I make a quick sign of the cross over my heart, my lips fighting an impish grin. “I promise I won’t stick my penis in your vagina.”

“Oh my god,” Jordan moans, exasperated.

I laugh again. “Here.” I hand over the warm bit of towel and sit myself down on the closed seat of the toilet. Leaning back, I fold my arms to watch.

She folds her arms in response, creating a little standoff. “You’re going to watch?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a twenty-two year old male with a cock for a brain and you’re my wife. Hell yes, I’m watching.”

“Brody!”

“Fine.” I close my eyes. “Earlier you said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

Silence follows. I crack an eyelid open. Jordan is staring at me, mute and apprehensive. It sets me on edge. All the levity in the room flees, leaving nothing but a thumping pulse in its place. “Jordan, what is it?”

Setting the washcloth on the edge of the basin, she twitches her dress into place. Facing me, a hesitant smile forms on her lips. “I’ve been selected to the Australian national team roster to play in the FIFA World Cup.”

Pride has the breath catching in my throat. “Holy shit.” Unfolding my arms, I rise to my feet. “This is incredible.”

Jordan frowns. “I know.”

“Be excited, babe.” I grasp her by the elbows. “This is the best thing that could’ve happened. It’s what you’ve worked for.”

She pulls free of my grip. Picking up her discarded panties from the floor, she tosses them in the hamper, all the while saying, “I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.”

I stand rigid, confused, watching her fuss around the bathroom, straightening towels, moving hand soap until it sits just so, basically doing anything but look at me. The heavy weight of realization lands on my chest. My hands clench at my sides and my eyes burn. It takes everything I have not to smash my fist in the wall. Why can’t I ever catch a damn break?

“When do you leave for Australia?”

Jordan pauses her tidying of the sink and her eyes lift to mine. “Five days.”

“And how long will you be gone?” Tension fills the bathroom, swift and silent. “Jordan?”

Her chest lifts and falls with a deep breath. “Five months.”

Pain clutches at my heart. It’s so long. And so far. But I told Jordan I’d never hold her back. I’m not going to start now. She needs to go into this with the knowledge I’m backing her a hundred and ten percent, not with the fear that distance will destroy everything we’ve built together. I lock all the hurt away inside and take her cold hand in mine. Threading our fingers together, I pull her toward me.

Her head tips back, anxiety darkening her eyes. “You can do this, Jordan. I have so much faith in you.”

I’m given the briefest expression of hope before her gaze sweeps down, focusing on our linked hands between us. “There’s one more thing.”

“Jordan …” That’s all I’ve got. I’m not sure if I can take another emotional hit tonight.

Her lower lip wobbles. “I don’t want you at my finals.”

“What? No! That’s—”

She shakes her head. “You’ve got some spare time. You need to use it to go see Annabelle.”

“Baby—”

I can’t get a word in. “She’s going to hear, Brody. She’ll hear about our marriage. You need to find a way to see your sister. This rift needs healing. Now is the time to do it. If you leave it any longer, it might just be too late.”

Brody

There’s no nostalgia as I pull in the drive of my parents’ house two days later. Instead my skin crawls and my stomach resembles a large ball of lead. I rest my forearm on the curve of the steering wheel, my fingers tapping an anxious rhythm as I stare up at the pretentious hunk of rendered brick.

Jaxon turns his head in the passenger seat. “We going to sit here all day?”

“Maybe.” I swipe a hand over my face, feeling slightly punch-drunk. I drove to Jaxon’s house late last night and crashed with the help of some Ambien. The sleep didn’t recharge my batteries. It was more of a fitful doze thanks to my fractured rib. I look at my cousin. “You don’t have to be here.”

“And miss a confrontation with your father?” He leans forward, shaking his head as he tucks his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “Not a chance.”

“I’m not here for a confrontation.” That’s the honest truth, but I’ve no doubt it’s inevitable anyway.

Jax echoes the sentiment with a snort. “This is your father we’re talking about.” He runs fingers through his hair, grabbing at random tufts before letting his arm drop to his side. “He’s a fucking douche canoe.”

After drawing the keys from the ignition, my eyes catch the subject of our conversation emerging from the front door. My father’s face is mottled, the anger vibrating from his big frame almost tangible. The lead ball in my stomach grows. “You’re not wrong.”

“Shit.” My cousin’s face darkens. “You owe me double for this.”

Grasping the door handle, I pause to look at him, my expression incredulous, especially considering he invited himself along for the ride. “Double?”

“Yes, double. There’s the small matter of you and Jordan getting married and not telling anyone,” he mutters, reaching for his own door handle. “Not to mention I’ve had chick magazines hounding me for details of the happy nuptials.”

A strangled laugh dies in my throat. “Sorry about that.”

“You can be sorry about it later by fixing me up with Cherry.”

“Cherry the cheerleader?”

He nods his confirmation. “One and the same.”

“Done.”

It’s just that easy. It makes me glad to be male. The price of having a vagina meant Jordan’s phone call to Leah took two hours minimum. And even now nothing is resolved. There’s some kind of appeasement process Jordan seems duty-bound to follow before ruffled feathers can be smoothed. Talks of her planning a wedding celebration were made. There was mention of dresses, tent hire, caterers, and musicians. The only time I willingly stepped into the conversation was to make it clear that if we went ahead with this, it was for Jordan, not Leah, and whatever Jordan wanted, she was to have. It only set off more excited chatter, at which point I tuned out entirely.

I push all thoughts of the conversation aside and open the car door, stepping out. Fresh morning air drifts over me, ruffling my hair. But it’s not the cool breeze that chills my skin, it’s the level of detachment my father emanates. He’s stopped in front of my car, arms folded and eyes devoid of emotion.

“What are you doing here, Brody?”

Lifting my chin, I shut the door, pocket my car keys, and start toward him, showing nothing but determination. From the corner of my eye, I see Jax follow. He stands a step back on my right like a sentinel flanking his commander. I’m grateful for his support, a silent reminder that I do have family at my back. “You know why I’m here. I just want to see Annabelle.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

A lawn mower powers to life, the noisy rumble reverberating from across the road. I turn my head. Old man Lewis is out trimming his lawn. It’s not something I’ve ever known him to do this early on a weekday. As if feeling my stare, he looks up and meets my eyes. They shift to my father, narrowing slightly, before returning focus to the task in front of him. I turn back. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Oh, but it is. You’re living a whole new life in Houston. Football. Parties. An impulsive marriage to that … girl.” He speaks the word with distaste. “Annabelle believes you abandoned her.”

“I didn’t abandon her!” My teeth clench together in an effort to leash my rising temper. Don’t let him bait you like he always does. “You won’t let me see her.”

A hint of satisfaction creeps into my father’s eyes. “She doesn’t know that.”