I’m still laughing when I give him another one. “What did the duck say to the hunter?”

Gray chokes down a laugh before asking, “What?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I wasn’t there for that conversation.”

And he laughs again, his expression open and happy. “That is the lamest one ever, Mac.”

“I know. Hey.” When he looks at me expectantly, I give his hand a tug. “What’s up with you and your brother?”

Gray’s expression falls as abruptly as a lid being slammed shut, and a twinge of guilt hits me. It’s a sneak attack and shitty of me. But there’s a difference between slapping a bandage over a wound and trying to help heal it. I can’t heal all of Gray’s hurts, but I want to try.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say when he doesn’t say anything.

Gray leans back against the seat and runs a hand over his face before looking off. “I don’t want to.”

It shouldn’t hurt. He has a right to his privacy. But a lump rises in my throat anyway. And it takes effort to nod. Not that he’s looking my way to see it.

A gust of wind hits the truck and it shudders. I should take him inside, comfort him with my body and forget trying to make him talk.

He sighs and turns to me. His eyes are haunted, and it hurts my heart.

“Gray…”

“It’s okay, Ivy.” He seeks out my hand and holds it again. His fingers have gone cold. With his free hand, he rubs his eyes as if his head hurts. As if in a fog, Gray stares at his hand, his fingers spread wide. Red abrasions mar his knuckles. As if it pains him to look, he makes a fist and lowers it. “I hate violence. Believe me, I get the irony of being a football player. It isn’t the same. On the field, it’s controlled. Well, mostly. And we’re fairly matched up. But off the field?” He shakes his head. “Only a coward uses his fists when he can easily walk away.”

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?”