Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Ambrosia
Evan Adler: I have the best family. Loving and uplifting parents, super supportive siblings, and the most amazing extended family that goes past blood.
But nothing compares to her. To waking up every morning and seeing her beside me.
Knowing that she is the person who has my back.
The one who saved me when I thought I wouldn’t survive.
Unless you’ve been through it, it’s hard to explain what depression and anxiety can do to you.
They leave you feeling like you are drowning, and the loneliness is terrifying.
If you’re lucky enough, then a person you are meant to love for the rest of your existence will be standing there with the life jacket.
Callie Adler: I would go through Bigfoot to give you that life jacket, Evan.
I know it’s stupid, and I haven’t even seen him in over a week…but I can still feel his hand in mine.
It’s an odd sensation that I know is just in my head.
It has to be. How could I still feel the calluses on his knuckles or how he had this little hangnail on his thumb that nicked me but made me feel alive?
There is no way I can remember that or still feel the weight of his hand in both of mine, but I do.
I swear it. Or it’s a figment of my imagination that is brought on by the butterflies and rainbows that stupid girls get when hot boys come along and make them even stupider.
Make them forget about how badly guys like them have hurt them in the past. Causing them to consider that maybe this one is different. That they shouldn’t hide.
That maybe going to a football game won’t be so bad.
Because I’ll be watching him.
I lean on my hand as my eyes drift shut in annoyance at myself.
If my dad were here, I would unload on him, and he’d comfort me, remind me that I choose who to give my heart to.
Problem is, I’m not the smartest when it comes to my heart.
Hell, at one point, I was chucking that sucker at guys left and right.
But I learned from that. I grew. And for two years, I kept the door to my heart locked and my legs closed.
Now, I want to open both.
Pathetic, really.
Yes, we all know that Dawson is fucking stunning.
He’s smart and athletic and, oh my God, so funny.
Nothing rattles him. He is genuine and unapologetically himself.
I love that. I crave the moment when he comes back at me with such sureness in his voice.
He leaves me with no doubt because he is totally confident in what he wants from me.
Me.
He wants me.
And I want him.
All of him.
The feel of his hand in mine. The press of his body. And those lips. Jesus.
I am about to admit something that will stay between us, but I opened one of my vibrators that night.
I came to thoughts of him—how he smiled, how he walked me back to my car, barefoot, since he didn’t want me to have to wait for him to get his shoes.
He walked beside me, not touching me, not pushing me for more.
When we got to my car, he opened the door once I unlocked it and leaned on it, his eyes clashing with mine.
I wanted him to kiss me again, but I knew he wouldn’t.
I’d have to ask him to.
With his wide grin, dimples on display, he said, “So, I’ll kill Dillon, and you’ll turn Poncy in?”
Even in my feelings and not having an inkling of joy, a smile moved over my lips. “Please don’t even waste your time. He isn’t worth it.”
Dawson didn’t seem convinced, but his smile didn’t falter. “But you’ll turn her in?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t want to make waves.”
I was met with silence, and when I looked up at him, his eyes were darting between mine. “Make the waves, Ambrosia.” My lip trembled a bit as he held my gaze. “She has no right to say those things, and you have the ability to make sure she thinks twice about doing it again.”
I hadn’t planned to, but I filed a complaint against Dr. Poncy.
Dawson was right, and the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want anyone else ever to feel as small as she made me feel.
I’m not saying she won’t be a hateful bitch to someone else, but maybe she’ll remember what happened when she does.
Doubtful, but I’m hopeful.
I listen to the rough tenor of Evan Adler’s voice, but I’m not really listening.
I’ll have to redo this edit, but I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Dawson was there for me when he didn’t have to be.
I also can’t ignore the warmth that gathers below my sternum, knowing he did it with no expectation of getting anything from me.
I press hard on the stop button and groan before rewinding it back about three minutes.
I really need to get this done, and it’s not helpful to be daydreaming about how dreamy Dawson Sinclair is.
Especially when I’ve done that all week.
I exhale, forcing myself to focus on what Evan is saying as pride seeps out of my pores.
With every email I get back from the couples I contacted to come on my show, I think it can’t top the last, but honestly, I don’t know how I’ll ever top Evan and Callie Adler.
