“No! This is mine.” My next words came out in a rush. “Look, everyone in your family is always wearing Lund jerseys for various sports and LCCO shirts for charities, and LI shirts for corporate events, which is great and all. But I wanted you to know I’m the leader of the special team called ‘Team Brady.’” I waited for him to smile at my football reference. When he didn’t, I carried on.
“So I made my own version of a jersey and ironed on all these decals to represent you.” I was particularly proud of the pi symbol I’d found, so I started there. “You’re a numbers guy, so this is part of you. You’re educated, so I added three diplomas. You have killer moves on the dance floor, so I found this one”—I pointed to a decal of a couple dancing—“although I couldn’t find a tango image specifically. Since through your work at LCCO you’ve recently discovered you’re a great teacher”—I smoothed my hand over the stack of books and the calculator below my left breast—“this also shows who you are now. I didn’t have luck finding decals for cross-country skiing, but I did find this”—I spun around to show him the line of stick figures on my back—“to represent what a connected brother, son and cousin you are.” I smirked at him over my shoulder. “The other thing you do so well would require pornographic stickers, so I skipped that one.” He hadn’t said anything, so I kept going. “The car represents your hobby of collecting cars—again, trying to find a Maybach decal was impossible.” I pointed to the motorcycle at the small of my back. “A Harley, for when you’re a badass biker dude in a few months.” I spun around. “The heart because you’re the most loving man I’ve ever met. The tattoo is for your boldness. The open hand is for your kindness.” I paused.
He hadn’t uttered a word.
“Say something.”
“Why aren’t the initials ‘CFO’ on the back of the shirt, below my name like numbers on an athletic jersey?” he demanded.
“Because this isn’t about sports. You were convinced you were one-dimensional. This proves you’re not. It’s to show you that you’re so much more than one thing. I’ve also left blank spaces for you to add new things that define you. And no matter what you choose to do in the future, I’ll be right there with you.”
Then he was off the bed and in front of me.
“You hate it, don’t you?”
“No. I love it.” Brady’s hands framed my face, his eyes fierce. “I love you, Lennox. I’m just . . .” His eyes searched mine. “You really see all that when you look at me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
He crushed me against his chest.
I held on.
“I know the next thing I want you to add on this personalized ‘Team Brady’ jersey,” he murmured in my ear.
“What’s that?”
“A key.”
I leaned back and looked into his eyes, my heart racing. “What’s the key symbolize?”
“This one is literal.” Brady grinned and kissed my nose. “Move in with me, Lennox. I could point out that you’re here most nights anyway, but the truth is you belong here with me. Let’s make it official.”
A thrill shot through me. “You’re sure?”
“Never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The love, hope and excitement I saw shining in his eyes quelled the last of my doubts.
“All right. But we’ve gotta set up some rules . . . Eep!” I found myself in the middle of the bed with my new roomie on top of me. “Brady!”
“You look damn good in that ‘Team Brady’ jersey, but it’ll look way better on the floor.”
Turns out, he was right about that.
Once he’d unleashed the wild man inside him, there was no putting him back in the cage.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because no matter what anyone else called him—CFO, genius, shark, dork or beast—I could call him the only thing that mattered.
Mine.