by Ali Dean
I try not to react at her insult but my face scrunches up in distaste. So Troy cheats on his wife and she’s bitter about it? What is she trying to prove? I’m much wiser than I once was and right now, I need to know her angle. She’s pretending to give advice, but I know there’s an ulterior motive.
She pats my arm. “If you want to keep your marriage together, sweetheart, you need to let your running ambitions go. After all, it’s not as if you’re an Olympian. Your husband must make astronomically more than you ever will. You need to start thinking about shifting your focus. If you want your marriage to last, if you want him to keep seeing you, you need to be at his side at all times. Otherwise, you’ll start to drift away and be replaced by the younger women when you’re gone.”
Younger women? I’m only twenty-three, almost twenty-four, but still. Okay, she clearly has a huge chip on her shoulder. I don’t think this woman has an agenda so much, or anything against me, she seems to simply have a truckload of emotional baggage, grief and jealousy and is unloading it on me. Wanting me to carry some of the burden. If her husband is on his way out of the pros, and their marriage is in shambles, perhaps she has some regrets. Had she tried going after her dreams and her husband strayed?
I decide to ask her. “Did you have something you wanted that you went after before Troy went pro?”
Her eyes flutter. “Of course not. I knew in high school what my role would be. I was a cheerleader, and while I’m not holding pom-poms or wearing a ruffled skirt these days, that’s still my role. It has to be.”
My stomach drops. Not for me, but for her. She never let herself have her own dreams. She held on too closely to Troy, and he probably felt smothered. Who knows? It isn’t my business. All I can see is a very sad woman who is holding onto her pride by trying to give me advice that clearly did not work for her.
I manage a tight smile before turning back to Jace. He’s noticed my absence and is turned our way, eyes seeking me out. When they lock on me, his shoulders visibly relax. In two long strides he’s back at my side, arm around my waist.
“I see you and Stephanie didn’t want to talk more football,” he comments, oblivious to the tension. He drops a kiss on my cheek.
Before I can answer, Stephanie says, “I thought I’d take Pepper around to meet some of the other girlfriends and wives of the players here tonight. If you join the Stallions, it will be a whole new team for her too.”
Jace slips back on his celebrity mask. “I’d like to keep her at my side this evening. I’m sure she’ll have opportunities to meet the women soon.”
While I’m all about independence and chasing my own ambitions, I’m relieved at this moment that Jace is making a decision on my behalf. Stephanie’s weirding me out.
“But Jace, these women will be like her teammates,” Stephanie pushes. “Don’t you think she should get to know them?”
Jace, like me, is highly suspicious. Stephanie’s insistence has him gripping my waist tighter. “Sure. I’ll come with.”
I want to point out I have my own teammates but I know that’s not how she sees it.
She smiles warily before leading us through the crowd toward the bar. “What can I get you to drink?” she asks when we’re behind a cluster of others waiting to order. It’s a strange question, since it’s an open bar and we’re perfectly capable of getting our own, but I suppose she’s trying to play hostess. As the wife to the star player of the team Jace might join, she must assume this is part of her cheerleading role.
Jace says a beer is fine but I decline anything. I hardly ever drink alcohol anymore with my strict training and competing schedule, and after having one jealous girl spike my drink years ago, I’m not risking it in this environment. Stephanie gazes pointedly at my flat stomach before spinning around and maneuvering herself to the front of the pack to order drinks. Can’t a married woman turn down alcohol without an assumption she’s pregnant? Sheesh.
Jace and I look at each other and have a silent conversation with our eyebrows and lips twitching. We agree she’s a piece of work.
Two women who look vaguely familiar approach us. They are extremely tall and thin and I can only imagine they are models. While cliché, a lot of the players do date and marry models.
“Hiiiii,” one of them greets us. “I’m Angel Walker. Tanner’s wife.” Her eyes move from Jace, to mine. “He’s an offensive guard,” she explains to me. Her face is open and genuine, and she has kind eyes.
