TWO
SERENA
LIV: Squad did good!
SERENA: Hell, yes!
LIV: I’m staying at Jensen’s tonight. We’ve still got to agree on a song for our first dance. Tell me why I’m marrying a guy with zero taste in music?
SERENA: Because you love him!
LIV: What if I ditch him and you and me can live together forever? We can get ten cats!
SERENA: You’re allergic to cats.
LIV: True! See you in the office tomorrow. We’ve got the new routine to nail down. You grab bagels, I’ll grab coffees.
SERENA: Deal.
“What’s the weather doing?” Chase asks as soon as I’m out of my truck.
I look up to the sky, loving that he’s asked my favorite question. I’m still as passionate about meteorology as I was as a kid standing on my grandparents’ porch, watching the rotating wall cloud twist into its funnel.
The weather is beautiful, wild, and bends to no one. And it’s capable of rewriting an entire day in a heartbeat. A sunny morning that sends people spilling onto patios, a first snow that transforms grown adults into kids.
I take in the clear night and the cool edge to the air. “The pressure’s dropping. I think we’ll see a new weather front moving in over the next few weeks. You’ll need to start packing a sweatshirt in your gym bag soon.”
Chase chuckles. “You really are a weather nerd, Serena.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Yeah, can’t imagine a morning that doesn’t start by watching Weather with Serena,” Chase replies.
“Weather with Serena—bringing Denver’s weather to her family and Chase Sullivan,” I quip in an official weather-girl voice. I don’t really mind that my channel’s viewing figures are lower than a fifth grader’s “get ready with me” channel. It took me six years to get my meteorology degree with night classes, but I did it. I can read the weather radar like most people scroll TikTok.
Sure, I hold out hope of getting sponsors and becoming the go-to for anyone in Denver, and maybe even all of Colorado, to check the weather each morning, but for now, it’s enough that I get to start every day talking about something I love, even if my dad thinks I’m crazy for not pursuing a career out of it.
The truth is, I love tracking weather patterns and predicting the day ahead, but I don’t want to be the person standing in the middle of a storm with a mic in my face, reading from someone else’s script. And I definitely don’t want to swap cheer mats for a desk, writing reports for other people to read. My YouTube channel and cheer coaching for the Stormhawks are the best of both worlds, even if I barely make enough to cover my bills most months.
Chase nudges my side. “Shame you can’t predict game wins, too. Because that would be seriously useful.”
I laugh as we set off down the street. Trucks and cars line both sides. Fans and the team coming to the best place in the city to celebrate the win—Flic’s Stormhawks fans bar. The bar envelops me like a hug from an old friend as we step through the door. Aside from a few more license plates and some new additions to Flic’s confiscated merchandise shelf—a trophy line above the bar of anyone dumb enough to wear rival colors in her bar—it’s exactly the same place where I got my heart broken six years ago. The same place I’ve spent so many hours with my friends, I correct.
Chase’s hand is on the small of my back as we navigate through the crowd. A couple of the team slap a hand on Chase’s shoulder, and some fans raise their glasses in his direction, but he doesn’t break stride, and I don’t miss the way he’s careful to make sure I’m always right beside him, like looking out for me is as instinctive to him as breathing. Considering how Chase climbed the fire escape of my building last winter and came through my window when I was sick in bed with the flu, just to bring me soup, I think it is. Like always, my eyes move to the spot near the jukebox where we kissed that New Year’s Eve. There’s a tug of bittersweet nostalgia, but I shove it aside and shift my gaze.
Sure, there was a time I thought I loved Chase. I’d convinced myself he was my forever. I’d dreamed of the children we’d have and growing old together. Feels pretty stupid when I think about it now. Chase is my best friend. Nothing more.
Across the bar, Harper waves from our usual booth in the corner. Silky brown hair, petite, and glowing with the kind of happiness that only comes from marrying the love of your life. We knew each other in high school, but lost touch until Harper moved back to Denver a few years ago and took a job with Sports Magazine. She’s a New York Times best-selling author as well as a journalist now, after her first book in a vampire series was released earlier this year.
Sitting beside Harper is Mia the only person in high school who ever came close to snatching that best friend spot from Chase. Mia lifts her bottle in greeting. Her black braids are woven with gold and pinned into a high bun, and her cheeks shimmer with highlighter. Across from us, Chase drops into the seat beside Dylan, whose thick black beard and plaid shirt scream cowboy rancher.
“No handcuffs tonight then?” Dylan asks, shooting a smile at Chase, who groans and shakes his head.
