“Pocahontas,” Quinn’s eyes got big and her smile brightened. “She’s Native American like Daddy is.”
Quillan step forward then, pink hitting his cheeks as he took Brett’s hand. “Hope we aren’t imposing.”
“Of course not. You’re my teammate. Mi casa su casa, brother.” Brett tried to lighten his mood. It’d been a while since anyone on his team had been to his house. He was overdue.
“And a beautiful casa it is, amigo.” Quil looked around at the kitchen with its white cabinets, granite countertops, dark wood floors, shiplap walls, and high, beamed ceilings. Brett’s home had the whole farmhouse style down, and he’d gotten many compliments on its authentic feel; he’d said Joanna Gaines could have decorated it for how close it was to her vibes. He was proud of the work that had been done to this old house. He truly loved it here.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Brett offered and showed him into a little sitting area where they sat down in Queen Anne chairs that looked into the kitchen.
“No, thank you. I’ll wait until dinner,” Quil answered then nodded to the little girl who held Madi’s finger and looked up at him. “Brett, meet my daughter, Quinn.”
Brett smiled at the precocious little girl with the Jack-o’-lantern smile. “Hi there. I’m Brett.”
“He’s also called Zeus.”
“Zeus?” Quinn asked excitedly. “Like the king of the gods?”
Brett’s brow rose in surprise. How’d this kid know about the Greek gods?
“She’s a history buff, not unlike her nanny who likes to read all kinds of things to her that she probably shouldn’t.” Quil explained.
“’S ok, Dad,” Quinn lisped. “Tia Nita just enjoys a good hero story.” She shrugged, getting a laugh of the adults. “Why do they call you Zeus?”
Brett grinned again, but it was Madi who answered, “Brett here is our quarterback. He throws the football to receivers like your dad. One of his teammates coined him that because he’s really good at it, saying how he throws passes like Zeus threw thunderbolts.”
That got a giggle out of the little angel and they all laughed again.
“Want some juice, Quinn?” Madi asked and Quinn nodded her head. “I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Are you kidding? This kid’s grandma is half Italian, she loves meatballs,” Quil answered.
“My Nonni makes sweet spaghetti sauce, it’s so good.”
Brett smiled and looked up to Madi who looked apprehensive all of a sudden. “Uh oh, I hope my sauce can even compare. You’ll have to let me know, ok?”
“Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Madi. Nonni calls me a food critic.” The six-year-old’s chin went up at that, getting yet another laugh out of the adults.
“She obviously doesn’t get her sense of humor from me,” Quil shrugged. “How about you just eat Ms. Madi’s cooking and keep your opinions to yourself, kiddo?”
“But Daddy…”
“No, listen, reinita” Quil whispered loudly. “This lady here is my boss, I don’t need you getting me fired.”
Madi stifled another laugh as she leaned into the back of Brett’s chair. He took her hand and laced his fingers through it, loving the sound of her enjoyment. It had been so long since he’d seen her this light and stress-free and he absorbed it himself.
She smiled down at him, eyes sparkling, and he longed to shoot up, pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless; but he held back, if not for the kids’ sake, for Quillan’s. He might get jealous. Ha, who was Brett kidding? He was slightly intimidated by the six-foot-six-inch “beef-cake” as the girls had referred to Quil, seated across from him. He’d heard the ladies whispering about Quil when they didn’t think the other guys noticed. In all honesty, from a guy’s stand point, Quil was pretty—for a dude—so Brett could kinda understand why they all thought that.
Soon, they were eating dinner, and Quinn was approving of Madi’s cooking, much to Madi’s comical, overdramatized relief. It was an enjoyable meal, and Quinn was quite entertaining discussing numerous topics that left Brett stunned. This kid was gonna be a genius…and a man killer. Quillan had his hands full.
The guys cleaned up as the girls moved into the living room to watch Disney+. He and Quillan worked in companionable silence, Quil washing while Brett dried and put dishes away.
“Thanks for having us over, Brett,” Quil said after they’d finished.
“Glad to have ya, Quil. Thanks for helping clean up.”
“Quick hands make light work, my abuela always said.”
“Thanks for helping calm me down today, too.” Brett cleared his throat and looked away, guilt eating at him over how he’d treated Pax. He needed to call him, maybe suggest they hit the golf course one day and apologize, make things right.
Quil patted his shoulder, and Brett looked up at him. “You know, I thought my life was over when Rian died. It had been hard with her drug addiction and raising Quinn practically alone, but then her death was yet another feat I had to overcome. It was like God was slapping me in the face. I was angry with everyone, especially Him. My daughter was ill, my wife loved cocaine more than her own flesh and blood, and I was pushed out of doing the one thing I’d always wanted. Life ceased to exist for me.”
Wow! Brett had had no idea this had happened. All he’d known was Quil’s wife had died and he left the NFL, nothing more.
“I went into solitude. Me and Quinn. Hoping to raise my daughter away from the disgrace of what her mother had done to humiliate us both. My daughter’s six. She didn’t really understand it all, but she knew something was off. We can’t protect them from everything.” Quillan shrugged. “But soon I saw that I wasn’t cut out for early retirement. My father was a hard-working man. He was a single father who worked long hours as a lumberjack to provide for me and my grandmother, who cared for me. I guess that value extended to me; I found myself
