Teasing: Chapter 16

They tried to paint me in black and white, but my color was fire.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

As soon as Rosie and I walk into Sugar Hill Assisted Living, Dad’s favorite nurse smiles at me, and I know it’s going to be a good day. Thank goodness. We need that. He’s had more bad days than good lately.

I squeeze Rosie’s hand in mine, hoping we have a few good hours. “Want to stop by and see my Daddy before we set up for class?”

“Ohh, yes.” She bounces on her toes like I just gifted her the keys to a day at Disneyland, and I wish I could bottle her enthusiasm for the days I struggle to force my own.

“Okay.” We drop our bags by our easels in the common room, and Rosie grabs the painting she did last week.

“Do you think he’ll like my picture?” she asks me as we turn down the hall to Dad’s room, and I hold her hand tighter in mine.

“I think he’ll love it.” I stop and bend down nervously beside her. “But remember what I said. He might not remember meeting you before, okay? Don’t be upset if he doesn’t. He doesn’t always remember me either.” I brace Rosie this way, each time we’re here. The difference is we’re usually with our favorite group of chatty Cathys while we draw and paint. Even though Dad’s days have gotten worse, he doesn’t tend to talk much when everyone else is around. This will be the first real time Rosie will spend time with him on one of his good days.

“Cause he forgets things now, right?” she asks so innocently.

I checked with Mav before I talked to Rosie about the dementia, and we agreed on the way we’d discuss it with her before I ever said a word.

My stomach feels like it’s inching up to my throat as we stop outside his door. “Right.”

“You gonna knock, Emmie?” Her little nose scrunches up, and she looks at me, probably wondering why I’m hesitating. What I wouldn’t give to still have just a tiny piece of that kind of innocence. To not know the fear that’s eating me alive, wondering what will be waiting on the other side of that door.

“I am, little rose.” I run my hand over her shoulder and fix one of her braids, then work up the nerve to knock and crack open the door. “Daddy?” I quietly call through the crack.

“Emmie?” My father’s voice calls back, and I immediately hold back a sob and push the door all the way open to find my father sitting in his favorite leather lounge chair in front of the window. The warm sun shines through as he closes one of the many books on roses he’s always loved. “My little rose. Come here.” He smiles, and my lip trembles, holding back my smile and tears equally.

“Hi, Daddy.” I cross the room and gently envelop him in my arms, loving the feel of his kiss on my cheek and his frail arms around me. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been right here, sweetheart. Sit. Tell me how you’ve been.” His eyes move to Rosie. “And who’s this little treasure you’ve brought with you?”

Rosie moves quickly next to me and grabs my hand again. “I’m Briar Rose Beneventi.”

“Briar Rose Beneventi . . .” Dad repeats, and Rosie looks up at me before looking back at Dad. “That’s such a beautiful name. Did you know Emmie’s middle name is Rose?” He leans forward with a secretive smile. “She’s always been my little rose.”

Rosie drops my hand and climbs on the pleather couch next to Dad’s chair. She sits up on her knees and looks at the book in his lap, then takes his wrinkled hand in hers. “That’s what she calls me.”

“She does, does she?” He leans into her as if they’ve known each other for a lifetime, and my heart cracks.

Damn it. Good days aren’t supposed to make me this sad.

“So, Briar Rose Beneventi. Do you like flowers?” he asks, and she nods excitedly.

“I love flowers,” she tells him with all the seriousness she can muster. “Flowers and butterflies and ballerinas and my dog and my dad and my uncles and Emmie and football.”

“Breathe, Rosie,” I warn her as she runs out of steam.

I take the spot next to her on the couch and watch the two of them chat about all the things Rosie loves.

“Beneventi, huh?” Dad asks with a gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, Dad,” I laugh. “Beneventi. Rosie’s grandfather is Sebastian Beneventi.”

“No shit.” He whistles, and Rosie’s eyes grow big.

“That’s a bad word,” she chastises, and Dad quickly bites his lips.

“You’re right. I won’t tell if you don’t,” he teases and laughs, and God, I could cry. We’ll never get this. He’ll never get to be an amazing grandfather. He barely got to be an amazing dad, and I hate that so much.

Dad leans back in his chair and sets his beautiful green eyes, so full of life, on me. “So, little rose, where are Camden and Vivi? Did they come with you or are they home with Mom?”

Life is a cruel bitch, yanking me back to the present while Dad lives in the past.

“They’re with Mom. Did Camden tell you the news yet?” I ask, knowing he didn’t. Knowing Dad isn’t sure how old any of us are or what we’re doing, even if he recognizes me now, at this age. “He’s playing for the Philadelphia Kings, Daddy. He’s playing for your team.”

Dad’s entire face lights up with pride, followed by confusion. “I think . . . I think he did tell me that. I must have forgotten. The Philly Kings. My boy is a King.”

“My daddy is a King too,” Rosie tells him proudly, the biggest smile she has shining back at him. “So are my uncles.”

“It’s the best team in the world, tiny rose,” he tells her, and I have to look away. Have to hide the lone tear that manages to slip past my defenses and down my cheek. “We bleed black and gold, don’t we, Emmie?”

I wipe my face and turn back. “We sure do, Daddy.”

We sure do.

Maverick

The guys and I are just getting out of my truck when Camden pulls into the gravel driveway next to us. Word came down today that Mason is out. He won’t be coming back. A career ended by a single hit as much as a culmination of all the hits he’s taken over the years. Camden’s battling it out for the starting QB spot after a career of playing backup. The pressure is on.

“Hey, man. We’re about to grill,” Jamie yells, and Camden stops next to the SUV.

