by Lisa Suzanne
“And?” he prompts.
“And I don’t know, Chase.” I blow out a breath. “You hurt me a long time ago, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust that isn’t going to happen again. All I wanted since the day you broke my heart was for you to say the exact things you said to me yesterday at breakfast, but it’s not how I thought it would be.” I draw a ring on the table just so I have something to look at besides him as I say the painfully candid words.
“How’d you think it would be?”
Words I haven’t even had the chance to think yet tumble out of my mouth, and that’s sort of how I know they’re the truth. “For one thing, we hardly know each other anymore. I can’t just pick up my life and move to Denver to try again when we’re different people now. And besides that, I thought all those feelings would come rushing back to me, but the primary one that keeps coming back is the hurt I felt when you chose to prioritize something else over me. And now that’s your life, Chase. It’s not just your career. It’s everything to you, and I can’t compete with that.”
His face falls in total disappointment, but before he has the chance to say something, I add one last question.
“How can I know without a doubt that you won’t turn around and do the same thing to me all over again?”
“I can’t make any guarantees, Dee. All I can do is try my best to show you what you mean to me.” His eyes soften. “What you’ve always meant to me.”
He reaches his hand across the table, and I automatically slide my hand into his. It’s what we did across a booth at this exact restaurant—maybe even this exact table—all those years ago, and it’s as natural as breathing. His hand is warm in mine, and he squeezes...which has a similar effect on my heart. A warm squeeze.
But reality sets quickly in. “I’ve seen the celebrity gossip, Chase. I know what sort of relationships you’ve had over the last decade.”
He glances away, maybe in embarrassment. “I told you yesterday. I kept trying to find someone who measured up to you, but no one ever has.”
“We were young back then,” I muse.
“Young, maybe, but we knew what love was.”
“I did.” I give him a pointed look.
“I did, too. I had a lot of outside influences telling me what I could and couldn’t do, and I didn’t feel as though I had many options.” He stares down into his water as memories of the past seem to sweep over him.
“How would things have been different if we would’ve stayed together?” I can’t help the question. It’s something I’ve always wondered.
His eyes dart to mine. “Honestly? I think you would’ve been miserable. You would’ve ended things with me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I didn’t have a life outside of football.” He taps the side of his glass. “Even classes came in second place to training and watching tape and team meetings. Weekends might’ve been our one chance to see one another since we were at different colleges, but I wouldn’t have had time between games and practice and more watching tape. You would’ve felt neglected, and you would’ve wanted to move on with your life, to find someone who gave you the attention you deserved.”
Someone who wanted to give me that attention.
Someone like Gavin.
“You don’t know that,” I say, my voice vehement.
“Yeah, I do.” He pulls his cap down further over his eyes. “I saw it happen all around me, and while I hated what I’d done to you, I knew it was the right thing for you even if it killed a part of me.”
“So how will it be different now, then?”
He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up a bit more before putting his hat back on and pulling the brim down low again. “I’ve spent six years in the league, Dee. I know what this career entails, and I’ve learned enough to know what that means for my personal life. There’s travel and a lot of commitments, but the season is sixteen games with the potential for four more, and half those games are at home. My busy season is August into February, but that doesn’t mean I’ll never see you during those months. Plenty of guys on the team have girlfriends or wives and kids and they manage the balance.”
“And that’s what you want?” My voice holds a strong air of disbelief—warranted considering what I know about him, at least from what the tabloids say.
“I want you. That’s what I want. I don’t know if it’ll work, but why the hell can’t we give it a shot and find out?”
Because there’s someone else.
“I’m not ready to commit to this, Chase. I need to get to know you again. I don’t even know if we’re compatible anymore after all this time has passed. A lot has changed for me—”
He cuts me off with a quiet voice. “I know it has, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. It’s my biggest regret.”
It’s hard to know whether what happened to my family would’ve changed things between us. I’ve always wondered if I would’ve shut him out the way I did everyone else. I tend to think I would’ve leaned even more on him, which was something he clearly wouldn’t have had the time for once football season and school started for him.
I can speculate all I want, but it won’t change the past.
“I think you’d already left for school by the time I got the news.”
“I had to get the fuck out of there before I changed my mind about everything.” He pauses and studies me for a beat before he says his next words, almost like he’s debating whether or not to actually say them. And then he does. “You have no idea how many times I picked up the phone to call you, to tell you it had all been a mistake, to back out of my scholarship and say fuck football and run back to you.”
My brows shoot up at that revelation. This whole thing has been surreal, but to hear those words...that he’d been willing to give it all up for me...it does something to my heart. Something big and scary as the boy who’s taken up residence in my thoughts over the past two days seems to get pushed to the back.
