Page 31 of Tempted By the Safety

“Milo.”

Spencer’s standing in the mouth of the tunnel with sweat still darkening the collar of his shirt. I didn’t hear him coming, which should be impossible for a man that size.

I put the smile on, but I feel it go up crooked.

“Hey. Sorry, that took longer than a second. So the one thirty is going to be tight for you, but if I move the—”

“What happened?”

I have an answer ready, a combination ofnothingandfamily stuff, and that I’ll handle it.

What comes out is everything.

“My brother Dean got arrested last night.” My voice snags on the wordbrother, which I did not authorize. “He got in a fight outside a bar over money he owed some guy, and the guy’s got a broken nose, and they picked Dean up, and he’s been in front of a judge this morning, and they set bail at ten thousand dollars.” I laugh, then keep going. “Ten grand. For a bar fight. Like he robbed a bank. My mom’s there by herself, and I’ve got seven hundred dollars, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to, I mean, I’ll figure it out, obviously, I always figure it out, it just might take a couple of—”

“Wait for me by the car.”

That’s all he says.

“Spencer—”

“By the car. Fifteen minutes.” And he’s gone, down the tunnel toward the locker room.

I stand there for a second, then go get my folding chair and the crate, but they’re not where I left them, and it takes me an embarrassing amount of time to understand that he already carried them to his car.

Out in the lot I sit on the crate next to the car and text my mother that I’m coming, and she sends back a heart and then, forty seconds later, three more hearts, which is how she panics.

Spencer comes out in twelve minutes, hair wet, gray t-shirt, cap on. He fishes the keys out and unlocks the doors. “We’re going to Queens.”

“But you have a one-thirty.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You have a one-thirty with the co-packer and a three with the consultant, and you can’t—”

“I canceled them.”

“You… canceled?” I stand up off the crate. “When?”

“In the locker room.” He opens the passenger door for me. “Get in.”

“Okay, but hang on. Hang on.” I don’t get in. “This is really nice of you, it is, but you don’t have to drive me. I can take the train. It’s like an hour, maybe an hour ten, and you’ve got a whole company that needs you to say yes to things today, and my brother is going to be in exactly the same amount of trouble whether or not there’s an NFL safety in the room, so the smart move here is—”

“I’m not putting you on a train for this.”

He says it flatly, the way he saysthird door, and then he waits.

I get in the car and make it about thirty minutes into the drive before I have to let some air out.

“He’s not a bad guy,” I say to the windshield. “I want that on the record before you build a whole opinion. He taught me to ride a bike and he’s the reason I know how to make an omelet,actually, because our mom worked doubles and Dean was eleven and decided that was his job. He’s just got a thing with money. It doesn’t stay in his hands. It goes through them like they’re a colander.”

“How often does this happen?”

I open my mouth to saynot often.

“He’s short about every three weeks,” I say instead. “Not arrested. Arrested is new, a real escalation, and I’ll be honest, I did not see it coming. When he’s short he texts me, and if I take too long he calls Mom, and then Mom calls me sounding like she’s been crying, and then I send it anyway.”

“How much have you sent him this year?”