The Way We Score: A small-town, accidental pregnancy, sports romance. (The Bradford Boys)

I stare for a minute at the phone, wondering why my chest is tight, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. All I’ve been doing is living my life.

I should be happy for my former best friend turned brother-in-law, but instead I wonder if he’d look so smug if I gave him a wedgie.

I put my phone down, turning to my laptop. Once a month, Hendrix and I join Logan and Zane on their weekly sports radio show, which has now turned into a simulcast on their YouTube channel.

We started doing it last year to help Logan grow the station, and it pretty much blew up. Jack joins us a few times during the year to talk about the rising high school players and which seniors to watch. The ratings have gone through the roof, especially when we’re all together.

“Welcome to the Lightning and Thunder Weekly Sports Roundup.” Logan’s polished radio voice always throws me off a little. He’s so good at it. “This week, we’ve got my brothers Garrett and Hendrix with the player’s-eye view from the sidelines, and as a back to school treat, the one and only Jack Bradford shares his thoughts about the rising stars. Welcome to the show.”

“Welcome back from your honeymoon, my man,” I’m always the one to bring out the personal side. “You’re looking tanned. Are you allowed to tell us where you took the misses?”

“I took our favorite spicy pepper lover to an eco-resort in Mexico called Cuixmala.”

“Eco resort? Did you see Maya Lopez?” Hendrix tries to be edgy, but I imagine one of those sad-horn sound effects.

“Dude, nobody watched that show. It was a big flop.”

Logan is undeterred. “It has a biodynamic farm, so she was able to go out with the farmers and harvest the peppers. When they got back, she could join them in the kitchen to watch and learn how they made local dishes. She was pretty much in heaven.”

I can’t resist. “In the meantime, you didn’t eat a thing?”

“They had mild dishes.” He holds up both hands. “But she’s got some new Dare Night recipes coming soon.”

“For the locals,” Hendrix notes.

“Let’s get down to sports.” Zane steps in to get us on track. “Looks like the Pirates’ offensive line hasn’t quite jelled this year. What’s going on there, Garrett?”

“Way to go in dry,” I tease. “Thanks, bro.”

“My pleasure.” He smiles, and I swear, he’s so damn cocky since Rachel came along. “Johnson’s playing a good game, but the receivers aren’t quite where they need to be. At least one of them.”

Charlie Johnson is the quarterback for my team the Pirates, which was also Logan’s team before he retired.

His replacement Ricky Berke has never been a favorite of mine, and now that he’s our new wide receiver, I’m forced to interact with him all the time.

“Have you stopped using the nickname?” Hendrix cuts me a look, referencing what I used to call Ricky—the Dick.

“Yes.” I glance at my old partner in crime. “I’m working on camaraderie since we lost our MVP.”

Logan holds up both hands. “Like I had a choice.”

“You had a choice.”

Thankfully, we pivot to discussing the highlights and lowlights of the past week’s games. It’s Thursday, and we’re playing against the Admirals, which is Zane’s old team. It’s part of the reason he’s giving me hassle.

When we’re done wagering who’ll win and which teams will move up or down, Jack comes in to talk about the high school guys. All eyes are on Austin Sinclair, who he’s trained since he was a freshman in high school.

Austin’s a junior now, but next year, it’s going to be crazy around here with all the media and the scouts. We’ve all lived through it before, but they have no idea.

“He’s got a lot of natural talent,” my oldest brother notes, keeping his poker face intact.

“Some would say he’s the next Jack Bradford.” Logan cuts him a smile, but Jack doesn’t take the bait.

“He’s a good kid.” It’s all he’ll give us. “He’s under a lot of pressure, but he manages it well.”

We wrap it up, and the music plays. The guys want to hang around longer and shoot the shit. They’re done for the day, and Hendrix has an off night. I’ve got to get to the stadium.

I say goodnight and leave the Zoom, but I’m not even out the door of my apartment when my phone lights up with a text. I almost don’t look at it, but it’s not the brother’s chat.

It’s Jack.

He’s being Dad again, not letting me brood alone. Sometimes it gets on my nerves, but I know his heart’s in the right place.

Exhaling a chuckle, I acknowledge I’m usually the shit-talker, and I was pretty much the ringleader when it came to pushing our grumpy, loner brother into the arms of sunny Rachel.

He’s ending the conversation, and I can’t help a groan. The thought of taking it slow with Liv after our night together feels impossible, but I know if I have even a hope of a chance, he’s right. Especially after the way she practically sprinted from my bedroom.

It’s possible I’m not a rebound, but based on her behavior, our reunion night was more than she intended it to be.

