Easy Ride (South Florida Riders Book 3)

by Breezie Bennett

  And, God, do I miss him.

  Thirty-three

  Chase

  “Good game, bro.” Elliot smacks my shoulder pad as we head over the field after barely pulling the win out of our asses.

  The truth is, this game should have been a total blowout. The Jaguars suck. We won by only six points, and the only guy who really deserves any credit for that is Danes.

  I handed it off to him, and he ran the ball almost every play, and not just because the Jags have a pretty weak defensive line. I couldn’t find the strength to throw a decent pass at all this game. My entire body feels weak and low and small.

  I used to care about the glory. I used to get hyped and electrified by the cheering of the crowd when I bomb an amazing pass. That used to be the biggest rush for me, my reason for playing and winning and existing.

  But today, I didn’t want glory. I didn’t even want to be on the field. My mind must have played the image of that stiff-ass dickbag kissing Whitney’s gorgeous hand a thousand times.

  I tighten my jaw and bite down on my mouth guard as we jog toward the locker room, forcing myself to remember the way she smiled. She threw her head back and laughed. She chose him, and I did the right thing by stepping aside and not putting any confusing pressure on her.

  I hope she doesn’t hate me. I hope she read every word of that note and can fully understand why I had to let her go. I couldn’t be such a selfish, entitled prick to stand in the way of the guy she truly wants.

  My cleats dig into the mud, and I yank my helmet off while we walk through the tunnel. Fuck this feeling.

  “You good, bro?” Dylan jogs up next to me, elbowing my side. “You do know we won, right?”

  I nod, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground. “Yeah. I know.”

  “So what’s with the…” He gestures vaguely at my obviously defeated demeanor.

  “Remember the whole Whitney thing?” I say quietly.

  “Yeah…you were gonna bang again and see how you felt about it. What’s good with all that?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s over. It just…” I take a deep breath as we walk into the locker room. “Didn’t work.”

  “Shit, dude.”

  “You were right about something, though,” I say without thinking. “Everyone has a one. The one.”

  “Is she the one for you?” He’s practically whispering as we sit on benches in the locker room, the other guys too distracted from the win to notice us.

  “Yeah. Only problem is, I’m not the one for her. You failed to mention that that shit doesn’t always go both ways.”

  “Kennedy…it’s not—” He shakes his head.

  “Whatever.” I stand and open my locker. “I’m done thinking about it.”

  That’s a lie.

  Dylan holds his hands up and backs away. “Fair enough. Nice work on the field today.”

  I laugh sarcastically. I was total shit on the field today, regardless of what the scoreboard says.

  I check my phone like a desperate teenager. Hoping for something from her. Anything. A text, a missed call, a fucking Snapchat. But nothing, of course.

  I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. Alone.

  Just as I’m about to pull off my jersey, a stadium security officer walks into the locker room.

  “Sorry about this everyone,” he shouts over the noise, and the room grows quiet as we all notice him.

  Coach Watson walks toward the front of the locker room. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a young woman out here…” He points toward the door. “Outside the locker room. She’s demanding to speak with a player, and she says it’s urgent.”

  Coach shakes his head and holds up a hand. “No, no media right now.”

  “She’s not with the press or media,” the security guy says. “She’s asking for Chase Kennedy.”

  I jump, turning forward and rushing to the front of the room. My chest tightens, and a chill swirls down my spine at the thought that Whit might be out there.

  My heart rate starts to pick up as I jog up to the officer. “Hey, yeah, I’ll go talk with her. It’s no big deal.”

  I glance behind me and meet Dylan’s gaze. He gives me a nod and a cocky smile, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.

  My head is buzzing as I walk into the corridor. The spot where I kissed her that day. The memory makes my heart flip.

  “You listen, and you listen good!”

  I turn around to find a tiny woman in flowery yoga pants with unmistakably pink hair speed-walking toward me.

  “Melody,” I say slowly, the disappointment of Whitney’s absence settling in my gut.

