Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

“You’re up, Holland.” Our receiver coach, Drew, gives me a nod.

We’re doing a light position practice this afternoon. Cody, our quarterback, is throwing high passes to me and the rest of the receivers while we run deep routes. The sun is high and bright in the sky, making it difficult to track the ball.

I step up to the line and wait for the signal, then I’m off, sprinting from the fifty-yard line.

When I was little, I dreamed of scoring touchdowns.

I spent a lot of long, hot summer days running and practicing footwork to get by defenders. I studied my heroes and made my brothers toss passes to me until they were bored and tired—high, low, short, long. I wanted it, and I worked hard. I’d fall asleep at night imagining the fans screaming my name.

Football is an unforgiving sport. Everything has to align perfectly. The perfect throw at exactly the right speed and right time with defenders ready to slam the quarterback or receiver into the ground. The impossibility of it all makes each connected pass this beautiful thing I’ll never take for granted. And when I cross into the end zone, some part of me still remembers that little kid who dreamed of this moment.

Even if it’s just practice and there aren’t any fans screaming my name.

Besides, if there were, I wouldn’t be able to hear them anyway.

Life has a funny way of giving you what you want, only for you to realize it’s not anything like you imagined.

We continue until everyone has gone a dozen times or more, then switch to footwork and agility drills.

“That’s it for today,” Coach Drew says after we’re done. He’s good about facing me so I can read his lips when he talks, but he repeats it when I get close.

I nod to show I understand.

The rest of my teammates are already heading for the sideline as I continue to catch my breath. We’re coming off our last preseason game. The final roster is in place, and it’s time to get to work. There’s something magical about the start of a new season. Especially this year. I struggled with injuries my entire rookie season. I played fewer games last year than I have since I started playing football as a kid.

I’m ready to show the coaches and fans what I’m capable of. The ankle is feeling better, and the work I put in, lifting weights, training around my injury, is finally paying off.

Pulling off my helmet, I walk at the back of the group as we make our way to the locker room. Exhausted and sweaty, but in the best possible way.

I take an elbow to the side at the same time I realize a few of my teammates have fallen back to walk beside me. Glancing up, my gaze lands on a grinning Walker Graham. His dark hair hangs into his eyes and he tosses his head to the side to flick it back in place. Two other teammates stand off to the other side of him. And all three look at me like they’re waiting for a response to something. It’s a look I’ve gotten familiar with since I lost my hearing.

“Isn’t that right, Holland?” Graham asks, talking so loudly that even if my hearing aids didn’t pick up the sound, I think I’d have felt the vibration in my gut. Or maybe that’s just the usual irritation I feel when he speaks.

“Isn’t what right?” I glance between the three guys.

“Sorry. I forgot.” Graham’s grin turns into a one-sided smirk. He waves a hand around his right ear. “Must be nice to drown out everything else sometimes, huh?”

I wish I could say it’s the first time someone joked about my hearing loss, but what can I say? People are assholes. Especially Graham. He was traded to the Mavericks earlier this year after three years with the Raiders. During his rookie season, he was named one of the top wide receivers in the league, but since then his numbers have dwindled. Though you wouldn’t know it by the way he walks around like he’s untouchable.

I hope for the sake of the team he performs well, but since he’s also my competition, I plan to be better.

“I can hear you just fine,” I say. “I was just choosing not to listen to you.”

The other two guys snicker at my remark. Graham’s smirk sparks with annoyance before smoothing back out to a half grin. “Funny, Holland. Didn’t know you were such a comedian.”

“I’ll be here all season,” I joke.

“We’ll see,” he counters.

Asshole.

I catch sight of Brogan ahead and without another word, tip my head to the guys next to me and hurry to catch up with my longtime friend.

Brogan turns his head as I fall in beside him.

“Hey.” He smiles as he wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Nice running. I saw you catch some beauties.”

The irritation at dealing with Graham after a long, tiring practice melts away. Most of my teammates are great, but it’s Brogan’s playfulness and calming nature that always pulls me out of my darkest thoughts and improves even the roughest day. Maybe it’s because we’ve been playing together since we were kids. Or because he’s been my best friend since as long as I can remember.

“I’m surprised you were able to see anything beyond the cameras and microphones being shoved in your face all morning,” I say, feeling my mood shift for the better.

Brogan had a killer rookie season, and the attention is well warranted. Everyone wants to see him back this year and they are counting on him to help the Mavericks get back to the playoffs again.

“Shut the fuck up.” He shoves lightly at my shoulder, but a pleased smile curves his lips.

“Brogan!” I mock scream in a high-pitched, feminine voice. “I love you. You’re the best player in the league! Will you sign my tits?”

“Fuck no,” he says automatically, smile slipping. “My woman does not like it when I sign body parts. Unless they’re hers.”

