by Mariah Dietz
Before I can correct him, Ian, who is sitting across the table from us, raises his glass. “To team unity,” he says.
Coach nods and follows suit, lifting his own glass. “Team unity.”
The rest of the table lifts their glasses as well, even Lincoln, who hates team exercises.
“Tomorrow is our night. May we all play with Ian’s strength, Lincoln’s footwork, Arlo’s focus, and Paxton’s heart,” Coach says, and the table erupts with cheers.
Guilt courses through my veins. This is not what I meant when I told Coach I might not be able to play tomorrow. I’m hardly being a thoughtful leader. But the cheering and toasts are as abundant as a wedding with too many guests and an open bar.
“Just stick to the plan,” Lincoln grinds out the words. “Everything’s going to be fine. People talk about only getting one chance, and that’s bullshit. Love is not about a single moment, a single conversation, a single anything. This isn’t going to fade from you or her. We win tomorrow, then we go home, and you tell her how you feel.”
I’ll likely never admit it to him, but his words settle my nerves. He’s right, I have this fear that I need to get this shit resolved and sorted now because it feels like there’s a silent countdown hanging over my head right now, but I’m fairly certain it’s ticking so loudly because it’s my own needs of being near her that are currently shredding my nerves and sanity.
When we make it back to the hotel, Rae greets us in the lobby. She’s giving me the squinty eyes, a similar expression to the one she did when constantly expecting me to fuck up.
“I’ve been thinking, you should fly home. I can help you pay for it, but I think you need to go back. Tonight.”
“What?” Lincoln swings his attention to her. “He’ll miss the game.”
Rae shakes her head. “There’s a flight that leaves in a couple hours, and he can fly back tomorrow morning at eight and be here before eleven.”
Lincoln winces. He hates the plan, but he won’t voice it, whether out of respect for me or my sister, but he shares a look with her questioning if this is the only option.
“If you want to be with Poppy, you need to fight for her. Show her she’s worth it. Prove to her you won’t leave like Mike did. She’s probably thinking of how it’s only going to get harder—because it will.”
“And you know dickface is likely going to be going back, and you don’t want that happening before you get there,” Lincoln says, quickly changing his tune and siding with my sister.
I take a step toward the front doors, where several of our teammates are still streaming inside.
“Don’t you need to pack a bag or something?” Rae asks.
I shake my head and continue outside, fishing for my phone to find a flight that will take me back to her.
“Pax,” Lincoln calls. He jogs the few feet to catch up with me. “Chanel that confidence from the field. You didn’t fuck up—the situation got fucked up, but you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s fucking terrifying to love someone—fucking terrifying. But this is where you lay your cards out. Don’t hold back because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Don’t let your dad or your past with Candace dictate what happens now between you and Poppy. This is your playoff game, leave it all on the field. I almost waited too long with Rae and learned the hard way that you can’t worry about your pride or your ego or your own fucking heart, not when you love someone.”
“I still want to kick your ass for falling for my kid sister, but goddammit, if I’m not glad that it’s you.”
He flashes a grin, but his gaze is stoic. “Poppy cares about you. She’s not going to give your heart a joy ride and return it beat to shit. Trust her. Trust yourself.”
I nod, already rehearsing what I’m going to say and the promises I’m going to make as I glance at the valet desk so I can arrange for a car to pick me up.
“Pax!” Lincoln calls my name again. He points and does a gentle nod of his head, drawing my attention to a car pulled up to the curb where Poppy is getting out.
Relief hits me, along with a hard thwomp of nerves that have my heart pounding out an uneven beat. She hears Lincoln, her attention turning, searching the space until she meets my gaze as I cross the distance to her. My stomach turns, reminding me that my confidence always starts at the very bottom with every game, which is why I throw up before every fucking game. I take small breaths in and out through my nose, forgetting about the football analogy as I think of Poppy over the years. Remembering when we were kids and the time I’d fallen off my bike, and how she’d helped me bandage my knee. I skip ahead to the time she and Rae wanted to sleep in the backyard but got scared and convinced me to sleep back there with them, and I slept beside Poppy, memorizing the scent of her years ago. I think of how many ways she’s touched my life, influencing and challenging me, supporting and celebrating with me. And I hope her being here means I’ll get the chance to tell her this and more.
