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

Liv is still so damn beautiful.

Watching her standing in that chicken coop, in that red dress with her pretty strawberry blonde hair falling around her shoulders, squeezing herself as hard as she could behind those silly rows… For a minute I forgot how to form complete sentences.

I had to get my bearings by talking to her mom. Ms. Plum has a familiar way about her. She takes everything way too seriously, so it’s easy to tease her.

It was difficult to see her struggling with that walker, seeming older and more fragile, but Dylan said she’s getting better. It’s just taking longer because of her age.

Breaking a leg is never great. I’ve done it more than once myself, so I’ve got a lot of empathy for that old lady. Still, her eyes sparkled, and she’s determined. She was all ready to put me in my place, wheeling around that yard like one of those fussy little chickens she keeps.

It’s the same defiance Liv always had. Steel magnolias, nothing getting them down. Only something’s got Liv down, and it’s not just hiding from me.

She reminds me of a receiver who’s missed one too many passes. Her eyes are discouraged, like she needs a pep talk, a reminder of what she can do if she puts her mind to it. I’ve seen what she can do. I can remind her.

“Remember when I told you I wanted to date Dylan?” Logan brings me back to the present.

We’re walking from the house down to his radio station along the wide concrete path along the bay. His question almost makes me laugh. It was so long ago that summer month when he fell in love with my little sister.

“How could I forget?” My brow lowers, and I can’t resist giving him shit. “A player like you telling me you wanted to date the best girl in Newhope?”

Not counting Liv, of course.

“I was never a player.”

“Still, you were talking about my baby sister.”

“And I had no idea what you were going to do.” He laughs, rubbing his hand over his scruffy chin. “You could’ve seriously kicked my ass if you’d wanted to.”

“Still could.” A smile curls the side of my mouth, and I look down at my friend.

Logan and I’ve known each other a long time, which is part of the reason I had to give him the speech two years ago. The truth is everyone loves Dylan. I’d have had to take a number and get in line to kick his ass if he ever hurt her.

“Good thing you’ve never given me a reason.”

“What’s the reason with Liv?” He cuts blue eyes up at me, and I clear my throat.

Tightness is in my chest, and it’s a page of my history I don’t want to revisit. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do.” He shoves my shoulder.

It doesn’t move me.

When we played together for the Pirates, Logan and I were like a well-oiled machine. He was the wide receiver, and I was the offensive lineman knocking down every player who tried to block the pass or take him down.

We set records. It was fun, the best years of my professional career. It reminded me of when I used to play with Hendrix in high school, another golden time in my life.

Then he met my sister.

Now he’s a sports radio host and producer, retired from the game, and getting married in a week.

“What happened with Liv?” He’s not letting me off the hook, and I stop walking.

We’ve reached a copse of live oak trees, and the city has placed a nice wooden bench in the shade. It’s not awfully hot yet, so I walk over and take a seat. He follows me, doing the same, and we look out at a boat across the bay, headed down to one of the barrier islands.

“I haven’t thought about this in a long time.” My voice is quiet. “I haven’t wanted to think about it.”

Logan’s dark brow furrows, and his square jaw tightens. “Did she cheat on you?”

“What? Hell, no.” I huff a noise, leaning forward and placing my forearms on my thighs and clasping my hands. “Liv was always true blue. At least that’s what I realized when I finally got my head out of my ass. When it was too late.”

“So what happened?”

“She went to LSU. I went to Bama.”

“What?” Disbelief cuts through his tone. “I don’t believe that for a second. It was more than just that old rivalry.”

Lowering my chin, I rub the back of my neck feeling all the guilt and shame all over again. “Yeah, it was more than that.” A helluva lot more.

“How much more?”

My throat is dry and achy. “I thought we’d be like my parents. They went to the same school, graduated together, got married, had babies. I thought Liv would go with me when I went to the pros.”

“She didn’t feel the same about you?”

My hands are clasped in front of me, and I hang my head. I know she did. She wanted to stay together, but she didn’t want to give up her dreams for my football career.

“I was hurt when she left. I thought we were on the same page about our plans, and we weren’t. I wanted her by my side all the way, but she wanted her own things.”

“Things like what?”

Scratching my chin, I exhale slowly. “All through high school, I’d only ever had my sights set on one college. The only college in Alabama for football.”

Logan’s lips twist. “If I remember correctly, there are two SEC teams in Alabama.”

