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“He doesn’t love me. He loves you.”
“Uh, you’re the one he was willing to get a skull fracture for.”
“I’d never hurt him,” is all I can answer. “Torture him? Yes. Embarrass the shit out of him. It’s my daily mission. But hurt Beau? Never. I’d never hurt you, either. Your secret’s always safe with me.” I shrug. “Hell, I celebrate it. I’m bi, too.”
“Thanks.” Colton gently pats my knee. “Thanks because God knows we fucking need it.”
He lets his big, warm hand linger a little longer on my leg, and it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like he needs this.
“You deserve someone you can trust, too.”
“I trusted my mom,” he says. “She knew.”
“As you should,” I answer, immediately hearing the past tense. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He winces. “I lost her last year. Brain cancer is a bitch.”
I swallow hard. For such a big man who looks like he could break you in half, Colton seems broken.
“I think you found your reason,” I offer, and he raises a brow, taking another swig from the bottle. “Maybe you’re hanging on to Amber because you had to let go of your mom.”
“Damn, Bronson,” he chuffs. “The sexy lucky fucker. He gets one who’s sweet, beautiful, and smart as hell.”
“Nah,” I grin, “just took a few psych classes and got a degree. But it’s obvious, so let me ask you a question.”
“Hang on.” He aims his playful glare. “We already got mandated counseling with a sports shrink this week. So what are you shrinking?”
“Dr. Gary will shrink your balls.” I make Colton grin. “But I can open your shrunken heart. Do you trust me?”
“Shoot.”
“Would your mom like Amber?”
Colton’s naked chest shakes so hard when he laughs. I try not to ogle, but when his body’s adorned with that much exquisite ink over all those hulking muscles, what the hell am I supposed to look at? A thousand shooting stars?
“Hell, no, she wouldn’t like her,” he answers. “When I’d do dumb shit, my mom would smack my head and say, ‘I didn’t raise my son to carry his brains in his back pocket,’ before she’d pinch my chin and peck my cheek. That’s what she’d do right about now.”
“Ummm.” I take the bottle from him, then a big swig. “I like your mom.”
“Yeah.” He takes another long pause, his gaze my way deepening and intense. “She’d like you a lot, too.”
I can see why Beau loves Colton. What’s not to love? He’s hot as hell, and his big heart is in the right place. He’s just grieving the mom he lost and the man he can’t have.
So, I share something I rarely discuss. “I lost my mom, too. Five years ago.”
“Shit.” He softens his face. “I’m fucking sorry. I really am.”
“People who text and drive are assholes, too.”
He grabs my hand and squeezes it—not in a sexy way. Grief does that. It humbles us to reach for what we have, even a stranger or a really sweet NFL player.
Or two.
We shoot the shit until an hour later when Colton sees me shiver, so he finds beach towels in a basket by the sliding glass doors. He offers a couple to me, taking one for himself.
As we wrap up, my world shifts. Beautifully. Powerfully. Inexplicably. My gravity centering, balanced by Beau and Colton’s love. It pulls my heart to them. I feel warm and cozy and where I’m supposed to be.
“You know what my mom used to say?” With Colton, I like talking about her.
