SEVEN
CHASE
DYLAN: Mad wants us to meet at the ranch house before the ball. She’s still hoping to sneak into the limo.
CHASE: If we slap a mustache on her and say she’s my agent, maybe.
JAKE: You’ve got your own game tonight, Chase. Don’t fumble that red carpet kiss.
DYLAN: Hope you’ve been practicing in the mirror like you did before Marie Kettleman.
CHASE: That was 10th grade and my first kiss!
JAKE: Surprised it wasn’t your last after you headbutted her.
CHASE: Great pep talk!
DYLAN: Anytime, dude!
I shove my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and stare down the long dirt track that leads from Oakwood Ranch all the way to the highway, flanked on either side by open grassland and thick clusters of trees. Gravel crunches under my boots as I shift my weight, my body fizzing with the knowledge that any minute now my best friend’s blue truck will appear on the road.
Tonight is the Hearts of Denver awards. Our fake date night.
Since Harper suggested it, pretending to date Serena has felt like the answer to everything. The Chasing Love DMs and crowds have only grown in the last few weeks, no matter what I say or do. If the world needs to see I’m off the market to finally move on, then fine. I’m more than ready to make that happen. Especially as it’s gonna send a clear message to Ryan too. And seeing as Dylan is receiving an award tonight for the Stormhawks outreach program, and the entire Sullivan family—minus Madison because she’s too young—are all attending, the Stormhawks are sending a car for us. Given Serena is my date, it made sense for her to come here and get ready first.
I hear movement behind me and see Mama walking my way from the direction of the ranch house, carrying an empty stew pot. She’s wearing her usual oversized Stormhawks jersey and paint-splattered overalls. Her gray-blonde bob is pinned back on one side with a Stormhawks clip Madison made. It’s so Mama. No-nonsense and all heart. She might be five foot nothing and tiny next to me, Dylan, and Jake, but she’s fierce. After Dad died, Mama raised us single-handedly. Throwing us into football as a way to handle our grief. As soon as the college football scouts came knocking, she took on the role of our agent and made sure we’re among the best-paid football players in the NFL. All while serving up the best beef stew and chili in the state.
“You look like you’re waiting to hitch a ride,” she calls out as she nears me, that knowing glint in her eye.
“I was hanging out with Dylan and Mad on the football field,” I say, nodding toward the back of the ranch where the sun is starting to dip below the ridges of the foothills, making them glow a dusty orange. Mama had the football field put in when we were kids, complete with goal posts and gridlines. I feel like I grew up on that field, and still spend hours out there now with Dylan, Jake, and Mad—our newest and most dedicated Stormhawks fan. “Serena’s due any minute. Figured I’d meet her out here.”
“Are you ready for your fake date?” There’s something in Mama’s tone, like a soft warning wrapped in gentle curiosity.
I study her face but, as always, her expression is unreadable. The woman should’ve been a world champion poker player. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t approve? I thought you’d be thrilled to shut down the Chasing Love circus and get talk back to my game.”
“I am,” she replies. “But I worry about the cost.”
I frown. “What cost?”
“You and Serena have been best friends for a long time, Chase. I’d hate for anything to get in the way of that.”
I chuckle, already shaking my head. “It’s just for show. And probably just tonight. One night, one kiss in front of the cameras. Tomorrow, everything will go back to how it’s supposed to be.”
She gives me a long, searching look before speaking again. “One kiss is enough to confuse things.”
Something in my stomach knots. Me and Serena, kissing. I’ve been so focused on the plan and getting my life back to normal, I haven’t stopped to think about the logistics. This isn’t just a friendly peck on the cheek. This is a real kiss. I push the concern away before it can take root.
“Mama,” I say, spreading my hands. “Come on. Me and Serena? We don’t see each other that way.”
“As long as you’ve thought it through,” she says, the frown on her face smoothing out.
“We have,” I reply. “It makes sense. It gets rid of the question of dating. I don’t want to date, and I don’t want people to keep offering themselves as my dream match. I don’t need any distractions right now. I just want to focus on my game.”