“I’m talking about serious football.”

He laughs, holding up both hands. “So it’s like that?”

My eyes lift to the bay, and I nod. “It’s always been like that for me.”

“You let a football rivalry come between what might’ve been your one true love?” He’s joking around, but he has no idea.

“It was worse than that.” My stomach is a hot ball of tension. “We tried to stay together. She wanted to do long-distance, but damn, she was so fine. You should’ve seen her on that field in that skimpy uniform. Every guy wanted her.”

“But she was yours.”

A low growl rumbles in my chest, and I rub my fingers over my closed eyes. “You might’ve noticed I can be a bit of a hothead.”

“Not you.” His tone is teasing. “You’re the best guy I know.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to grow up.”

“Before you did all that growing up, what did you do?”

Inhaling, I straighten my back, feeling like I’m in confession. “I started picking fights over stupid things. I was jealous, and there was this one guy… He went after her hard. He talked a big game like they were so close.”

“Was he on the team?”

“He was one of the band captains, so they spent a lot of time together. They practiced together, traveled together. The Golden Girls go with the band.” Lifting my chin, I look out at the water. “I was never there, so I didn’t know what all they did.”

“You broke up with her over a band captain?”

“Worse.” Clasping my hands, I shake my head. “I gave her an ultimatum.”

“Wow.” Logan rubs his hands down his thighs, exhaling a low noise. “Dylan said Liv always wanted to dance for the Texas cheerleaders, America’s Sweethearts. She said it had been her dream since junior high, that she had posters all over her walls.”

Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat. “Yeah, and I made it all about me. I understand that a lot better now than I did when I was nineteen.”

Logan shakes his head. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.” That old shame twists hard in my gut. “When I realized how bad I’d fucked up, I tried to push it all down. I tried to pretend like it didn’t matter. I’d keep track of her through friends and on social media, and I saw she never got with that guy. I saw she was moving on with her life. She didn’t go to Texas to dance. She went to law school instead—at Cumberland.”

“Good school.”

“Yeah.” I exhale a bitter laugh. “I convinced myself she was happy, and I got on with my life. I moved to New York and never looked back.”

Logan studies my profile. “All this time I thought you were just trying to find the right girl. I didn’t know you never got over your first love.”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no going back.”

“Says who?”

“Says everybody.”

“I don’t believe that. You can totally go back.” His voice rises. “In fact, I think you’d be foolish not to see if something’s still there. You’re here and single. She’s here and single…”

“She won’t go down that road again with me.” Shame tightens my chest. “I should’ve trusted her. I should’ve told her how I was feeling. I should’ve talked to her, but I was proud. I hurt her. Bad.”

I’ll never forget the tears in Liv’s pretty green-hazel eyes. I’ll never forget that night and the wind blowing in her soft hair as she told me I was breaking her heart. The truth is I didn’t just hurt her.

Yeah, I never got over it.

“So talk to her now.”

Shaking my head, I study my palm. “It’s too late.”

“Is it?”

He’s optimistic in a way that tells me he’s happy with his life. Everything is going right, and he sees every problem as having a solution with only the best possible outcome.

I’m glad my sister has made him so happy, but he doesn’t understand how bad I fucked up in the past.

“Yeah, it’s too late.”

“Do me a favor.” He reaches over to grip the top of my shoulder. “Try.”

“Tell me what you’ve got lined up.” Dylan is wearing clear goggles and plastic gloves, and her long, dark hair is twisted up in a high ponytail on her head as she stands in front of the large, metal work table in the kitchen at Cooters & Shooters.

Tonight my baby sister is mixing up her last Dare Dish before she goes on her honeymoon, and it’s a doozy—Blueberry Trinidad Scorpion sauce to be served over those little cups of vanilla ice cream they buy in bulk for emergencies.

She said it’s meant to be a pre-wedding treat, but Trinidad scorpions are second to the top on the Scoville heat scale, right under the Carolina Reaper. I read eating one can cause the muscles in your stomach to break out in spasms they’re so hot.

I can’t wait to try it.

The tiny fruits are red and shriveled, and I watch as she carefully cuts a long strip down the side of one.

Craig is all the way on the other side of the room holding a towel over his nose and mouth as he reads from his phone. “Grilled poblanos with nacho cheese sauce, Muhammara…”

“Muha what?” Dylan’s brow furrows.

