Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)
Chapter 33

Archer’s face gives nothing away. I just gave him a play-by-play of the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t leave anything out, including how I drank so much that London had to put me to bed.

“What do you think?” I ask when I can’t take it any longer. I need his opinion because my brain is too cluttered. I’ve used it more in the past twenty-four hours than in my entire life.

“You know what I think, but I didn’t talk to her. Is she willing to do a DNA test?” His face is still guarded.

“I don’t know,” I say. “We only talked for a few minutes. She told me how her parents adopted her at birth, and she always knew, but she only started looking for her birth parents earlier this year. She obviously didn’t know about me either, but when she started researching them…”

“She found you.”

I nod.

“Did she ask for money?”

“No. She said she just wanted to meet me.”

He makes a gruff, disbelieving sound deep in his throat. “She could still be making the whole thing up.”

“I know.” He’s not wrong. It’s just a story. “But Arch…I don’t think she is. It feels like she could be the real deal. I can’t explain it. Something about her…” I trail off, feeling silly. “Maybe I’m just gullible.”

His scowl turns into a sympathetic smile. “You’re not gullible. You just see the best in people and some people are assholes.”

“Will you meet her? I know you’re skeptical and I understand why, but I need someone else to help me figure this out because I can’t see straight.” He knows what my parents were like, so I don’t have to worry about him feeling any differently about me. He saw me at my most broken and he’s never held it against me.

“Of course I will.”

“And not yell at her.”

“No promises.”

My body relaxes knowing he has my back on this.

“Where were you last night anyway?” I ask, desperate to change the conversation.

“I went to Wren’s house after the game.” He grimaces. “We ended things.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” I drop what’s left of my sandwich onto my plate and wipe my hand on a napkin. “You let me go on and on for the past hour and said nothing until now?”

His masked expression gives way to a small smirk. “I don’t think my relationship status competes with a potential secret sister.”

Secret sister. Fuck. My brain is going to explode.

“What happened?” I ask, pushing thoughts of Sabrina away for now. I went twenty-three years without thinking about her, another hour or so won’t make a difference.

“Eh…” He lifts a hand and waves it around, diverting his gaze. “It wasn’t really going anywhere. I knew it. She knew it.”

“So? I thought you were just having fun and not looking for anything serious.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why stop seeing her?”

He lets out a long breath. “I just wasn’t feeling it.”

There’s something he’s not telling me, but I can’t figure out what. “Did she dump you?”

“It was mutual,” he replies dryly.

“I don’t get it then. She’s hot. You two seem to get along. It’s uncomplicated. And the sex sounds like it’s fun.”

I get another look at that comment, but come on, our bedrooms are close.

“You’re deaf. I am not,” I remind him.

He flips me off in reply.

“What is the actual problem?” It’s cheering me up focusing on his life instead of mine.

“She talks a lot.”

“O-kay.” One side of my mouth lifts. Of course, I’ve noticed that Wren likes to hear herself talk, but I didn’t realize this was a dealbreaker for him. “And that’s a problem? Because it doesn’t sound like a problem when she’s yelling your name. ‘Archer! Oh, Archer!’”

He looks like he wants to strangle me, but I feel better so, whatever.

“No, but…” He hesitates like he doesn’t want to admit whatever it is to me.

“She always forgets to look at me while she’s jabbering on,” he says finally. “Or she covers her mouth with her hand.” He demonstrates, resting a hand over his mouth so it’s impossible to read his lips.

He lets his hand drop and shakes his head. “It’s dumb, I know. I’ve dated plenty of women that I’ve struggled to communicate with at times. I think that’s just to be expected, but Wren treats my hearing loss like it’s an urban myth. I’m constantly having to ask her to repeat herself or just smiling and nodding and pretending like I understood and hoping I didn’t agree to something crazy. It’s exhausting and I’m always on edge. Sex is the only time we manage to communicate just fine.”

