I take a breath, completely sober now. “I’m sorry I egged your brother on and made you fight.”
Gray’s brows lift in surprise before snapping together in a frown. “Don’t ever be sorry for being yourself. I will always defend you, Ivy, and I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.” He looks down at his hand again. “I wanted to beat the shit out of him for even talking to you like that. It…unsettles me. I don’t want to be like them.”
“Like them?” I ask.
“I have three brothers. Jonas is the oldest. Twelve years older than myself. Then there’s Leif who is ten years older, Axel is three years older, and I’m the youngest. Axel is all right but we’re not close. Jonas and Leif are total assholes.”
He glances at me, his brows pulling together in a bemused frown. “You really didn’t Google me at all, did you?” There’s no accusation in his voice, only a soft wonder.
“No,” I confess quietly. “Truth? I wanted our friendship to be about Ivy and Gray. Not what the rest of the world thought about you.”
For a long moment he just looks at me, his expression giving nothing away. Then, with his free hand, he reaches out, and the tips of his fingers graze along my cheek. “Same here, Ivy Mac.” His hand touch away, and his voice grows harder. “So I’m assuming you didn’t recognize Jonas, did you?”
“Was I supposed to?”
He laughs without humor. “I guess not. Though it’d probably piss him off to hear that.” Gray rolls his shoulders. “Jonas Grayson, superstar offensive lineman, two-time Super Bowl winner—”
“Holy shit,” I interrupt as understanding dawns. “Jonas and Lief Grayson. Leif is a fullback. And Jonas…” I try to think of what I know and horror dawns. “Four years ago his wife pressed charges, saying he beat her. There was a big trial.”
“Yep.” Disgust rides Gray’s expression. “Apparently he beat the shit out her for years, and she finally had enough. He found himself a slick lawyer and got off with probation.”
My stomach turns. Jonas abused a woman. And I’d taunted him. If Gray hadn’t stepped between us… A shiver passes over me.
“Unfortunately for him,” Gray says, “his contract was up for renegotiation at the time, and his team didn’t renew. No one wanted him. Didn’t help that he’d been playing like shit for two seasons prior.”
“That’ll do it,” I muttered.
“And Leif,” Gray adds, his disgust clearly mounting, “just got off a two-game suspension for a DUI. Though I can tell you from personal experience that he does more than drink and drive.”
“And your father is Jim Grayson.” One of the best and most beloved coaches in the whole damn NFL. “I’m an idiot. You’re part of a football dynasty. How did I never make this connection?”
Gray shrugs. “You didn’t look me up. I don’t talk about it to anyone. My guys know I don’t like to discuss it. Though sports commentators love to mention it every game I play.” He runs a fist along his thigh, digging in. “My dad… He believes in physical strength. For as long as I can remember, he’d take me out to the yard for practice and have my brothers ‘toughen me up.’ No holds barred.”
I don’t like the sound of that. At all. “But your bothers are over ten years older than you. They could have killed you.”
Gray’s voice slows like he’s forcing the words out. “Endless drills. Hard tackles. All acceptable. They got off on it. Axel didn’t really, but he was small too. What could he do?”
I stay silent and let him talk.
“I don’t think Dad really knew though. That Jonas and Leif liked to pummel me off the field too. Or maybe he did.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck knows? When I complained, I was lectured. ‘Football isn’t for whiners or quitters. Buckle up, buttercup. Back to work.’ And so on.”
“How can you love the game?” I whisper.
His hand clenches mine. “I don’t know. But I do. Because when I’m out there doing my thing, I forget all about them. It’s my game, and I own it. I don’t know… It’s the control amidst the chaos. Same with math. There are rules, boundaries, numbers. Patterns run. Victories won by inches. It gives me joy. That’s fucked up, isn’t it?”
He looks at me then, his eyes haunted.
“No. I get it. I ought to resent sports like Fi does. It took our dad from us. Ruined my parents’ marriage. But I love it.”
He nods but lets my hand go to grip the steering wheel. “I hate my brothers. Always have. Hate my father too for letting them do that to me, either by direction or ignoring it.”
“And your mom?” I shouldn’t ask but can’t help it. “Did she know?”
His face goes utterly blank, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I never told her.” A ragged breath leaves him. “Because what if I did, and she…” He glares out the window.
“What if she didn’t stop them?”
A bare nod is his answer.
God, I want to hug him. But I don’t move, not knowing if he can handle it right now.
“I feel like shit for thinking that. Because my mom was awesome to me. Kind, caring, patient.” He snorts. “I have no fucking clue what she saw in my dad. They met at some college staff mixer. He was a visiting head coach, and she was a Norwegian exchange student finishing up her post-graduate degree. Mom always claimed that Dad charmed her into following him anywhere.”