Last summer, Dylan drunkenly bought some horse stock and made Oakwood a working ranch again. He’s a different person to the tight end I remember from his playing days. Relaxed. Happy. Which I’m pretty sure has everything to do with the woman sitting beside him—Izzy. Izzy’s dark blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail and she’s wearing a tank top that shows off strong shoulders from years of ranch work. They married four months ago and haven’t stopped smiling since.
“I’ll get us some drinks.” Chase starts to move just as Jake appears at the table.
“No need.” Jake shoves his brother back into the seat just as Flic arrives with a tray.
“Now that’s what I call service,” Jake says, catching one of the bottles of light beers mid-slide. “Thanks, Flic.”
“I need to keep my team happy,” Flic replies, brushing one of her ice-blonde braids over her shoulder. “And getting us into the playoffs.”
“Like we weren’t already feeling the pressure,” Chase fires back.
“Good, because I really wouldn’t want to have to take your jerseys down from my wall.” Flic flashes a teasing smile at him and Jake. It’s all for show. Flic might look like a biker-bar badass in her tight black jeans and black tank top. And she might be a huge Stormhawks fan, but there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for the Sullivan boys. She grew up spending her weekends at Oakwood Ranch while her parents ran this place. As soon as she was old enough, she took over and now runs The Hay Barn like her own personal Stormhawks kingdom.
She hands Serena a soda and starts sliding beer bottles around the table for the rest of us. Only when she reaches Izzy does she pause, handing her a brown glass with a lemon wedge stuck on the edge. “And a mocktail for my favorite mom-to-be,” Flic says, smile widening.
A sudden hush falls over the table, broken a second later by Harper’s excited, “Oh my God, you’re pregnant?”
Flic slaps a hand over her mouth, cheeks flaming. “Wait—you haven’t told them yet?”
Izzy bursts out laughing. “We were just about to.”
Dylan’s grin stretches wide and he pulls his phone from his pocket, showing us a baby scan that makes my chest burst with joy and ache with emptiness in the same breath. “We’re having a baby,” he says, sounding nothing like the grumpy, football-obsessed man he was a few years ago. Proof if I ever needed it that second chances really do exist.
“I’m three months,” Izzy adds, her smile matching Dylan’s. “We told Mama this morning. And Mad knows, of course,” she adds, mentioning her ten-year-old daughter, who all the Sullivans adore, especially Dylan, who has become the best stepdad any child could ask for.
The table erupts in cheers and hugs and back slaps. I smile too, fighting back the prick of tears. Happy tears, I tell myself. Not self-pity. That would make me a pathetic loser. But the truth is, I’m twenty-eight, and I always thought I’d be married with kids by now, like my sister, Elle. Elle is only two years older than me. She got married at twenty-three and already has two beautiful children. She lives a couple of streets over from our parents in Idaho Springs, and her life is carpool and bake sale schedules. The funny thing is, in Elle’s eyes, I have the life to envy. I hear it in her voice when we grab five minutes to talk between my coaching schedule and her busy mom life.
Tell me what it was like to wake up without being jumped on by a three-year-old wearing a potty on her head.
You went for coffee on your own. What was that like?
I always laugh and play the cool, care-free younger sister, but the truth is, I want it so bad I ache for it. The marriage. The babies. The school runs and Sunday morning pancakes. I want it all.
Flic disappears to serve a customer. The crowd is starting to thin. People are thinking about waking up on Monday morning. Which is probably what I should be doing. Tomorrow, I’ve got budget forms to submit, and a call with the physical therapy team about implementing safer warm-ups. Not to mention starting choreography on the next routine with Liv.
Chase catches my eye across the table and winks. I know that look. The same look from history class when he was about to ask the teacher a wildly off-topic question that would have them forgetting the pop quiz we were supposed to have.
He shoots a look at Jake. “What about you, Jakey? Got any news you wanna share?”
Harper gets there first, already shaking her head. “Don’t put ideas in his head, Chase. We’re waiting a few more years.”
Jake flashes Harper the kind of smile that’s full of love and promises. “I’ve probably only got a few more seasons left playing pro football. Gonna give it my all, then be the best daddy in the world.”
“Just so you know, man,” Chase says. “I’ve already got best uncle locked down. Mad told me last week.”
“That’s only because you sneak her candy,” Dylan mutters.
Izzy’s eyes land on Chase, flashing with mock fury. “I hope you’re not bribing a ten-year-old with candy, Chase Sullivan.”
Chase holds up his hands, his expression one of total innocence. The look never worked on Mama Sullivan, but it got us out of trouble with my mom and dad on more than one occasion as kids. “Hey, I’m just securing my best-uncle position. You know I’ve got no plans to head down the dad-and-diapers route.”
