Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I bit my lip.
Me: Do you think they’ll make it?
Sam: Without Tiller?
He followed it with a frowny emoji.
Me: I was thinking about staying here through the end of the season. Let Tiller focus on football. The Aster Valley house is paid for through the new year. And then I can rent something smaller.
The three typing dots appeared while I waited for the judgment.
Sam: What does Tiller think about that?
I couldn’t exactly tell him about the deal I’d made with the devil to stay away. Before I could answer Sam, I got a text from my mom.
Mom: Your father told me not to expect Tiller at Christmas. Did something happen?
I’d never been able to understand how you could be married to someone and barely talk to them.
Sam: Did you ask him or is this you running away from him?
I decided to answer my mom first since it was way past time she got to be naively unaware of what lengths my father was going to for his precious team. My mom needed to know.
Me: Yes, something happened. Dad blackmailed me. Said he would play Tiller on a bad arm and possibly even transfer him to a shit team if I didn’t break up with him to spare everyone’s reputation. Jesus, Mom! Don’t you two ever talk? Do you have any idea the asshole you’re married to? He also said he would yank the Riggers’ endorsement of my cookbook deal.
By the time I hit Send, I was pacing through the drifts of snow next to the wide wooden front door. I quickly pressed the button to call Sam so I wouldn’t immediately see my mom’s response. I needed to calm the hell down, and Sam was usually good for that. His deep voice was familiar and reassuring. “What’s going on?”
“I just… I just think things have moved really quickly, you know? And Tiller has a lot on his plate. And I have a lot on my plate. And… and in Aster Valley everything is calm. I can focus on my cookbook project and just enjoy myself. It is calm.”
When I heard myself repeat the word, it was like a lightbulb snapping on. Houston was noisy and busy, overwhelming and intimidating. Aster Valley was like a warm hug. Everywhere I went people were friendly and interested, the way Konni had been on the plane. That was an anomaly in Houston, but in Aster Valley, it was the norm.
I really did feel at home here.
Sam hesitated for a few minutes. “If staying in Aster Valley will make you happy, do it. Tiller isn’t going to have much spare time in the next several weeks if the team makes it all the way through playoffs. You know that.”
I did. It would be the four most important games of the season played over six weeks, and if I had to watch him put his body at risk in each game as the stakes raised exponentially higher, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.
Which, of course, made me second-guess whether the two of us even made a good match in the first place. It wasn’t easy to watch him get tackled on a good day, but the older he got and the more injuries he received, the harder it would get to witness.
“I do,” I said. “And I think he’ll understand, especially if I tell him I need to focus on my own work for a little while.”
“Of course he’ll understand. But is that what you really want? To be alone in Colorado?”
His familiar steady calm grounded me. “I think so?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to be here for the playoff games? You haven’t missed one of his games in five years.”
Guilt twisted my gut. It was true. Even when I hadn’t been physically present, I’d still managed to catch his games. Maybe I folded laundry with the game on in the background, or maybe I tuned in on the radio when I delivered catering orders, but I always managed to catch the game when Tiller was playing.
“I won’t miss it,” I said lamely. “I just can’t watch it live. Not knowing if he’s going to be hurt.”
“Fair enough.” Sam hesitated. “Mike…”
I braced for words I knew I wouldn’t like. “Yeah?”
“You should tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
He sighed. “Tell him you’re not running away.”
But I was running away, and we both knew it.
Sam’s voice softened. “Tell him you love him.”
My chin wobbled. “I do love him.” My voice was scratchy and pathetic. “But…”
“But what, babe?”
I blinked back tears before they could escape and freeze to my face. It was gorgeous and sunny, but cold as hell. “But I just don’t know if I’m what’s best for him. And I don’t know if I can put off following my own dream so that he can keep his.”
Sam’s sudden and raucous laughter startled me. I firmed my chin and felt anger swell inside of me. This was no laughing matter.