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Hell, Asher was only seven or eight years old when I broke it off with her. He doesn’t even really understand what went down between the two of us.
I guess the only one who has any inkling about it is Grayson. Maybe that’s why I’m closer to him than I am to the other two. He was thirteen, and even though there was a huge age span there, he was the one I relied on most during the darkest days. He always tried to cheer me up even when it seemed like an impossible feat.
But he still doesn’t know about the conversation that took place between my dad and me the day Joseph Bailey was hurt during practice.
He still doesn’t know the secret my father told me. It’s been speculation for years, but most people have swept it away at this point.
Not me.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
And part of me is glad my parents lost the house when they were trying to save the bar. I couldn’t bear to stand in my childhood bedroom today and relive that awful conversation.
I do enough of that outside of those bedroom walls. Inside them would be pure suffocation.
Mom ushers Grayson and me toward the snacks she has in the kitchen, jabbering on and on about how excited she is for the anniversary party tomorrow night, and Grayson walks right over to the fridge and grabs us each a beer.
I raise my brows in thanks as I can’t help but think I’m going to need a few of these to help me through the next few hours.
We get settled, hauling our suitcases up to our respective bedrooms, and Spencer, the responsible one, arrives next, about a half hour—or two beers—after Grayson and me. He’s the smartest out of the four of us, the second youngest at twenty-nine, and he’s a wide receiver for the Vikings. He’s quiet, but it’s usually because he’s thinking and strategizing—like my father would do. Of the four of us, I see him as the most likely to get married first.
Grayson offers him a beer after the greetings, and to my surprise, Spencer takes it and cracks it open. If we were in season, he wouldn’t touch it, but I guess over time he’s decided he can partake in some fun in the off-season.
“When is Asher getting in?” Spencer asks Mom.
Asher, the baby, is just twenty-seven. He’s a tight end for the Colts, and he’s our wild card. He’s an adventurous risk-taker, most likely to jump out of a plane if the league allowed such risky activities. He’s the fastest of the four of us, and while all four of us have been rumored to be playboys, he fits the stereotype better than the rest of us with his impulsive attitude. He’s not like my mom or my dad. He’s not like any of us, really, and that riskiness and adventurous spirit is exactly what we need on the team to take the spot of Ben Olson.
She glances at the clock.
“His flight landed about an hour ago, so he said he’d just meet us at the restaurant.”
And he does. A couple hours later, I’m starting to feel a little beer buzz as we all catch up.
We bring up every game where one Nash brother played another one last season, and we analyze each game at length as we drink more beer, trash talk, and laugh like hell.
I’ve gone too long without this, and it’s a clear reminder why family comes first.
The six of us banded together in some of our toughest times. We were all we had to rely on when things got bad—when accusations were flying at us and when paparazzi was waiting outside and when Dad lost the bar.
Were a lot of the hard times directly related to my father? Hell yes they were. But my younger brothers still see him as a hero, and for their sake, I’ll hold onto his secret. I won’t be the reason this family implodes.
And that’s why I have to keep my distance from Jolene Bailey.
No matter how hard that might get.
Mom and Dad head to bed when we get back, leaving the four of us to our own devices. And that device just happens to be poker.
We get into a rousing match of Dealer Names the Game once Grayson finds the poker chips in the game closet. We agree to each put up a hundred bucks, but this game isn’t about the money.
It’s about the competition. All four of us are competitive by nature, and none of us takes losing well. We wouldn’t have made it to the place we are in our careers if we did.
Still, Grayson is a cheater, and we all know that. He steals looks at cards when he shouldn’t and he snags an extra chip off the top that doesn’t belong to him. True to each of their individual styles, Spencer is careful to strategize, and Asher plays with risk. As for me…well, I will stop at nothing to win, whether that’s charming my way through a bluff or raising the stakes aggressively.
We knock Grayson out first, and then Spencer, so it’s down to just Asher and me. We play a few rounds until Grayson decides to call it a night, and Spencer heads up shortly after.
And that’s when I decide to let Asher win. If I’m going to try to lure him over to the Aces, I need to tread carefully.
“Dude, you could’ve had that!” he says when he sees my cards.