Our dinners are served, and conversation takes a turn toward our careers rather than our shared history or potential future. He tells me a little about his strict diet and workout regimen when he’s in season, what practices are like, some of his proudest moments on the field, and his preferred sports drinks during games. I talk about the kids I had last year, both my favorites and my not-so-favorites even though we’re not supposed to choose, and the different topics I teach my fourth graders.
He leaves a couple twenties on the table even though our bill was only eighteen bucks, and then he takes my hand and moves toward the door, head down as he makes his way through the restaurant.
Once we’re outside, he asks, “Where’s your car?”
I take the lead and walk him in the direction of my little blue Civic. As we walk, his fingers tangle in mine, and something feels both familiar and right about it.
“You want to grab a drink with me?” he asks.
I look over at him, and his eyes hold hope that I’ll say yes. The sun hasn’t even quite dipped down into the ocean yet, so it’s still early enough considering tomorrow’s my first day of summer school. But I’m ready for that, and I’m not so sure I’m ready to leave Chase just yet. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“My hotel or your place would be my first choice, but I get it if you’d prefer to keep it neutral.”
I’m not ready to let him into my apartment just yet, so I opt for what’s easier. “Your hotel is fine.”
He raises a brow and his eyes edge over to my car when we stop walking, and I’m not sure if the raised brow has more to do with my car or my words.
“This is me,” I say a little uncomfortably.
“Well, I took an Uber here, so if we’re going back to my place, can I hitch a ride?”
“Have you ever even been in a Honda Civic?” I ask.
He chuckles. “I’m sure it’s no different than riding passenger in any other car.” He swoops in on me, taking me by surprise when he backs
me up until my ass hits the driver’s side door. He cages me in with his hips, and I look up wide-eyed at him. I want to ask what he’s doing. I know I should say something like I’m not sure I’m ready for this or I kissed someone else yesterday or one of a million other things, but my mind blanks out as his face moves toward mine.
When his lips connect with mine, they’re as tender and sweet as I remember. He kisses me softly, unhurriedly, tenderly in a dive restaurant parking lot with my ass pressed against a Honda. I’m transported back to the past, back to a time when we had nothing but hours to do this, and the same familiar butterflies that he always provoked in my stomach start battering around again.
He doesn’t open his mouth or deepen the kiss. He doesn’t shift the intensity, even though my arms slip automatically around his waist like they always did. Instead, he pulls back and looks me in the eye, a lazy smile tipping up his mouth. My eyes focus there.
“I couldn’t let you get in the car without doing that first.” He pulls me in, and I rest my head on that broad, firm chest of his. It’s warm and natural, and all the feelings I allowed myself to bury as I started to get to know someone else hedge their way back to the surface, like the butterflies are propelling them upward.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
He holds me in his arms for a few beats against the side of my car before he lets go, and then he walks around to the passenger side. I draw in an unsteady breath as I unlock my car and slide into the driver’s seat.
I should be mad for a thousand different reasons, but time has eased some of the pain of the past.
The rest was cured by a kiss with my ass pressed up against a Honda.
I’m in deep shit.
“You know where you’re going?” Chase asks easily, and I nod.
I can’t bring myself to speak as I concentrate on maneuvering onto a busy street. We’re quiet as we both watch traffic, and once we’re coasting on the highway toward his hotel, he breaks the silence. “How far is your place from the restaurant?”
“About a half hour.”
“You ever go there?”
I shake my head. “I tend not to hang out at the old haunts.”
“Why?”
“Too many shitty memories.” My teeth are gritted when I say the words, and I’m not sure if the memories are shitty or the feelings I associate with the end are.
“You don’t mean that.”
I glance over at him, and he’s staring right at me. It’s a bit unnerving. “No, I don’t,” I admit, my eyes back on the road. “The end was painful. My whole life changed all at once, and I had to push aside my own issues to deal with the family ones that came right after.”
“That couldn’t have been easy,” he muses, and I’m glad he’s at least trying to be understanding. Much like Rose, though, he can’t really know what life’s been like for me since we lost everything.
“It wasn’t.”
“I’m so sorry, Dee.” His voice is low, and I believe him. He was doing what he thought he was supposed to do at the time—what the people in authority positions were telling him he had to do. He was just a kid, and so was I.
Did we really know what love was back then? I like to think so since I’m still hung up on the guy all these years later, but I also think I’ve grown enough at this point to tell the difference between a crush and love.
What I had with Chase was always more than a crush.
Rather than acknowledge his apology, I change the subject with a voice that’s a little too bright for the situation. “Tell me what it’s like being a football superstar.”
He chuckles. “My lifestyle has changed quite a bit.”
“How?”
“Well, my diet, for one thing, and the amount of alcohol I consume. More in season than now. And of course my workouts.”
I glance over at his abdomen. I’ve seen the spreads in the sports magazines, and I know what he’s hiding beneath his t-shirt—or, I know what Photoshop does to those muscles, anyway. The more time I spend with him, the more inclined I am to see in person what he’s got going on under there.