Mama pats my arm. “What you call distractions, I call living. And sometimes we are at our best when life throws us distractions.”
She pauses, letting her words sink in. I know what she’s trying to say. The throwaway comment I made after the game against the Ironclads at the start of the season didn’t just ignite the Chasing Love hashtag. It also worried Mama. She wants us all to be happy. To share our lives with someone. Now that Dylan and Jake have found that, I know she wants the same for me. But I meant what I said. Love isn’t on my horizon. And I’m OK with that right now.
All I need in my life is football.
She opens her arms and we hug. I let myself sink into the embrace. Because this woman is everything to me. She’s so much more than my agent and the woman who built my career brick by brick and is the reason I’m playing at the top of my game for my home team.
“Thank you,” I whisper, hugging her tighter for a moment before letting go.
Her gray eyes fix on me. “Chase Sullivan, how many times?”
I give a rueful smile. “Sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to thank me for.” She’s said it so many times, and yet I can’t stop sharing my love and gratitude. Mama took me in when I was a scared and quiet two-year-old boy, and her sister—my mom—said she couldn’t cope anymore. No hesitation. No conditions. She gave me a second chance at a childhood, a family, and a future. I owe her everything.
Mama gives me one more squeeze before pulling away. “Harry would’ve been so proud of you.”
“I still miss him,” I admit.
“Me too.” Her smile is sad and for a moment it’s as though the years melt away, and the grief is still raw. “He had a way of bringing you out of your shell in a way no one else could. The only thing that ever came close after he died was football. Anyway,” she continues, patting my arm, “I better get ready for the ball. It takes me a lot longer to look my best than all you young, bright things.”
“You’re always beautiful to me,” I say, pulling her in for another hug.
Her smile brightens. “You always were smooth, Chase. Good luck tonight.”
I’m about to ask her what I need luck for, but she’s already walking toward the tall spruce trees and her new lake house. When I glance in the direction of the highway, I spot the cloud of dust and Serena’s truck heading my way. No point trying to fight the smile that spreads across my face.
A few minutes later, Serena pulls up beside me, and I jog over, hopping into the passenger seat.
“Did you know that mountain lions can leap up to forty feet in a single bound?”
“How long have you been waiting to tell someone that?” I ask.
“All day.” She flashes me a smile and turns left onto the new track that leads toward the spruce trees and the lake.
A few minutes later, we pass Mama’s house first, then the track curves around, following the line of the lake to my house. It’s a tall structure with four bedrooms and plenty of space. Too much space for just me. It’s modern with clean lines and large windows, creating bright, open rooms. But there are white shutters on the windows and a wraparound porch that makes it feel like it’s always been a part of the ranch.
A little way along the track is Jake and Harper’s. All three homes are positioned with views of the lake and privacy. Mama really did think of everything. I can’t see the other houses from my place, but I can walk to either of them in less than two minutes.
I hop out and grab her bag from the back, making a show of struggling to lift it. “Just checking, Serena—you are just getting ready here, right? You’re not moving in?”
“Shut up.” She swats at my arm, grabbing another smaller bag. I spy her book on mountain lions sticking out the top and smile, wondering what fact I’ll be told next. “And I’ll have you know, I need everything in that bag.”
I open the door into a spacious hall that leads down to an open-plan kitchen-diner that overlooks the lake. There’s a cozy den to one side with a fireplace and a TV on the wall, and a smaller room that would make a perfect study, not that I can imagine ever sitting behind a desk.
Serena spins around, taking it all in just like she did the first time. “Chase! You promised you’d get furniture. That’s it, I’m calling an intervention. We’re going shopping. This place needs some serious home touches.”
“It’s fine,” I reply, even though I know she’s right. I open the fridge and pull out a bottle of water. The fridge is equally empty, with only a row of protein shakes and a few pots of leftovers Mama has stashed in here for me.
“You wanna drink?” I ask, shielding the bare fridge from Serena’s sharp eyes.
She shakes her head. “I should get ready.”
