Forgiving the Football Player

by Emma St Clair

  If Cilla was being totally honest, this didn’t feel much like a home. It was gorgeous and clearly professionally decorated, but it looked more like a model home than a lived-in one. There were no personal photographs or anything that screamed Pax to her.

  “Pax?” Her voice echoed against the hardwood floors.

  Maybe she should head back outside and wait with everyone. After she snooped first. Because Cilla definitely wanted to snoop. Not underwear-drawer level snooping. The idea of even going into his bedroom made her mouth dry up. But she felt like she needed to see at least one thing that felt like Pax before she left.

  Her chest tightened as she moved through the spacious entry, full of light, and past a dining room with a long table and chairs that she bet had never been used. The overall feel was warm and inviting as she continued toward the back of the house. Well. Warm tones and décor, but cold in the sense that she still hadn’t seen anything that made the home look lived in or personal.

  It made Cilla sad on a level she didn’t want to think about. She’d expected to see some signs of who Pax was now, but if his house was anything to go by, his life was pretty but empty.

  It wasn’t until Cilla made it to the kitchen at the back of the house that she realized what had been tickling her mind since she rolled up to the front door. When she reached the large island, Cilla traced her hand along the top of the white marble. Or quartz. She didn’t know her building materials. But she did know features, and this height was all wrong for someone as large as Pax.

  If anything, his counters should have been higher, not so low that Cilla could see the top of them. The entire kitchen was a custom build, she realized. She rolled to the sink, her breath catching in her throat as she realized that there were no cabinets underneath. Not even her parents had been willing to go that far in their renovations. Cilla knew her mom couldn’t handle the exposed pipes and the way it changed the look of the kitchen to have missing lower cabinets.

  She rolled right up to the sink, turning on the water, then turning it off. Pax’s house was wheelchair accessible. Not just accessible but built with top-of-the-line accommodations. She would bet money that the bathrooms were large with curbless showers that would allow her to roll right in, like hers at home.

  Cilla felt her throat tighten as she glanced around the open concept, making mental notes. One type of flooring throughout. Not so much as a lip at the front entry, now that she thought about it. No steps out front either. Lower countertops. Wider doorways. Light switches that were below the standard height.

  Had Pax bought the house like this? Or built it?

  More importantly: Why?

  Making her way to the living room at the back, Cilla noted the wide spaces between the furniture. Perfect for her to navigate. The area rug was low pile, easy for her to roll on and off. Yep, she tested it.

  What did this mean?

  She didn’t want to think it was all about her. At the same time … why else would he do this?

  Rolling toward the huge picture window at the back of the house, Cilla stopped just in time to see Pax rising out of the water of the pool. Water dripped down his body. Steam from the water rose lightly around him. It was like watching a moment out of a movie. Her breath caught.

  Pax didn’t see her at first, giving her time to admire him in a way that made her blush. His body was chiseled. Powerful. Beautiful. Something about seeing him this way, being able to admire him without him knowing, stirred up an almost primal desire in Cilla to claim him.

  This man? He was hers.

  But just as quickly, doubt fluttered to life in her stomach and she pressed her hand there. What if he didn’t want her? Nothing had changed in her. Not really. Other than her realization that she didn’t want to go on without him. Cilla was still broken. Inside and out.

  But for the first time since he’d popped back into her life last week, she wanted to fight for him. She didn’t want to give him up. She wouldn’t.

  When he walked toward the window where she watched, toweling off his dark hair, she could see every line of his Scylla tattoo, up close and personal.

  Oh. My. Stars.

  It was a thing of beauty, even though Cilla had never been into tattoos. She wanted to run her hands along it, touching every line of ink in his skin.

  Pax’s whole body was a work of art—the hard, muscled exterior and what she knew to be the soft, kind center. How many other people got to see that side of him?

  As he walked toward the house, Pax caught sight of Cilla. His feet stopped moving. Their eyes met, and the towel slipped from his hands. She lifted her hand in a small wave.

  Faster than she thought someone his size could move, he was in the house, dripping all over the hardwood floors.

  He blinked, as though expecting her to disappear, like she was some kind of mirage. “Cilla?”

  Suddenly, she couldn’t seem to form words. Cilla trembled with warring emotions of hope and fear. She had come all this way to see him. But now, the reality hit her that Pax held her heart in his rough hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pax stared at Cilla, trying to process the fact that she was here. Inside his home. If it weren’t for the feeling of water pooling around his feet and the vulnerability in her face, Pax might have thought he was dreaming. How did she get here? Why?

  And how did she get in his house?

  “You’re ruining your floors.” She nodded to the puddle growing around his feet.

  He didn’t take his eyes off her face. “Then I’ll buy new ones. How are you here?”

  “Kind of a long story. I’ll explain. Later. Did you buy your house this way?”

  “I had it built.” He wanted to ask if she liked it, if she could see herself living here, or somewhere like it. Anywhere. He would go anywhere for her.

  But he couldn’t seem to voice all the words he wanted to say. Instead, he stood, staring at her and trying to make sense of her visit.

