22. Ian
22
IAN
I blink awake, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. It feels like a heavy metal band is rocking out inside my brain. I lift my fingers to either side of my forehead, hoping to turn down the volume.
No matter how hard I press, there’s no relief. What in the hell happened? I force myself to sit up, then lay back again when the room spins.
Snippets of memories flutter through my mind like confetti raining down after a national championship win. I mentally grasp them and try to put my thoughts together.
After dropping Felix off at the airport, I was heading home when one of my former teammates texted. Phil Johnson saw the photo my dumb-fuck brother posted on Insta before I made him delete it. Since moving to Colorado, I’ve maintained a low profile and intend to keep it that way.
But Phil, who’d been traded a couple of seasons earlier to Denver, was a friend at one time, and I agreed to stop by his house for a drink—just one.
Only it hadn’t been one, and it hadn’t been just Phil. Most of the Grizzlies O line was partying at his house last night. For a few hours, I got swept back into the me I used to be—the guy who only cared about having fun off the field. But I’m not a complete idiot and have no intention of falling back into that life. I don’t even want it anymore.
I swear I only had a couple of Jack and Cokes, but I feel like I partied for four days straight on some billionaire’s yacht in the south of France.
I pat down my body, which is shockingly in one piece. I’m fully dressed, also a small miracle at this point.
My phone is on the nightstand next to the bed. I grab it, then bolt upright, pounding head be damned. Sadie and I are supposed to leave for Vail in twenty minutes, and I’m still an hour away from Skylark. I sniff my pit. Shit, I could use a shower.
A blender whirs from somewhere in the house. Stumbling out of the unfamiliar bedroom, a little weak in the knees, I head downstairs to find Phil in the kitchen, something green, thick, and nasty-looking spinning in his Vitamix.
“What the hell happened last night?” I yell over the sound.
He turns off the machine and grins. “I’m making a hangover cure, Playmaker. It’ll make you right as rain in no time.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, “Why do I have a hangover? I had two drinks. What the fuck was in them?”
His smile turns sheepish. “Yeah, the new punter is a practical joker.”
“Did he roofie us?”
Phil cringes. “Roofie is a strong word, but something like that. It’s harmless. The headache will fade, and you won’t fail a drug test.”
“I don’t drug test anymore, dumbass. I’m retired. My girlfriend and I are driving to a wedding this morning, and she’s going to be pissed as hell when I’m late to pick her up.”
At least, I assume as much. I’m pissed as hell. Although calling Sadie my girlfriend out loud takes the edge off my frustration. It has a nice ring to it, a long-term ring that feels right.
“Oh, sorry, man.” Phil looks legitimately remorseful. “But I’m sure she’ll understand.”
I shake my head. “Christ, Phil, I barely understand. What the hell is wrong with a kid who would secretly drug his own friends?”
“More talent than sense, I guess.”
I study my former teammate. “You don’t seem that worse for wear.”
“Oh, buddy, I learned last season to drink like a college girl on spring break. Only what I open myself, and I never put it down. Hell, I’ve mastered the one-handed piss.”
“Could have used that info last night.”
“You’ll know for next time.”
I don’t bother telling Phil there won’t be a next time. If this train wreck of a night has taught me anything, it’s that I’m done with the football party lifestyle. There isn’t a damn thing I miss about the off-season antics. Why had I tried to fool myself into thinking there was?
“Let me pour you a hangover cure to go.”
“No.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “I’ll see you later, Phil. Good luck this season to you and the guys.”
“See you, Playmaker,” a voice calls out as a hand lifts from one of the plush leather couches situated around the fireplace of the open-concept main floor.
“Later, Barlowe.” Denny Craig, the team’s star offensive lineman, waves from a recliner.
“You weren’t the only one messed up,” Phil tells me with a shrug.
“Kellerman’s a douche,” Denny shouts, then lets out a groan and grasps his head with giant hands.
“A douche and a half,” I mutter and walk toward the front door. I stop and turn back before heading out into damage control mode. “Tell Kellerman that what he did last night isn’t cool. If I catch wind of him pulling that shit again, either with guys on the team or anyone else, I’ll come back down and personally break every toe on his kicking foot.”
Phil visibly swallows. “Got it, Playmaker.”