The other woman rocks back on her heels and blushes. “And I’m Leah. Married to Calvin Snyder. Also an offensive guard.” Her voice is quiet, and I can’t tell if she’s shy or crushing on my husband. I’m so used to women flirting with him that it wouldn’t surprise me.
“She doesn’t know anything about football,” Angel explains, pointing a thumb at her friend. “She was dating Cal for months before she even knew what position he played.” Her honesty makes us chuckle and Leah blushes harder, shrugging.
“I come to all his games,” she protests. “I just don’t pay much attention to the actual playing.”
Angel scoffs. “Oh, you watch your man, that’s for sure. But you don’t watch anything else. Don’t even know what the score is and you’ve got some of the best seats in the house. Fo’ shame.” Angel shakes her head in disapproval.
“It’s okay,” I reassure Leah. “I’ve been going to Jace’s games since middle school and I still don’t understand football. Sometimes it’s exciting but most of the time I’m a little bored.”
Angel grins at my confession and Leah’s eyes widen.
“Really? Bored?” Jace pulls me closer. “You’ve never told me that before.” He’s amused, knowing I’ll always support him but never be a fanatic.
“Yeah. You guys stop so much and there’s all these interruptions. I only like going because your butt looks so good in the uniform.”
Jace shakes his head as we all laugh.
“Yeah,” Leah says in agreement. “I go for the uniform too.”
Stephanie’s small frame appears between the two models. “What’s so funny?” she asks, sounding annoyed as she hands Jace his beer.
Angel answers, her tone having cooled a notch. “Leah and Pepper only go to the games to watch their men’s butts in uniform. Leah here even brings binoculars,” Angel outs Leah, who turns a new shade of crimson.
I can see the dynamic between the two, who must be close friends. Angel enjoys embarrassing Leah, who can laugh easily at her own ridiculousness. While the rest of us erupt in laughter at Angel’s revelation, Stephanie purses her lips in distaste.
“Pepper, did you even make it to any of the games Jace played at last season?” Stephanie asks. The bitterness dripping from her voice makes me sad for her instead of angry at her implied accusation.
Jace answers for me. “Pep made it to one. I just wish I could have made it to more of her meets. Especially the world cross championships in Switzerland. They don’t broadcast all of her races either like they do the NFL. It sucks. Other dudes get to see your cute ass in your sweet spandex uniform.”
“Don’t worry, babe,” I say with a pat on his chest. “I’ve never noticed anyone with binoculars.”
“Good. Because I’d hate to miss a game to set any dude straight who’s trying to get a close-up of what’s mine,” he says with a teasing grin before squeezing my butt with one hand and sliding me closer to him.
Leah and Angel giggle. “Aw, so sweet.”
I don’t bother looking at Stephanie. I know what she would say. After Madeline Brescoll, Wolf and Rex, Savannah Hawkins, and Clayton Dennison, she barely rattles me. Even if her words of “advice” strike disturbingly close to home.
Chapter Three
Pepper
I hit the roads early the next morning. We were up a little later than usual, but slipped out before most people. While the players are enjoying the off-season, I’m buckling down for the first cycle of what will be the most intense training yet in my career. Jace was still in bed when I snuc
k out. Usually we wake up together, but I wanted to get a run in before driving up to Brockton. It’s never easy leaving a warm Jace in bed when he’s in nothing but boxer briefs, but it helps that I have some steam to work off.
Stephanie’s words struck a nerve, and they’ve been festering ever since. I need to run them out of my system. As I wind through the sidewalks toward the bike path, I think about why her little unloading session rattled me. She’s simply a bitter woman in a rocky marriage, from what I can tell, and it wasn’t so much her words about the cheating or younger women that left a bad taste in my mouth. No, it was that she implied Jace’s career matters more than mine. I’m not an Olympian. While I’ve got collegiate national championships to show off, I’ve yet to have a major breakthrough professionally. Yes, I placed third, a bronze medal, at the world cross country championships this past fall. But cross country isn’t nearly as contested as road races. If I want to make a name for myself outside of my collegiate awards or as Jace Wilder’s wife, then I need to move to the half marathon and marathon distances. I’m on track to make that move, and I shouldn’t be in a rush. I graduated less than two years ago.