Sympathy for him and anger at her duel for my primary emotional state. What an inconsiderate asshole. I guess anger won out.

I think back on the times I’ve been around them, seeing it all differently now. I thought he was just tuning her out. I should have known better. Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. Sorry I wasn’t there when he ended things. I’m sure he was way too nice about it.

“It’s whatever. Dating is too complicated right now anyway. Sex, parties, and fun only from now on. The Brogan Six playbook so to speak. Pre-London, that is.”

I know he’s deflecting, but I let him off the hook. Lord knows I have done enough of that lately. “Let’s hope I’m not Post-London.” Thinking of my girlfriend makes my chest tighten.

“I thought you said she was great about everything.”

“She was, but I’m supposed to see her tonight and she’s going to have questions…” I trail off. “How do I explain it?”

“What?”

“All of it. My parents. That the people who are supposed to love me more than anyone or anything in this world could give a shit less about me. Or that the thought of having another one of me was so awful they gave my sister up for adoption and never bothered to tell me. I was barely two when she was born, so it’s not like I expect to remember much from that timeframe, but it still seems like something I should have known. I guess it’s on par for them. The only time they’ve contacted me in the past ten years was to ask for money. Not even a fucking ‘Hey, how are you? Congrats on the job!’ ‘Proud of you, son!’”

“Fuck them. It’s their loss.”

God, I wish I could write them off as easily as he does, or at least write off their actions as having nothing to do with me. What the hell did I do to make them hate me so much? I wasn’t a bad kid, I don’t think. I tried my best to stay quiet and not need them for anything. No matter how small I made myself, they weren’t happy with me.

They didn’t care if I got good grades at school or if I played a good game. They didn’t care about me, period. And they didn’t want me around. They were only interested in going out and hanging with friends. At least as best I remember it. If they were home, they were sleeping, or our house was filled with people I didn’t know. They weren’t addicts, I don’t think, though they did plenty of partying. It just seemed like they weren’t interested in being parents. Sometimes I think it’d be easier if they were. I know that’s fucked-up, but if I could blame it on anything other than myself, I would. Otherwise, it just feels like it was my fault they didn’t love me.

Seeing Sabrina put me back in that place. If she is my sister and they gave her away, why didn’t they do the same for me? Was there some time they did want me, and I fucked it all up? I know what Archer would say if I asked him, but I can’t help but wonder. Was I the problem?

We eat the rest of our lunch in silence, but when we get up to leave, Archer says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there last night or this morning.”

“Probably better this way. You might have tossed her out before I had a chance to talk to her.”

“If she’s as hot as Tripp says, I doubt it.”

I stop and glare at him.

“He doesn’t know she’s your sister, but I put it together. The hot redhead from the bar you were talking to…” He trails off. “He texted me last night because he was worried you were fucking around on London.”

“What the fuck?”

“I told him you weren’t.”

“You weren’t even there.”

“I don’t need to have been there. I know you,” he says firmly.

I relax, thankful the rest of the team doesn’t know who Sabrina is yet. And then I remember he just called her hot. Twice. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

He chuckles. “Maybe.”

Later that night, I swing by London’s apartment to pick her up for dinner with her parents. I gave myself a pep talk on the way over. I spent the day spiraling and wondering what the fuck I should do.

“Hi.” Her smile is bright, and she searches my face with a hint of worry in her eyes. “How are you?”

“Good.” I let my gaze fall over her. She’s wearing a short black dress. It’s simple, but hugs her curves, and she has on red lipstick that makes the green in her eyes stand out. “You look great.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“Sleeves down?” I ask, smiling a little as I think about the first time we went out with her family. God, that feels like a million years ago, but also like no time has passed since I met her.

“Your choice. They’ve all seen your forearms, unfortunately.”

Chuckling, I put the truck in drive and pull away from the curb. I turn the radio up a notch. My shirt feels tight around my neck as London continues to glance over from her seat.

“How did things go with Sabrina?”

