My Only Reason (A Love is Love Book Book 1)
My Only Reason
A Love Is Love Book
Leigh Lennon
My Only Reason
Copyright @2020 Leigh Lennon
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.
Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.
The E-book copy is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be re-sold or given away.
This book is a work of fiction and is the product of the author’s imagination.
Editing by Jenny Sim
Proofreading services by Deaton Author Services
Content Editing by Ashley Cestra
Cover Design by Najla Qamber
Formatting: Ink It Out Editing Services
Beta Readers: Kelly Green, Nancy George, Rebecca Berland, and Megan Harris.
To anyone who has been told your love is wrong:
May you always find your one reason in life.
To Mom
It doesn’t matter how long you’re gone,
I’m still not used to being in this world without you.
I will forever miss you!
Contents
Playlist:
About My Only Reason
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
A Note to My Readers
What I Have Learned Along the Way
Other Books by Leigh Lennon
It Takes a Village!
About the Author
Playlist:
Alice In Chains, “Rooster”
Foo Fighters, “My Hero”
Jane’s Addiction, “Been Caught Stealing”
Jason Aldean, “Big Green Tractor”
Kenny Chesney, “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”
Lady Gaga, “Born This Way”
Maroon 5, “Memories”
Nirvana, “Lithium”
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, “Fishin’ In the Dark”
Pearl Jam, “Better Man”
Red Nex, “Cotton Eye Joe”
Sia, “The Greatest”
Smashing Pumpkins, “Today”
Sound Garden, “Spoonman”
Stone Temple Pilots, “Meadow”
The Charlie Daniels Band, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”
The Psychedelic Furs, “Love My Way”
Toby Keith, “As Good As I Once Was”
About My Only Reason
Ryder
It's a cliché' really, falling in love with my best friend, my very straight best friend. And to add more complications, I'm a football player, about to be drafted. We're manly men. We aren't supposed to be gay. But I am and I love the one person I'll never have. Until fate forces us together six years later. It'll be both a fantasy and hell on earth, playing along Crush—the only man who will ever truly own my heart.
Crush
He dropped a bomb on me. Then he left, never looking back. Our friendship—ruined until he lands back in my life. His presence is just as big as ever. I never forgot him, or what that one kiss so many years ago still does to my body. He's here, but is he willing to stay?
Prologue
Six years ago
Crush
This is the game we've worked toward since our freshman year in college. I'm on the field with my team, men I'd willingly die for, and surrounded by the excitement in the stadium, my eyes connect with my best friend's. "Fourth down and goal." The noise is so loud, and my voice is hoarse from screaming. "Hanley, we need you. Green thirty-six reverse right on two with Dale." Ryder Hanley—the diva of our team, my best friend, and our wide receiver—gives me a nod to acknowledge the play. "We have one chance. One last drive. Don't fuck it up, boys."
As the quarterback and captain, I know that being a dick motivates this team. I'm the first with my hand in the huddle. "On three. One, two, three, fuck them!" we yell over the noise in the stadium, and it gets the other team's attention.
The offensive line is in position, and the center snaps the ball my way as Jimmy Dale and Ryder run the reverse. My first look is at Dale, our running back, but three defenders cover him. My best friend, Ryder Hanley, hasn't caught the ball once during the game. He's been off, and I'm not sure why. Of course, the other team has seen this, and they leave his ass open. It's not what I want, but with Jimmy Dale covered, I fake Jimmy's way, then drop back and throw it toward Ryder.
It's a smooth pass, and Ryder runs, moving into position to catch the ball. My breath stills. We need this. It's our senior year of college and the championship game we've worked our asses off to play in—it's been our goal, our dream since our freshman year.
His hands reach for it in midair. It wobbles, and the entire team, fuck, the whole stadium is quiet. He lands on his feet as it continues to bobble in his hands. Not sure what the hell is on his fingers, if it's butter, but I wait for him to drop it as he's done all day. My eyes fall to the turf, and the entire stadium, or at least the half who are Bears fans, erupts into cheers. My best friend has the fucking ball in his grasp for the first time today—but it's the only time it fucking matters.
The locker room is empty besides Ryder and me. He's slow on regular days, so given his current mood, regardless of his winning touchdown and his subdued manner, I wait on him.
