Chapter 7
SARAH
It’s late on a very boring Sunday afternoon when I look out my living room window and see Anna flying toward the pool house. Well, maybe not flying. She doesn’t move anywhere very quickly these days, but there’s definitely a sense of urgency I haven’t seen in a while.
I get up and meet her at the door. “What’s got you moving so fast?” I say.
She doesn’t answer as she barrels past me and into the living room. I shut the door and follow behind her. Her energy is almost frantic, and it has me worried something has happened.
She spins and looks me up and down. “This won’t work,” she says as she moves toward my bedroom.
I look down at my outfit. I’m in leggings and an oversized hoodie, but it’s Sunday and I’m going nowhere. This is the perfect outfit for that kind of day. “What won’t work?”
I hear my dresser drawer slide open and hurry after her. “Anna,” I say from the doorway. She’s already elbow-deep in my clothes. “Stop for two seconds and tell me what’s going on.”
She turns and tosses a sweater at me, then props her hands on her hips. “Carter Williamson is at the house.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Okay. Why does that mean I have to put on a sweater?”
She grabs a pair of jeans off the chair in the corner and shakes them at me. “Can you just hurry? He’s waiting to talk to you, and you really can’t go looking like this.” She waves a hand in my general direction.
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
“There’s a weird stain on your hoodie and a hole in your leggings.”
“Okay, fair.” I pull the hoodie over my head, then slip on the sweater Anna picked out.
“But why is he here to talk to me?” I say, voice muffled by the sweater which I can’t seem to get over my head.
When I finally pop through the right opening, hair flying from the static, Anna is staring at me, hands propped on her hips.
There’s a smile playing around her mouth, and her eyes are gleaming.
“You might want to sit down,” she says, and my heart starts to race.
“Why? Why do I need to sit down?”
“Sarah, he said he’ll do it,” she says. “He’s willing to marry you.”
I lean back against my dresser, knees suddenly weak. “He did not.”
“He totally did. He wanted to come back and tell you himself, but I convinced him you’d want a heads-up.
Mostly because I fully expected you to look like this.
But also—” She takes a step closer, holding my gaze.
“You can still say no, Sarah. You know how much I want you to be here, but this was Miles’s idea.
We won’t blame you if it’s too much. I thought you deserved a minute to consider what you want for real before you face him. ”
I walk over to my bed and sink onto the corner of the mattress.
I have experienced a plethora of emotions since my conversation with Miles. At first, all I felt was anger. Then my anger turned into mortification. But the longer I sit with what happened, the more I recognize what’s at the core of my brother’s motivation.
We’re all remaining hopeful that Anna won’t have postpartum depression like she did before, but if she does, it will be doubly more difficult without her mom and me. I can’t fault Miles for wanting me close, both for my sake and for hers.
But I never considered, even for a moment, that Miles’s plan was actually a viable one.
“What made him change his mind?” I ask. My mind darts back to the exchange we had at the food drive yesterday. He looked good—so good—wearing a Jaguars baseball cap low on his forehead and a team-branded navy and white half-zip pullover.
I had to apologize—the thought of him believing I might have had something to do with Miles’s proposition was keeping me up at night—but now I’m wondering if our conversation had something to do with him being here today.
“Who knows?” Anna says. She hands me my jeans, and I shimmy out of my leggings, then pull them on. “Does it matter?”
“Everything matters, Anna. We’re talking about marriage here. Why would he agree to something like this? Did he say?”
“Not explicitly. But I don’t think you have to worry about him having ulterior motives. Carter’s a really nice guy. Like, nice enough that it wouldn’t take much to convince me he’s willing to do it just to be nice.”
“But he wasn’t willing at first,” I say. “That’s the point I’m making. He changed his mind.”
“Maybe he really liked his apology cupcake?” she says. “Or he appreciated how hot you looked in those jeans because your butt looked totally amazing.”
I look down at my jeans—the same ones I wore yesterday. “Really?” But then I give my head a quick shake. My butt, regardless of the jeans, is not the point of this conversation.
“That would actually be bad news,” I say. “I don’t want him noticing anything about me.” Even as I say the words, a tiny pulse of doubt makes me question them, but I quickly squelch it. Liking Carter isn’t an option. It can’t be.
“Because he’s a hockey player,” Anna says flatly, and I shrug.
