Cade had been asked this question many times, and normally, he just fluffed off the answer or made a comment about going out on a high note. He appreciated people’s interest, and he understood their curiosity, but he saw no reason to let the whole world in on the fact that that had been one of the worst moments of his life.

But with Zach, for whatever reason, the usual answer felt like a cop out. “I’d seen myself going pro,” he told him. “Pictured it in my head probably a thousand times since I was ten years old. To have that dream taken away from me was a really tough pill to swallow.”

“So what’d you do?”

Cade shrugged. “Spent the next three months wallowing in self-pity, skipping classes, getting drunk, and generally being an asshole.” He paused, considering his audience. “Not sure I’m supposed to be telling you things like that.”

“I’m sixteen. I’ve heard the word asshole before.”

“I meant the part about skipping classes and getting drunk in college.” Cade pointed. “These stories are anecdotes, not advice. When you’re older, don’t do the things I did.”

“Wow,” Zach said. “You just sounded so much like my dad right then it was scary.”

“Yeah, well, when your dad tells you not to do the things he did, that’s damn good advice to take,” Cade said dryly.

Zach paused. “You really do hate him, don’t you?”

The blunt words, out of the blue, took Cade by surprise. “Mostly, I try not to think about him, Zach. And that’s how I’d like it to stay.”

Zach nodded, disappointment etched on his face. “I’m not saying I blame you. I’d probably feel the same way if I were in your shoes.”

There was one thing, however, that Cade did want to know. For Zach’s sake. “He’s a good father to you, then?”

Zach hesitated. “I don’t know how to say this to you . . .” He stared down at the table for a moment, then back at Cade. “But, yeah. He’s a great dad. He told me that he really settled down after meeting my mom, and to me he’s always been just a normal, regular father. I mean, he’s not perfect, and this past year he rode me nonstop about getting my English grades up, but he’s my dad, you know?”

Cade looked away, focusing on a small crack on the wall. No, he didn’t know.

The waitress suddenly appeared at their table, carrying two plates. “I’ve got two plain-old, regular cheeseburgers here.”

“Thank God,” Cade said, grateful for the interruption. Whew. Things had gotten a little intense for a moment there.

The waitress smiled. “You guys are hungry, huh?” She tossed her curly brown hair over her shoulders, looking appreciatively at Cade. “Anything else I can get you?”

He had a feeling she wasn’t referring only to the lunch menu. And she was attractive, no doubt. But still . . .

“I think we’re good for now,” he told her.

“If you think of anything else, just let me know.” She sashayed off in her short black skirt, all legs and shapely, early-twenties ass.

Zach stared, wide-eyed, ketchup bottle hovering midair above his plate.

Cade reached over and casually plucked the bottle out of Zach’s hands, squirting ketchup onto his own plate for his fries.

“She is really nice . . .” Zach blinked, coming out of his daze. “Hey, you never finished your story. You said that after you got injured, you spent three months being pissed off. What happened after that?”

“I finally got tired of being angry,” Cade said. “The spring after I got injured, I was having lunch with a bunch of my former teammates, and they were talking about gearing up for the next season. I realized that I could either bitch for the rest of my life about not being a part of that, or I could start working on a backup plan. Law school seemed like a good fit.”

Zach seemed skeptical. “Sure, but, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t miss the smell of grass and gasoline and sweat.”

Cade smiled. “Now it’s the smell of a courtroom that drives me. The smell of leather briefcases and coffee and justice. Nothing quite like it, Zach.”

Now Zach looked really skeptical. “Sure.”

Cade laughed, having the sudden urge to put the kid in a headlock or something. “All right, I’m done being on the witness stand. Now it’s your turn. What’s this problem you had with your English grades?”

Zach blushed to the roots of his light brown hair. “It’s nothing. I had a harder time concentrating in that class, that’s all.”

“Why only English?”

Zach shrugged. “You know, different environment, different people . . .”

Ah. “Different people. I see.” Cade eased back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Judging from the fact that your face is about the shade of that ketchup bottle, I’d say we have one of two situations going on here: hot teacher or cute classmate. Which is it?”

“Cute classmate.”

“We can work with that. What’s her name?” Cade asked.

