Page 8 of The Brotherly Shove
The realization that I was so close to admitting that night in the hotel bed somewhere in Houston before I chickened out and threw up an impenetrable wall between Breaker and I so I wouldn't be tempted to cross the goddamn line.
The realization that I'm an idiot who went and fell in love with his best friend.
CHAPTER 5
BREAKER
Now
Redwoods Practice Facility
Jake McRyan leads me through the training facility, past the weight room and cafeteria and into an elevator.
"Any chance you can tell me where we're going?" I ask him. As offensive coordinator, Jake's job is to design our offensive plays and work with the headcoach and quarterback to execute them during the game.
Basically, he is my god and I am but a lowly peasant that must worship at his altar.
Jake takes his good old time answering my question. He didn't say anything when he pulled me off the field, and I didn't want to ruffle the feathers of one of my new bosses by asking question, but I'm sort of shaking in my boots here.
"We're headed up to the administrative suites. There's some people up there who want to speak with you. Don't worry, it's nothing bad." The elevator door dings open and he pats my back.
"Probably," he mutters as he exits the elevator.
I stand there for a moment, stunned and scared shitless. I slip out just before the elevator doors start to close and followhim down the hall. We turn a corner and are met by a dude a full half foot taller than me in a slick black suit, holding the hand of a beautiful woman with long, flowing, curly brown hair. It takes me a second to recognize the new Redwoods team owner in my confused and slightly terrified haze, but there he is. He's much bigger in person and way more intimidating in that suit than he looks teaching fitness classes on the screen of my Spin Sync bike at home. I recognize the woman at his side as his wife, both because she's almost always in the front row of the man's live spin classes but also because she's one of my favorite authors and I follow her social media religiously. He holds his free hand out to me and I try to covertly wipe my sweaty palm on the side of my shorts before I take his.
"Breaker Lawson, it's nice to meet you," he says, his voice deep and booming. You can totally tell he was once a CEO of a Fortune 100 company. The power practically drips off of him, flooding the room like molasses threatening to swallow me up.
I nod and break the tight handshake with fear coursing through my veins. Not because James Adler looks particularly scary—he's more domineering than anything—but because there is nothing more daunting than standing in the presence of a man who could buy and sell you in the blink of an eye. I look down and notice two tiny humans. Kidlets, as Lennon often refers to the kids who used to come to our college practices with their parents. They're decked out in bright red San Francisco Redwoods jerseys that hang down to their knees and both are staring up at me. I can only assume these two belong to James since they're wrapped around his calves. I knew he had twins, but whenever they're pictured on social media, there's an emoji placed over their faces.
I kneel to the kids bouncing at their mother's feet, and say “Hey littles. I'm Breaker. And who might you two be?”
The twins are spitting images of their parents, both rocking their dad’s bright blue eyes and their mom’s button nose. The boy pushes his shaggy hair out of his face and gives me a toothy smile.
“I’m Efan!” he squeaks, and holds out a sticky hand for me to shake. I'm pretty sure he meant to say 'Ethan', but the toothy slip up is so damn adorable. His sister is a little quieter as she says, “I’m Taylor”.
“It’s nice to meet you both. Are you excited to watch some football guys practice today?”
“YES!” They both scream, and I do meanscreamat the top of their tiny lungs, for an extended period of time, in my face. I offer up my hands and they each give me tiny high fives.
“Who’s your favorite player?” I ask, winking like I want them to say my name.
“Jason Kelce!” They answer in unison, name dropping the old player from Philadelphia who retired recently. I grab my chest dramatically.
“What?! Haven't you seen my game tapes? You were supposed to say I’m your favorite player!” I whine, and they giggle. Obviously I know that these tots have no idea who I am, and I gotta admit, the kids have taste. Kelce is the best center the NFL has ever seen, in my humble opinion.
Although, if Lennon asks, I totally said he's the best in the league. Definitely him.
“Hey,” I say in a whisper loud enough for their parents to hear, but low enough that the kids think I’m telling them a secret. “Can you tell me your mom’s name? I want to make sure I make a good impression when I introduce myself.”
I already know her name, obviously. Georgie Adler writes some of the best romantic comedies I've ever read, but I figure flattering the kids and making them feel included might score me some brownie points with their parents.
The twins beam up at their mom and yell out “SWEET GIRL!”
Mrs. Adler’s face goes as redder than her bright lipstick as her husband laughs and places a kiss on the top of her head.
“Silly rabbits, that’s not my name,” she says, pulling herself together enough to pat each of the kid’s heads.
“But that’s what Daddy always calls you,” Taylor says. I didn't think it was possible, but Mrs. Adler's face goes even redder. I stand and offer my hand to her.