Page 23 of The Way We Touch
“Really?” Dylan’s eyes light. “What part? I’ve only been to Dallas, but I’d like to get out to San Antonio eventually. Get some authentic Chile Pequin.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“You don’t know peppers?” Dylan leans on her forearms, watching me. “How is that possible?”
“My dad wasn’t into Tex-Mex.” I think of dinners served on fine china with cloth napkins and silver utensils at a long, formal table. “He was more they Wagyu beef and lobster type.”
“Fancy!”
“Something like that.” The old bitterness attempts a return, but Dylan curtails it.
“Well, that’s a damn shame.” Her tone is sassy, and her cute nose wrinkles with a smile. “What about your mom?”
“Not sure.” I take a sip of Guinness. “She died before I knew her.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She touches my forearm briefly. “We lost our mom when I was thirteen. Cancer.”
“Yeah.” I nod, wishing I didn’t keep bringing down the conversation. “Garrett told me.”
It was another of the things that bonded us right away—small hometowns, lost moms, and him laying out any football player who got in my way.
“Zane, hey, bro!” Garrett hops around to the long hall leading to the front door. “Where you been?”
I look up to see a tall guy with dark hair standing just inside the front door like he’s trying to avoid being seen. He’s about my height but slim in that way former athletes get after they stop training hard.
“Garrett.” His voice is low and final, and he goes to the stairs.
Garrett, of course, isn’t taking any of that. He hustles down the hall, pulling his brother into a hug. “I’ve been waiting for you. You weren’t with Jack when he picked up Kimmie.”
“I had some errands to run.” Zane slaps his back before taking a halting step away.
He looks up to where Dylan and I stand watching in the kitchen, and his eyes are a striking shade of blue, clear like water. Still, they’re haunted, and even though he turns away quickly, the pain is evident.
“Are you hungry?” Dylan calls to him, and her voice is softer than it’s been all day, laced with something like caution.
I wonder if that’s why he seems to want to escape. I don’t know how I’d feel if my career was cut short the way his was, my entire world turned upside down in the blink of an eye. I sure as fuck wouldn’t want everyone treating me like glass.
“I got something earlier. I’m just heading up.” He grips the bannister, but Dylan goes to where her two brothers are standing.
“How’d it go today?” she asks.
“Fine.” Again, he says the word like it’s the end of the conversation.
“Did they say how much longer you need the crutches?”
He’s not on crutches, but I notice a pair propped in the corner. Zane’s square jaw moves as the muscle flexes, and I imagine Dylan is the only person who can get away with pressing him like this.
I turn and go back to the bar, feeling like I’m intruding in a situation where I don’t belong.
“They said I can stop now.” His response is low.
“That’s good! We put Logan in the guest room, but if climbing stairs is too much?—”
My ears perk up, and I return to the hall. “I can stay upstairs. It’s not a problem. I haven’t even unpacked yet.”
“I’m good.” Zane nods at me. “You must be Logan? Welcome.”
I nod in return. “Thanks. Big fan. I watched all your games…”