Scoring with the Coach’s Daughter (Maine Megalodons #3)

29. Samantha

29

SAMANTHA

The flight to Maine is a blur.

I don’t remember the announcements overhead or the way the plane dipped slightly as it landed. I don’t even remember how long I sat there, gripping the armrest, heart hammering before I finally gathered the nerve to step off.

What I do remember is Ellie’s hug before I left. The way she clung to me, her small arms wrapped tight around my waist like she knew something big was happening.

You have to tell him, Aunt Sam,” she whispered against my stomach.

My brave, fearless little girl.

Maggie just gave me a knowing look as she took Ellie’s hand and steered her inside. “Go get him,” she said as if this was the easiest thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

But I was here anyway.

I didn’t call ahead. Didn’t tell my parents I was in town. Didn’t do anything except climb into a cab outside the airport and give the driver an address I wasn’t even sure was right.

Jake had mentioned in passing that he’d bought a house— something bigger than his old apartment, a place with space and a yard. But I didn’t know the street, and I don’t know the exact location. I only had a vague memory of the area he’d described, and I was banking on the fact that a place belonging to a newly signed pro athlete would stand out.

By some miracle, it does.

The cab slows in front of a house set back on a quiet street, its long, freshly paved driveway leading up to a home that looks like it belongs in a magazine. It’s not ostentatious, but it’s new, with crisp white siding and dark shutters, a wraparound porch that makes my stomach do a ridiculous little flip.

And sitting in the driveway, sleek and black against the snow-dusted pavement, is a Range Rover.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

He’s here.

I pay the driver, my fingers trembling slightly as I step out onto the sidewalk. The air is sharp and cold, nothing like the warmth of South Carolina. I pull my coat tighter around me, staring up at the house, my nerves suddenly a tangled mess.

This is crazy.

I should’ve called. Should’ve texted. Should’ve given him even the slightest hint that I was coming instead of just showing up on his doorstep like some desperate woman who doesn’t know how to let go.

Except I don’t want to let go. I want to hang onto him with everything I’ve got.

I take a breath, forcing myself forward, one cautious step at a time up the driveway. My boots crunch against the pavement, the sound deafening in the stillness of the winter air.

And then, just as I reach the first step of the porch, the door swings open.

Jake steps out, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his keys in his hand. He freezes the second he sees me, his brows pulling together like he’s not sure if I’m real or if the cold is messing with his head.

“Sam?”

I swallow hard, gripping the railing for balance. “Hey.”

His eyes sweep over me, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” My voice falters, the words suddenly caught in my throat. I hadn’t planned this far ahead. I’d spent the entire flight working up the nerve to come, but now, standing in front of him, all my carefully rehearsed explanations slip through my fingers like sand.

Jake shifts his weight, exhaling through his nose. “Are you just gonna stand there, or are you coming in?”

I blink. “I—yeah. I’m coming in.”

He steps aside, holding the door open, and I walk past him, the warmth of the house immediately wrapping around me. The space is open and inviting, but it’s barely lived in—like he’s here, but not really. A jacket is draped over the back of a chair, and a pair of hockey skates sits by the door, but there’s no real sign of it being home.

I turn to face him, my hands twisting together. "I wasn’t sure if you’d be here."

“Yeah, well. Here I am.” His voice is careful and guarded. He sets his duffel down by the couch, watching me with an unreadable expression. “So, what’s going on, Sam? Why are you here?”

I take a breath, my heart pounding so hard I swear he can hear it. "Because nothing is the same without you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.

“I tried, Jake,” I continue, my voice shaking slightly. “I tried to go back to how things were before you came into our lives. I told myself I was doing the right thing, that I was protecting Ellie, and that it was easier this way. But it’s not. I’m miserable. She’s miserable,” I let out a short, uneven laugh, “and the beach doesn’t feel the same anymore. Pancakes are off-limits. Ellie’s mad at me all the time because she blames me for making you leave, and honestly? She’s not wrong.”

Jake is silent, his eyes locked onto mine.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I love you,” I whisper. “I love you, and I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want to lose what we had. I don’t want to keep telling myself I can live without you when the truth is, I don’t want to.”

He closes his eyes for a beat, exhaling sharply.

Waiting…

One second he’s across the room, and the next he’s in front of me, his hands framing my face as he tilts my chin up. His lips crash against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs, and I melt into him, gripping the front of his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

“You ruined me for anyone else, Sam,” he murmurs. “No one else even comes close.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “You always have been.”

I nod, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat. “So… what do we do now?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers tracing the curve of my jaw. “We figure it out.”

He pulls me onto the couch with him, his arm draped around my shoulders, his other hand lacing with mine. “You open that bistro you’ve always wanted—there’s a spot not far from here, right in town. You’ll love it. And we split our time. Summers in South Carolina. Here the rest of the year. ”

I stare at him, my heart stuttering. “You’d do that?”

“For you?” He presses a kiss to my temple. “In a heartbeat.”

Tears spill over, but this time, they’re the good kind. The kind that means something.

The kind that mean I finally stopped running.

I squeeze his hand, leaning into his warmth.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I know—without a doubt—I’m home.