Chapter 25
A sher has been on edge all week leading up to today. It’s Sunday. One p.m. First game of the season for the Boston Rebels, and he’s not playing in it. Much like me, he’s forced to the sideline, wearing a Rebels T-shirt and track pants and an anxious look. It’s killing him. I know it is.
This is his team. His heart.
And while I don’t care about football necessarily, I do care about him. And my guy is visibly hurting. I want to hug him. I want to hold his hand. But I am forced back into that realm of indifferent acquaintance. No one here knows our truth.
No one knows that this Asher Reyes, the football god, is actually mine.
That he wakes me up at all hours with his mouth between my thighs and his fingers inside of me.
That he stares deep into my eyes every time he enters me for the first time.
That he is so unlike the man he works for, I can only hope our son is more like his father and nothing like his biological grandfather.
In the two weeks since the ice skating rink, things between us have found their rhythm.
I’ve talked Asher away from confronting Joe—it won’t help me and it will only hurt him—and I’ve sort of moved into his bedroom.
I’m fully aware that I’m irrevocably lost to this man because he’s hot and sweet and loves our boy with his entire heart and is on a boundless mission to find all the ways to make me come.
I’m trying to take it day by day. I’m trying not to get in too deep too quickly. But Asher makes it so effortless to love him.
So it breaks my heart that he’s here on the sideline, mic’d into the kid on the field who is starting the game instead of Asher. It’s been nearly a month since his surgery, but he’s got another month, at least, of rehab before he can even think about taking the field.
The opposing team just deferred the ball and kicked off to us.
Asher paces the sidelines as the rookie hits the field.
He passes me on one of his paces, and I grasp his hand on the back side of it, giving it a squeeze and then immediately releasing him.
His eyes train back to mine, and I can see the ache in his.
“You’ve got this, player.”
A wan half-smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” Because this sucks . He didn’t have to say it; his expression screams it for him.
“Soon enough you’ll be back out there.”
But the grim crease of his face tells me that he’s not sure if he’ll ever start again for this team, and I don’t know what to say.
Joe spoke about seeing what the kid could do when he and I met that first time.
He talked about possibly trading Asher. And then what?
This is where my dream job is. Where my family is.
What happens to all of this if Asher gets traded?
Yet another reason why I’m trying to force myself not to get too emotionally involved, but that feels like a joke.
I haven’t mentioned any of this to Asher. I’m not sure what good it would do anyone, especially him. Instinctively, I’m positive he already knows the score and that being traded is a very real possibility for him.
“Maybe.”
It’s all he says, and then he’s game-on. Nothing else registers but the plays.
I’ll admit it, it’s sort of fun to watch. Even if I don’t understand much of it. It’s not hockey, and it’s far from basketball, but I get it. The gridiron roughness of it. The putting your body on the line for each play.
I slink to the back of the sideline, away from the players and the action.
Joe is standing on the edge of the sideline, barking and growling as he stares at a laminated sheet with plays on it.
He shouts something at Asher, who simply nods his head in acknowledgment, though the clench of his jaw does nothing to hide his resentment.
Asher wears his heart on his sleeve, and that won’t help him with this.
Joe, for better or worse, is his coach. And if he wants to continue to play for the Rebels, then he has to learn how to manage that.
I love that he’s protective over me, but I can take care of myself.
Ignoring Joe has become an art and science that I’ve mastered.
I don’t have to speak to him. He has very little to do with what I do here.
Letting go of the past means removing his importance in it, and I will no longer give him any power to affect anything in me.
“You look tense,” Dean, the team neurologist says, coming over to stand beside me. He’s a nice guy. In the weeks I’ve been here, we’ve become friendly. He also works at the same hospital I do. Not that I ever see him there since I’m no longer working there, except for occasional Mondays.
“It’s my first football game.”
His eyebrows bounce in surprise. “What do you think of it so far?”
I hitch up a shoulder. “I’d rather be home with my son.”
He laughs. “How did you get this gig again?”
“I drew the short straw.”
“Interesting considering I practically had to offer up my firstborn child to get it.”