“Paige Chopra. She’s got this long, dark hair, and these light green eyes, and she’s really smart. Like, probably the smartest girl in my class,” Zach said.

“Green eyes and really smart, huh?” Cade asked. It sounded like he and his brother had similar tastes in more than just cheeseburgers and M&M cookies. He rested his arms on the table, ready to come up with a plan.

His kid brother was getting this girl.

“Okay, so tell me what the problem is.” He gestured to Zach. “You’re a good-looking guy, you play football. Girls like these things.”

“Not this girl,” Zach said, picking at his fries. “I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m just a dumb jock.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because whenever I’m around her, I act like a dumb jock.” Zach threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can’t help it, she makes me nervous. She sat next to me last year in English class, and every time the teacher called on me I could see Paige watching, and I wanted to say something insightful or whatever. But I choked. Every time. And since participation was forty percent of our grade, and I could barely, like, string a sentence together, I got a C. I’ve never gotten a C before.”

Zach shook his head, continuing. “I thought I’d forget about Paige over the summer, especially with . . .” He hesitated, then gestured at Cade. “You know, me tracking you down and everything. But her dad owns the ice-cream shop in my neighborhood, and she works there over the summer, so I keep going in and buying all this ice cream and trying to think of something to say. But after twelve double-scoop cones, the most I’ve gotten out is ‘Hi, Paige.’” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s a mess, dude. I’m a mess.”

Cade sat across from his brother, the alleged mess, trying really hard to fight back a smile. In his entire life, he’d never felt so utterly smitten as Zach clearly was over Paige Chopra. He’d dated plenty of girls and women, but even as a teenager he’d been more guarded with his emotions.

Zach waited for him to say something. “You’re looking at me weird. It’s because I’m totally pathetic, right? I mean, you’re Cade Morgan. You probably never have to worry about girls, right?”

“You’re not pathetic. Actually, I envy you a little.”

“Because I’m a mess?” Zach asked dryly.

“No. Because you’re not afraid to be a mess.”

“It’s not exactly a conscious decision, you know. I’d much rather just be cool and get the girl.”

“You want to be cool? Try talking to her.”

Zach sighed. “Can’t I just text her?”

“No.” Cade pointed emphatically. “No texting. If two people like each other, they should be able to sit down and have an actual conversation, the way normal adults do when they want to get to know one another better.”

Zach raised an eyebrow. “Dude . . . it’s just texting.”

Right. “Regardless, you’re going to have to figure out some way to have a conversation with this girl. So if she makes you that nervous, you need a battle plan. Start off the conversation with something she likes. Something you know she’s interested in.”

Zach considered this. “I think she likes poetry. I once heard her talking to Ms. Stevens after class about how she’s written some poems herself.”

Cade clapped his hands. Bingo. “It’s perfect. If you have trouble talking to this girl, find another way to let her know how you feel. Maybe get her a book of poetry.”

“I’m a sixteen-year-old wide receiver. I know option routes and screen passes. I don’t do poems.”

“You will if you want Paige Chopra to like you. Sounds like you need to up your game for this one.” Cade grinned as Zach made a big show of rolling his eyes. “Just keep it simple, tough guy. Try T. S. Eliot.” He chuckled at Zach’s look of surprise. “Don’t look so shocked. I took a poetry class as an elective in college. I’d heard that the professor gave everyone who showed up an A.” And he’d also heard from a fellow football player that the poetry chicks were hot and arty and got big-time turned on whenever a guy showed his “sensitive side” by discussing poems—all of which he could confirm as very true—but that was an anecdote for a different day.

“I’ll think about it.” Zach took a sip of his shake. “What about you? I know you’re not married. Are you seeing anyone or anything?”

An image of Brooke sleeping in his bed popped into Cade’s head. Then a second image came to mind, of her giving him the “text me” speech at his front door. “Nothing serious.”

“Really? ’Cuz you paused there.”

If one more person commented on these damn alleged pauses . . . “Just eat your lunch,” Cade said.

With a grin, Zach threw Cade’s words back at him. “If you’re having trouble talking to some girl, maybe you need to find another way to tell her how you feel.”