Chapter 13
Colin
“THERE’S NOTHING AVAILABLE?” I repeat, unwilling to believe what the gate agent is telling me.
“I’m so sorry. The early winter storm is making it impossible to get any planes out or in.” To her credit, she looks genuinely apologetic. Which is something.
But it’s still not getting me to my sister’s to see her and Mom for Thanksgiving. Shoulders drooping, I mumble a thank-you and push back through the throngs of grounded passengers. I’m no better by the time I make it back to my car and pull up my sister’s number to call her.
“How bad is it?” Erin asks by way of hello, her voice humming through the speakers.
“Bad.”
“But you’re still coming, right?”
I sigh. “I’ve looked at every possible flight, Erin.”
“Well, damn.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“To be fair, it’s almost whiteout conditions up here,” she concedes. “But Mom’s going to be awfully disappointed.”
“She gets more of your chocolate chip cookies – how sorry is she really going to be?” It’s my lame attempt at a joke.
“What are you doing instead? You can’t stay home.”
“I have no idea.” I turn on my blinker and swing into the left lane.
“Are you driving?”
“Yeah.”
“In Atlanta traffic? You’re insane. Get off the phone. I’ll tell Mom.”
I don’t want to get off the phone with her.
I want to see her in person and tell her everything I’ve gone through and have her give me a hug and then tell me to stop being an asshole and fix it.
Instead, I swallow the lump in my throat and say, “Okay. You still letting me fly you two down here for a match when the season starts?”
“Opening game, big brother. Wouldn’t miss it.” Her voice is warm with pride. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
We disconnect and I blow out a breath. The only bonus of this is that I get a few days to myself. I can relax, decompress, maybe read one of the books piled up on my bedside table. And if I’m really lucky, I’ll get Sam out of my head.
I snort. Not even remotely likely.
Back home, I’m seconds from getting horizontal on my couch, book in hand, when my phone buzzes. My brow furrows as I read the name on the screen.
“Ansel?” I answer. “Everything okay?”
“Hey, Coach,” comes the response. “All good. Listen, this might be weird, but Elodie is making me ask.”
“What’s up?” I remember Elodie from the picnic. Sweet woman, and definitely brought out his nice side.
“She wanted me to see if you were going anywhere for Thanksgiving. Sounds like a lot of flights are grounded and she’s insisting I round up everyone who might not have plans.”
I grin. “That’s awfully nice of her.”
He grunts. “I keep trying to tell her that feeding a bunch of rugby players isn’t for the faint of heart, but here we are.”
“If I’m invited, I’d love to come.”
“That’s why I’m calling. We’ll serve the main meal around seven, but you’re welcome to show up anytime from noon on.”
“What can I bring?”
“Not a thing,” he says.
I scoff. “That can’t be true. Surely I can bring something. Beer? Ice? Store-bought pie?”
He laughs. “Hang on.” A moment later, he’s back. “Tell you what. We’ll take you up on the ice. Anything else and Elodie might string me up by my toes.”
My chest twinges with something awfully close to jealousy, and I shut it down. Since when do I want anything approaching what it seems like Ansel has?
“See you tomorrow. And Ansel?”
“Coach?”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
Ten pounds of ice has to be enough. That’s what I tell myself as I pull up to Ansel’s and park behind a Bronco. I wasn’t about to call him and ask, so ten pounds it is. I haul the bags up to the front, ringing the doorbell and feeling more than a little ridiculous, but whatever.
The sounds of laughter float from the backyard, and right as I’m about to find my way there, the front door opens.
“Colin?”
Standing before me, her face flushed with happiness, is Sam.
She’s dressed up, her blond hair out of its signature high ponytail and flowing in waves down her shoulders, wearing a cozy sweater and holding a can of flavored soda water.
She’s absolutely stunning. I open my mouth, but close it again. Stunning.
Her smile dims, steadily turning into a frown. “Colin. Are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to interact like a normal human?”
I hold up the bags and force words from my mouth. “I brought ice.”
I am an idiot. I should have known she’d be here. Of course she’s here. Where else would an Australian be on American Thanksgiving?
Her mouth twitches. I’d like to think it’s close to a smile, but there’s no way. Not when she’s spent the last two weeks making a point of ignoring me even when we’re near each other. “Take it around back,” she instructs, then shuts the door in my face with a bang.
Ah. That’s why she almost smiled.
Is it bad that all her anger does is make me want to irritate her more? Because if making her mad will get her into my arms again, then count me in. “Game on, Sam,” I murmur, then make my way around the house.
