and closing told me enough about what was going on. When the television came on a few minutes afterward, I stayed upstairs with my colored pencils and a tattoo commission I was working on for a client.

Three or four hours later, once I finished my project, started on another one, and had showered to get ready for bed, I crept down the stairs, hearing the drone of the TV on in the background. The living room was directly to the left at the bottom of the staircase, the kitchen to the right.

I peeked in and found Aiden stretched out on the couch, the foot of his injured leg propped on the armrest. He had one arm twisted behind his head as a pillow. The other one was along his side, his palm resting on his stomach. His eyes were closed. I knew he hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep on the couch. I knew it with every fiber of my being. He’d done it on purpose.

The worry that swam around my stomach didn’t surprise me. Here was this seemingly indestructible man who I believed with every cell in my body, had stayed on the couch to avoid climbing up the stairs to get to his room.

Damn it.

I went back up to the second floor and pulled the pristine white comforter from the top of his bed and grabbed his favorite pillow. Once back downstairs, I crept back into the living room and laid the comforter across his lower body, tucking it in so that it didn’t drag on the floor. I took a step back, chewing on my lip, and that was when I saw.

His eyes were open and he was watching me.

I smiled at him and held out the pillow.

A small smile cracked across his full mouth as he took it from me and stuck it under his head. “Thank you.”

Taking a step back, I nodded, feeling caught. “You’re welcome. Good night.”

“Good night.”

H
e’d been sitting
in the garage for a while.

The fact that he hadn’t left the house to go to practice was the second thing that sent alarm bells ringing in my head. He wasn’t the suicidal type, but…

Leaving my bowl in the sink, I opened the door and stuck my head out to see what was going on. Sure enough, he was in the driver’s seat of his Range Rover with his head in one of his large hands, looking down. I walked over and knocked on the window. His head lifting, he frowned before rolling it down.

“Do you want me to drive you?” I offered, thinking about the project I’d wanted to finish working on that morning and shoving it to the back of my head.

Aiden’s nostrils flared, but he nodded. To give him credit, he only slightly limped around the car, but it was more than enough to worry me. I’d been thinking about him since the night before when I’d found him on the couch, but I knew better than to baby him. Instead, I ran back in the house, grabbed my purse and set the alarm before going back to the garage and getting behind the wheel.

It wasn’t the first time I’d driven his car, except the last time I’d been behind the wheel it was to take it to get an oil change and a wash. “Where are we going?”

“To the acupuncturist.”

“Did you put the address into the navigation?” I asked as I backed out of the garage, extra careful, incredibly self-conscious about my driving skills.

“Yes.”

I nodded and followed the gentle female voice all the way to the acupuncturist’s office, though after a while of driving, I remembered exactly where we were going. Just like every other time I’d ever taken Aiden, what seemed like all of the female employees at the homeopathic clinic seemed to find their way to the front desk while he was signing in. I took a seat and, with a smirk on my face, watched as one woman after another approached the counter, asking the big guy for an autograph or a picture. Aiden spoke with a low, calm voice, his movements measured, and his entire body tense the way it always was around people he didn’t know.

He didn’t even get a chance to sit down before the door leading to the main part of the clinic opened and another employee called his name. Aiden glanced back at me and tipped his head toward the door before disappearing. The crowd of women disbanded too. I hadn’t really been thinking straight before we rushed to leave, so I’d forgotten to bring something along to keep me entertained. I grabbed one of the magazines on the table and started flipping through it, trying to tell myself that Aiden was fine.

An hour later, the door Aiden had gone through opened again and his bulky frame slowly crept out, one obviously pained step at a time. A man in a short white coat behind him at the doorway shook his head. “Get crutches or a cane.”

Aiden simply lifted a hand before approaching the window where only two employees were waiting at that point. I dropped the magazine on the table and got up. The Wall of Winnipeg hunched over the counter, signing something.

“It’s such a pleasure to see you again,” the receptionist crooned just as I stopped right behind Aiden. Was she batting her eyelashes?

If she was, he didn’t notice. His attention was on what looked like the invoice in front of him.

“I’m such a huge fan of yours,” she added.

A fan of that ass, more than likely, I figured.

She kept going. “We all hope you get better soon.”

Yeah, she was definitely batting her eyelashes. Huh.

That had Aiden responding with one of those indecipherable noises of his as he straightened and slid the paperwork over to her.

“Mr. Graves, I can settle your visit with your assistant if you’d like to take a seat,” the receptionist said in a sugary sweet voice, her green eyes flicking to my direction briefly.

Aiden settled for shrugging a shoulder as he turned his body to face me. Nothing about his expression or body language gave me a warning. “She’s my wife.”