“Muhammara,” he shouts. “It’s roasted red peppers, bread crumbs, walnuts, and pomegranate molasses.”

“Roasted red peppers?” Dylan’s voice goes high. “As in red bell peppers? They don’t even count!”

“And you call yourself her sous chef.” I walk over to where our lifelong friend and former across-the-street neighbor is standing.

“I never called myself Dylan’s sous chef. Why do you think I stand all the way over here with a towel over my face? I don’t like touching Satan’s fruit!”

Nudging his shoulder, I laugh. “You’d touch Satan’s ding-dong.”

“Not if it had the same effect as one of those peppers.” I arch my eyebrow in a disbelieving look, and his lips twist. “Okay, I am intrigued by the thought.”

“Cause you’re a kinky motherfucker.”

He holds a finger in my face. “I’m easily distracted.”

“You two are gross,” Dylan sniffs, continuing her careful slicing.

“He set me up,” I defend.

Craig fights a laugh. “I won’t mention this to Clint. It might be a bit much for him at this point in our relationship.”

“I need to get to know Clint better, make sure he’s right for you.” My brow lowers. “Has he come out of the closet yet?”

“He’s escorting me to the wedding.”

“That’s a good start.”

Holding up a hand, we high-five as he returns to my sister. “You asked me to cover for you, and I told you, I’m not preparing any recipes that require me to wear goggles and plastic gloves, Danger Girl.”

“That’s Dylan Danger to you.” Logan saunters in the room with my older brother Zane right behind him.

The two of them host a sports-talk radio show every Thursday at Logan’s radio station, and they’ve been pre-recording episodes all day for the next two weeks while Logan and Dylan are on their honeymoon in Mexico.

Logan chose the location so she could scout out new hot-pepper recipes. It’s the birthplace of her hot pepper passion. She helped chaperone a high school senior cruise a few years back and came back obsessed.

He wraps his fist around Dylan’s ponytail, and gives it a tug so he can steal a kiss. It’s their standard greeting, but when he sees her protective gear, he hesitates.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“Not tonight.” She winks, poking out her lips for a kiss. “But don’t touch anything.”

He kisses her briefly, lifting both hands before going to stand on the other side of Craig. Those two wimps melt like snowflakes just thinking about capsaicin oil. Come to think of it, Olivia was always the same way.

“I like the idea of serving it over ice cream.” Zane’s voice is low as he inspects the dark blue sauce my sister is simmering in a large pot on the stove.

She carefully slides in the diced peppers and gives it a slow stir. “It’s festive, and the ice cream will help cut the heat so more people can try it. Also, the blueberries and the lime juice will make the capsaicin less potent.”

“Sorry I’m late!” Allie, our summer waitress and one of Dylan’s best friends breezes into the kitchen, grabbing an apron off a hook. “You wouldn’t believe how crowded it is out there tonight! They must know Captain Vanilla’s taking over for a while.”

She elbows Craig, and he sniffs. “I am hardly vanilla.”

“I bet you don’t have a single hot pepper recipe on tap. Show me.”

“I will not.” Craig’s tone is defensive, and Dylan snorts a laugh.

“He doesn’t.”

“I knew it!” Allie cries.

During the school year, Allie works as the librarian at the high school, and she helps out on Dare Nights, which have gotten busier and busier as the word has spread about my sister’s deliciously dangerous hot pepper nights.

Now that it’s summer break, she’ll be working full-time at the restaurant.

“I’m worried we don’t have enough hands.” Allie peeks through the double doors leading into the restaurant. “Maybe we should charge a cover?”

Dylan serves her dishes for free, but we more than make up for the small cost with the increase in bar sales on Dare Nights. Not to mention the repeat customers.

“I can’t charge a cover!” Dylan’s nose wrinkles. “It’s bad enough I try to melt their lips off every Thursday night.”

“I can help out.” Grabbing an apron, I pull it over my head. “What do I do?”

“Pull the lids off ice cream cups.” Dylan lifts the large bowl of fiery blueberry sauce. “I don’t want any of y’all touching this stuff. Experts only tonight, Allie.”

“I’ve got the perfect song.” Craig starts for the door. “I expect you to dance with me, Grizz! I don’t care how helpful you’re being.”

I spot my sister as she transfers the bowl onto a cart with wheels, and we head for the kitchen door. The crowd bursts into cheers as we emerge, and they’ve decorated the place with balloons and streamers. Several people are holding signs that say Congratulations and Best Wishes, and my little sister stops walking, lifting her hands as tears flood her eyes.

