Chapter 20
CARTER
Sarah and I quickly fall into an easy routine.
If I’m not on the road, we do dinner together, either something one of us has cooked or takeout of some kind.
We finish watching the first season of Ted Lasso, then move on to the second, and to my surprise and horror, we both become totally addicted to a reality dating show.
In the mornings, we’re usually up at the same time, having coffee before she heads up to her studio to paint or over to Anna’s to help out with the girls, and I head to the complex for practice or training.
According to her, she paints best in the morning, so when I get home in the afternoons, she’s usually stretched out on the living room couch reading a book or listening to an audiobook while she bakes.
She’s on a sourdough kick and has been taking full advantage of having a kitchen at her disposal. I’m not complaining, but I’m definitely having to pay closer attention to my macros.
As for Gordie, he seems to have completely forgotten he ever belonged to me. He sleeps in Sarah’s room, follows her around the house, and sits on the steps outside her studio when she doesn’t let him inside.
She’s close enough to her gallery show now that keeping the cat out is probably a good idea.
She has all the pieces on display so she can study them as a group and, according to her, find the inspiration she needs to finish the last piece.
Gordie is much too sneaky to risk him getting into trouble when the stakes are so high.
Two weeks after the wedding, the Jaguars are back in the Vortex for a three-game homestand after five days of away games in Florida and North Carolina.
We only have ten more regular-season games before playoff season, but since our spot in the playoffs is already secure, we’re pretty much coasting.
Taking it easy to avoid injuries, trying to stay in the best shape possible.
We’re happy to have an entire week at home for a change, but I’d be willing to bet I’m looking forward to it the most.
“What about you?” Fly looks at me like I’ve been listening to the conversation he’s having with Theo and not totally zoning out. We just snagged an easy win, and the locker room is buzzing with energy, but my brain is already on the way home.
“What about me?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Are you up for going out?”
“He’s only been married two weeks, man,” Theo says. “And they didn’t get a honeymoon. Let the man get home to his wife.”
I glance over at Miles, who’s watching me as he peels off the last of his gear.
I won’t say things have been bad since the wedding.
But they’ve definitely been different. I worried it might be stressful trying to convince everyone the marriage was real, but with Miles around to back me up, my teammates took everything in stride like it wasn’t a big deal at all.
To them, it seemed less like we met and got married really fast and more like we got married not long after telling people about a relationship that already existed.
But I didn’t worry about Miles treating me like I’ve done something wrong, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Every practice, every game, he watches me like I’m his kid sister’s screwup boyfriend, and he’s just waiting for me to make a wrong move. It’s really starting to piss me off.
“Yeah, I’m heading home,” I say to Fly. “Y’all have fun.”
“You could bring her,” Fly says. “Is she here? Jordo is bringing Malia.”
“Nah, Sarah’s got her art show tomorrow. She’s barely left her studio in days, which means she won’t want to go out tonight.”
It’s an easy excuse, and it’s mostly true. But at some point, my teammates are going to wonder why my wife has never watched me play. And I have no idea what I’m going to tell them because I don’t know either. This is one of those areas Sarah and I very carefully avoid in conversation.
I shower and get dressed on autopilot, my mind on Sarah the whole time. She was painting when I left for the game, totally absorbed in her work.
She’s probably barefoot, probably wearing one of my old t-shirts—she’s developed a habit of stealing them out of the dryer despite our rule that she not wear my clothes. Her hair is probably piled on top of her head, a paintbrush stuck through the back, and she’ll definitely be wearing her glasses.
I’m guessing she’ll have a mug of tea sitting next to her easel. And she’ll have no idea where her phone is. I’ve called her at least a dozen times in the past two weeks just so she can follow the sound of the vibration around the house until she finds it again.
I make eye contact with Miles one last time before he heads out for post-game interviews. Based on his glare, you’d think he was staring right into my brain, seeing how frequently his sister is filling my thoughts.
I’m only half dressed, still shirtless and barefoot, but instead of looking away, I glare right back. If Miles has an actual problem with me, he can own it and tell me what it is. I won’t let him intimidate me when I’ve only done exactly what he asked me to do.
