Sebastian chuckles. “Remember when I was the one who used to defend him to you?”
“I’m sorry about that. I was unnecessarily hard on him. It was childish.”
“Aww, you sound so mature.” He pretends to sniffle. “My little Magnolia Poo-Pants is all grown up.”
“Shut up, fool.” I laugh. Maybe it’s time to extend an olive branch. “Speaking of poo, have you ever changed a diaper, Uncle Sebastian?”
“Oooh. About that… I’m not really great with anything excremental.”
“Hmm. What about vomit? Because I hear babies puke a lot.”
“Yeah, no. Frannie puked on me when she was little, and I’ve never recovered.”
“Too bad, because I’m putting you first in line to do some babysitting this winter. By the time you’re done, you’ll be an expert.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for being a royal ass? Because you have to know that I was only looking out for you. I love you, poopy.”
I wipe my eyes. “Love you too, butt nugget. And yes, I’ve forgiven you. Contingent upon that lunch you’re coming here to enjoy with me tomorrow and some twinsy babysitting.”
“Deal.”
“I really want the boys to know their Uncle Bash.”
“Thanks, sis. I’m excited to meet them too. You do realize that if they’re anything like you, you’re gonna have your hands full with those little hellions.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I beg your pardon. I was an angel.”
“Are you serious? You tried skating on the kitchen floor with banana peels tied to your feet when you were four. You attempted to dye my hair orange when you were six. I could go on and on.”
When I get off the phone, I’m still smiling. I’m glad Sebastian and I have made amends. It’ll be good to see him tomorrow.
But my good mood wanes the later it gets. The sun is almost starting to set, and I still haven’t heard from Olly.
That sense of foreboding hits me like never before.
63
OLLY
“They’ve withdrawn the endorsement offer because of that strip club billboard.”
I stand there, frozen, not sure what to say to Santos.
The disappointment on his face crushes my soul a little. No one enjoys disappointing their coach, but when the Saint is running the show, it’s ten times worse.
He taps his desk. “I expected more from you, Oliver.”
“Sir, for the record, I had nothing to do with how that billboard came about.” I try to explain how the photographer sold the pics to the strip joint. It’s not as though I actually prance around, shaking my junk in people’s faces.
He holds up his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Big Tykes is out. They want a good role model. Someone kids can look up to. You’re shirtless on a billboard for a strip club, so regardless of how it came about, you can’t be that role model.”
Coach’s words knock around in my head the whole drive home.
Plain and simple, I’m devastated. I’ve been busting my ass almost my whole life to get a chance like this, one that I can use to help the people I love, and in an instant, it’s gone. My plan for helping Maggie and my parents and Gramps and paying for the hospital when the twins arrive just got flushed down the drain thanks to those dicks at Heavenly Hunks and that rotten photographer who swore those pics would not be used for anything tawdry. So much for “standard stock images.”
I don’t know how I’m going to get on a plane in an hour and play football tomorrow. Hell, I don’t know how I’m gonna break the news to my family. I couldn’t even bring myself to text Maggie back today. She has to be wondering what’s going on with me.
When I pull into the driveway, the last person I want to see is sitting in a lawn chair in front of the casita, drinking a cocktail. I get out of the truck and slam the door.