“Also, tell him I’ll be calling Coach, just for more incentive.”
“Dang, Barlowe, you sure you need to do that?”
“Come on, Phil. This isn’t Vaseline in somebody’s jockstrap. It’s serious shit and not okay. I’ve got a daughter. You might have a daughter someday. Would you want a guy like Kellerman anywhere near her?”
“Fuck no. I’ll relay the message, man.”
Thank God my keys are still in my jeans pocket. I jog to my car and start to call Sadie, but what the hell am I going to say? The kind of night I had is evident in my voice. Hopefully, I’ll feel more human by the time I return to Skylark.
I text instead, apologizing that I’m going to be late, using the excuse of an emergency with a friend in Denver.
Her response is immediate.
Sadie: If you’ve changed your mind, you don’t have to go to Vail.
Shit. I don’t want her to think that.
Me: I haven’t. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
It kills me that I’ve hurt Sadie when it’s the last thing she deserves. Maybe I can explain away a night I barely remember, but not the underlying truth. Even when my intentions are good, I hurt people. My dad always had the best intentions to put down the bottle and not raise his fist to Mom. It never worked that way.
My behavior is nowhere near as bad as his, but I’m still his son. How can I trust myself? It’s enough of a struggle to be the dad my daughter needs. I’m not sure how I’ll handle that once this weekend ends and Sadie breaks off our arrangement.
If I can hurt her when it’s supposed to be fake, the thought of what I might do to her if I let myself truly have feelings is terrifying.
Interstate traffic is light, and I make good time home. The house feels empty without Riva, but I’m glad she stayed with Sally and Trina last night. I don’t want her to see me like this.
After the quickest shower known to man, I throw some clothes in a duffel bag, grab my suit from the closet, and text her I’m ready.
“I’m sorry,” I say as she emerges from her house. Max trots down the steps to greet me, and I shift to guard the family jewels.
“It’s fine, Ian. I appreciate you coming with me.” Her tone is way too formal. “I know it’s a lot.”
“It’s not.” I pick up her suitcase and place a hand on her arm. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away, which I take as a good sign.
“I didn’t mean to stay out all night. It’s a long, stupid story. Let’s just say I got a bit of not-quite food poisoning, but something incapacitated me.”
She lifts a brow, and I can only imagine what she’s thinking kept me from coming home, but I don’t offer more of an explanation.
“This weekend is going to be fun, Sadie. Promise. I’m glad I’m coming with you.”
The headache has worn off, and now that I’m with Sadie, I feel more like the man I’ve become over the past few weeks. A guy I like a lot more than The Playmaker.
“Me too,” she agrees, with a sigh like she wishes she wasn’t.
We load Max and her luggage into the car, and we start the drive to Vail. I could explain exactly what happened, but instead, I let her think the worst. I’m bound to disappoint her—if not now, at some point. Maybe it’s smart we go into this weekend with what I can and can’t give in the forefront of our minds.
“Other than your sister and Brad-ski, who else important to you will be here this weekend?”
She gives me a funny look. “Max might be the only other wedding attendee I care about. But you saw Piper’s best friend, Casey, at the country club.”
“The maid of honor,” I answer and she gives a terse nod.
“You might recognize a few of Bradley’s high school friends still living in Skylark. Amanda and that group.”
“I can’t wait,” I say with a smile that feels tight at the edges.
“You’ll meet his parents. They retired to Arizona a few years ago. Of course, I’ve known them forever.”
I glance at her as I merge onto I-70 West. It’s hard to read her expression behind her tortoiseshell sunglasses. “What do they think of their son and your sister as a couple since you and B-man were such close friends growing up?”
She grips the door handle as we come around a particularly tight bend in the highway heading into the mountains. I’d bet the reaction has more to do with her nerves about the weekend than my driving.
“They were always nice to me, but I was never the kind of girl they wanted for Bradley. According to Piper, his mom didn’t approve when they first started dating, but she’s come around.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Agreed,” she murmurs. “Although I wonder if anyone would be good enough for Connie Carlson’s adored prince. Guarantee she still thinks Dr. Bradley should have aimed higher than a twenty-two-year-old nursing grad.”
“If she’s anything like you, your sister’s a catch.”