I pause, thinking of Mama’s warning. “You sure you’re OK with this?” I search her face, looking for any sign of hesitation. “It’s not too late to back out,” I add.
She meets my look, and all I see is her usual calm and the sparkle in her bright-blue eyes. “Why? Are you getting cold feet?”
“I’m just not sure the world will believe someone as stunning as you would date the likes of me.”
“Too cheesy, Chase.” Serena laughs and the sound is bright and musical as she heads upstairs. It’s the kind of laugh that lands somewhere behind my ribs and settles in. The laugh I first heard in Miss Fenton’s third-grade homeroom and have been chasing like a touchdown ever since.
An hour later I’m standing on the back porch in my tux, staring out across the lake. The sky has gone that velvety shade of navy with only the faint glow of a crescent moon lighting the water. Somewhere close, an owl hoots and the breeze rustles in the spruce trees, cool enough to make me tug the lapels of my jacket a little closer. Serena was right about the temperature drop on her weather report this morning.
I rub my shoulder absently, letting my thoughts drift to last Sunday’s game against the San Diego Skyclaws. It was another messy win that didn’t feel earned. It was only game four of the season, but it already feels like the fans are restless. The owners too. The pressure is on. This is my second year playing for the Stormhawks. I’m the golden quarterback. The man they’re counting on to take them to the playoffs and deliver them a win at the Super Bowl.
Only I don’t feel like that guy right now. I deal with the pressure by being first to practice, grinding through every drill, giving it everything. But something’s off. I don’t know if it’s me or the team. Maybe both. This bye weekend and a break from the field couldn’t have come at a better time. In two weeks, we’re home to my old team—the Trailblazers. There’s no way I can let them beat us. And before that, we’re playing the Las Vegas Desertraptors, who haven’t lost a game this season.
And that feeling that something’s off? I’ve been burying it, throwing myself into football and pretending it doesn’t exist. But with half of Denver laughing about my love life and the other half trying to join it, it’s harder to ignore. Maybe what’s missing has nothing to do with football at all. Maybe it’s everything outside the field.
My old coach at the Trailblazers saw it. He thought I was holding back. He thought the reason was to do with my head, not my skills. He sent me to a sports psychologist and she agreed. After an hour of listening to me talk about my childhood, she looked me square in the eyes and said I had textbook commitment issues.
There’s still a wound inside you, Chase, she told me. Your biological father abandoned you before you were born. Your mother when you were two. Then your adopted father died when you were seven. Imagine those events as bricks. Bricks you’ve been stuffing into a backpack and carrying ever since. Until you open that backpack and deal with what’s inside, the weight is going to slow you down—on and off the field.
She said some other stuff too, like how I’m scared to commit to relationships. I called bullshit on all of it. I told her I was raised by the best woman on the planet. That Mama gave me everything a kid could ever need: love, safety, a place to belong. But later, when I couldn’t sleep, her words circled back. And over the years, as that weight has pressed harder, I’ve started to wonder if the psychologist was right.
Maybe that’s why, this summer, I tried to find my biological mom.
It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. More like a thought that had been gnawing at me for years, wearing me down until I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Always the same thoughts warring inside me. The fear of another rejection from a woman who left me on Mama’s porch and stayed gone for twenty-six years, and the fear of not hearing the answers I want.
When I asked Mama for help finding Leanna, she didn’t hesitate. She went to her desk, pulled out an old slip of paper, and handed me an address. It’s the last one I had for her, she said quietly.
My hand shook the whole time, but I wrote her a letter. I sealed it, mailed it, waited. A month later it came back, unopened.
Return to sender. No longer at this address.
That letter has been sitting in my drawer ever since. I haven’t tried again. I tell myself I don’t care, but if that’s true, why does that damn envelope still sit there, like it’s waiting for something I can’t name? Why do I lie awake at night sometimes, wondering where she is? What kind of life she has. If she’s happy. If she ever thinks of me. If she ever regrets walking away. And what she’ll say if I ever find the courage to ask her: Why did you never come back?
