ue commissioner. All that. It’s a done deal now.” She smiled. “Now I’ll get to see two of my favorite people doing what they love on the same night.”
He gulped down his tea. Not a problem. Over the last few years, each AFL theme performer only attended a handful of games to sing live. What were the odds she’d be at one of his games? Slim, he hoped.
“Maybe you’ll be in the opening song video? You know how they always film one of those fancy music bits to open the games? Make it all exciting, get folks pumped up.” Aunt Mo put another chicken breast on his plate.
They normally only picked top players for the game lead-in video—the players who brought in the fans and the dollars. And while he was hell-bent and determined to get back on top, training harder than ever, he doubted he’d be on the short list this time.
Never waver. Never give up. Fight. With everything you have. Fight. How many times had his father kept him focused in high school? In college? He’d been right; his dad usually was. Brock could do this, show them; he was still the best damn defensive end in the league. He might be twenty-seven, but he had a couple more seasons in him.
Besides, he owed it to his team to give it his all. Even when he’d let them down, they’d stuck by him. First with his careless injury, then his damn pain med addiction and accident, and his mess of a divorce from Vanessa. Still, they’d been there for him. Believed in him. Now it was his turn to show them they’d made the right decision.
“You’re doing it again,” Aunt Mo said, nodding at his left hand.
He flexed his left hand. “I think you’re seeing things.”
“I see you, not eating what’s on your plate.” She was all feisty now. “You know the rules at my table—”
“You eat what’s on your plate.” He nodded. “Might be easier if you didn’t keep sneaking things onto my plate.” Once his plate was empty, he sat back and smiled. “Better?”
“I’ll make up a quick plate, and we’ll go.” She nodded. “Anything left will be going home with you.”
He started pulling out plastic containers and storing the leftovers away while Aunt Mo dished up small servings into a partitioned plate. She snapped a lid on and surveyed the less-than-clean kitchen. “Well, this will give me something to do when we get back.”
“I’ll help.” He always did.
She nodded, collecting her house key and locking up behind him. “Spoke to the nurse earlier and she said he’s having a good day today. Working on a puzzle and talking.”
Brock didn’t say anything. He never knew who he’d meet when they reached Green Gardens Alzheimer’s clinic. Sometimes it was his father, David Watson. Other times, it wasn’t. Some days were better than others. Some, he’d like to forget ever happened. But every Wednesday, he and Aunt Mo went and stayed until visiting hours were over. Or his father wasn’t fit for a visit. Mo always called ahead, to “test the waters.” That way, they could prepare a bit. If that was possible.
“Still raining? I’ll be.” Aunt Mo clicked her tongue as she peered out the front door again. “Umbrella’s in the closet there.”
Once it was retrieved and the house was locked up, Brock carried the umbrella high. He helped his aunt into his truck before hurrying around to the driver’s door and climbing in.
“Is this yours?” Aunt Mo asked, holding up the pink-and-white umbrella.
He shook his head. “Emmy.”
“I see.” She smiled. “It looks like something she’d own. All bright and sunny. That girl is a walking ray of sunshine.”
There was no denying that. Emmy Lou King had been the brightest part of his life. She’d believed in his dreams and loved him completely. Until she hadn’t. And when she hadn’t, when she was gone, he’d learned how dark life could get. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“I know things went upside down for you two, but if you do see her again, will you give her my best?” Aunt Mo turned the umbrella in her hand.
“I doubt I will, Aunt Mo.” He cleared his throat. If anything, he’d go out of his way to make certain there wasn’t the slightest chance of that happening. “But if I do, I will.”
Chapter 2
“You’re stressing me out.” Emmy’s big brother, Travis, peered over his sunglasses at her. “I don’t get it.”
“I’m not doing anything.” She pressed her hands against her pink rhinestone daisy-detailed and custom-frayed designer jeans trying to still the tapping of her foot.
“Exactly. You’re sitting there, not posting on Instagram or Twitter or wherever else you have nine hundred million people following your every move.” He frowned. “You’re all…out of it.”
“Maybe you’re stressing me out? Being all judgy and staring at me. I don’t get why you’re coming with me,” she said. “I have Sawyer. He’ll protect me.” She waved at her bodyguard in the rearview mirror. His slight nod was his only acknowledgment.
Sawyer was pretty stoic. A nice guy when he let his guard down. But he rarely let his guard down—he was the job.
“You could use a massage, Emmy Lou.” Melanie, her personal assistant, sounded off from the front passenger seat. “You haven’t had one in a while.”