But I do sense that I need to hit it big to show that my career matters. Sure, I’ll probably never make what Jace makes, but that’s a matter out of my control. NFL players make more than nearly any athlete in the world, while runners are on the opposite end of the spectrum. That doesn’t mean his career has to take precedence all the time. Or does it?
At eight AM on a Saturday morning, the bike path is already busy with cyclists, runners and walkers. It makes it a little difficult to zone out entirely like I can on the trails. I find myself picking up the pace in order to fight the burning in my chest from something entirely unrelated to physical exertion.
Stephanie was right about one thing. Chasing dreams at this level is hard on a marriage. Jace and I are strong. We’re solid. We’re good. But now I wonder, if one of us has to back off our goals, should that person be me? Is my career less important?
Jace has never made me feel that way. He treats the money he earns like it’s ours, like we both earned it together. Still, should I be rearranging my training plan and race schedule in order to support him better?
I suppose these are all thoughts I’ve wondered before, but Stephanie’s warnings brought them to the forefront. She implied I was being selfish, and that hurts. I’ve never viewed running as selfish before. And now, it’s my job. But will my job become being an NFL player’s wife if Jace becomes first-string QB? Should it?
After an hour and a half on the bike path I make my way back to the hotel. I have another short run this afternoon with Lexi Bell and Sienna Darling, my former college teammates now training in Brockton. As I build up my weekly mileage, I need to run twice a day several times a week.
Even though it’s a Saturday, the streets are already busy with traffic, and it takes me a while to get back as I stop at the crosswalks and dodge pedestrians. A lot of the Stallions players live near downtown Denver, with the stadium on the edge of the city. Jace and I haven’t talked about where we would live if he got on the team. I hoped he might want to live a little farther north from downtown, closer to Brockton and away from the traffic and hustle and bustle. I don’t love running in a city that’s so busy, with horns honking and exhaust fueling the air. But then again, maybe it’s selfish of me to think about my preferences when my husband is such a superstar. Ugh. I hate that it seems Stephanie did get to me after all, a little bit, if only by opening the door to thoughts I’ve had in my head all along.
Jace has just woken up when I get back to our suite. I open the bedroom door to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms above his head. His dark hair is tousled, and he has bed sheet creases on his cheek. He turns as I walk toward him, breaking into a lazy grin.
“Morning, gorgeous,” he greets me, his voice raspy with sleep. When I slow a few paces away he reaches for me. “Come here.”
“I’m all sweaty,” I warn him.
He latches a warm hand around my thigh and tugs me to him until I tumble into his lap. “I told you. You’re gorgeous no matter what you’re wearing. It’s all a tease.” His hands run over my stomach, my bottom, my legs, as he nuzzles my ear, humming in contentment.
I swing my arms around his neck and peek up into green eyes. His expression is relaxed and peaceful, even with the heat burning behind the heavy lids. This is my Jace. Open and gentle. Unguarded. And completely mine.
“Come on,” he says as he stands, holding me in his arms like I weigh nothing. “Let’s take a shower together.”
“Shower?” I question, feeling him hard at my hip and knowing he loves morning sex when we’ve got the time.
“Just trying to be efficient so we don’t keep Buns waiting,” he says with a little smirk as he settles me on the counter and turns the shower on. “She left us both text messages this morning with excessive use of emojis.”
While Gran’s ability to express every emotion through emojis is really quite impressive, sometimes I wish she still had an aversion to texting.
After testing the water temperature, Jace turns back to me, lifting me this time front piggy-back style. “Don’t worry, baby, you know I’m great at multi-tasking.”
When we pull off the highway onto the exit for Brockton, Jace and I both let out happy sighs. We glance at each other and share knowing smiles. It feels good to be home.