“Oh, y’all!” she cries. “What have you done?”

“Don’t touch your eyes!” Allie cries, grabbing a tissue and blotting the tears away for her.

Rachel holds Miss Gina’s arm as she reaches for my sister. “Miss Gina!” Dylan’s voice cracks. “Did you know this was happening?”

“I don’t know what’s happening!” Miss Gina laughs, her blind eyes lifting to the ceiling. “I only know you deserve it. You give so much joy to everyone.”

My sister leans her head on the old lady’s shoulder. “My hands are all covered in pepper juice or I’d squeeze you.”

Liv helps her mom scoot up behind them to give Dylan a hug, and my insides tighten. I want to go to her and pull her into my arms like it’s old times. I want to tell her all the things Logan said I should.

But I don’t know enough about her story yet. I can’t bulldoze into her life like I’m the only thing that matters. Like I used to do.

I’m not a toddler, and she has feelings and a life. I want to know more about all of it. This time it’s not all about me.

“I can’t wait to taste this.” Ms. Plum points at the bowl in front of Dylan. “I love that dark purple color. And over ice cream?”

“Hold that thought.” Dylan holds up a finger, her brown eyes shining. “Allie’s going to give you the scoop.”

Liv’s nose wrinkles, and she laughs. “This is so fun. Last time I was here the whole place turned into a dance party!”

“Let’s do this.” Craig slides by in his shoulder-length, curly blond wig, looking like he’s about to sing “Sandra Dee” from Grease.

He goes to the PA system, and I lean into her ear. “Stay close.”

Her greenish-brown eyes blink wide, and I give her a wink before following my sister to a long table stocked with ice cream in coolers, spoons and napkins.

Allie is already there, primed to make the usual announcement.

“Okay, y’all, this is an experts-only night!” Cheers interrupt Allie’s speech, and she holds up a hand, waving at them. “Trinidad scorpion is no joke, but tonight in honor of the future bride and groom, we’ve got a special blueberry-lime sauce served over vanilla ice cream. If you’re lactose intolerant, you can try it on a slice of tomato. I know that sounds weird, but it’s really good. And in honor of the couple, we have special Fireball shots two for one at the bar. Let’s do this!”

The lights switch to the flashing, rainbow disco-swirls, and Craig hits the music. It’s Pittbull’s “Fireball,” and he’s on the bar at once with the girls, rocking his hips and shaking his ass.

I’m beside Dylan, ripping the tops off tiny vanilla ice cream cups, and just as fast she spoons a dab of Blueberry Trinidad Sauce on top. Allie passes them a wooden spoon and a napkin, and the customers dance away.

My brother Zane follows as Rachel leads Miss Gina to her favorite booth in the back of the restaurant, away from the noise. I watch as he kisses the side of her head before leaning down to hug the old blind lady.

He whispers something in Rachel’s ear, and her eyes light. The satisfied smile curving his lips really fans my optimism. It’s kind of awesome to see my broody second-oldest brother so content. After all the nights I spent worrying about him following his injury, it’s been a long time coming.

She rises on her toes to kiss his lips, and he crosses the room headed for the pool area. I figure he’s going to check on her younger brother Edward, who they keep now. He’s got some special needs, and all the noise and partying of Dare Night is a bit too intense for him.

I’m reaching for another cup of ice cream when Dylan touches my arm, rising onto her tiptoes to yell in my ear. “I think we’re good for now!”

My attention returns to the room, where the line is gone and the brave customers who dare to try the pepper from hell are taking careful bites and fanning their mouths or watching or dancing. Dylan’s right. A cover charge would be dumb, considering the number of folks who just come to join the party.

Not to mention, the girls are selling Fireball shots faster than we ripped the tops off vanilla ice cream cups.

“Sin Wagon” by The Chicks starts up, and boots are stomping.

Craig yells at me. “Get up here!” And I look up to see him shaking his ass with the girls to Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.

Holding up a hand, my eyes scan the room until I spot Liv at Miss Gina’s booth, hovering over her mom, who appears to be on her second cup of ice cream with the blueberry fire sauce.

“I can’t tell you what I’d give to see you and Liv dance together again.” Dylan is carefully rolling the plastic gloves inside-out from her hands and depositing them into the trash behind the bar. “You two could set the room on fire. You were hotter than anything I could cook up.”

