I could tell he was teasing Mikey, and seeing my dad smile down at Mikey with affection made me want to cry like a baby. At no point had I thought my father would second-guess my decision to leave the game. My dad may have loved football, but he loved his family more.
Mikey scoffed and moved his arm as if to point. “Moose, he’s important. Okay? I’ve been in love with your son for a long time. And you know that. I told you—” He winced and put his arm back down.
My heart went nuts at his confession, and I couldn’t hold back a grin. When Mikey caught it, he smiled through the pain and rolled his eyes.
“Yes, you big dummy. I love you. Don’t act so surprised.”
“But I am. And I can be surprised and happy at the same time,” I said.
His eyes turned soft. Maybe it was the pain meds, but I chose to believe it was love. “I love you,” he said again.
I leaned over and kissed him carefully before pulling back and meeting his eyes. “I love you, too. And I don’t like being apart.”
He shook his head and then smiled. “Me neither. But I have a plan.”
I had one, too, and I couldn’t wait to tell him all about it.
24
Mikey
I must have drifted off because when I woke up, the hospital room was much darker. Only a small light over a nearby sink was on, and Tiller sat in a recliner he’d pulled alongside the bed. He was dozing with his socked feet propped up on the edge of my bed.
My heart soared as I stared at him. His hair was messy, and his beard scruff darkened his jaws. At some point he’d removed his button-down dress shirt and suit pants and changed into a Riggers hoodie and matching track pants. I recognized his open gym bag on the floor nearby and realized he’d probably come straight from the stadium in Buffalo.
The television played silently on the wall, and familiar sportscasters talked each other’s ears off as the day’s sports scores crawled along the bottom of the screen. I didn’t have my glasses on to read what they said, but I hoped for Tiller’s sake the Riggers had won the game against the Bills.
Actually… fuck that. Now that I thought about it, I didn’t really care. I was tired of caring about football. I wanted Tiller to be happy. That was all. If that meant the Riggers needed to defeat the Bills, then I hope they had. But if he didn’t care, as he’d said earlier, then I didn’t care either.
I needed to be honest with him, though. He needed to know what I’d done, how I’d stupidly gone behind his back and made a deal with the devil. His missing a game could have possibly been excused, but missing it to be with me? No way. My father was going to rain down punishment on all of us for that. Especially if he’d lost his precious game and his chance at the playoffs.
“You hurting, baby?” His voice was rough and grumbly from sleep. “Want me to call the nurse?”
He stretched and dropped his feet to the floor before reaching for my hand. His skin was warm, and his grip was gentle and familiar. My eyes smarted again. “I’m okay.” I swallowed and took a breath. “I need to tell you something.”
His body stiffened in his seat. I hoped like hell he wasn’t going to hate me for admitting how weak I’d been.
“What is it?”
“It’s about why I wasn’t answering your calls and stuff. Why I left Houston without saying goodbye.”
Tiller’s face relaxed, and he leaned in closer. “I know what happened with your dad, sweetheart. I know about the threats.”
His words surprised me. How on earth did he know what my dad had said? Had Coach threatened him, too?
“How?” I asked. “Did he say something to you?” If so, I was going to kill him even worse than I already planned.
“No. I think you accidentally texted Sam.” He held up a hand. “And before you get mad at Sam for telling me, you need to know I was beside myself with worry I’d done or said something to run you off. I was in a really bad place. That’s the only reason Sam finally caved and told me what he knew.”
I reached for his hand and brought it to my mouth for a kiss. “I don’t want you to be traded away.”
“He’s not going to trade me, Mikey. I’m the highest-rated wide receiver in the league. He needs me more than I need him, and we both know it. I wish you’d come to me about this.”
Tiller studied me for a minute while I contemplated his words. “Mikey, are you worried about the cookbook? Because it’s a good thing for the league in general. They’re always looking for marketing opportunities like this. I don’t think they’re going to let your dad pull team support from the project. And if they do, you’re still going to kick ass with it. You have so much support already from lots of people in professional sports in Houston. Even if the league and the team don’t endorse it, the individuals can still provide quotes for the cover, right?”