I chuckle softly, able to completely picture London fighting off people for her man. She is not to be trifled with when it comes to my buddy. He’s totally gone for her, like no other woman even exists in his brain gone for her, so it isn’t like he’s exactly looking for the attention from fans, but it still happens.

Graham and his group of minions pass by us as we walk down the tunnel to the locker room. I grit my teeth even as I tell myself not to let him rile me up again.

“What’s up with Graham?” Brogan signs as he asks quietly.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. Though I doubt my tone is very convincing. “He just gets under my skin.”

“The guy is a dick. You’re playing great and he’s worried about his spot.”

So am I.

“Ignore him,” Brogan adds.

“Easy to do since he thinks I’m dumb as well as deaf.”

“Fuck Graham.” Brogan’s tone is hard this time when he speaks. We’ve been friends a very long time, so he knows, maybe better than anyone else, what I’ve been through, and he takes it harder than even I do. Something about knowing he has my back lets me be free not to hold it against people so much. Most are ignorant instead of malicious.

“He’s not really my type,” I say, trying to infuse some humor into the situation.

Brogan laughs and his carefree demeanor returns as we walk into the locker room.

I set my helmet on the top shelf and pull off my pads.

Brogan waits until I look his way again before he says, “Speaking of your type, London has a friend⁠—”

“No,” I cut in before he can finish. Since she moved in with us, London’s new favorite pastime is setting me up. She works from home as a graphic designer and illustrator, so I don’t even want to know where she meets these women, but every week, it’s someone else that I just have to meet because “she’s so nice” or “her makeup is so pretty” or “she has the coolest job.” Is that really the criteria chicks think guys are using to pick their next date?

“Come on. It’ll be fun. London and I were thinking about going to that new escape room place next weekend. If your date sucks, then you can just hang with us.”

“I’ll literally be trapped in a room with her,” I say and watch for some common sense to strike him in the head.

But Brogan was a hopeless optimist even before he found the love of his life.

“Yeah, but if it goes well, you’ll be glad to be stuck in close quarters.” He does a little shimmy with his hips.

I’m ninety-nine percent sure he just suggested I fuck a first date in an escape room with him and London a few feet away.

“I really wonder about what goes on in your brain,” I tell him.

It’s quiet when I get back to the apartment. I had to stay for some therapy on my ankle, so Brogan came home before me. London left a note for me on the counter that she was having dinner with her sister. It’s become our thing. Since she and Brogan are in constant contact, it isn’t like she needs to tell him when she’s coming and going, but she scribbles a note for me if she’s going to be gone and sometimes, she even adds little drawings to go with it. I get a kick out of it.

I never really imagined having a roommate beyond Brogan, but London is cool and I’m glad to get to know her better. My buddy is head over heels, and I can see why.

Brogan comes out to the living room, hair still wet as he pulls on a black T-shirt.

“I thought you were gone too,” I say.

“No, not yet.”

“Where are you going?” A pang of disappointment hits that I’m going to be here alone tonight. After living with four brothers growing up, I’ve gotten used to people being around all the time.

“We are going out.” He grins.

“Just you and me?” I can’t remember the last time we did that. These days London is with us and sometimes guys from the team too.

“Yep.”

“Where?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

I’m too excited to question him. I’m showered and ready in ten minutes and we’re heading out to his truck. The hot August day has left the air warm even though the sun is down, and the breeze feels like opening an oven door. Still, a thrum of anticipation works its way through me as I climb up into his passenger seat and he turns up the music.

How many times have we done this? A hundred? A thousand? Not as many in the last year, that’s for sure.

I don’t bother asking again where we’re going until he misses the turn for our favorite bar.

“Trying somewhere new tonight?” I ask.

“Lilac Lounge.”

All my good feelings pool into a pit in my stomach.

“Seriously?”

“What? I thought you’d be excited. Hot girls dancing around.”

Yeah, it’d be great if that hot girl wasn’t Sabrina.

He glances from the road to me quickly. “We don’t have to stay long. I just need to find Sabrina and ask her to move in.”

“What was wrong with texting?”

“Too impersonal. Why aren’t you excited right now? Hot girls. Dancing.”

“I’m excited,” I say, though I don’t feel the least bit of excitement.

“Are you seeing someone and haven’t told me?”

“No. Why would you think that?” There’s very little that he doesn’t know. In fact, only one thing comes to mind. I really don’t want Sabrina to move in.

“You haven’t mentioned anyone lately and you’re not excited about Lilac Lounge.” He shrugs.

“No. Sadly there’s no one new.” It’s hard to find time to date at the start of the season. Or any time really.

Brogan lifts his brows and grins. “Well, maybe we can change that tonight.”