  Pax had gotten used to spending Christmas alone, though it never stopped feeling wrong. As he had swum laps in the heated pool behind his house a few minutes earlier, his mind had kept going over the sadness, rubbing like sandpaper over the raw place in his heart.

  Maybe he should have accepted the twins’ invitation to stay for Christmas. Or gone with Jazz to her boyfriend’s house. But he couldn’t stay in Katy. He had driven all the way back to Dallas after the Wheels Up Winter Games.

  Until today, he’d kept busy with team workouts and other business. Meetings with the coach and manager, and even a tense meeting with Lawrence, where everyone agreed that Reese had done a much better job with his social media and image. She had managed to turn his bad boy image around, or at least, had started to change the narrative. It looked like Pax would have his choice of what to do next season. Not that he cared.

  This morning, waking to a full holiday he would spend alone, Pax couldn’t escape the dark thoughts. Everywhere hurt. Everything hurt.

  The holiday had come to feel the way Sundays always did for him. Depressing. Oppressive in the truth that he was alone, and truly missing something. Or somethings.

  He didn’t need to be a genius to know the somethings he was missing. God. Family. Or any people close in his life.

  Specifically, though, he was missing Cilla.

  Back when he went to church with her, he remembered hearing someone say that people have a God-shaped hole in their hearts. That resonated with him, and he had prayed, inviting God to fill up that void.

  But in another part of his heart, the romantic part, he’d been carrying around a Cilla-shaped void for the past six years. That’s what he had been thinking about when he got out of the pool.

  I should start going back to church. Won’t help me get Cilla back, but it’s been too long since I’ve talked to God. Or acknowledged him. That will be a start. Maybe remembering him more will help ease the ache of missing her.

  Empty. It had all felt so empty.

  And then, he had gotten out of
the pool and saw Cilla in his house.

  Cilla.

  In. His. House.

  He stood before her, his brain short-circuiting as she talked. Her last words brought him back to the moment.

  “Did you do it for me?” Her voice sounded shaky. He’d never heard Cilla speak with so little confidence.

  Of course he had done it for her. Pax barely spent his money, but he had shelled out big-time on this house. Most homeowners in the gated community worked with one of three big-name architects, but Pax ignored the recommendations his realtor gave. Instead, he hired someone whose expertise was in designing accessible homes, along with a similar designer for the inside.

  When they asked him why or who he was designing it for, he brushed aside the questions. They didn’t push. Probably because of the obscene amount he paid them.

  Pax had known full-well that Cilla might never even see the inside. But he did it anyway. He sometimes let himself imagine Cilla there. But not often. It hurt too much.

  The tiny part of his heart that never gave up hope led him to do it. Because if she ever did come here, he wanted her to know that he thought of her with every detail. Every plan. He wanted Cilla to know that she always had a place in his life.

  Could she see that now? Did she understand?

  “Yes,” he said, finally. “I did this for you.”

  Her eyes hadn’t left his as he tried to form that simple, one-word answer. As he watched, the brilliant blue of her irises disappeared a little as her pupils darkened. A shimmer of tears appeared but did not fall.

  Pax felt as though she had cast a spell on him, rooting him in place. She had turned him not to stone, but to glass. Whatever words came out of her mouth next, whatever her response was, it had the potential to shatter him into countless pieces.

  Her tongue wet her lips, drawing his gaze down to the perfect softness there. If he never got to experience her lips on his again, he would never forget the way they felt a few nights ago. The memory had been seared into his skin, not just his mind. So much so that as he watched her lips part, he instinctively parted his as well.

  “Pax.” Her voice was harsh. Like she had dragged the whisper from the very depths of her soul with great force. “I am so sorry. For being angry with you. For being so awful to you this past week. You didn’t deserve that. Will you forgive me?”

  He nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry too. Sorry for leaving. Sorry for pushing you into talking about the future and things you’re not ready for.”

  “That’s the thing, though. I am ready. It killed me when you left this week. I know it’s because I pushed you away. I want to talk about all of it. The past. The present. The future. Us.” She licked her lips. “I’m just really, really scared.”

  Hope soared in his chest as his heart strained against his ribs, as though longing to connect with hers. “Me too.”

  She reached out her hand, and Pax could see that it trembled. He wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing her fingers. She licked her lips again, drawing his gaze there.

  “I’m scared, but I want a future. With you. I know it will take some work and some long talks. I want to have those conversations. But right now …” She paused again, and as Pax looked away from her lips to her eyes, he realized that Cilla’s gaze was fixed on his mouth. “I don’t want to lose another second. I need you to kiss me.”

  Pax couldn’t move. Her words spun in front of him as he tried to grasp them.

  Her hand tightened on his, and she cleared her throat. “Now, Pax. Right now.”

  The firmness in her tone broke the spell, and Pax rushed forward, lifting Cilla out of her chair and into his arms, pausing briefly before his mouth captured hers.

  They hadn’t been each other’s first kisses back in high school. But they had been young. Typical hormonal teenagers able to make out for hours, until their lips were swollen and her cheeks red from the stubble he had even then. They had passion, but it had been the sweet, innocent passion of young love.