  She points a finger at me and presses it into my chest. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  I step back, so wishing I didn’t have to explain this to Whitney’s insane cousin right now. “Melody, look, what happened with us is really complicated. I’m not what Whitney needs or deserves. She told me herself I’m a living, breathing heartbreak.” I swallow and look away, flashes of the kiss in the corridor slamming into my head.

  “You are such an idiot!” She throws her hands in the air.

  “Listen, you want to know the truth?” I run a hand through my sweaty hair and narrow my eyes at Melody. “I went to the restaurant the night of her date to tell her I love her. To tell her she’s the one and we need to be together. But then I saw her. I saw her with…him. She was happy. He was kissing her hand like some sort of royal prince. I realized that I’m just a messy, cocky playboy, and getting in the way of her future with Mr. Perfect would be unfair.”

  Her jaw practically hits the floor, and she starts bouncing on her toes. “Oh my God,” she says quickly.

  “Why are you bouncing? Stop bouncing.”

  Now she’s just full-on jumping. “You think she liked that guy?”

  “I saw her, Melody. He’s, like, her dream husband.”

  She can barely contain her smile now, which is giving me a tiny glimmer of hope and excitement. “But you’re wrong! You’re so totally stinking wrong. She was faking it. She said the hand-kiss grossed her out. She left the date to go find you! Whit ditched the pretentious bush fund guy—”

  “Hedge fund,” I interject with a soft laugh.

  “Whatever. She left, and that’s when she found your cowardly note!”

  “Okay, ouch.” My heart starts beating fast again. Now I feel like bouncing. “But if she read the note and wasn’t actually into the Peter guy, why didn’t she just call me and tell me that and clear everything up? I made it obvious in the note that I thought she wanted him, and I was getting out of the picture so she could have him.”

  “The note got destroyed in the rain. She could only read the very last part. She thought you—”

  “Oh shit,” I say slowly as every piece of this screwed-up puzzle starts coming together in my mind. “She thinks I dumped her.”

  The thought of Whitney assuming I got cold feet and ended things to go back to being a fuckboy twists a knife in my heart. She must have been so hurt. The image wrecks me.

  Melody smacks my shoulder pads with both hands. “I knew you weren’t a total asshole! I knew you two were meant to be.”

  I smile, then laugh, holding a hand to my head as the possibility of getting her back starts to become very, very real.

  “Melody.” I grab her shoulders and hold her gaze as firmly as possible in an attempt to steady both of us. “We have to get to the hospital.”

  She squeals and claps her hands excitedly. “Can we take the Lambo?”

  I roll my eyes as we start rushing toward the garage. “Duh. I’m not going to profess my love for Whitney after rolling up in a VW Bug, or whatever you drive.”

  She smacks my side as our pace speeds up, and the buzz in the air becomes palpable. “Screw you. It’s a Mini Cooper.”

  Thirty-four

  Whitney

  I’m not even halfway through this shift, but it feels like I’ve been working for twent
y hours. My head hurts, my heart aches, and every second I’m alone, I have to will myself not to cry.

  I shuffle down the hallway to grab a vitals machine for a new patient, my feet feeling like they’re sticking to the floor. “This,” I mumble under my breath through gritted teeth. “This is why you were never supposed to fall for Chase freaking Kennedy. This is why you refused to ever get caught up in his magical spell.”

  The emergency room has been uncharacteristically empty today. Normally, I would be thankful for the lack of stress, but today I need to be more immersed in work than ever, just to keep from melting into a puddle on the linoleum.

  “How we doing in here? Any improvement?” I roll the standing monitor into room sixteen and force a smile for a little boy who fell off his skateboard and ended up with eight stitches in his chin.

  His mom squeezes his hand and beams at me. “We’re hanging in there. Daddy’s on his way.”

  I swallow the twist in my gut that screams with the desire for love and a family of my own. “I’m glad to hear that. You’re gonna be just fine, Zachary.”