The locker room reeks of fifty-plus men. I should be used to it after four years. It's my hope the locker rooms in professional ball come with a little more luxury than what I've had at this point. Or at least its fragrance may be more appealing.
I sit on the bench in front of the lockers, texting Alison. She flew to California for the game and is at the hotel, bitching to the whole world about how long it's taking me to get back. After the win, I'd planned on spending the night with her, but now, I don't know if I can handle the attitude. As curvy and beautiful as the woman is, when she's pissed, I sometimes wonder if her blowjobs are worth it.
Me: Something is up with Ry. He's still here. I can't leave him.
Before I read her text, I can imagine the bitch in her response.
Alison: But I'm leaving in the morning, and you all are flying back together. Please, just talk to him tomorrow after I fuck my favorite national champion senseless.
Usually, her dirty talk would cause me to run out of the locker room while hiding my angry erection, but not today. Her words don't do anything for me. My best friend is in pain. Something has happened, and I
can't leave him. I've already conducted my interviews, and I had asked our coach to let us make it back to the hotel on our own.
The coach, too, is concerned for my friend. From the second Ry opened his eyes, he hasn't been the jubilant asshole, talking shit to everyone. On the field, his mouth didn't run like it usually had. Even Jimmy Dale asked me several times what the fuck was up with our favorite diva.
"Is that Alison?" Ryder asks in his purple paisley suit and tie, a sad smile on his face. "I can't imagine she's happy about being left to wait," he mutters, pulling his backpack behind him.
Ryder should know. He's a diva, and it takes one to know one. My girlfriend and best friend are similar and hate each other with a passion. It's jealousy on Alison's part, but I'm not sure what it is with Ryder.
"No, she's not happy. You know Al. But I'm not leaving until you tell me what's crawled up your ass, causing your brain and body to be anywhere but the game."
He lowers his head to his chest. "It's shitty timing, and I'm sorry. Of all the fucking days."
I push to my feet, closing the space between us, and kneel in front of where he sits. "I don't care about the game." Well, not anymore now that it's over. "Something is eating away at you. What is it? You went to bed last night as the over-the-top wide receiver I know. But, you started the day like you lost your best friend. Now, what the fuck gives?"
He fishes his phone out of his backpack. My breathing stops with the text he has pulled up for me to read.
Mom: As you know, we won't be at the game. But I had to let you know—your grandpappy died peacefully in his sleep. He'd want you to play the best game of your life.
The Hanley family has always been a little odd. Texting him of his grandpa's death on the day of the national championship is fucked up, and burdening him with this before the game sure as fuck shouldn't have been the way they handled it.
To say Ryder and his grandpappy were tight is an understatement. At times, I think his grandpa has been the only one in the family he loves without a shadow of a doubt—besides his younger sister. His parents are sponges, pulling from him because he'll go number two in the professional draft. And the only reason he'll go number two is because I'm going number one.
His grandpappy didn't care about what he could get from Ryder. His grandpa was there for him like any parent should have been, just to support his grandson. But his parents haven't ever gotten the message.
"Fuck, Ry." When I open my arms, the six-two, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound man of steel openly weeps in my embrace.
His olive complexion and jet-black hair are in complete contrast to my almost white hair and soft crystal blue eyes. With his arms wrapped around my body, I still at our connection and how his touch is an instant comfort for me, and I'm not the one who lost his number one person in life.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I whisper into his ear.
He pulls back just enough for us to watch one another eye to eye, but he's still in my embrace, and it feels right. "Did both of us need to be off our game? No fucking way. You had to have a clear head, and you couldn't afford to be weighed down by my burden."
His jet-black hair is always longer than my almost buzz cut I insist on, and his longer bangs fall in his face. "Fuck, Ry, don't you understand? You're never a burden to me. You're my best friend."
My fingers are still in his hair, and his eyes are locked on mine. Ry opens his mouth, I assume to rebuff my claim that he's not a burden, but when words don't come, his mouth crashes to mine. It's the last thing I'm expecting, and for a moment, I open to welcome his aroma, his taste. And I desire it for a second longer than I should.
I push off him, and like a jackrabbit, breathless from the kiss I loved way too much, I spring to my feet.
"Um, fuck, bro." Ryder’s words only fill me with more anger. He rakes his hands through his hair, not meeting my gaze.
"Ry, explain to me, why the hell did you do this? And right fucking now." My response could have been different. It should have been different.