Poppy
“Poppy.” Paxton’s voice is soft and gentle, a caress of warmth and emotion that makes tears form in my already overactive tear ducts. He stops with a solid foot of space between us, and though the night air is still warm, my skin pricks with goosebumps, missing his heat. “What are you doing here?” He shakes his head. “No. I mean…” he expels a shallow breath and then reaches forward, brushing a strand of my hair from my face. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just about to hop in a car and find a plane or a bus or a car that would take me to you.”
Heat fills my chest, a warmth that exudes from my heart and spreads through my body like electricity, alerting every cell and fiber of my being to pay attention and be present because I know we’re about to make a memory that I’ll never want to forget.
“I’m sorry things got so crazy. I never meant for them to get so damn messy. I never meant for you to get hurt. I hate that I hurt you. Your trust and your happiness mean so damn much to me. I want to make this better. I want to fix this between us because I need you in my life, and it’s not to keep me sober or away from Candace or because of my stupid reputation. I need you, Poppy, because without you, I’m a fraction of myself. Because you make me feel a sense of calmness and ease that I’ve never known before, and because I love you so damn much that none of this matters without you.”
Tears slip down my face, but my lips tip up with a smile that is so wide it makes my cheeks ache. “I never should have listened to either of them. I should have come to you first and talked things out.”
“I never should have let her inside. I never would have invited her over. It meant nothing.”
“I know,” I say, brushing another stray tear away that is a product of my overflowing emotions. “I’m used to things being a certain way, and things got really messy, and that terrified me,” I tell him. “But, I had this really strange epiphany while eating a cupcake of all things. You see, I spent all of yesterday baking the best cupcakes of my life. It took most of the day and made the biggest mess. I think I’ll be cleaning up powdered sugar until Easter, but they were so worth it. And it had me realizing that this thing between us—that was fifteen years in the making—is probably going to continue to have some more messy moments, but that’s what makes it so damn good.”
“So damn good,” he says, taking a step closer to me as his eyes spark with emotions that I can identify and list off, leaving me to realize I might be good at a fourth thing: being with Pax. Lust and desire, relief and doubt, hope and fear—they’re all present in his familiar blue eyes and likely reflected in my own gaze as well. “I’m far from perfect, but you make me want to be perfect. And you make me believe in things I’ve lost sight of, things my dad made me doubt. I know this thing between us began with rules and ulterior motives, but every time I was with you, every time you laughed, every time you were honest—I fell for you, and when I think about my life, you’ve always been there as a bright spot. I love you, Poppy, and I need you in my life, pushing me to do better—to be better.”
I reach for him. “W
hat if it’s the rules that we love? The honesty, the lack of games, the forced commitment?”
“Everyone has rules—everyone. It’s just most of the time, we’re too damn afraid and prideful to share them or dare to break them or explore them or define them. And half of the time, we end up forgetting the rules because we get so wrapped up in someone else. But we can keep them. We can write our own rules, write them in ink, type them, print them…” He shakes his head, his words coming fast and with a passion and intensity that makes my heart thrum in my chest.
“What happens after June? I don’t want to hold you back. I know you want to play for Seattle, but if you get drafted to another team—one that takes you to the other side of the country—you have to take it. I would expect and want you to take it.”
His mouth draws up with a taut smile. “I thought you said you believed in me and that Seattle would pick me?”
“That was before I learned how the draft works.”
His smile flashes with something that looks almost sad, but there isn’t a hint of doubt. “Then, we’ll earn a lot of airline miles. Just because things change doesn’t mean we change.”
“I’ve cared about you nearly my entire life,” I admit. “And I think I knew that if I fell for you, you’d ruin things for all guys in my life.”