Sadie laughs like I’m making a joke. For the record, I can’t imagine a woman who could hold a candle to my fake girlfriend.
“I hope I’m wrong and Piper’s right,” she says. “The whole damn Carlson family is lucky to have her, Bradley especially.”
“The more I hear about this guy, the more I’m convinced he’s a royal tool.”
Her grip on the door handle eases as she laughs again. “Mega tool. I can’t believe I was blind to it for so long. I hate that Piper thinks she’s the lucky one.”
“She grew up knowing him as your friend,” I offer, giving her sister the benefit of the doubt if not B-Rad. “You liked him, and he probably seemed safe and familiar. Starting out after college in a new city where you know no one isn’t easy.”
She lowers her sunglasses and looks at me. “Even when you arrive in that city as a first-round draft pick out of college?”
“Someone’s been doing her homework.”
A blush rises to her cheeks as she shoves the sunglasses up her nose again and faces forward. “I figure I’m going to be inundated with questions about my boyfriend, so I did my Playmaker homework.”
Hearing Sadie call me her boyfriend makes my heart hurl itself against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape my chest. Shit, I’ve got it so bad for this woman.
“Your career is impressive.”
“And over,” I mutter.
“You’re impressive,” she amends.
Is that enough of a foundation to convince her to turn our fake relationship into a real one after this weekend?
“I still don’t believe we’re going to convince everyone you’re head over heels for me.”
“They’ll believe it,” I say simply. I don’t add because it’s true.
A complete shock, but so very real. Over the past several weeks, I’ve let Sadie into my life and heart in ways that surprise even me. At first, it was watching her connection with Riva. Seeing the warmth and support she brings to my daughter’s life and realizing she shines that same light on the dark corners of my well-guarded heart.
She’s a woman with a huge capacity for love, and the feelings I’ve caught for her are far from fake. Although it might have started slowly, the way I feel now hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m in love with Sadie for so many reasons.
She’s lovely without the need for superficial glitz and glamour, but it’s more than just physical. Her genuine kindness makes her refreshing to be around, especially compared to the transactional relationships I’m used to. I can be myself with her, and she anchors me to what’s real and valuable—things I had a tendency to lose sight of in the chaos of fame.
She gasps as I overcorrect on one of the sharper bends along the winding highway through the mountains. “Sorry,” I mutter.
I never expected this, and I don’t want to scare her away or stress her out before this weekend.
Last night is a reminder that I’m capable of making dick moves, but I’m going to do better. She’s absolutely perfect, and I’m damn lucky to be at her side this weekend, even if she thinks we’re still pretending. I still don’t trust myself not to hurt her, which is the last thing I want.
So I’ll keep these feelings to myself a little while longer. If I have anything to say about it, Sadie and I will have plenty of time to explore our connection. Maybe even the rest of our lives.
“What kind of music do you like?” I ask as I hit the power button for the radio.
“Whatever you want,” she answers without thinking about it, but I shake my head.
“Everyone has faves. Tell me yours.”
I want to know everything about her, as much as she’s willing to share. Even though it’ll hurt more in the long run if things don’t work out the way I want, I can’t seem to stop myself.
“It’s embarrassing.” Her cheeks turn a rosy pink, and my body reacts, remembering the blush that colored her entire body when she came apart in my arms. “Sally and Trina make fun of me all the time.”
“You’re killing me, Hart.” Somehow I know whatever she says is going to make me happy. Everything she does makes me happy. “Just spill it.”
“Yacht rock,” she whispers.
“Are you serious?” I throw my head back and give a deep laugh. “You’re a fan of saccharine sentiment and bell bottoms. I love it.”
“Don’t forget chest hair,” she tells me with a wink.
I tug on the collar of my shirt. “I’ve got chest hair.”
She giggles. “And a pretty hot chest underneath it.”
“I kind of love the Kenny Loggins vibe.” The word love has me swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. I’m not sure Sadie notices. I sure as hell hope not and grab my phone to cue up a playlist.
“You’re not going to make fun of me?”
“Not on your life. If I’d known, you can bet I’d be wearing my skipper’s hat twenty-four-seven. Shall we start with Gordon Lightfoot?”
She grins back at me. “Yes, please.”
Suddenly, everything is right with my world again. All because of Sadie Hart’s smile.