  Shaken up from his first ER visit, Zach looks at me with wide eyes and a toothy grin as I wrap the blood pressure cuff around his tiny arm. “You’re pretty.”

  I relish the first bubble of genuine laughter that rises in my chest since the moment I read that stupid, wet note. “Thanks, Zach.” I hold the thermometer in front of his mouth. “Now open wide.”

  Just as the thermometer starts beeping with a temperature read, Sky rushes into the room, the nursing assistant’s shiny blond ponytail swinging behind her. “Whitney, there’s something going on in the waiting room.” Her bright eyes and giddy smile tell me that it’s not something serious or medical.

  I furrow my brow suspiciously. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yeah! I can take over in here, if you wanna go…” She glances back down the hallway. “Handle it.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, handing her the vitals machine and my clipboard with Zachary’s records. “His vitals are normal. I’m requesting discharge papers and a prescription cream to help heal his stitches.”

  She nods quickly, still smiling. “Got it. Now please go!”

  “All right, all right.” I raise my hands and walk out of the room, wondering what bizarre thing could be happening—and potentially making this craptastic day even worse.

  I head down the hallway, noticing a buzz of commotion rippling through the air. It doesn’t seem urgent or bad, like a serious emergency. Everyone who walks past me looks happy and giddy, like Sky did.

  I take a deep breath, wondering if I could possibly actually be losing my mind, and swing open the double doors that lead to the waiting room.

  My heart somersaults, and chills race through my body as my brain starts to register what is happening in front of me.

  “I have to see Whitney Cooper, now. She’s a nurse here, and I know she’s working, and… I just have to see her.” Chase is leaning against the registration desk, his hair sweaty and his face smudged with dirt. He’s wearing his pads and jersey, looking as if he literally just ran right off the field.

  I try to make a sound, but nothing comes out.

  Sandra, our front-desk assistant, is clicking a pen with her thumb. “I don’t care who you are, young man. If there is no medical emergency, you can’t enter the emergency room. Period!”

  He runs his hands through his hair, still unaware of me standing in the corner by the doorway.

  My stomach is flooded with butterflies now, and I can’t decide whether I want to laugh or cry.

  Sandra purses her lips. “Tell you what, son. When that sweet, handsome Elliot Danes came in here, he gave me a signed football for my son.”

  Chase claps his hands together and smiles. “I can sign a football!”

  She shakes her head slowly. “How ’bout the jersey?”

  He frowns with a laugh, looking down. “It’s kind of dirty…”

  Sandra glares at him. “My son would kill for a Chase Kennedy jersey. The quarterback.” She waves a hand dramatically. “You wanna see our Whitney or not?”

  Without another moment of hesitation, Chase pulls his jersey off right in the ER waiting room, eliciting some snickers and “ooohs” from the onlooking staff.

  I hold a hand to my mouth and laugh softly as shirtless Chase rushes toward the door, stopping dead in his tracks when his eyes meet mine. “Whit…”

  Every fiber of my body is begging me to jump into his arms—his sexy, loving, rock-hard arms—and melt into him and let him hold me forever.

  “Chase, no,” I croak, remembering the note, and the hurt, and refusing to let myself give in to him.

  By now, on this very slow day in the emergency room, there’s a decent-sized audience watching our exchange. Nurses and technicians and even a doctor or two have gathered in the waiting room to watch a dirty and shirtless NFL quarterback chase after me.

  “Whitney…” He places his hands on my shoulders, making my knees turn to water. “I messed up. I thought I was doing the right thing, and—”

  With all the strength I have, I pull his arms off me and wiggle out of his embrace. “You made up your mind. You said it pretty clearly in your letter. You said it was the end of everything between us.”

  “I know, but you have to just listen to me.”

  “Chase, stop.” I’m fighting tears now. “That note broke my heart. I left the date to go find you. To tell you that I—”

  “That she loves you!” Suddenly, Melody is bursting through the door with a wild grin and frantic arms.