I don’t know if Shea and Elli Adler just raised their kids to be so open with their love, but God, the way Evan looked at Callie.
How he shared about falling in love with her and feeling saved when he decided to walk away from the NHL because he knew she would have his back, no matter what?
Yeah, how can I top that?
I hit pause when I see my phone light up, and even before I have it in my hand, I can see it’s a Venmo deposit.
DawsonSinclair60: $100 for the rights to my wallpaper.
I roll my eyes at the comment.
AmbrosiaMercer1: Stop sending me money. It’s weird.
DawsonSinclair60: But I don’t own the rights to this photo. You said so yourself.
AmbrosiaMercer1: It’s fine. I give you permission to use it.
DawsolnSinclair60: Does this mean you’ll go out with me?
I snort, rolling my eyes again, but before I can write him back, my phone rings with an incoming call.
From Jayden Sinclair.
My heart kicks up, and my belly does a little clench as I answer it quickly. “Hello?”
“Ro, how are you?”
“Well, and you?
“Good, good. Listen, I know we said we were meeting at nine on Saturday, but do you think we can do later?”
I bring in my brows. “Later? Don’t the Bullies play football on Saturday?”
“Not this week,” he says on a sigh. “But Dawson won’t be playing for a couple games.”
Now my heart is racing with worry about Dawson.
I try to keep my voice even. “Oh? Is he okay?”
“Totally fine,” he says, like it’s acceptable for him to miss a game.
I want him to go on, but he doesn’t. “Since it’s a bye week, we figured we’d have breakfast with the boys.
My future son-in-law will be home this weekend too, so we’ll have all three for the day.
Then Baylor and I would come to record the show with you. How’s four?”
My mind is going crazy, and I need to know why Dawson won’t be playing. “Sure, that’s great for me.”
“Awesome, I’ll—”
“Jayden, I know this is none of my business, but what did you mean when you said that Dawson would be sitting?”
I’m met with silence, and I close my eyes. I’m so stupid. I am supposed to have a professional relationship with this man, but I’m over here asking about his son I have no business knowing about because I have completely blown him off left and right.
In front of his parents!
But he comforted me.
He held my hand.
Ugh. He makes me foolish.
“With him going into the NHL draft, we don’t want him getting hurt, so he’s sitting on lower-ranked games.”
Oh. That makes sense. Wish him well and hang up. But of course, I don’t do what my brain says. Instead, I ask, “Is that what he wants to do?”
Wow. If there is a medal for dumbasses, I get the gold.
Jayden chuckles. “It’s what’s best.”
“I understand that, but he loves playing. He wants to win.”
“I know, but the Bullies are undefeated right now—”
“Because of Dawson,” I say, going for broke at this point.
“He is making unbelievable plays, and I know he isn’t straight-into-the-NFL good, but he’s a college badass for our conference.
The way he can read the field is wild, and how quick he is on his feet when he’s a fucking giant and weighs over 200 pounds—I mean, come on, he’s kicking ass. ”
Jayden is quiet for a moment, and then he chuckles once more. “Um, Ro, is there something going on between you and my son?”
I snort. Like a fucking pig. “No way. Not at all. I mean, he gets on my nerves on the best of days and makes me stabby on others. But I just know how much it means to him and how much he loves playing.”
He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I know he thinks I’m a babbling fool. “I hear you, and I’ll make sure to remember that.”
“I hope so.”
I hope so?
I hope so?
What is wrong with me!
“I just mean, I’d hate for him to miss out on what he loves, and the chances of a championship are very high,” I quickly add, covering my face as it burns from my stupidity.
“I know, Ro. I hear you, and I also hear you defending my son pretty hard.”
“Me? Never,” I say too fast. Way too fast. “I don’t know why you’d think that.”
“No clue, huh?”
“None at all.” I let my head fall to the desk. “Oh, I have another call coming in.”
“Sure, see you at four on Saturday,” he says with humor lacing his voice.
“I can’t wait,” I groan before hanging up quickly.
Then I start to bang my head on the desk because, as much as I’ve fought it, I know in my soul… I’m going to end up giving Dawson Sinclair a chance.