Studying my phone as the car pulls up to the stadium, I think about the game ahead. I think about the plans Jack and I’ve discussed and how much I want them to happen.

Still, even if I return to Newhope, Liv has her life in Birmingham. She has her friends and her law practice. Hell, she wants to be a partner.

Even if I think the lawyers in her firm are a bunch of douchebags for picking some other guy over her, I’m sure she’s on their shortlist.

If that’s her dream, the last thing I’ll do is ask her to give it up for me. If I’ve truly changed, I’m not repeating history.

I’ll show her I can put her first this time.

“Way to hustle, Rick, you’re really improving.” I hold out my hand for our wide receiver as we jog off the field.

Ricky Berke transferred from our rival team when Logan retired two years ago, which means we’re the new dynamite duo. At least, that’s what he wants us to be.

I’ve been working hard to stop calling him The Dick, especially since Hendrix pointed out it’s probably not great for team-building. It’s just what Logan and I always called him.

“Thanks, Big G, you made it happen.” He slaps my hand and we do a fist bump combination ending with a point. “You help a lot more than I realized out there.”

It sounds like a dig, but he means it as a compliment. I hold back from saying Logan wouldn’t have dropped the ball. It’s true, but it won’t bring us any closer.

Who am I kidding, I’m never going to bond with this guy.

“My man Grizz!” Our quarterback Charlie Johnson slaps both hands on the tops of my shoulder pads when I get to the sideline. “We’re not where we were, but we’re getting there!”

Ripping off my helmet, I take the Gatorade bottle from his hand. “I’m creating a hole. He just has to hold onto the ball.”

“He’s no Lightning Murphy, but I’m seeing improvement.”

Charlie is good at being a motivational team captain. The question is whether I’ll still be around when Ricky finally does get there. I think about my brothers after the show, taking it easy, laughing and hanging out, and I’m less satisfied than ever.

Glancing to the side, I see Johnson making a heart with his hands while he looks up at his box. One look, and I know he’s not signaling his mom. Maddy is up there, and it’s another twist of dissatisfaction in my gut.

Liv crosses my mind, and I wonder if I’d feel this way if she were up there smiling and blowing kisses to me right now. Would I still want to leave then? I toss the plastic bottle roughly, and walk over to sit on the bench, leaning forward on my forearms.

It’s not even possible, so why wonder?

The rest of the game goes pretty much like it always does, no surprises. I take it back, Ricky actually completes a pass. That’s a surprise.

We’re in the locker room, and the guys are amped up and snapping towels. Even without our help, we still won the game, and my teammates are full of post-game adrenaline.

“You coming out with us tonight?” Ricky walks over with his towel around his waist acting like he did anything to be proud of tonight.

I remember how Logan would get if he underperformed. Even if we won, he’d be in a foul mood, more ready to train at ten p.m. than go out clubbing.

I guess that’s the difference between an MVP and a regular player. As much as Ricky likes to hot dog and say he’s the next Logan Murphy, he’s not. The years Logan and I played together were for the record books. Nobody’s talking about what we’re doing now.

“I think I’ll head back to my place.” I pick up my duffel bag and pull the bomber jacket over my shoulders.

“Hey, Grizz, you okay?” Johnson meets me at the end of the lockers as I’m walking to the door.

He’s packed up to go home as well, but the difference is he’s got a wife and a little baby waiting for him. His partying days are over, and his reasons for playing are very different from these guys.

“I’m good. What’s on your mind?” Reaching out, I hold the metal door for him to pass through.

“I don’t know. You’ve been sort of distant since we got back this year. It’s like you’re somewhere else or something. Distracted.”

We walk down the wide hallway leading to the exit, where we’ll be blinded by flashing lights. The cameras are all for him, since he’s the star quarterback this year. There was a time when a few of those flashes would’ve been for me, too, but not anymore.

“You know how it is, thinking about the game, how to play better next time.”

It’s a deflection. I’m not about to tell him my visit home for Dylan’s wedding pretty much cemented how I’ve been feeling about being here. It started the year after Logan left, then going home, seeing the guys with their families, and spending the night with Liv, confirmed everything I was already feeling.

Even if Charlie’s a good friend of mine, it’s too soon to tell him about my plans. We’ve got twelve more games this season, and I don’t want to throw off his mojo. I also don’t want to be dropped back to second string, not that I’m afraid they’d do that. I guess it depends on how mad they are.

He studies my face. “You’d tell me if something was going on?”

“Of course.”

“Want me to see if Maddy has any friends you might like? Not that you need it, but she knows a few southern gals in the city. Might do you some good.”