“What was that about?” Holly asks after Miles leaves. Coach Kimzey wanted our backup goalie to get some ice time, so Holly didn’t play tonight, but he still geared up for the game just in case. As a result, he looks a lot less tired than the rest of us.
“No clue,” I say. “He’s been looking at me like that since the wedding.”
“Have you told Sarah? What does she think?” Holly asks.
“Nah, I don’t want her to worry about it,” I say. “If it starts to affect our gameplay, I’ll bring it up with Miles myself. But I don’t think it will come to that.”
Holly grabs his shoes and sits down to put them on. “He’s probably just trying to intimidate you. Make sure you’re behaving.” He shoots me a look. “Which…are you?”
I retrieve my wallet and keys and shove them into my pockets. “You’d think the rules were tattooed on my eyelids for how closely I’m following them,” I grumble.
Holly chuckles. “Hang in there, man.” His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, frowning when he glances at the screen.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. Just—Charlie’s with her grandparents for spring break. She’s not having a very good time.”
“With Claire’s parents?” I ask, and he nods. Charlie loves Holly’s parents, but it’s been rockier navigating their relationship with his in-laws since Claire died.
“I flew her up to Montreal on Sunday,” Holly says. “My parents will get her on Thursday, then keep her until Sunday when they’ll fly her home. She’ll be all right, but I’ve never been away from her this long.”
“That sucks, man,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I hesitate a beat before asking, “Do you want to grab a beer? Talk about it?”
He gives me a knowing look. “You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do.”
He pats me on the back as he moves to the door. “Go home to your wife. I’m turning into an old man anyway. Once it gets this late, I don’t want to go anywhere but home.”
I’m surprised by how much I relate to his comment. But my desire to go home has everything to do with who will be there when I arrive.
On my way out of the arena, I pass by the family room. The doors are open as people spill in and out, teammates searching to find their people. Jordo is just inside the door, arms around his fiancée, and a twinge of jealousy pulses behind my ribs.
Jealousy I can never admit to, because as far as anyone else is concerned, I’m going home to a wife. Even if it’s just on paper, it still chafes that she’s never here. That in this one aspect, she isn’t willing to pretend.
Theo comes up beside me and claps me on the back, and I realize I’ve been staring at Jordo. “You all right?” he asks, and I quickly nod.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Behind him, Fly is waiting. I guess just the two of them are going out.
Theo narrows his eyes at me, like he can sense I’m not telling the whole truth, but there’s no reason to get into it here. Talking won’t change anything about my situation.
It’s been weird spending less time with Theo.
We obviously still see each other when we’re with the team, but living across the hall from each other, we were together almost constantly.
That meant if one of us was feeling off, we never made it very long before the other beat the truth out of us—figuratively, if not literally.
It takes more of an effort now—checking in with each other.
“What if I don’t go out with Fly and just come over?” he says. “Are you and Sarah doing anything? We could just…hang out.”
I quickly shake my head. “Don’t change your plans,” I say. “I promise I’m fine. But we need to do something with Holly this week. Charlie’s in Canada with her grandparents.”
He nods. “Got it. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll figure something out.” He gives my shoulder another squeeze, then turns and jogs toward Fly.
It’s late enough when I pull into the driveway that I can’t be sure Sarah hasn’t already gone to bed.
I drop my keys into the bowl by the door and toe off my shoes, moving quietly just in case she has. The house smells faintly like paint and tea, a scent that already feels familiar. Like home.
At the end of the hall next to the kitchen, I peek up the stairs that lead to Sarah’s studio.
The door is closed, the light still on, so she must still be awake.
I make my way up, knocking when I reach the top.
Sometimes she doesn’t hear my knocks—if she has her AirPods in and she’s actively painting, I’m not sure she’d hear the smoke detector going off.
But tonight, she calls a soft, “Come in,” and I push the door open.
Sarah is standing in front of the final piece she’s been working on, arms wrapped around her middle. The rest of the pieces for the show aren’t here anymore, so she must have taken them to the gallery while I was out of town. The space feels bigger without them.
Sarah looks at me over her shoulder. “Did you win?”