Game On: The Friend Zone Part 25

My breath comes out in a rush. But I stay still. I'm good at locking it down in front of Jonas.

"Ivy isn't going anywhere. So I guess you're s.h.i.+t out of luck."

Jonas smiles. I used to see that smile a lot. Right before he struck. And while every old fear in me is shouting to lower my eyes, or better yet, get the f.u.c.k out of here. I'm not that little boy anymore.

"You're getting mouthy with freedom," he says with a frown. When I don't answer, he goes on. "You haven't returned my texts."

I don't bother to tell him that I've blocked him. If he didn't look like a burly version of my dad, I'd think Jonas was adopted because he got neither of our parents' intelligence.

"What do you want, Jonas?" I ask in a bland voice. At my side, Ivy is quiet but close, her hand yet to leave my back.

"You're two games away from being draft eligible. It's time to make plans."

"As touching as that sounds, I've got it covered." Not that I think my brother has any interest in looking out for me.

His look of disdain tells me as much. "Yeah, well, my agent says you haven't returned his calls either."

Which is because I have no interest in signing with Jonas's soulless bloodsucker. Not that he's Jonas's agent anymore. They'd parted ways when Jonas f.u.c.ked up his career. But I'm guessing this is a way to get in good with his old cronies.

"Didn't want to return them," I say.

He scowls. "You're an embarra.s.sment to this family. You will call him."

Suddenly, I'm just worn out. I hate this. Hate that my remaining blood relatives are nothing to me. "No, Jonas," I say in a low voice, "I won't. I'm signing with Mackenzie."

"That weak-a.s.s f.u.c.ker?" Jonas barks out a laugh. "He doesn't have the b.a.l.l.s to get s.h.i.+t done."

"Hey!" Mac snaps, stepping forward. "That's my father you're talking about, so shut your mouth."

Inside I groan, cursing this whole situation. But my awareness goes on high alert as I sling an arm around Mac's slim waist and haul her back against me. Every inch of her vibrates like she's about to throw a punch, and she doesn't know who she's dealing with.

"Ignore him," I murmur. Not because I disagree. But I know Jonas.

Jonas's leer isn't a shock. "I can't believe this. He has his daughter riding c.o.c.k to get clients? I underestimated the guy."

Mac lurches in my arms, unable to get free but trying. "You disgusting f.u.c.ker, you don't know d.i.c.k."

That shuts him up. He pushes off my truck, rage in his eyes. "Watch your mouth, girlie."

Blood races through my veins, and it feels ice cold. Not taking my eyes from him, I firmly set Mac behind me, telling her, "Don't move."

Something in my voice must convey the seriousness of the situation, because she does what I say. Jonas, on the other hand, takes a step toward her. "I should shut that mouth for you."

"You need to get the f.u.c.k out of here," I tell him, standing in front of Mac. "Now."

"You don't tell me what to do, Gravy. You f.u.c.king obey. As always."

It burns that Mac hears my shame. That I ever obeyed this a.s.shole. But no more.

"You're making a fool out of yourself," I tell him. "Go on. We're done here."

Jonas's nostrils flare. Instinct has me transferring my weight onto the b.a.l.l.s of my feet, my thighs clenching, prepping for a tackle. Jonas is a big motherf.u.c.ker, but he's been out of the game for years, and I'm stronger, faster, with better balance. He'll go down and stay down.

Because he is, at heart, still a lineman, he reads my intent with perfect clarity. It's in the eyes. We've been trained to broadcast "I'm gonna f.u.c.k your s.h.i.+t up" with one look.

"You think you can take me, little bro?" Jonas smirks like there's no chance.

"I can bench four-thirty, so that just might be enough to toss you." I shouldn't taunt Jonas but he brings out the worst in me.

He bares his teeth at me. "I s.h.i.+t bigger than you."

"I believe it."

When he makes a noise as if he'll soon charge, I clench my fists. But Ivy's cool hand lands on my stomach. "He isn't worth it, Gray."

Her dark eyes are wide and worried, gleaming up at me with a silent plea. And I soften. I don't want her to see this ugliness. But my distraction is a mistake. I hear Jonas snarl.

