AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We didn’t want your provisions, Dad. We wanted your love. We wanted our father. And those two,” she points at me and Colt, “are real men. They don’t abandon the ones they love. We’re not distractions to them. We’re a family.”
Colt coughs like something’s strangling him, and I feel the strain, too.
“Mr. Monroe,” I control my fury, “I’m trying to show you respect, Sir, for Blair’s sake. But by God, you will give it to us, too. We’re not ashamed of our love—me and Colt, us and Blair. So accept it and respect it, or get the fuck out of our home right now.”
“But you can’t come out,” he pleads. “You’re NFL players. You’ll lose everything, and so will she.”
“We know the world we live in,” I answer. “And together, we’ll figure it out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“You better give me a big blue cock. Bigger than Beau’s.”
COLTON
Beau said to eat crow, and I’d rather.
I bet it tastes better than the words I have to swallow, listening to Amber. For her, trauma is a hangnail that requires an emergency room visit. Perspective escapes her.
“I lost a sponsorship because of you!” she exclaims. “I lost the Faux Sun account and followers because I was contracted to go to the ESPYs with you, wearing my white Balmain dress and a fresh Faux Sun tan.”
Amber tosses back her Prosecco for emphasis. So, I swig my beer, fighting not to say it.
But I do.
“Maybe it was a blessing in a Balmain disguise because that Faux Sun left real brown stains on every white bedsheet and towel I owned.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re a millionaire. You’ll be fine.”
“Is that what you want? My millions?”
“I deserve to be compensated for what I lost.”
“Yeah,” I scoff, “me, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I glance around the trendy Atlanta bar where I agreed to meet Amber after practice. Of course, she picked a spot where everyone’s snapping pics of us. Our first pre-season game is Friday, and Atlanta is buzzing about it.
Me and the whole city want that Super Bowl ring on my finger so bad, it feels naked without it.
I want to blame Amber for that loss, but I won’t. I gotta own my shit.
“It means we were toxic, Amber. We fought all the time. We wasted months together when I should’ve been focused on the game.”
“Fights are how people show their love.”
“No, that’s how people show they’ve lost their goddamn mind.” I huff, “If I want to live on the edge of my seat, worried about what daily argument is going to jump out and give me a mindfuck, I’ll watch a horror flick.”
She sighs. “We weren’t that bad.”
I cock a brow. “We weren’t that good.”
She snaps her fingers at the bartender. This is her third glass of Prosecco, so she’s either about to get nicer or nastier—it depends on her shapewear.
Yep, I’m serious.
She flat-out blamed three of our fights on her bad mood due to Spanx. Or was it Skims? Fuck, I don’t remember which brand she was wearing, but her brand of bullshit was unforgettable.
