“I know, it sucks.” Bruiser shot a wry smile at his buddy.
“What would you know about being number two? I bet you’ve never taken a back seat in any situation. Top draft pick. Starter from the beginning. All the ladies want you.”
Bruiser studied his pole and wondered how to rouse Brett from his pity party. Rarely did Brett complain about his position, so Bruiser figured he deserved a little wallowing once in a while. “I was always second choice, up until I turned thirteen.”
Brett met his gaze, honestly surprised. “You? Second to who? I find that hard to swallow.”
Hesitating, Bruiser weighed his options. He never talked about his past, even with his ex-wife, and his family avoided any mention as if broaching the subject would be enough to detonate a nuclear bomb and lay waste to the planet. So no one knew. The press never unearthed it thanks to an incredibly good agent with scary-good spin doctors.
Brett waited patiently. His friend had never once tried to force information, content to let Bruiser talk or not talk. Yet today, he wanted to tell Brett about the most painful part of his past. After all, he’d heard a few of Brett’s stories.
Releasing his held breath, Bruiser fingered his pole. “I had a twin brother.”
Brett sat back as if hit by a strong right hook. His mouth dropped open in shock. For a moment, he couldn’t seem to find the words. “You had a twin?”
“Yeah. Brice. He was everything I wasn’t. Or wasn’t at the time.” It felt better to talk than he’d expected. “We were both athletic, but he was better. I was a good student; he was a perfect student. I had a lot of friends, but everyone wanted to be his best friend. My parents favored Brice, especially my father, a two-bit movie producer who craved fame. My sister and I were afterthoughts, sometimes annoyances. You see, Brice was going places, and they spent all their time grooming him to go those places.”
“Like the Kennedys groomed their oldest son, Joe, to be president?” Brett loved history, so it figured he’d make that comparison.
“Yeah, until he died.” Bruiser watched Brett digest that bit of information.
“After he died, the Kennedy patriarch turned to his next oldest son to be the president.”
Bruiser nodded, the vise gripping his chest making it impossible to speak. He clenched his jaw and stared at his line dangling in the water and bobbing with each wave. Water slapped against the boat’s fiberglass hull—usually a soothing sound, but right now it grated on his nerves.
“And Brice is gone too?”
Bruiser couldn’t say the words. Even after all the years, he couldn’t describe his complete devastation when he found Brice with a bullet hole in his head. Brice—the perfect brother, son, friend, athlete—couldn’t live with his imperfections after the accident. A selfish way to go, leaving his friends and family to blame themselves—they hadn’t done enough, hadn’t seen his depression, hadn’t been able to prevent his suicide.
The guilt lived inside Bruiser like a vital organ.
“I’m sorry. I guess you do know what it’s like to be second-string.”
Bruiser bit his lower lip and said nothing. He reeled in his line, re-baited it, and cast it back out. Yeah, he did, and he still played second string—to a ghost. Shaking off his melancholy, he raised his head, changing the focus back to his friend. “You need to get together with Mac.”
“I guess.” Brett’s reluctance didn’t surprise Bruiser. After all, the guy seemed pretty shy around women, which bordered on next to incredible for an NFL player, but Bruiser had seen Brett in action—or maybe inaction was a better word.
Brett and Mac. Any dating site would pair those two up in an instant. No one in their right mind would pair Bruiser with Mac. On so many levels, his attraction to her was so wrong. First of all, Bruiser was too damaged. He hid it all behind his fake smile and party-boy persona. Secondly, Brett was better suited for Mac. He’d be loyal, faithful, devoted, and he’d love her like—
Shit. Bruiser didn’t deal in love; he dealt in lust. Mac deserved a man who’d treat her like she was special, and Brett deserved a woman who’d do the same. If Bruiser was smart and a decent guy, he’d fix Brett and Mac up, call it good, and move on.
Perfect idea.
Now where to start—even if part of him didn’t want to?
* * * * *
Mac looked up as Bruiser stopped in front of the picnic table where she was eating her lunch. “Hi.”
“Hey, beautiful, what’s up?” He pointed at the stack of papers in front of her.
Mac rolled her eyes. “These are the forms for the scholarship.”
“Paper? Who does paper anymore?”
“I think it’s a test of our commitment. We have to do it all from scratch, no cutting and pasting from similar forms we’ve filled out.”
“Leave it to Veronica. So you’re going for it?” Bruiser smiled that lopsided smile that made his blue-gray eyes twinkle and her heart thump a little harder. His perfect white teeth contrasted with his dark tan and blond hair. Mac swore he looked better every time she saw him, maybe because as she got to know the man inside, she liked him even more. It’d be so much better for her if she didn’t.
“I’m going to try.”
“Good luck. You deserve it. If I got a vote, you’d be in.” He put one foot on the bench and re-tied his shoe. Even his ankles and feet were sexy.
Mac looked down, oddly embarrassed. When she glanced up again, he was studying her.
“Did you change something?” he asked.
“No, nothing.” She blushed, surprised he noticed. She’d applied makeup this morning, put her hair in a tidy ponytail, tucked in her polo shirt, and wore a clean new pair of jeans. Stupid, because she’d just get everything dirty, but hopefully the decision-makers would notice. Vince always looked neat and tidy because he barely did a stitch