Huffing a laugh, I try to play off the surge her words provoke in my lower stomach. “I haven’t danced with Liv in years.”

“I bet you remember how.”

She goes to the sink behind the bar, and I watch as she takes out a tub of coconut oil to slather all over her fingers and fingernails. My eyes drift again to the back booth, and this time, Liv’s eyes meet mine.

A careful smile curls her lips, and my feet carry me in her direction without even being told. I cross the room, through the stomping, singing, and laughter. When I get to their table, I lower to a squat, so I’m not hulking over them.

“Hello, ladies, can I bring you anything?”

“Garrett Bradford, have they got you waiting tables?” Ms. Plum reaches out to squeeze my forearm.

“I offered to help out, but don’t get excited. I’m not much of a waiter. Can I bring you some drinks while you still have taste buds?”

“I’m safe!” Miss Gina waves her hands, laughing. “I’m too old for all this spicy food. I might not survive it!”

“I don’t think it matters how old you are.” Liv leans into her side. “I’m not having any either.”

“I ate all of theirs!” Ms. Plum waves a hand over three empty ice cream cups in front of her.

“You didn’t eat mine!” Rachel cries, and I lean to the side to inspect the two partners in pepper-crime.

“Purple lips.” I nod, like I’ve cracked the case. “A dead giveaway.”

“What!” Rachel’s eyes widen. “Are they…?” She taps her phone camera to inspect the damage. “Oh, no! Zane can’t see me like this. I look like I drank all the grape Kool-Aid!”

Ms. Plum only laughs. “I don’t have anybody to impress. I’m only sad it’s over.”

Leaning closer, I speak out of the side of my mouth. “I bet I can get you some more.”

“Would you?” She bounces in her seat, eyes sparkling like a little kid at Christmas.

“Is my brother over here asking Liv to dance?” Dylan skips up behind me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Ahh,” I stand, and she holds on, gripping my waist with her knees and moving to a piggyback. “Get off me, banshee!”

I swat at her like a sasquatch.

“Please dance with Liv for me!” Dylan’s head tilts to the side. “It’ll be just like old times.”

“You and Liv danced together?” Rachel’s eyes widen, and she looks from me to Liv.

I can’t help noticing Liv’s cheeks are bright red, and she appears to be sinking lower into the vinyl beside Miss Gina as if she’s trying to hide.

“Are y’all having a party back here without me?” Allie runs up, climbing into the booth behind Rachel on her knees. She puts her elbows on the back of the seat and leans forward. “What’d I miss?”

“Apparently Garrett and Liv are some kind of dancing duo!” Rachel shouts over the strains of Disco Inferno.

“What?”

“You should’ve seen them,” Dylan coos from where she’s still on my back. “They were like Johnny and Baby. It was hot.”

“Are you saying they didn’t leave room for Jesus?” Allie’s brow arches, her hazel eyes flashing.

“Only if Jesus were really, really thin.” Dylan laughs.

“I dance better than Baby.” Liv sits a little straighter, seeming offended.

“You’ll do it?” Dylan’s entire body bounces higher on my back.

“That’s enough.” I reach around and poke her in the ribs, which makes her squeal and hop off me. “Liv doesn’t want to dance with me.”

“I don’t believe it.” Dylan sits on the edge of the booth beside my ex. “You love to dance, just like I do. I remember how happy you were dancing.”

“I stopped dancing a long time ago.” Liv’s eyes drift to her lap.

“But why?” Dylan’s voice is soft, and I know my former prima-ballerina little sister can’t imagine anyone would give up something she loved so much unless she was forced.

“It’s a cut-throat, misogynist field.” An edge is in her tone.

My little sister hesitates, then she wrinkles her nose. “Nothing like practicing law.”

Liv’s lips twist, and she narrows her eyes playfully. “Touché.”

“Oh, Liv.” Dylan shifts in her seat, hugging her. “It’ll make you smile, I just know it will.”

My chest is tight as I look down at her. I can’t think of anything I’d like more than to hold Liv in my arms and sway to the music like we used to do, but I’ll be damned if I’m about to pressure her to do anything.

“What do you think?” Her eyes lift to mine in a hesitant question.

“I’m not cutting any throats, and I have only the utmost respect for women.”

Her green eyes roll, and she shakes her head, laughing. “If I even remember how.”

“I bet you remember.”

I bet she remembers a lot of things.