I clear my mind and refocus on the road before my thoughts have a chance to wander further south of his abdomen.
“What else?” I ask.
He shrugs and stares out the side window. “Just that whole, you know, can’t really go out to dinner without someone stopping me to tell me how much they love the Broncos or hate them or whatever.”
“And you’re not always in the mood for those talks?”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m never in the mood for those talks from the ones who hate us, but it comes with the job.”
I pull up in front of the hotel and we get out of the car. “Put this on my tab,” he says to the valet.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say to Chase as I take my claim ticket from the valet.
“I know. I want to.”
I don’t fight him on it. “Thank you.”
He shoots me a tight smile, and then he grabs my hand, tangles his fingers through mine, and leads me through the lobby toward the elevators.
“What else have you been doing while you’re in town?” I ask. We’re alone in the elevator and he just hit the button for the top floor, and I’m in desperate need of some conversation to break up the sudden thick tension in the air between us.
“I spent some time with my parents last night.” He stares up at an electronic number panel as it changes with every floor we pass.
“How are Jim and Judy?” I ask.
“Dad’s fine. Mom’s been battling breast cancer.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s no big deal...like he’s pushing down his real feelings on the entire matter.
“Oh, Chase.” I rest my hand on his bicep and give it a little squeeze of support. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry. How’s she doing?”
He presses his lips together before giving me a clinical response. “She had a mastectomy and is just finishing up chemo before they start radiation. She’s weak, but she’s always been a fighter.”
“And how are you doing?” I ask softly.
He turns to look at me, and his expression is filled with such sadness that I have the sudden urge to pull him into my arms and just hug him. “It’s times like these I really wish I wasn’t an only child.”
I squeeze his arm again and then drop my hand as I think about his words.
More times than not when my family was in crisis, I had wished I was an only child.
Theo was useless when the scandal broke because he was off at college, so he wasn’t affected. His trust was his money, and the FBI couldn’t seize it.
And Porter, the baby, acted like a big baby the entire time. I had to be a mother to him when my own mother was too wrapped up in her depression of losing everything to care for us. I had to make him dinner and teach him how to do his laundry.
He was only two years behind me in school, but clearly there was a huge emotional divide in the way we handled things. He was a spoiled brat who couldn’t stand losing his video game subscriptions and his cell phone, while I had to be the adult and explain to him why whining to Mom and Dad was the wrong thing to do.
Obviously he’s grown now, and he’s less of a brat and more of a hard worker. But it took a lot of growth for him to get there.
“How would a sibling make it better?” I ask as the elevator stops and the doors glide open.
He leads the way down the hall toward his room. “It would give me someone with a shared experience and shared history to talk to about it.”
“You can talk to me about it,” I say softly.
He glances at me, and the sadness in his eyes has turned into gratitude. “Thanks.” He taps his key against his door and opens it to a bright suite bathed in the natural light of the nearly-setting sun. The views of the hotel’s gardens out the window catch my eye first.
He leads me into a spacious living room and collapses on the couch before patting the cushion next to him, indicating I should sit. I do, leaving a l
ittle space between us, and he scoots closer. He leans his head back on the couch and takes my hand in his, and I can’t help but notice that while at first glance he looked the same, upon further inspection, everything is different—even his hands.
They’re strong and lean, just like him, with veins that protrude all the way from the back of his hand into his forearm. I think about how many footballs I’ve watched him catch with those hands, and then I think of the days when those same hands were on my body. I wonder if they’d feel different now, if time and experience have changed the way he’d touch my body.
I want to find out.
“I offered you a drink, didn’t I.” He says it like a statement even though he’s asking a question.
“That’s why I came. Free alcohol.”
He chuckles and tightens his grip on my hand before he stands and walks over to inspect the mini-fridge. “What can I get you?”
“I need to drive home, so nothing that’ll make me drunk.”
“Does red wine make you drunk?” he asks, glancing at a bottle on the desk next to the fridge.
I shake my head. “One glass would be fine.”
He pops the cork and pours some liquid into two glasses, and then he hands one to me and holds up the other in a toast. “To starting over.”
I clink my glass to his even as I wonder if starting over with him is what I really want. It’s strange how he’s the same person I once knew better than anyone in the world, and yet he’s a totally different man now. I guess in that respect, we need to start over so I can get to know who he is today since my memories of him are frozen in time.
“What do you do for fun?” I ask.
“The same things everybody does, I guess.”
“You get drunk on tequila and hit the clubs with your bestie?”
He laughs. “Is that what you do?”
I raise a brow and give him a sly smile. “Would you judge me if I did?”
“I think I’d be even more turned on by you.” His voice is low and lethal as it sends a spike of need straight between my legs.
Even more turned on by me? So he’s saying he’s turned on right now? I let it slide even though I don’t want to and even though I’m certain my cheeks are bright pink.