His comment is another reminder why Chase and I could never be more than friends. We want totally different futures, and that’s fine by me. “Well, be prepared to be a fun uncle to my kids one day, too, Chase,” I throw out. “You know I want at least four.”
Chase rolls his eyes playfully. “Pretty sure your vision board says ten.”
I laugh along with the others, ignoring the twinge of sadness that I’m not even close to a place in my life to think about one kid let alone four or ten.
“Thank goodness,” Dylan mutters. “The last thing this world needs are any more Chases and your peanut butter ramen.”
Jake snorts. “You should feed that to all your Chasing Love fans. No way they’d still want to marry you after a taste of that.”
“Hey.” Chase points a finger at Dylan then Jake. “Peanut butter ramen is elite and that meal got me through college.”
“Yeah,” Dylan says, “and nearly got you dumped by three different girlfriends. One of them said it smelled like feet.”
Harper chips in then. “Thank God Mama still does most of the cooking. It’s only your weird desserts we all have to watch out for.”
Jake laughs. “What was last week’s again? That monstrosity you called banana split lasagna?”
“I stand by it,” Chase says. “Ice cream, pound cake, whipped cream, topped with cherries, banana, and avocado slices.”
Dylan rolls his eyes. “Why do you always think banana goes with everything? Next, you’ll be making tuna and banana muffins. Seriously, where do you even get these ideas from?”
“Tuna and banana muffins? I’m so making them for you, Dyl. And for your information there’s this guy on YouTube who comes up with the craziest recipes. The man’s the genius, not me.”
“You bake them?” Harper asks, not even trying to hide how incredulous she sounds.
Chase laughs. “No way. There’s a bakery downtown that makes anything you ask. I send them the recipes, and they work their magic.”
“I’m not sure ‘magic’ is the word I’d use,” Mia quips.
“For your information, Madison said it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.”
Dylan’s smile widens. “Seeing as Mad is home with Mama tonight, we’ll have to take your word for it she actually said that.”
“Without a bribe,” Izzy adds before she checks the time and exchanges a look with Dylan.
“Anyway, horses don’t sleep in, so we don’t,” he says, sharing a private look with his wife. “We’ll head back after this drink.”
“How’s the ranch going?” I ask
“Good. Great, actually,” Dylan replies, lighting up again. “The first foal born on the ranch is almost ready for auction. Quicksilver is gonna win the rodeo in a few years.”
Jake claps him on the shoulder. “Oh Dyl. You’re gonna cry like a baby when that horse leaves.”
We settle into our drinks. The three brothers gently ribbing each other about how Chase and Jake played tonight, in between bringing up stories from their childhood that have us all cracking up.
Then a woman approaches the table. Sleek blonde bob, long legs, and a confident smile. She slides a napkin with her number across to Chase. “I got everything you need, honey.”
He mumbles a thanks and waits until she’s sauntered back to her friends before dropping his head into his hands and unleashing a quiet groan. “This Chasing Love stuff is so stupid. The world is acting like I can’t find women who want to date me.”
Dylan raises his brows. “Yeah, you just have trouble keeping them.”
“Way to be a shoulder to cry on, Dyl.” Chase chuckles, lifting his head and looking around the table. “Tell me this attention is going to die down soon.”
“Not a chance,” Jake replies, shooting a look to Harper. The sparkle in her eye is unmistakable. The pair met when Harper was sent by her magazine to write a profile piece on Jake after his reputation landed him in trouble with the team.
Harper leans in. “The only way this is going to fizzle out is if the population of Denver’s single women stop seeing you as on the market.”
“What does that—” Chase starts.
“You need a girlfriend, man,” Jake answers.
“No way.” Chase’s expression turns serious. “This whole thing has made me even more determined to focus on football. We need to make the playoffs again, and we need to win that Super Bowl. It’s been too long since that trophy came home.”
“Hell yes, it has,” Flic chips in from where she’s collecting empty bottles at the next table. “This is our year. I can feel it. No way are we letting the Trailblazers beat us this year.”
Just then my phone hums in my bag. I dig it out expecting my parents or my sister, Elle, to be messaging, but it’s Ryan.
RYAN: I mean it, Serena. I’m not giving up.
I shove the phone back in my bag, pretending my chest isn’t aching with a messy cocktail of happiness for everyone else and frustration at myself. Jake and Harper. Dylan and Izzy. They’re actual life goals, and I’m a sucker for happy-ever-after, but sitting among them, it’s impossible not to compare. It feels like all my friends are getting married or having babies, whereas I’m still single, still dating the wrong kind of guys, still stuck with an ex who won’t take a hint.
I don’t need a second chance. I need my first.