"Thought I told you to mind your f.u.c.king business, girlie."

He lunges, and I can only think of Ivy, threatened. My vision goes white, a roar tears from my throat. I'm barely aware of moving. I slam into Jonas with enough force to rattle my bones. Fisting his s.h.i.+rt, I propel him upwards, my thighs bunching with effort. And he goes airborne.

His ma.s.sive shape is a silhouette in the streetlight, and then he's cras.h.i.+ng down onto the pavement with a loud thud. I stand over him, my teeth grinding. A slow shake works deep through my guts. "Get the f.u.c.k out of here, or I will end you."

He stares at me, all wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. Blood dribbles from his lip, and my knuckles throb. Had I hit him? I don't even remember doing it. But he spits a glob of red from his mouth as he rolls over, so I must have. Slowly he stands.

We stare at each other for a long moment. When I speak, the finality of our relations.h.i.+p feels like shards going down my throat. "Don't ever talk to me again."

He just shakes his head. "Mom wasted her time on the wrong kid."

And then he leaves me there, gutted and filled with useless rage.

Ivy

Rain has started to fall. It taps against the roof of Gray's truck with a metallic rattle and runs in rivulets down the fogged-up windows. Inside, it's warm, the old heater blowing steadily as we sit not speaking.

We're parked in front of my house, listening to Nine Inch Nails' Right Where it Belongs play softly on the radio, the sound haunting in the relative silence. Gray hasn't moved, and I'm hesitant about saying a word. He's clearly in his own world right now, his strong profile unmoving as carved stone as he stares blindly forward.

Every line of his body is tense, as if he might shatter if he moves, and I hate it. I'd seen the rage and the fear cloud his eyes when his brother taunted him. I'd seen the hurt and shame. Gray is in pain, and that is unacceptable.

Slowly, my hand slides across the truck's leather bench seat. His fingers are curled into a fist, but the moment I touch him, he opens his hand, turning his palm upward to clasp my own. Until I feel the warmth of his touch, I don't realize how much I'd needed it.

We don't speak. Gray's hand engulfs mine. For a moment, I simply sit and soak in the small connection between us. It's strange how good it feels just to do this. Almost absently, he traces the back of my hand, down the sensitive edges of my fingers and over my knuckles. Pleasure hums along my skin.

I explore as well, sliding a finger along the length of his as the tip of my thumb strokes his palm. I love Gray's hands. Warm, rough skin. Long fingers and broad palms, and the strength. He could crush my hand without effort yet he holds onto me as though I'm made of spun sugar. Tenderness batters my heart.

"Hey," I whisper. "What kind of shoes do spies wear?"

At first I don't think he's heard me, then Gray's lips twitch. "Don't know."

"Sneakers."

"Har." The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile grows. Still he stares out the window.

I give his hand a small squeeze. "What do you get when you cross a vampire with a snowman?"

"What?"

"Frostbite."

Gray snorts. And then his eyes find mine. They glint with humor in the dim interior. "What's green and smells like pork?"

Relieved that he's engaging, I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. "What?"

"Kermit's finger."

"Eew." I laugh as I bat his arm. "That is vile."

His broad shoulders shake as his laugh rolls out. He has a gorgeous laugh, booming and infectious. And right now, it's the best sound in the world.

I'm still laughing when I give him another one. "What did the duck say to the hunter?"

Gray chokes down a laugh before asking, "What?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "I wasn't there for that conversation."

And he laughs again, his expression open and happy. "That is the lamest one ever, Mac."

"I know. Hey." When he looks at me expectantly, I give his hand a tug. "What's up with you and your brother?"

Gray's expression falls as abruptly as a lid being slammed shut, and a twinge of guilt hits me. It's a sneak attack and s.h.i.+tty of me. But there's a difference between slapping a bandage over a wound and trying to help heal it. I can't heal all of Gray's hurts, but I want to try.

"You don't have to tell me," I say when he doesn't say anything.

Gray leans back against the seat and runs a hand over his face before looking off. "I don't want to."