A pirate smile flashes as his eyebrows arch upward. “Thank fuck because I know that you’re the only one for me. You see me and believe in me in ways that make me know that if this were to all end tomorrow, you wouldn’t care.”
I shake my head. “I wouldn’t. You’ll always be my favorite rule.” I whisper the last words, my lips so close to his that I feel the slight pressure against his as I speak. Then I kiss him because he’s mine. I know we’ll face more challenges and messes, but it won’t matter because while both of us are far from perfect, we’re perfect together.
Epilogue
Poppy
“What happened next?” Crosby asks. “Did you win the game, Dad?” His hazel eyes are as bright as Paxton’s and as round as mine, his dark blond hair, short and perfectly mussed just like his dad’s.
“Of course he won. Daddy always wins,” Amelia says, leaning back on Crosby’s pile of pillows, her red hair fanning out as her smile shines. Despite their two-year age difference, the two are inseparable, even at bedtime.
Paxton sets his hand on my shoulder, the heat of his hand curling my stomach with promises and desires that have me leaning back against his warmth. Ten years later, he’s still my own personal sun.
“They did win,” I confirm. “And then they went on to win the national championship.”
“That wasn’t the important part of the story, though,” Pax says. His thumb stroking along the side of my spine.
“Then you got drafted to Louisiana,” Crosby says, knowing where this story goes.
Pax nods, pulling in a deep breath as he looks at me, a dozen memories being shared with that single look. It was a hard year, an emotional and messy year, but it was also a really wonderful year. Paxton shined like the star we knew he was and I worked toward earning my degree in teaching and we visited each other every chance we got, stealing moments and time like trained thieves. “I did,” he says.
“And then you were traded to the Seahawks,” Amelia pipes, squeezing the stuffed football she has been sleeping with since birth.
I smile. “That’s right.”
“Are we going to be hearing a lot more stories tomorrow?” Amelia asks.
I nod. “Definitely. But, you have lots of little cousins to play with.”
“They’re not really our cousins,” Crosby corrects, literal and precise.
Pax grins. “They’re your cousins,” he insists. “Blood doesn’t always determine family. Every one of the guys here is my brother.”
I lean closer to my husband, my ring catching in the light as I lift my hand to brush Amelia’s hair out of her face. “Daddy’s right. These guys are a part of our family and they always will be. Now, you need to get some rest. I love you guys to the moon and back.”
“I love you to Jupiter and back,” Crosby says, hugging me tight.
I grin against the narrow column of his neck. “Tomorrow, you will definitely need to sit with your Aunt Chloe. She knows all the cool space stuff.” I press a kiss to his forehead, and then hand him his stuffed elephant.
“Do you think Aunt Liv will let me write a book with her one day?” Amelia asks.
“Without a doubt,” I assure her, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. “I love you, sunshine.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” She kisses my cheek before I can kiss hers. It’s a game with us, one that elicits the best and loudest giggles from my five-year-old.
Pax lies across both of them, holding most of his weight on his knees as he growls and pretends to squish them. Giggles and threats are sounded as Amelia and Crosby shriek out a plan of defense and retribution. My heart is so full as I watch my world in one tiny space filled with mess and laughter and so much love.
“Ten minutes of quiet chatting and then you’ve got to go to sleep. Aunt Raegan and Uncle Lincoln are coming tomorrow with the twins,” I say.
Amelia laughs. “They come over every day.”
“Not every day,” I correct her.
She tilts her head to the side giving me a dose of full judgement.
“Okay, most days,” I relent.
Pax laughs. “Goodnight. We love you. Don’t forget it’s your turn to make breakfast in the morning. I’m expecting blintzes.”
“Dad,” Crosby draws out his name, not appreciating the joke.
“Okay, okay, I’ll accept pancakes. Ten minutes,” he reminds them, but Crosby’s rolling his eyes again, making me grin.
I flip the lights off and make sure their nightlight is turned on. Pax waits for me by the door, his gaze following me. He places a hand on my hip and pulls the door shut behind him and then pulls me to a stop and turns me in his arms, his hands secure around my waist, drawing me close. “We have the coolest kids.”