“It wouldn’t be fair to him,” I say. “You’re a WAG. You know what it’s like. Carter wouldn’t want a wife who can’t do anything to support him. Who never watches him play. At least, not a real wife.”
She sighs. “Okay. Forget I suggested it. Let’s just go with him being nice.”
“He is nice,” I say. I turn and look in the mirror, pulling my hair out of its bun and shaking it out around my shoulders. “But I still don’t think that’s enough reason.” I turn to face her and adjust my glasses. “Better?”
She nods. “It’s annoying that you can do that little effort and suddenly look like you belong on the runway.”
I roll my eyes. “Hardly.”
“You look great,” she says. “So what are you going to tell him?”
“You mean am I going to do it?”
She nods. She isn’t even trying to hide the hope in her eyes.
“No clue. What do you think I should do?”
She seems to consider my question. “Do you want me to answer as an objective third party? As your sister-in-law? Or as your best friend?”
I tilt my head to the side. “All three?”
“Okay. As an objective third party—definitely not. You don’t know this guy. And the legal consequences of getting caught are not insignificant.”
“Good. True,” I say. “That’s valid.”
“As your sister-in-law, I desperately, with my whole entire heart, want you to say yes because I cannot imagine my life without you in it.” Tears spring to her eyes as she speaks, and she groans. “This baby is making me so weepy.” She sniffs and wipes at her eyes. “What was left?”
“Your best friend answer,” I say, though honestly, that last one will be hard to override.
She’s quiet for a long moment. “As your best friend, I think I’d tell you to tread carefully. Because pretending with a man like Carter Williamson feels very risky. If you don’t want to fall for a hockey player, I’m not sure he’s the safest bet.”
I understand what she means. I liked talking to Carter. And I won’t even begin to pretend I don’t find him attractive. He’s legitimately a level of sexy I’ve never experienced before.
But I can’t have a real relationship with someone in his line of work.
The thought makes my chest tighten, the familiar sensation blooming beneath my ribs and keeping my lungs from expanding all the way.
For a split second, I’m at an NHL game in Winnipeg, and the walls are closing in around me.
The noises, the smells, the sound of bodies crashing against the boards.
I swallow and force air into my lungs, chasing the memories away. I lift a hand, running it across my sternum. “I won’t fall for him,” I say. “You know I can’t.”
“Okay,” she says, not sounding at all convinced. “Then your best friend doesn’t have any arguments against it and would really love for you to be around.” She holds out her hand. “Ready to go talk to him?”
I shake my head no. “I can’t believe this is happening. Is this really happening?”
She shrugs and gives me a hopeful smile. “Let’s go talk to him and find out for sure.”
Carter stands as soon as we enter the living room. He looks nice, wearing tailored pants and a button-down, and I wonder if he made more of an effort just for this—for our conversation.
Olive and Poppy are stretched out on the floor with an iPad, playing some sort of matching game, but as soon as Olive sees me, she runs over and holds up her arms, asking to be picked up.
I scoop her into my arms, suddenly grateful for her grounding presence.
“Hi, Sarah,” Carter says. I like that he uses my name.
Wordlessly, Anna takes Olive out of my arms and nudges me more fully into the room. She calls to Poppy, then motions to Miles to follow her into the kitchen, leaving Carter and me alone.
Well, sort of alone. The kitchen isn’t so far away that we can’t still hear Anna’s hushed instructions to the girls to give us some privacy.
Carter looks toward the kitchen. “Do you think we could take a walk?”
“Yes! Definitely,” I say. “A walk sounds great.”
We’re quiet as he follows me to the front door. He pulls on his coat while I shrug into one of Anna’s. She always has a couple hanging in the entryway, and wearing hers feels easier than going back to the pool house for one of mine.
Even though it’s dark outside, Miles and Anna’s house is in a well-lit neighborhood with sidewalks and plenty of streetlamps, so we head down the driveway and turn toward the park at the end of the road.
Carter looks over at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself,” he says. “I wanted to, but Anna insisted you might need a minute to get used to the idea before we talked.”
“She was right,” I say. “I’m still not sure I believe this is happening.”
“I can imagine,” he says. “Are you wondering what changed my mind?”
I nod, grateful he’s willing to guide the conversation because I still feel entirely upside down.