Camden shoulders his bag and shuts the door. “Do you guys always know what you’re doing for dinner?”

He walks our way, and I smack the back of Jamie’s head. “This asshole is always thinking about food.”

What?” Jamie groans. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m kinda hungry too. You sure you don’t mind?” I wish every school offered ASL the way Sugar Hill High did. Even Kroydon Prep didn’t offer it. But Camden and Emmie sign like it’s their own brother who needs it to communicate, not mine.

“Nope,” Ryker tells him. “We’ve got plenty, and besides, now maybe Emmie will stay, and Maverick will be happy.”

Camden doesn’t look surprised, but he doesn’t look thrilled either.

I shake my head as Jamie and Ryker head in but stay behind. “Go ahead and ask.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s going on with you and my sister?”

“What’s going on with you and your sister?” I counter.

“We’re figuring it out. Why? What has she told you?”

“Listen, I’m a dick, but I care about your sister. She’s incredible. She’s kind and sweet, and stronger than she lets on. But she’s hurting. I might not know it all, but I know enough, and I’m pretty sure Emmie needs your help, even if she won’t admit it.”

He stops dead in his tracks as the color drains from his face. “She told you?”

In this moment, Camden doesn’t look like my new QB. He doesn’t look like a guy I’m squaring off against. He looks hurt. He looks like Emmie.

Son of a bitch.

“About your dad . . . yeah. Come on, QB. Let’s eat something and get you a drink. It’s gonna be a long week.” We walk side by side into the house and both drop our bags by the door. An old eighties song is blasting through the speakers as we make our way through the house and into the yard where Ryker is dancing with Rosie on his feet, and Jamie is twirling Emmie around the patio.

“Murphy,” I call out, and the shit-stirring ginger’s smile practically swallows his whole face. “Hands off my woman.”

“Your woman?” Jamie asks as he twirls Emmie in a spin by his side. “You his woman, Em?”

I move into their circle, forcing them to stop and offer her my hand, not giving a shit that Camden is behind me. “Up to you, Em.”

Her green eyes glow golden in the setting sun as she places her hand in mine. “I think I am,” she whispers.

“You think?” I wrap an arm around her lower back and press her palm to my chest as we pick up the beat, fully aware everyone in the yard is watching.

“I’ve never been anyone’s before.”

Fuck. This woman. She’s gonna be the death of me.

I lower my face to hers and press my lips to the shell of her ear. “Can I have a page in your scrapbook?”

She pulls back as Rosie squeals somewhere behind us. “Pretty sure you’re going to take up a whole book, Cujo.”

“Pretty sure I’m gonna want a lifetime, baby.” I keep my voice quiet and my words between the two of us.

Her eyes search mine. “I’m not sure I can give you that, Maverick. I don’t have any idea what it’ll look like.”

“One day at a time.” I kiss the crown of her head. “One picture at a time.” I spin her out and back in, then take her face in my hands and stop our movement. “One memory at a time, la mia luce solare.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?” Her face flushes, and her shoulders relax.

I look at her and wonder what the hell I ever did to find myself here. “My sunshine.”

“Are they going to kiss?” Rosie asks somewhere behind us, and Emmie drops her forehead to my chest.

The song changes to Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long,” and I smile. “Come here, mia piccola rosa.”

Rosie runs over, and I scoop her up and sit her on my hip, dancing with the two most important women in my life, fully aware I’m enjoying a happy moment mixed in with all the heavy we’ve been dealing with lately.

Once dinner has been put away and Rosie’s in bed, we sit around the stone firepit, a rare beer in my hand and a glass of wine in Emmie’s, listening to stories, mainly from Jamie, who doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up.

Emmie turns to me with an empty glass and a tired look. “Rosie really wants to go to your game this week. She talked about it a lot today.” She drops her voice to a hushed whisper and glances quickly at her brother, who’s talking to Ryker. “We saw my dad today, and she told him she was going. Have you changed your mind?”

I shake my head, frustrated we’re at this point where her coming is an issue. “She’s like a dog with a bone once she’s got something in her mind. Pretty sure she’s going to pick out a pony with my parents this weekend.”

“Okay . . . I just wanted to check with you. She’s pretty intent on going.”

“Do you think I should let her?” I ask, surprised I want someone else’s opinion on my daughter. I don’t usually like other people to tell me what’s best for Rosie.

“I don’t know, Mav. If you’re worried about the press, I’m sure you’re not the first player who doesn’t want his family covered. If you’re worried about her allergies, that’s a discussion I can’t have. I’ve never been to a game, so I don’t know how you’d do that or even if you can.” She runs the tip of her finger over the rim of the wineglass. “But your family does own the team, so I’d think you could control what she’s exposed to.”

Her words hit home and give me more to think about.

“How about I consider it for the first regular season game, when I’ll actually be playing? I’m not making any promises, but I’ll think about it.” I take the glass out of her hand and stand, tugging her from the chair. “But only on one condition.”

Emmie looks around at the eyes locked on us now and steps into my chest, hiding her face from the guys. “Why do I feel like this is a trap?”

“Not a trap.” I slide her hair over her shoulders and grin. “Just a deal. If I say yes to Rosie going to the game, you go with her, and you do it in my jersey, not your brother’s.”

“Maverick . . .”

“Asshole,” Camden grumbles.

Guess we weren’t being that quiet.

Emmie covers her face with her hands and laughs.

“Get your own woman and put your jersey on her, Monroe,” I laugh, then pull her down on my lap as we drop back into one seat instead of two.

Emmie hides her face in my neck, then bites down. “Do not make a move in front of my brother,” she hisses, but it’s laced in laughter, and I just hold her tighter.

“No promises, baby.” No promises.