“I’ll let you know if I do.” I don’t. Reaching for the door, I give him a tight smile. “Ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

We step out into the blinding flashes and shouted questions. Security is here to escort us to the black SUVs that will take us to our apartments, but it still feels like running the gauntlet.

With the help of my man Fred, I’m able to leave Charlie and the reporters along with his fans behind as I hop into my ride. I’ve just sat down and fastened my seatbelt when my phone lights up with a text.

One glance at the name and my entire mood changes.

My knee bounces as energy zips through my veins, and my stomach is tight.

Jack had me pretty much convinced, and all during the game, I kept thinking about ways I might approach calling her out of the blue.

I even rehearsed a few different opening lines. I didn’t like any of them, but now it doesn’t seem to matter. I should probably question this, but I don’t. I’m too fucking happy.

Gray dots float on my phone screen then disappear. Then they’re back, and I wonder if she’s about to send me a big long text or if she can’t decide what to say.

I can relate to not knowing what to say. It’s totally out of character for us, but a lot has happened.

Finally, her reply appears.

Short and sweet. Okay.

I wait, but she doesn’t reply. So I send her my address.

She’s probably here for work, and she wants someone to show her around the city. I can do that. We have another game on Sunday, and I wonder if she’ll be here long enough to go.

I could offer for her to sit in Johnson’s box with Maddy. I bet Maddy would like Liv. Maddy’s from Atlanta, and she always likes to meet “home girls.”

I imagine Liv in the box wearing my jersey, watching me play, and my chest squeezes. I like that a lot.

She could never do it in high school being dance captain and all. Not that I’m complaining. I never minded checking her out on the sidelines with the other dancers, looking like the finest thing I’d ever seen in that skimpy uniform, kicking her long, muscular legs all the way to her nose.

We’re pulling up at my building, and I hop out at the curb, hoping I have time to prep the place before she gets here.

My apartment is on the top floor of a steel and glass high-rise in Midtown. It’s one of the newer buildings, and I have a private elevator, which I shared with Logan when he lived here. On the way up, I alert the doorman that I’m expecting a guest, but I also text her the code.

At the stadium, I took a quick shower and pulled on jeans and a white T-shirt before leaving. Hanging my jacket in the front closet, I hurry around, scooping up my discarded socks and jogging pants from earlier in the day.

I grab the shirt and jeans I left on the floor of my bathroom yesterday and throw everything in the laundry hamper. A cleaning service comes once a week, but it’s been almost a week since they’ve been here.

While I’m in the bathroom I do a quick check, lowering the toilet seat and replacing the empty paper roll.

Crossing the wood floors through the living room, I lift my chin and sniff. The sofa is leather, as is most of the furniture. The kitchen is stainless steel with gray marble. I don’t detect any funky smells, but I still dig in a drawer until I find a lighter.

Dylan sent me a basket last year at Christmas, and I pull out the pine-scented candle I’ve never used. It’s barely fall, but I’d rather the place smell like pine trees than athletic socks.

I only have a few beers in the refrigerator. Scratching my chin, I look at the clock and wonder if I have time to order up a bottle of red wine or rosé or something. The only thing I saw Liv drinking at the wedding was that Fireball cocktail.

A bottle of Jack Daniels is in the cabinet, mostly because I’m not much of a whiskey drinker. I’m about to pick up the phone when a soft knock sounds on the door, and I decide beer and whiskey will have to do. Or I could offer to take her out… I wonder if she’s had dinner.

Hustling to the door, I take a second to check my breath before opening it. It doesn’t make a bit of difference, because as soon as I see her standing on my doorstep, she steals it.

She’s dressed in jeans and a thin red sweater that hugs her breasts. Her strawberry-blonde hair hangs in long, smooth waves down her back, and her hazel eyes blink up at me quickly, a little worried, I think. No need to worry, beautiful.

Her cherry-red lips part as if she’ll speak, and I shake my head, remembering how to form sentences.

“Hey, girl.” Stepping forward, I give her a careful hug, not too tight, not too long. “Come on in. What are you doing in the big city?

“I… ahh…” She steps into the small foyer inside my front door, and her chin drops. She pushes a silky lock of hair behind her ear before looking up at me again, worried. “I had to come for work, and you’re the only person I know here.”

It’s what I expected. “No problem, I got you. Want to stay with me? I’ve got plenty of room.”

I give her what I hope is a welcoming smile, not a hungry, you-look-like-the-best-thing-I’ve-seen-in-six-weeks smile.

I must be successful, because the tension seems to leave her shoulders.

She exhales a shaky laugh, rubbing a slim hand over her cheek as she glances up at me. “That would be great.”