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From the look on his face, he knew it. Damn man.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, desperate to change the conversation before my dick ran away with dirty thoughts of him.

“A fuck ton of driving,” he replied with a sigh. “I’m going back to spend the day hanging out with everyone, but I’ll come back to get you tonight. We’ll head back to my house for the night. Unfortunately, we have an early flight tomorrow morning.”

I laughed. Right. We had an early flight, which meant us going to bed early would’ve been the smart thing to do. However, Rhodes and I were very good at a lot of things together, but sleep wasn’t one of them. Between talking until stupid hours of the morning and getting distracted every time one of us touched the other, tomorrow’s flight would probably involve sunglasses, too much coffee, and both of us pretending we weren’t running on an hour or two of sleep.

But it’d be worth it.

CHAPTER 65

Theo

BABY KENNEDY: I’m coming to dinner.

Not even going to ask?

BABY KENNEDY: Like you’d tell me no.

No.

BABY KENNEDY: I’m still coming anyway.

Cool, come through the back. Roscoe misses you.

Iwasn’t sure I’d ever come down from my weekend in Florida. Somewhere between the wedding with Rhodes and walking through the Barracudas training facility, my brain had apparently given up on processing anything else. Rhodes had spent the whole night listening to me ramble on and on about every little thing from the time he dropped me off at the cafe to the moment he picked me up. I may have apologized a few too many times, but he quickly encouraged me to keep talking. I felt like a wide-eyed kid who couldn’t believe this was really my life.

The wonder didn’t fade, even after the flight home or getting resituated back in Maine. I hadn’t made it back to the frat house. I may have gotten sidetracked with Rhodes before heading to my parents’ house for an early dinner. I barely made it through the front door before I started unloading the entire weekend in pieces while Mom finished cooking and Dad bounced between asking questions and offering opinions on Cyrus, the draft process, the facility, Walter, and every conversation I’d had about what the next year could look like if I kept playing the way I had been.

I set another plate on the table as I launched into some detail I’d undoubtedly already explained twice, unable to stop the stupid grin that kept taking over my face. The NFL wasn’t a guaranteed thing—Rhodes had made damn sure I understood that—but it finally felt real. It felt like an obtainable career path, even with the thousands of things that could happen between now and the draft.

I still wasn’t sure if this was the dream, but I wanted it. I wanted it really bad, and I was ready to do whatever it took to get there.

The only part I carefully stepped around was Rhodes. Every story from Florida required an adjustment, one that cut him out of the story. I’d been so vague about the plan going into it that all anyone knew was that I was going down there because of football. It left me with a lot of wiggle room to make up stories.

But it was strange to be this happy about something, want to share it with my family, and have to edit out such a massive part of the reason why. I couldn’t bring up Rhodes’ name, and I couldn’t say anything about my boyfriend. For the first time, I didn’t feel anxious about hiding my sexuality from them.

I felt sad. For so long, keeping this part of myself private had felt like the only control I had. But somehow, Rhodes had changed what that secrecy entailed. Hiding him didn’t feel like protecting me anymore. It felt like cutting him out of moments he’d helped create. And that hurt more than I expected.

I was mid-answer when Roscoe came barreling through the room. He was all floppy ears and wild legs, slipping across the floor in his excitement and making me laugh. He barely reached the back door before it opened. At the sight of Jude, Roscoe lost his mind, and Jude barely managed to get the door shut before my dog started jumping.

“There’s my favorite boy!” he exclaimed, bending to scoop up Roscoe against his chest. Acting like he hadn’t seen Jude in years, Roscoe thrashed violently as he tried to kiss every inch of Jude’s face all at once. “Yes, I missed you too! I missed you too! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

I laughed as I went back to setting the plates down. For as much as Roscoe was our family dog, he’d decided Jude was his favorite person, and Jude had no problem sharing his enthusiasm.

“It’s good to see you, Jude,” Mom called from the stove as she finished the last dish.

“Thanks for having me over, Mrs. McLaughlin,” Jude replied, never once looking up from Roscoe.

“Oh, please,” she dismissed. “You know you’re always welcome here. You never have to ask. You just come on over.”

That was true. At this point, Jude had probably eaten as many meals in this house as I had. It was practically his home away from home. He knew where to find everything, where Dad hid the good snacks, and exactly how long he could hover near Mom while she cooked before she threatened him with a wooden spoon.

I was halfway through setting Jude’s spot when something about him finally registered, and I turned back to him. I frowned.

“Since when do you wear flannel?” I demanded. Instead of his usual athletic wear, he had on worn jeans, hiking boots, and a faded t-shirt under an open blue flannel. It was such a stark contrast to his usual that he didn’t look like him.

“Oh, this,” Jude said as he glanced down like he’d forgotten what he put on. “I raided Rhodes’ house while he was in Florida. I wore it hiking.”