“It’s a good thing they take after their mom.”
Adoration and humor shine in his eyes. My husband was sexy at twenty-two, now at thirty-two he’s obscenely sexy. His body is still hard and defined, his smile still quick and genuine but now more confident, and his eyes are still mesmerizing and distracting blue gems that I often get lost in. But, in addition to his flawless appearance, Pax is still the same loyal and playful, and hard-working individual, now though instead of worrying about college and rumors and classes, he has found his stride in being an amazing father, a noted athlete, and my life partner.
“You’re so fucking right,” he whispers, bringing his lips closer to mine. “Think they’d all believe us if we told them we fell asleep?” His fingers brush along the globe of my ass, as he dips his lips to my collarbone.
I slide my arms around his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. He’s been gone for the past three days for a game and while this has been our norm, the trips still feel too long. “We could lie and say we had to read extra books. It might buy us fifteen minutes.”
“Thirty.” He places his arm behind the back of my knees and sweeps me into his arms, eliciting a giggle from me that makes no sound because his mouth is on mine, kissing me senseless. He weaves down the hall and into our room, closing the door with his foot before setting me on my feet. Ten years later he still smells of pine and cedar and something that is uniquely him, and it still disarms me and has me taking fuller breaths, but now our bed and his pillow are stained with the scent and so are his shirts which I wear each night as pajamas. I breathe him in like a drug.
“I missed you.”
His touch is possessive, pressing his hands into my flesh. “I missed you. So fucking much.” He lowers his mouth to my neck, his breath fanning across my skin, creating a path of goosebumps and desire. I shiver, leaning into him and tipping my head back and to the side to grant him full access. Pax releases a low growl of approval, and nips at my exposed sk
in before sucking the same spot. Our room is my favorite place in the house my dad built for us. It’s not as large as the house I grew up in, but the details are just as intricate and beautiful, with lots of exposed wood, stone, and vast windows to admire the Pacific Northwest landscape. After Pax was traded to the Seahawks, we found the forty-acre property that had a sticker price that made me want to puke, but Paxton was convincing and the peace and serenity it offered while still being convenient to downtown so it was close for him to get to practices and for us to see family and friends sold me. Our house was built within the year.
Pax lays me across our oversized bed, my hips draping off the side. He tugs at my leggings, pulling them and my underwear down in one fell swoop. He parts my legs and places his mouth on me. I gasp and then moan, as his mouth tortures and teases me with long, slow strokes from his tongue and then quicker ones, hard passes and soft ones until I’m so desperate for a release I’m begging, balanced on that same ledge of pleasure where I want to feel the crash and also never want it to end. He laces my legs over his shoulders and moves his hands under my backside, lifting my hips and changing the angle that has my thighs trembling and my toes curling. I can’t remember my name or my hostess duties, or anything except how damn good I feel, the softness of his tongue, the sharpness of his five-o'clock shadow, and then he adds two fingers and I spiral into an abyss of pleasure that has my hips jerking and my thoughts silencing.
He kisses my folds and then each of my thighs, my pubic bone up to my navel, each of them feather light like he’s worshiping me. He kisses across the top of my shirt and bra, and though I want to feel him against my bare skin, ravishing my breasts, I want to feel him inside of me even more. I lean forward, unbuttoning his pants. His hands join mine, the gold from his wedding band catching in the dim light shining over the bed. I pause and kiss the ring that symbolizes so much more than a simple certificate. Pax pulls down his pants and underwear and then leans down and catches my lips again. Our kiss is a challenge as we recite our old rules and new ones we’ve made over the past decade as I lie back and he lies over me, positioning himself at my entrance before lowering himself slowly inside of me so I feel each mind-blowing inch of him, and allow him to win the challenge. I lie back, my arms feeling weak as he glides in and out of me, his rhythm even and unrushed, patient. He’s trying to drive me to that same pinnacle and I don’t have any plans of objecting.