He stands with his backpack and tucks his hands in the pockets of his suit. "If I have to explain, I've done it wrong. Think about it, Crush, have you ever seen me date a girl? Have you seen how I hang on your every word? It's shameful, but I stare at your naked ass more than I have the right to. Wonder why I hate Alison like I do? She doesn't deserve you. And more so, I've loved you for three years. It's painful to watch you two together. Who the hell knows if I would have done this without the pain of losing my grandpappy. But sometimes I'm the most honest when I'm the most vulnerable. I'm gay. And I love you. If this is a deal-breaker, at least I lost you because I'm brave enough to admit what you are to me and who I am."
Ryder walks out of the locker room and out of my life. I'm left dazed as I touch the lips he's just kissed.
1
Six years later
Ryder
I detest press conferences. I hate them with a fucking passion. Free agent status means I’ll endure the scrutiny of the media as I say good-bye to the only professional team I’ve ever played for. A new club wants me and only me. After being with Miami since my professional career started, I demand a clean slate, a new start.
“Ryder, is it true you’re leaving Miami? You’re leaving the team you started with?” The media will twist anything I say, considering the announcement I made a year ago.
I lean into my microphone and take a long gulp of air. “Yes, I’m leaving Miami,” I begin and await the next question. I hope it’s going to be about my game play and not my personal life.
“Is it true you’re leaving to start new after coming clean about your sexuality?” Do I want a clean start—hell yes—but there’s more to this decision than simply me coming out a year ago.
“I’ve said it once, and I’ll repeat myself one last time. My personal life isn’t something I’ll discuss in the press. I made a public statement last year when I decided to share my sexual orientation as a way to live my life on my terms. No more questions will be answered.” I clear my voice to continue, “Now, if you have questions concerning my career in the future or my disappointment in leaving Miami, I’ll be happy to answer those.”
A sports reporter and a good friend, who has come through the ranks in his own career as I’ve done the same in my profession, holds up his hand. “Garrison,” I instruct, and a grin overtakes his face. I respect the man. He’d known about my secret from the night a little too much vodka led to our senseless fucking. Since then, he’s been my booty call when I needed more than just my hands.
“So, don’t beat around the bush, man. Tell us all what we want to know. Where will you be playing ball for the next several years?” Garrison gives me a subtle little wink only I see.
I’ve been secretive and instructed the new team to hold it tight, too, until I decided to announce it. There’s a specific reason I want it hush-hush and wouldn’t allow anyone else to know.
“Thanks for keeping it about my game. And to answer your next question, my new team, my next home, will be in Nashville, Tennessee.”
After several more questions, I walk into the only locker room I’ve called home for the past six years and look over at the space where my jersey hung for every home game one last time. This team has taken me to the big game. Sure, we lost in the last play, but it’s a fond memory I’ll hold dear to my heart. They were the ones to wrap their arms around me when I chose to come out last year. I wanted a quick departure because hell, saying good-bye has been hard. I give the place I’ll always consider my first home one last glance, and then with tears in my eyes, I make my way out of the stadium I’ve played every home game since becoming a professional football player. With another glimpse at my old sanctuary and my phone blowing up with text messages and notifications, I pull out of the parking lot for the very last time.
Nashville, the home of country music, is only four hours from my childhood home. After my grandpappy died, my closest and favorite person in my life, my baby sister, Kelsey, announced her pregnan
cy to the entire family. Her baby, my niece, replaced my grandpappy as the most important person in my life.
They say when someone dies, a new life begins. Lawrence John Hanley left the world, and I’d never grieved another person as I had him. However, nine months later, we welcomed Loretta Jane—named after our grandpappy. And at the age of five, she’s a spitfire and the love of my life.
I bought a private home sight unseen in one of the most prestigious parts of the city. Until I find the family I want to complete me, this will be a place to lay my head. I desperately want someone to come home to and celebrate all our achievements together.
I can only handle one hurdle at a time, and the biggest hurdle is still ahead of me. Sure, finding a footing with the new team has its difficulties, but I know most of the men from college and my six years in the league. Last year’s record speaks for itself—1796 receiving yards with eighteen touchdowns. This caused many teams to pursue me.
Coming home to Tennessee made sense on so many different levels. This team is a championship contender, missing the big game when their wide receiver was injured in the second to last play of last year’s game.