Some days I think the past should stay buried. Especially when I think of my biological dad. Jamel Bishop played for the Stormhawks for one season and got my mom pregnant during a one-night stand. Then he peaced out, moved to Canada, and left her to deal with the fallout. Twenty-four years later, he came back, saying he wanted to connect. Except he didn’t.
What he wanted was a second chance at his own career. He wanted to ride on my coat tails and get a gig commentating for the NFL. I didn’t want to accept the truth the first two times we met and the paparazzi were there to capture it. By the third time, when he hadn’t asked me a thing about myself or my life—hadn’t offered so much as a whisper of regret for not owning his responsibilities and, instead, asked if Mama had any contacts in the media—I got it. He was using me.
I forced myself to walk away, but I was crushed and confused. I had a family. I was a Sullivan. I had my brothers and Mama. I couldn’t understand why a complete stranger had the power to make me feel like I wasn’t good enough to be loved just because I shared half his DNA.
It was Serena I called first. She took a week off work, risked her cheer contract with the Stormhawks, and drove eight hours overnight just to show up in Kansas with bagels and coffee and this fierce look in her eyes like she dared the world to mess with me again.
But there are other days when I’m not so sure the past is best left buried. Days when I think the sports psychologist with her cozy armchairs and her office filled with potted plants was right. That the weight of my past is holding me back from being the man I want to be. On the field with my game. Off the field in relationships and my inability to commit.
And until I face it—until I find Leanna and ask her why she left me—I don’t know if I’ll ever really be free of it. But these are thoughts for another day because there’s the sound of movement behind me—the tap of heels, the swish of silk—and when I turn, every thought in my head disappears. Everything stills. Because standing before me is the most beautiful woman in the world.
She steps onto the porch wearing a gold silk dress that drapes over her curves like liquid light. Like it could slip right off her with one wrong move. Her long blonde hair is curled and shining, falling in loose ringlets around her shoulder and down her back. Her makeup is subtle but damn effective. Her eyes are framed with soft liner, lashes thick and long. Her cheeks shimmer and her lips are painted a glittering pink. And with those strappy gold heels, she looks elegant, sexy, and completely breath-taking.
She arches a brow and holds out her arms. “Well?”
I swallow, finding my mouth has gone dry. “You look nice.” The second the words are out, I cringe inwardly. Nice? Nice is Mama’s pecan pie. Nice is the pink and red heart throw Serena keeps over the side of her couch to wrap herself in when she’s watching TV. The woman standing before me is a lot of things, but “nice” isn’t the word for any of them and, by the way she’s rolling her eyes, she knows it.
“Chase Sullivan. We both know I look better than nice. And we’re supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend tonight, remember? Try again. If I was your girlfriend, what would you say to me?”
“You really wanna know?”
“Yes!” She laughs.
If Serena was my girlfriend…
The thought slides under my skin. I take her hand and spin her slowly, letting the light from the kitchen catch every shimmering inch of that dress. Her ass curves perfectly beneath the silk in a way I shouldn’t notice, and when she turns back to me, I pull her closer without thinking, her perfume brushing over me like the faintest hint of honeysuckle on a warm breeze—sweet but a little wild too.
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek and tilt her chin, more rehearsed than spontaneous, reminding myself this is practice. This is fake. So when I lean down, my words are smooth as I whisper in her ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I still can’t believe I get to call you mine.”
For a second neither of us moves, and it feels like the air crackles with something, but then Serena throws her head back and laughs and whatever was in that pause disappears, or maybe it wasn’t even there at all. “Wow, Chase. Very smooth.”
“What can I say? I’m a good boyfriend. You should’ve seen me in kindergarten—I shared my crayons and everything. Real commitment material.”
Serena grabs her clutch from the counter, still smiling. “Come on. We’ve got a world to convince.”
I open the door of my truck for her, and she slides in, careful of her dress. It’s only a short drive to the ranch house where the others are meeting us. Serena tells me another fact about mountain lions, I call her out about being a nerd, and like always it feels like the easiest damn thing in the world to sit beside her in my truck.