It shouldn't hurt. He has a right to his privacy. But a lump rises in my throat anyway. And it takes effort to nod. Not that he's looking my way to see it.

A gust of wind hits the truck and it shudders. I should take him inside, comfort him with my body and forget trying to make him talk.

He sighs and turns to me. His eyes are haunted, and it hurts my heart.

"Gray..."

"It's okay, Ivy." He seeks out my hand and holds it again. His fingers have gone cold. With his free hand, he rubs his eyes as if his head hurts. As if in a fog, Gray stares at his hand, his fingers spread wide. Red abrasions mar his knuckles. As if it pains him to look, he makes a fist and lowers it. "I hate violence. Believe me, I get the irony of being a football player. It isn't the same. On the field, it's controlled. Well, mostly. And we're fairly matched up. But off the field?" He shakes his head. "Only a coward uses his fists when he can easily walk away."

I take a breath, completely sober now. "I'm sorry I egged your brother on and made you fight."

Gray's brows lift in surprise before snapping together in a frown. "Don't ever be sorry for being yourself. I will always defend you, Ivy, and I won't lose a wink of sleep over it." He looks down at his hand again. "I wanted to beat the s.h.i.+t out of him for even talking to you like that. It...unsettles me. I don't want to be like them."

"Like them?" I ask.

"I have three brothers. Jonas is the oldest. Twelve years older than myself. Then there's Leif who is ten years older, Axel is three years older, and I'm the youngest. Axel is all right but we're not close. Jonas and Leif are total a.s.sholes."

He glances at me, his brows pulling together in a bemused frown. "You really didn't Google me at all, did you?" There's no accusation in his voice, only a soft wonder.

"No," I confess quietly. "Truth? I wanted our friends.h.i.+p to be about Ivy and Gray. Not what the rest of the world thought about you."

For a long moment he just looks at me, his expression giving nothing away. Then, with his free hand, he reaches out, and the tips of his fingers graze along my cheek. "Same here, Ivy Mac." His hand touch away, and his voice grows harder. "So I'm a.s.suming you didn't recognize Jonas, did you?"

"Was I supposed to?"

He laughs without humor. "I guess not. Though it'd probably p.i.s.s him off to hear that." Gray rolls his shoulders. "Jonas Grayson, superstar offensive lineman, two-time Super Bowl winner-"

"Holy s.h.i.+t," I interrupt as understanding dawns. "Jonas and Lief Grayson. Leif is a fullback. And Jonas..." I try to think of what I know and horror dawns. "Four years ago his wife pressed charges, saying he beat her. There was a big trial."

"Yep." Disgust rides Gray's expression. "Apparently he beat the s.h.i.+t out her for years, and she finally had enough. He found himself a slick lawyer and got off with probation."

My stomach turns. Jonas abused a woman. And I'd taunted him. If Gray hadn't stepped between us... A s.h.i.+ver pa.s.ses over me.

"Unfortunately for him," Gray says, "his contract was up for renegotiation at the time, and his team didn't renew. No one wanted him. Didn't help that he'd been playing like s.h.i.+t for two seasons prior."

"That'll do it," I muttered.

"And Leif," Gray adds, his disgust clearly mounting, "just got off a two-game suspension for a DUI. Though I can tell you from personal experience that he does more than drink and drive."

"And your father is Jim Grayson." One of the best and most beloved coaches in the whole d.a.m.n NFL. "I'm an idiot. You're part of a football dynasty. How did I never make this connection?"

Gray shrugs. "You didn't look me up. I don't talk about it to anyone. My guys know I don't like to discuss it. Though sports commentators love to mention it every game I play." He runs a fist along his thigh, digging in. "My dad... He believes in physical strength. For as long as I can remember, he'd take me out to the yard for practice and have my brothers 'toughen me up.' No holds barred."

I don't like the sound of that. At all. "But your bothers are over ten years older than you. They could have killed you."

Gray's voice slows like he's forcing the words out. "Endless drills. Hard tackles. All acceptable. They got off on it. Axel didn't really, but he was small too. What could he do?"

I stay silent and let him talk.