I throw him a side-eye. “How do they feel about that?”
“No kids yet, so I’ll let you know when I have one.”
“Well, I have no plans to give up mine, so I’d gladly pass this off to someone else.”
He steps in closer to me, nudging me with his elbow. “From what I heard about what you did for Reyes’ shoulder, I doubt they’re letting you go anytime soon.”
“His shoulder wasn’t that bad,” I admit.
“I’m not sure what was up with the MRI. It was a completely different field when I got in there.
” It’s still something I don’t understand.
I reviewed the MRI after the surgery to make sure I hadn’t been imagining things, and the MRI showed a torn labrum, an AC joint separation, and a ton of scarring that wasn’t present inside his shoulder.
The truth is, anyone could have done Asher’s surgery. He might have even been able to get away with some physical therapy for it instead of surgery, which would have gotten him through the season. I’m still not sure what to make of it.
“Even so, you’re the team hero if Reyes can manage to get back on the field this season.
The rookie is talented but very green.” He juts his chin toward the field just as the quarterback takes a sack.
“See what I mean. He never should have taken that hit, and he should have thrown the ball away before he did. He not only cost the team a bad third down, he cost them field position for the resulting punt.”
I glance over at Asher, who is swearing, but when the kid comes running off the field looking forlorn, Asher grabs him, smacks the back of his helmet, and then puts his arm around him, saying something to him that no one else can hear.
“Do you think they’ll keep Asher?” I ask, since Dean has been with the team a lot longer than I have, and from the way he’s speaking, it sounds as if he has insider information I don’t.
“No clue,” he admits. “Everyone was surprised when they drafted the rookie as high as they did in the first round. Rumor has it, it was all Coach Cardone’s doing, but he kept Asher as his primary QB until Asher’s shoulder became a problem after that big hit.”
Huh. My eyes track over to the back of Joe’s head as he yells at some offensive lineman. “I thought Cardone wasn’t hired on until this summer.”
“He didn’t move here until shortly before training camp, but he had signed a secret agreement with the team before the draft back in April. That’s privileged information though. I’m not supposed to know about any of this.”
I turn back to Dean, my brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“They didn’t fire the old coach until two months after the draft.”
I shake my head. “Why wait if they made a deal with Cardone?”
He throws his hands up. “No clue. No one knows, and it’s all been kept very quiet.
I only know about the deal because I overheard the owner talking on the phone with Joe before the draft.
I was standing outside his office and heard everything.
When Randolph realized I knew, he told me I couldn’t mention anything about Joe coming on or that Joe wanted the rookie in the draft as part of the deal. ”
“Wow.” That’s all I’ve got. Admittedly, I don’t know much about football or how it all works for contracts and owners and coaches. Still, something feels very off about that.
About all of this.
The game continues, and I end up in the locker room with a wide receiver who I suspect tore his ACL in his right knee.
Poor kid is devastated when I tell him I want to see him tomorrow at the hospital for an MRI.
By the time I finish up with him, the game is over, and the locker room is filling up with players and staff.
I head for the exit only to have Asher grab my hand before I can leave, pulling me over to the side where no one can see us. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Are you good if my friends come over this afternoon to swim, eat, and watch the later games?”
“Of course. My mom and dad will be there though, remember?”
“That’s fine. Grey loves hockey. He’ll pester your dad all afternoon.”
I grin. “He’ll love that.” I glance over my shoulder, and when I find we’re still alone, I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Congrats on a team win.”
“Thanks. It hurts but it also feels good, you know? A win is a win.”
“A win is a win,” I parrot. “See you at home, player.”
He leans in and presses his lips to mine, then releases me, heading into the locker room for the post-game stuff they do.
A couple hours later, we’re all up on the roof deck.
I’m in the water with Mason, who is clinging to me like a monkey while I talk with Fallon, Layla, and Aurelia.
In the weeks Asher and I have been together, I’ve learned this group is tight and they spend a lot of time together.
I already knew Fallon from med school, but I’ve started growing close with her and the other women, which has been nice.
It’s an added bonus of being in Asher’s life.