“Young love is fickle.” Wendy hands the plate of pancakes to her husband.
Gramps pounds the table. “Are we gonna ignore the elephant in the room? Pretend we don’t know what’s going on?”
My mouth drops open, which is bad because I’m suddenly nauseous. I swallow down the flood of saliva in the back of my throat and pray I don’t puke on this beautiful brunch. I can’t believe Gramps would out me and Olly for having sex, but what else could he be talking about?
Mr. Oliver sighs. “Bruce, we wanted the kids to enjoy breakfast before we started talking shop. Your daughter insisted.”
Gramps gives him a look of disgust. “Is anything more important than Michael’s season? No. So eat your damn pancakes so we can discuss this.”
“What’s happened?” Olly’s relaxed demeanor instantly evaporates.
Ted hands him the newspaper. “Lone Star State hired Richard Santos.”
A long silence ensues.
“The Saint? The Saint is coaching the Broncos?” Olly scans the broadsheet.
“Three-year contract.”
No one says anything.
“I’m sorry, but is this a good thing or bad?” I ask. Judging by Olly’s intense expression, I’m guessing it’s not good.
He tilts his head one way, then the other. “It’s good… if…”
“If you stay out of trouble,” Mr. Oliver adds. “Santos is known for being tough but fair. He doesn’t tolerate any shenanigans.” He points at his son. “So no ‘fiestas.’ He benched three players last year when police broke up a party. He doesn’t like his players to have any distractions.”
That doesn’t sound so terrible.
I turn to Olly. “I guess it’s a good thing that you’re not living at the football house anymore then, huh?”
Another beat of silence.
“What?” several voices ask simultaneously.
Wendy leans forward to grill her son. “Since when, Michael? Where are you staying? And why haven’t you said anything?” Her eyes shift to me and then narrow on her son. “You’d better not be living where I think you are.”
Oh. Shit.
I close my eyes.
Olly never told his family that he moved in with me.
38
OLLY
This morning was going so well.
Guess I should’ve prepped my girlfriend about my cover story a little better.
I peek over at Magnolia, who’s doggedly staring out her window as we drive home. After breakfast, we hung around as more family arrived for the afternoon barbecue and fireworks, but I could tell she felt uncomfortable even though she was trying hard to smile and be social. It didn’t take much to talk her into cutting out early.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stop by and see your mom?”
She shakes her head. “With my luck, she’ll take one look at me, know I’m pregnant, and drag me to church to say a rosary, so no, I’m not ready to let that cat out of the bag yet. I did enough damage this morning.” I try to grab her hand, but she pulls away and glares at me. “You could’ve told me you hadn’t explained you were living with me. I can’t believe you let me go in there without knowing this critical information.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It slipped my mind.”