  “What part of ‘wait in the car’ did you not understand?” Chase asks her.

  She rushes to us, panting breathlessly. “I know, I know. But listen, Whit, he was trying to be all heroic and let you fly free.” She makes a bird motion with her hands. “He thought you wanted Peter, and—”

  “Wait, who’s Peter, now?” Sandra chimes in from the front desk.

  “Can I please do the talking?” Chase begs.

  “Wait, why did you think I wanted to be with him? He completely sucked. He made me realize just how much I want…someone else.” I meet Chase’s gaze, and the fire between us burns at a thousand degrees.

  His lips part at my words, and he takes in a slow breath. “I went to the restaurant to tell you how I feel. But then I saw you through the window, and—”

  “Um, creepy?” a nurse blurts out.

  Chase throws her a look and then refocuses on me. “And you looked so happy. And he seemed like the textbook, cookie-cutter Mr. Husband, and I felt like I would just get in your way. Because that’s what you want. And all this was explained in my note, but…”

  “The rain,” I whisper, feeling a smile playing at my mouth as the world floats and swims around me. “I was just faking it on that awful date. I was trying to give it a chance. What did you want to say? At the restaurant?”

  He steps back, his chest rising and falling. “Nit Whit, I’m in love with you. And I used to be scared to say that, but now it’s, like, my favorite phrase,” he says through a laugh. “And I’m starting to think I have been for a really, really long time.” He swallows and reaches for my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb and inching closer to me. “It took a long and twisted road to get here, but you were there for every turn. I know I’m not a perfect, picket-fence kinda guy, and I sure as hell don’t match the definition of boyfriend material in the dictionary, but…” He holds me close now, our lips inches apart. “You’re the love of my damn life, Whit.”

  I choke on a laugh as a tear rolls down my cheek.

  Chase wipes it away. “Please be with me. As my best friend. And so, so much more. You’re it. You’re the one.”

  More happy tears fall down my face as I realize that my heart is squeezing and flipping, and some aching, lonely part of myself has just suddenly become complete. Probably the part that’s loved Chase for more than twenty years. Everything in me right now trusts him, adores him, and needs him. “That note was
so sad. I thought you changed your mind, like you wanted to go back to being—”

  “No.” He fixes his gaze on mine with certainty. “Hell no. I thought I was doing what’s best for you, but goddammit, I’m what’s best for you, Whitney.”

  “You’ve always been the one, Six.”

  I stand on my toes and press my lips to his, both of us laughing into the kiss. Through the muffled buzz in my head, I hear the hospital staff cheering and hooting.

  Warmth courses through me, and I let myself lean into his hands. Those hands that have wiped my tears since I was four. Those hands that throw game-winning passes in the NFL. Those hands that I’m going to hold forever.

  “You don’t think I’m a living, breathing heartbreak anymore, right?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against mine.

  “No, Chase. You’re living, breathing magic.”

  Epilogue

  Whitney

  “You know how I used to be the king of the single life?” Chase bites his lip and nods as he laces his fingers through mine while we walk into the stadium elevator.

  I groan and roll my eyes. “Yes. I remember.”

  “Well, now I’m king of the relationship life. I have the best girlfriend and the best relationship. I’m winning even bigger now.” He kisses my forehead as the elevator shoots us up to the private party room for the annual South Florida Riders VIP Christmas party.

  The box rooms and suites throughout the stadium are decorated with garlands and lights and all manner of football-related ornaments.

  Chase is radiating charm, and every time our eyes meet, he seems to adore me more. We’re running a little late because as soon as he saw me in my little red dress and tights, we just had to have sex.

  Oops.

  “If it isn’t Quarterback and Miss Quarterback!” A noticeably round and glowing Frankie hugs us both as her tall, handsome husband gives Chase a pat on the shoulder.

  Leo drags Chase off to go get a drink, and I peek at my phone, wondering where Melody is. I snagged her an extra ticket to come to the party tonight, and she promised she’d meet me here.