  Never had either of them been demanding. Not the way Cilla just spoke to him. He loved her even then, but only as much as you can love someone when you’re on the cusp of adulthood.

  As their lips crushed against each other, this kiss was driven by need. Not simply a physical need, though Pax certainly felt his whole body awaken in the moment. This was a soul-deep, fully-bloomed sense of claiming and belonging. She was his. He was hers.

  His skin felt hot. Her hands gripped the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, as though Cilla wanted to erase even the tiniest gap between them.

  In it together.

  “Well, well, well. Looks like somebody’s in need of a chaperone.”

  At the sound of Elton’s voice, Pax felt a growl—an actual growl—rumble in his chest. Cilla pulled her lips away, and he immediately felt the loss. He spun to see Elton, Easton, and Adele standing in his kitchen. Cilla wrapped her arms around Pax’s shoulders, pulling her chest even tighter against his, so that when she giggled, he felt it against his ribs.

  “Not yet,” she said, teasing in her voice. “But give us about five more minutes.” And with that, she fused her mouth to Pax’s again. He could feel her smile against his lips, though, and couldn’t help but smiling back. Especially when the sound of groaning and applause rang out through the house.

  Pax knew this might not be the easiest thing. Not after so much time had passed. They were both different and had their own separate lives. Offering and accepting forgiveness didn’t mean all those emotions simply went away. This relationship would require work. But he would do whatever it took if Cilla would be with him.

  As though understanding his thoughts, Cilla pulled back, resting her forehead against his. “In it together?”

  Pax grinned as his heart seemed to swell within his chest. “In it together.”

  Epilogue

  Elton

  How long is too long to spend in a pool? That depends, Elton thought.

  If he based his answer on how long it took him to develop pruney fingers, that took about an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. But if the determining factor was how long he could stand watching the girl he liked—loved? —throw herself at his twin—well, that was more like five minutes.

  Elton pulled himself up on the side of the pool, rubbing a wet hand over his face. The sound of Adele’s giggle hit him like a kick to the gut. The sound would have been music to his ears—if she’d been giggling at something he said. Elton turned away from where she was flirting with Easton. Of course, turning away took his gaze right to Cilla and Pax, who had not stopped touching each other in the last hour.

  What’d you get for Christmas? Oh, I got to be the fifth wheel. Merry Christmas to me.

  “You okay there, El?” Pax called.

  “Peachy.”

  “Swim me over there, you big stud,” Cilla said. “I need to have a word with El.”

  Great. That probably meant a lecture. Lately, that’s all he seemed to get from Cilla. And maybe it was well-deserved. He’d been floating around since his parents died, aimless and maybe a little reckless. Part of that was the suddenness of their loss. Easton was still struggling too, though neither of them talked about it. He just knew.

  The rest of it? Was all about the auburn-haired beauty currently trying to attach herself to Easton like a barnacle.

  Pax reached him, cradling Cilla in his arms. She was looking up adoringly at Pax, who reflected that look right back.

  Get me out of here.

  As happy as he was that the both of them finally got over their issues to get started on their happy ending, right now it set his teeth on edge. They were already talking about rings, for crying out loud. That and couples’ counseling (which they were smart enough to realize they needed), where they would live, and how soon they could plan a wedding. Apparently, they weren’t planning on taking things slow.

  Elton couldn’t blame them. Though they hadn’t been together for the past six years, they had loved each other since they were i
n high school. If Adele told Elton she wanted to elope right now, he would be in the car, engine revving.

  Cilla’s happy look turned to a narrow-eyed glare as she faced Elton.

  “What’d I do this time?” Elton asked with a sigh. His eyes drifted over to Easton and Adele. At least his twin didn’t look the least bit interested in her. When Adele touched his arm, Easton flinched and backed up slightly.

  “That.” Cilla pointed a finger in his face. “That’s what I’m talking about. You. Her.” She jerked her head toward Easton and Adele.

  Busted. Now she was going to ask Elton about it. Just the cherry on top of this day.

  “You mean Easton and her.” Elton hated the way the bitterness in his voice was an admission of his feelings for Adele.

  “Nope. Not what I meant.”

  “What do you want me to say? Or do? I like her. She likes him.”

  “He doesn’t like her.”

  Elton lifted a shoulder, then let it sag in defeat. “Maybe not. But she still likes him. My brother. Not me.”

  “El—”

  Pax cleared his throat and nudged Cilla, giving her a warning look as she stopped speaking. They exchanged a glance that seemed to be some kind of unspoken conversation. Cilla finally nodded and sighed. Pax pressed a kiss to her jaw, bringing her smile right back.

  Elton rolled his eyes. “I want to be happy for y’all. I really, really do. But you couldn’t be more disgustingly cute. Emphasis on disgusting.”

  “You’re just …” Cilla’s teasing tone trailed off and she bit her lip as all three of them realized what she was about to say.

  Jealous. Yep. Elton was. Completely and totally. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked, desperate to change the conversation. “Are we going to stay here for the night or drive home?”

  Pax squeezed Cilla tighter. “Stay.”