Trav pushes me to the side, causing me to stumble on his way to scoop Mom into a hug. The asshole is such a suck-up.
Introductions and greetings are exchanged by all, and I’m extremely grateful to note Brantley is not in attendance—though it’s not like we expected he would be. Not gonna lie, a tiny part of me was afraid he would come if for no other reason than to nail down another chance to talk to me.
There’s no way to miss the hard blue eyes studying me as I pull my seat open. The man is around Mom’s age, and based on the fit of his I’m a proud DAD of a freaking awesome CHEERLEADER shirt, he keeps himself in shape. My mouth feels like the Sahara and I have difficulty swallowing when everything clicks into place on who he is—Pops Taylor.
Aw, shit! *chuckles behind clipboard* You thought having to see E or JT was bad? This guy is a firefighter. They’ll never find your body.
My shoulders square. I can do this. I apologized, fixed my mistakes, fought for the girl, and got her back. Jackass in my head may be taunting me about E and JT, but they are good with where Kay and I stand. Why should this be any different?
Resolve in place, I hold out a hand to shake and say, “Mr. Taylor?”
Both my questioning greeting and hand hang there, sweat trickling down my spine as I wait.
“Just so you know…” I wince when he finally takes my outstretched hand, his grip punishing. “If my son and younger daughter hadn’t told me about the lengths you went to in order to win my baby girl back, well…”
Did I say sweat was trickling down my back? Nope, now it’s a straight-up river. Fuck me, this guy is scary.
“I love Kay very much, sir.” The intensity of his glare softens marginally at my admission.
“So I heard.” My knuckles protest under the increasing pressure around the hand he still hasn’t released. “Just remember…” Another squeeze. “I know exactly how hot a fire needs to be to make a body disappear.”
Around us, the guys lose it. Full-on bent over, leg-slapping guffaws at my expense. I look to Mom for support, but she instead chooses to sit there in silence, as if her oldest son’s life wasn’t just threatened.
Looks like someone has dropped in the favorite child rankings, Nova.
They all continue to razz me as we watch the competition, the girls explaining the intricacies of scoring and the jargon associated with competitive cheerleading. With each NJA team to take the floor, the cheering and hooting and hollering from the guys increases. By the time the Marshals are announced, I’m shocked we haven’t been asked to leave.
All thoughts of my out-of-control friends fade when I see Kay walk out with two other NJA coaches for the senior teams. Goddamn my girl is fine as fuck.
Even from up here, I can see how good her ass looks in those painted-on dark wash jeans, and I can’t help but smirk at the army boots on her feet. I don’t need her to say it to know she chose them because the NJA teams are all named after different roles in the military.
COACH PF is written in rhinestone-encrusted white block lettering on her back, and even though I prefer it to be my name and number there, I can admit she works the hell out of her coach’s jacket. The stretchy blue camouflage material hugs her curves, and all I want to do is run down these stairs, put my hands on the black panels on her sides, and lift her into my arms.
An ear-splitting whistle sounds behind me, and when I look back, Pops Taylor, Savvy, Grayson, and Em are on their feet, each stretching their pinky and thumb out in the hang loose gesture and shouting Tessa’s name.
Down on the mat, she is returning the gesture, and when I slide my gaze back to Kay, I see she’s doing the same. The guys notice we’ve captured Kay’s attention and jump up, tugging and pointing to their shirts while yelling my girl’s name.
Not to be outdone, I pop up as well, and when Kay’s eyes flare wide at the sight of all of us making fools of ourselves, I let loose the biggest, shit-eating, dimples out in all their get-yelled-at-to-put-them-away glory.
The unfiltered awe on Kay’s beautiful face when she realizes who all came to cheer her teams on is like a punch to the gut. She can be so fucking raw with her emotions, and it slays me every time she lets the vulnerability shine through.
Music starts and Kay whips around to face the mat, breaking away from our stare-down. Throughout the two-and-a-half-minute routine, I can’t help but shift my attention to Kay. Her pride and excitement is plain to see. Every time the Marshals hit a stunt, she’s shouting, clapping, arms thrown in the air, jumping up and down, shimmy dancing and bumping hips with the other coaches. I can’t even handle how fucking adorable she is.
“Damn.” Quinn blows out a breath after the Marshals clear the floor and the next team is announced. “They keep performing like that, there’s no way they don’t repeat at Worlds this year.”
“That’s nothing,” Savvy says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat like she has a secret. “Wait until you see the Admirals. The stuff Kay has helped them come up with to take back their title is insane.”
My enthusiastic agreement on Kay’s talents when it comes to coaching earns me the first smidge of an expression of acceptance from Pops, and I mentally fist-pump. What I witnessed down in Kentucky was impressive, and I can