Her name alone has my anxiety climbing. “Fine. I don’t really want to talk about it. If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” she says, smiling, but I can see the underlying concern in her expression. “We don’t have to go tonight if you don’t feel up to it.”

“Nah, I’m good.” I force my smile to inch higher.

We drive to the restaurant with our fingers intertwined and the radio loud enough to drown out some of my thoughts.

The day has been weird and I’m not feeling like myself, but I can do this for her. I’d do anything for her. The realization doesn’t freak me out like I always thought it would.

Her parents are already seated in the back with her sister and Ben. London groans when she spots them.

“Why are they always here?”

I look closer to the subject of her frustration. Chris and Gretchen. A few other members of the wedding party are here too, so it isn’t that odd, but I wrap my arm around the back of her waist and drop a kiss to her forehead. “Ignore him.”

We’re seated and food is brought out not long after. I replace myself in a daze more often than not. It’s hard to follow the conversation around me, and London keeps glancing at me like she’s checking in.

I take a long drink of water, wishing it was something stronger.

The conversation has turned to work and I perk up when London’s parents ask how things are going at Channel 3.

“It’s fine,” she says, looking down at where her fingers rest on the bottom of a water glass. “I’ve actually been thinking about moving to part-time or maybe seeing if they’d let me freelance.”

A smile lights up my face. “Really?”

She gives me one of her own smiles back and hesitantly nods.

“You want to quit your job?” London’s dad asks, breaking the moment. His tone has my hackles rising.

“Well, no,” she says. “I’d still work. I’ve been getting more side projects, and I could take on even more if I had extra hours.”

The silence at the table says more than her parents’ matching disapproving looks.

“What about benefits?” her mom asks. “Healthcare? 401k? Do you have savings?”

London opens her mouth to answer, but her dad speaks first.

“It’s great if you want to do your arts and crafts on the weekends, but quitting your job to draw cartoons for people?” His tone softens like it makes his words any less cutting. “That’s not a real job, honey.”

“It is a real job,” I butt in without thinking about it. “And she’s really, really talented.”

“Of course. We’re so proud of you,” her mom says.

“Are you?” London asks.

I hear the uncertainty in her tone, the hurt that is buried so deep that she’s questioning everything right now. Is she good enough? Can she succeed without their approval? Do they love her? Why don’t they want her? I know exactly how that feels.

My head spins and my body feels like it’s not my own.

I’m vibrating with anger when I speak. “She’s worked really hard, and you all should be congratulating her, not dismissing her accomplishments like they’re nothing.”

“We’re just looking out for her. London knows we love and support her no matter what.” Her mom’s face is filled with shock, like she can’t imagine how I jumped to that conclusion.

“Does she?” I glance at my girlfriend. I know how much guts it took for her to bring it up to them. She was excited and shared something with them and now she looks defeated.

“I’m fine,” London says in the same tone I’ve been using all fucking day. She’s not fine and neither am I.

“Being her parents doesn’t give you a free pass to make her feel bad. Don’t you want her to feel loved and appreciated? The world is hard enough, but you’re her safe space. She cares about you more than anyone else in the world, and this is how you repay her?” My temper rages on. “London is smart and talented, and she just wants you to love her for who she is instead of whoever you think she should be. Do you know she works twelve- and thirteen-hour days just to do the thing she loves? Or that she designed the cover of a book that hit the New York Times list?”

They say nothing, but I can’t seem to stop.

“She deserves more from the people who are supposed to care about her the most.”

“Really, Brogan.” London places a hand on my forearm. “I’m okay.”

“We didn’t mean anything by it. We only want to make sure she’s thought through everything before she makes any rash decisions.” Her dad’s voice has a hard edge, but I can see he means the words coming out of his mouth. He’s completely oblivious to how his words cut her down. God, why do we as people have no ability to limit our damage to only hurting ourselves instead of everyone around us?

“Your parents must like to give you a hard time sometimes,” Chris says patronizingly. “You know what it’s like.”