Jace takes the familiar roads toward Shadow Lane, but when he pulls onto the street we both grew up on, he doesn’t park in his dad’s driveway or in front of the apartment building I grew up in with Gran. He pulls into the driveway of an updated ranch home next to his dad’s place.
“Why are you parking here?” I ask.
“This place went on the market a couple of months ago and I bought it for Bunny and Wallace. I thought the stairs up to the apartment would start to get tricky for them.” Jace says all this while looking at me warily.
I narrow my eyes. “Why are you just telling me this now?” A surge of unwanted and inexplicable anger is threatening to burst out of me.
Jace shifts in the driver seat. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You wanted to surprise me,” I repeat, letting doubt fill my voice.
“You were at worlds, and I had to make a decision quickly before someone else made an offer. My dad told me about the house, and I just wanted to do something for Bunny. You know she’s been like a gran to me too,” he adds, a bit defensively.
“I just can’t believe you guys kept this from me. I don’t get it.”
“We wanted to surprise you. And we didn’t want you to stress or worry about the move.”
“Did she sell our apartment?” I wonder, a wave of sadness sweeping in.
“No, she’s renting it to college students. It’s providing extra income for her.”
I nod, understanding dawning. We have plenty of money now. By buying Gran a house, she’s not only more comfortable, but she has a source of income outside of her pension, from the apartment.
Deciding my anger is unjustified, I lean forward to kiss Jace on the cheek. “Thank you, it’s good to be home. Just weird going to a different house.”
“Uh, one more thing.”
I pause with my hand on the door handle. “Yeah?”
“Lulu moved in with her boyfriend too.”
I laugh and shake my head. “This should be fun. Maybe we should stay at your dad’s if we want to get any sleep,” I muse, imagining the shenanigans that must go down in this place.
We’re not disappointed. The front door opens and Gran appears first, arms wide open.
“My babies!” she hollers. “Oh my, I’ve missed you two.” I talk to Gran on the phone almost every day, and exchange numerous text messages now as well, but there’s nothing like being held in her arms. She feels a little frailer, not as sturdy as I remember, but smells the same. Like fresh baked bread and the sugar and cinnamon she dumps generously in her coffee.
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br /> Jace leans down to hug her next, and his frame seems to envelop her entire body.
A moment later, the rest of the welcome party is surrounding us. Lulu’s got orange hair, and I notice she and Gran are wearing matching neon leggings with oversized sweatshirts. They must have the eighties music on again.
Wallace and Lulu’s boyfriend Harold strangely fit right in with our little family, and Jim joins a moment later, having heard the commotion from next door.
Jace’s phone rings as he’s hugging his dad, and he pulls it out of his pocket and ignores the call. As we start to head inside a moment later, it rings again, and Jace sighs. “Sorry guys, it’s my agent. Let me just take it so he’ll stop calling.”
I’m not a huge fan of Drake Vogel. Not only does he have a knack for interrupting my time with Jace, but he gives me the creeps. It’s the way he looks at me, the objectifying comments he makes about women in general, and his focus on money over everything else. Yeah, I guess the money thing is his job, but he doesn’t have to be so pushy about it.
I have an agent too, Finn Munson, and while the dollar signs aren’t as big, Finn and Drake have pretty similar job descriptions. However, Finn seems to actually care about me as a person, my values, my long-term goals personally and professionally.
When I walk inside the house, I realize the inside has been flipped. It was built in the seventies or eighties like everything on this block, but the kitchen and living room are updated.
“Pretty snazzy, huh?” Gran asks with an elbow nudge to my ribs.
“Wow, Gran. I want a tour. This place is sweet.” Looking around, I can see that it’s filled with the familiar furniture from our old apartment, mixed with some other outdated furniture that must come from Lulu’s place or one of the guys’. The same table I ate at for eighteen years is in the kitchen, but there’s also a separate dining room with space for maybe a dozen people to sit comfortably.
