Page 54 of Your Rule to Break
After greeting the rest of the family, Riley sits next to me and pours us each an Aperol Spritz.
“Okay, I want to know everything. Tell meallyour secrets.” She bumps my shoulder and lifts her glass up to me.
“And that’s my cue. I'm going to help Dad outside.” Zack gives me a few seconds to object, but when I don’t, he opens the glass door and walks to the patio. He looks back for the quickest of seconds, and the whole things feels oddly familiar.
Riley takes a sip of her drink, her golden-brown eyes looking at me over her short glass, and says, “You don’t really have to tell me your secrets, unless you want to, but tell me about Michigan.”
It’s not that I have a difficult time meeting new people, but sometimes it’s like I’m trying to figure out the vibe. What version of myself best fits? What shouldn’t I do? Is there anything I should avoid or hold back?
But right now, in this kitchen, it feels like I can just be Emilie.
And it feels so good.
Chapter 29
Zck
“Those look great,” Isay as my dad puts seasoned steaks on the grill.
There’s a hesitancy between us, a weighted silence. We were supposed to go to a golf simulator spot together a few days ago, but he bailed last minute. As in, I was already there, waiting for him, and he texted saying something came up.
The last time he did this, it was because he talked trash about one of my teammates while he was getting a beer with a friend, and he was afraid it was going to come out in the press.
It never did. No one was listening who cared enough. To be honest, few people knew who the long snapper was from the mediocre team in Florida. When he finally told me what was going on, you could see the weight lift with each word that came out of his mouth.
“Hey, ugh, sorry about the other day. I got wrapped up in something here and couldn’t make the golf thing work,” he says, like he’s reading my mind, but his eyes don’t leave the grill.
It feels like there’s something. Something in the way, between us. We’ve always had an open relationship, able to talk about anything, and I know he’ll come to me when he’s ready. I don’t want to push him because that’s now how we operate.
“It’s not a big deal, Dad. We can always reschedule,” I assure him while sitting down in one of the patio chairs.
It’s got the vibes of an early fall day—one of my favorite times of year. The air is still warm, but it was much cooler in the morning. Some of theleaves on the trees, and some that have already fallen off their branch, are changing from green to a burning red, kind of like Emilie’s hair.
Our backyard, fenced in with enough space to teach me how to properly snap a ball, is meticulously landscaped. Not a surprise, considering my parents love doing yard work together—enough that they rarely asked Riley or me to help when we were younger. We had chores but never anything to do with the yard.
We spent a ton of time out here as a family—dinners on the patio in the summer, jumping in piles of leaves in the fall, and playing in the first heavy snow. The wave of nostalgia, and gratitude, hits me at the same time. I love those memories and being able to come back to this home.
I already told my parents if they ever want to sell the house, I'd buy it—no questions asked. I can’t imagine not being able to make the drive and come back here.
“Are you making a career change we should know about?” my dad questions.
I don’t get it, and when I don’t answer he says, “You know, porn? Or the adult film industry? OnlyFans?”
The joke warms my chest. “No, not a career change. Hoping to keep playing football and not give the world access to my junk.”
“Maybe don’t agree to any sort of filming in the bedroom, yes?” My dad is more awkward about that line than he was when he gave Riley and me countless talks about sex.
I nod and reply, “Great advice. I'll be using that one.”
He smiles at me before clapping me on the back. A few seconds later, he changes the subject. “Team looks solid so far. You feel good?”
My dad turns the steaks, the sizzle a satisfying sound, as we talk about football.
Riley is monopolizing Emilie,and I fucking love it. We’re at the dining room table, almost ready to eat, and the two of them laugh and chat like they’ve been friends for years. My mom joins in every once in a while, and who knows what they’re talking about.
“He didn’t!” Emilie gasps, her hand flying to her mouth when she sees I’m in hearing distance.
“Riley. What are you doing?” I ask cautiously.