“No. I don’t, actually. The last time I spoke to my dad, I was thirteen years old, and he was kicking me out of the house because I accidentally spilled orange juice on the counter and ruined his cigarettes.” One of many times he kicked me out, but that was the final straw. I was so tired of being yelled at every time I made a mistake. I moved out the next day on my fourteenth birthday.

The shock on their faces is immediate and no one says anything for too long. Fuck.

“If this is what it’s like to have your parents be a presence in your life, then I don’t think I missed out on much.” I stand, my chair screeching back along the floor. “Excuse me.”

My hands are clenched into tight fists as I step out into the night air and gulp it in. I let my head fall back so I can stare up at the dark sky.

Footsteps click behind me. I could pick hers out anywhere. I drop my chin to face her.

“Brogan.” Her voice is soft.

“I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my hair. “I can’t stand the way they dismiss you and your art like that. You work so hard, and it’s like they can’t see that not accepting it only hurts you.”

Her lips pull into a thin line.

I’m suddenly very aware that I’ve overstepped a pretty big boundary. The parents’ approval is usually a pretty big thing in relationships, I think.

“Thank you for having my back and for coming tonight when I know you have other things going on, but whatever just happened back there wasn’t just about me.”

My brow furrows.

“You are pissed at your parents, and I understand why.” She steps forward and runs her hands up the side of my arms. “Or I want to, but you have to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. My emotions are jumping between rage and guilt. I overstepped. Fuck did I overstep.

“Talk to me,” she says again.

“What do you want me to say?” I have a barely contained leash on my anger. “My parents didn’t love me.” The words feel like nails and the pressure on my chest intensifies. “They didn’t fucking love me and I don’t know why.” I tip my head up to the sky and all but yell, “What the fuck did I ever do to make them hate me so much?”

She coils herself around me, squeezing me like she thinks she can take away all the pain.

Letting out a breath and feeling more tired than I have in years, I drop my stare to her face. She’s so beautiful. So perfect.

“I don’t know why either,” she says, offering me a sympathetic smile. “But you didn’t do anything.”

I look away from her, but she reaches up and tugs my chin down until I meet her gaze again. “I can’t tell you why they didn’t, but I’d venture it has everything to do with them and nothing to do with you. You are the most wonderful man I have ever met. You bring so much happiness to everyone in your life. You are funny and considerate, hard-working, talented, sweet.” She drops her hand to my chest. “The way that you make people feel says so much about your character. Anyone who doesn’t love you just hasn’t gotten to know you.”

Silence falls between us, but she continues to hold on to me and pierce me with those stunning green eyes. The need to flee is so strong but fuck, I don’t want to leave her either. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me since the Holland family.

“I should go. I’m in a shit mood and I don’t think anyone wants me back inside.”

“I do.”

I try to smile at her, but I don’t know if I manage it. “Can you catch a ride home with your sister?”

“Yeah.”

I pull back slowly.

“Brogan.” The plea in her tone almost undoes me as we break apart. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Fine. I’m really sorry.” I’m so ashamed that I made this whole night about me and embarrassed her in front of her family.

She steps forward, wrapping her arms around me again. “Text me tomorrow?”

I don’t say anything. I want to, but then what? I need…something. I don’t even know what. All I want to do is slam my fist into a wall repeatedly.

“I need a couple of days. Is that okay?” I ask.

A flicker of hurt passes over her expression, but she nods. “Of course it is.”

She steps away this time and my chest feels hollow.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

She glances over her shoulder at me. I don’t say anything, just smile the best I can.

“I’m here if you need anything,” she says.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I just need to clear my head for a day or two.”

Her mirroring nod is the only reply I get before she disappears back into the restaurant.

God, she’s so understanding. I love her for that. I love her, period. And it’s just about the worst fucking time to have that realization.

I let out a long breath, already wishing I could run after her. But fuck, she deserves so much better. If my own fucking parents don’t want me, why would anyone else?