CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Hardy
I toss my keys on the table when I walk into the penthouse. My body is tired, and my head’s spinning from my conversation with Lennox.
So much to think about. So much still left in the air.
What I don’t expect is to walk down the hall and see Whitney sitting on my couch, looking like a steam engine about to combust. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her eyebrows are raised.
Someone’s been stewing about something, and no doubt, I’m about to feel the wrath of it.
“Whit. Didn’t expect you home until later tonight. Didn’t you have a game?”
Her jaw is clenched, and her stare is hard. “So this was your plan?”
“What? To come home and take a shower? Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Whatever you think I did, I did,” I say playfully and chuckle. “Can we kiss and make up now?”
“You set this all up, didn’t you?” She rises from the couch.
“Care to let me in on what’s going on?”
“You set this up because to make this work, I’m supposed to cave and follow you. I’m supposed to give up the life and relationships I’ve built here.”
“Whitney? A little help?” I ask, but I’m now pretty aware of what happened today.
“Simon Garrett of the London Lions approached me today. Asked if I had any interest in being a part of their coaching staff. Are you going to pretend like you didn’t know about this?”
“It’s a good organization.”
“It is. You’re right. But I know the only reason he approached me is because of you. My connection to you, specifically.”
“Or because you fucking deserve it,” I say, deadpan, and knock some of the fight out of her. I expected some anger when this transpired. I even expected disbelief. What I didn’t expect was hesitancy. “That’s a huge opportunity.”
“A manufactured one. A favor called in.” She pats a hand on her chest. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a fucking charity case.”
“God, you’re bloody stubborn.”
“I don’t need your handout, Hardy.”
“It’s not a handout. Just because I asked Lennox to put feelers out about any coaching positions that might be open doesn’t mean you were given a handout. This entire fucking industry is built on who you know. Take who I know and use it to your advantage.”
“The job is in London.”
“Hence the name, the London Lions.”
“Away from here.”
“Correct. It’s in the UK where football is a real, living, giant, unstoppable force. Where you can cut your teeth as an assistant and gain much faster clout than if you were to try and work your way up the struggling female equivalent here.”
“I can’t leave the club. The kids. I—”
“Martin can handle things for you. You work during the season there and then come back during the off-season.”
“That’s a lot for him—”
“And he’s more than fucking capable. The man did it while you were recovering. He did a phenomenal job. What other reasons do you have not to consider it? Throw them at me.”
“Why does it hurt so much to hope?” she whispers, a sneak peek at the vulnerable side of her clear as day.
“Change does that sometimes.” I step toward her but am still leery of touching her. Her body language says she’s closed off right now, and I respect that.
“So this is your plan to keep us together? To uproot me and all I’ve ever known?”
“No. It’s my plan to give you what you’ve always deserved. To give you the chance that hurting your knee and other circumstances prevented you from discovering.”
“Hardy.” Resignation laces every single sound in her voice. “This is a lot.”
“It is. Life’s about making hard decisions, sometimes.”
“I love you, but this is me sacrificing everything I’ve made of myself.”
“No, it’s you figuring out if you’re going to let your dream change. And if you’re going to allow yourself to chase it.”
And if you accept this opportunity, it means we can be together.
However, I won’t say those words. She loves me. And I have essentially set in motion what she said. To uproot her.
But to see her shine on the grand stage?
That means everything to me because she means everything to me.