I’m not sure where that word comes from. I’m not sure why it feels right and inevitable. I only know she comes like a fucking tidal wave as soon as I say it. Her eyes go wide over my hand she clenches down on me, tighter than she’s ever clenched before. So goddamn tight that I forgot about the men
He’s incredible out there. Watching Gage sail the ball down the field, take tackles, run like the wind, find gaps in the defense, I can’t help but marvel. I’m in the family box with the wives of the coaches and various administrators. They have all been very kind to me, even if they did look a litt
In a relative daze, I start to walk off the elevator, but one of the guards stays me with a hand on my elbow. “I think we should wait somewhere else.” He’s probably right, but…this is my boyfriend’s world. Should I get used to it? I understand he’s protective of me, but I can’t always be sheltered
By the time I get finished with the post-game interviews, I’m fucking frantic. I can see from the field that the family box is empty. Lights out. The stands have cleared. There is only one place where people are congregating—the home team sideline—and I swear to Christ, if the security team allowe
I sit huddled in the embrace of the cove, the wind carrying droplets of salt water and stinging my cheeks. The moonlight keeps the beach from being totally dark, but that didn’t stop me from stumbling and falling twice in the forest on my way down the path. I have blood on my knees and the heels of
“Right,” he says, the light going out of him. Like a candle being doused. He stands up, turns, and walks straight into the ocean. It takes me a moment to piece together what is happening. I watch dazed as he wades farther and farther into the water. First, his hips vanish beneath the inky black su
“I should be more worried about you,” I hiccup, my body pliant enough now to straddle his lap, Gage drawing me as close as he’s able, my jean skirt riding up around my waist, dripping with ocean water. “I want to warm you up, too,” I say, tremulously, scrubbing my hands up down the hard contours of
Five Years Later Belting my robe, I walk to the bedroom window and look down at the circular driveway, grimacing when a man holding a leather briefcase climbs out of an SUV. I am not happy about this. I hate interviews and I don’t like people in my house around my wife and kids. I give enough ene