CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Emery
Denver is all sharp-edged mountains and rolling sky. The air is thinner here, crisper, and the sky feels bluer although it clearly isn’t.
I thought traveling here for the last preseason game would show me how much I miss living here, but I soon realized that the only things I do miss are the much cooler summers and this—talking to Trish face-to-face.
She’s seated beside me in a pair of sweats on the fifty-yard line. Her reddish hair is pulled back in a loose braid, and a pair of sunglasses sits on her freckled nose. We’re both cradling cups of coffee from my favorite café as we watch the team practice unfold below us.
The field is empty except for the team and coaching staff. There are no fans, in fact, there is no one seated anywhere on this side of the stadium, save for us. The only noise besides us talking is the echo of whistles and the rhythmic thud of cleats against the turf.
It feels oddly intimate and special.
“I’m really glad we could get together. I’m sorry it’s here because I’m technically working but—”
“I wouldn’t have missed this chance to hang out with you.” She knocks my knee with hers. “I still can’t believe this is your job.”
“Neither can I. It’s cool and weird and I’m terrified when my probation is up that they’ll take the plan I made to better the program and then say sayonara to me.”
“Can they do that?”
“They could. I’m just trying to make myself invaluable so they don’t want to.”
“And does that making yourself invaluable thing include sleeping with that hot hunk of a man right there?” she says lifting her chin to where Lucas is throwing passes to receivers.
“Talk about a way to change the topic of conversation,” I say through a laugh. “Jesus, Trish.”
She shrugs. “Well.” She draws the word out, but then doesn’t say anything else to give me time to speak.
We sit there watching routines being run and passes thrown. There is no tackling today—not the day before the game—and so the PT room will have less traffic than normal after practice.
“He’s just a good guy,” I finally say.
She tilts her head. “That sounds loaded.”
“It is.” I take a sip of coffee as I track Lucas and his shoulder to see if there’s any odd movement or rotation when he throws. “He’s nothing like Jared, that’s for sure.”
“And . . .?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I think I doubted my confidence to make good decisions regarding men because of my marriage. But there’s something about Lucas, about the way he treats me. He’s taught me that one wrong decision doesn’t mean the next one will be bad too.”
“Of course not. It’s not your fault Jared was an insecure douchebag. He should have been proud of his wife and her success, not emasculated by it.”
“I know, but failure is failure and I took it personally. I’m not ignoring that I have faults too that contributed to our demise.
Hell, I even assumed I was the problem for a bit.
” I meet her eyes. “But if he couldn’t love all of me—career too—then it wasn’t worth salvaging because my career is such a huge part of my life. ”
“And Lucas understands that?”
“He feels the same way about his.” I twist my lips and think of the past two months. The roller coaster we’ve been on to get to this point. “I didn’t think there were any good guys left and then in walks Lucas.”
“Okay. Define good guy.”
“Kind. Generous. Looks out for others. Wants the best for everyone.”
“You forgot the incredible in bed part,” she whispers and I laugh.
“That too.” My cheeks heat. Thanks to Jared I had no idea that women “should always come first.” Talk about bliss.
Talk about Lucas being a man who abides by those unwritten rules.
“But it’s so much more than that. We hang out all the time and never get sick of each other.
Morning runs. We see each other at work.
Then we sneak into one another’s places at least four nights a week.
It’s just comfortable and . . . I don’t know. ”
“You’re smitten,” she murmurs.
“More than smitten,” I admit out loud for the first time.
“Ahh.” It’s all she says as she nods. “Do you think this has a life?”
The question sits there in between whistles and shouts below.
“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. It’s just . . .happening.”
“Does that scare you?”
“Yes.” My answer is immediate. Only a friend who knows everything about my life can ask that question. “I don’t think either of us is willing to give up what we’ve worked for. And I don’t know how something survives when neither person can bend.”
Trish reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Sometimes not knowing is better. Sometimes it’s easier to enjoy the moment. Sometimes people learn how to bend when they only thought they could break. And sometimes you just go with the flow and see where it takes you.”
I nod even though that doesn’t make the not knowing any easier.
Below us the whistle blows and the offensive line resets.
And for the first time since this started, I ponder not what this is, but what exactly it will cost me.