The backyard is filled with all the Granite players who aren’t American, and for a beat, I feel like an utter asshole. Because it should have been me who made sure everyone had somewhere to be on the holiday, not the team captain.
Scratch that. The team captain’s fiancé. I file it away for next year and throw on a smile for Lennox, the Scot who I’ve gathered is also Ansel’s best friend.
“Aye, Coach, Elodie said we’d be seeing you today!” The man is about as quiet as an ox, so his attention brings everyone’s focus to me. A chorus of greetings volley my way, and I return them.
Lennox grabs the bags with ease, not missing a step as he guides me over the concrete patio toward two giant coolers. We fill them – turns out that ten pounds was the correct amount – and I walk around to say my hellos.
“Coach!” Ollie’s boisterous voice precedes him as he approaches, a wide, excited smile on his face. “I thought you were headed home to Vermont?”
“Weather had other plans,” I explain, extending my arm for the ritual that Ollie insisted we create: two fist bumps, then splaying my hand wide like an explosion.
I’m taken by surprise when Ollie pulls me into a hug, but the kid’s so much like an overgrown puppy sometimes that I should have expected it.
“It’s so good to see you,” he enthuses. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our talk the other day, and –”
“Ollie, give the man a break!” Elodie steps into our small circle and swats at the man who’s nearly a foot taller than her. “I know he’s your favorite, but let’s enjoy the day. Coach,” she says and turns to me, “I’m glad you came.”
“I’m glad you were thoughtful enough to make this thing happen,” I say. “I won’t forget it – and I’ll make sure I’m on deck to do this next year.”
She blushes and waves the compliment away.
“I like this sort of thing. And it’s a lot of fun seeing all the dishes the guys have brought!
” At my confused look, she expands. “I asked each guy to bring a side dish from their country. Ansel’s manning the Cajun smoked turkey, and Kari brought the honey-baked ham, but after that, we’re at the mercy of your team’s culinary skills. ”
“This is either brilliant or terrifying,” I admit.
“Brilliant,” Ansel says, walking up and extending a hand. “If Elodie’s involved, whatever it is, it’s brilliant.”
“You told me all I needed to bring was ice.”
He grins. “Elodie made the rules, Coach. Come on, help me get these coolers stocked.”
The next few hours are absolute torture.
Hanging with my players is good – great, even, because there’s no better way to get to know them than in this kind of setting – but having to pretend like Sam is just another person in the Granite franchise is gut-wrenching.
Watching all the guys ogle her and flirt with her is too much.
She’s. My. Wife.
It doesn’t matter that I have no right to call her that. Doesn’t matter that she’d rather punch me than kiss me. All I can think as she smiles at one guy after another is mine. She’s mine. Like a fucking ogre.
She bends down to better hear something Jamie says, and I don’t miss the way he shifts in his seat.
I’ll kill him. Atlanta might be densely populated, but it’s surrounded by plenty of wide-open land. Shouldn’t be too hard to make a body disappear.
Fuck, I’m a mess.
“Coach, could I get you and Sam to help me inside?” Elodie’s voice calls from the back door.
I glance at Sam, who makes a point of not looking at me as we each make our way inside.
“Could you two set the table?” Elodie asks.
“I’ve got it,” Sam says, cutting a look at me. “Head back out with the guys, Coach.”
Coach? She’s never called me that. I don’t think I like it. At all. “Happy to help,” I tell Elodie with a smile.
“Great!” she chirps, clasping her hands together and sounding far more pleased than the request really needs.
“Elodie.” Sam’s voice has a hint of warning to it.
“What?” she asks innocently.
“Elle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elodie sing-songs, then leaves the kitchen with a sweet smile at me.
Sam mutters something under her breath as she watches Elodie go, then glares at me. “Leave.”
I straighten. I might puff my chest out just a bit. Not a lot, but…a bit. Just, you know, to see if she reacts.
She does. It’s subtle as hell, but I’m so tuned into her that I catch the too-hard swallow she makes.
“I think I’ll stay,” I respond, turning and making a show of looking at the closed cabinets. “Do you know where anything is?”
“There’s no table.”
I swing back. “What do you mean, there’s no table?”
With a roll of her eyes, she gestures at the island in the middle of the kitchen. “That’s their table.”
“Then what –”
She cocks her head at me. “What do you think?”
I study her. “I…have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Never mind. Listen, we need to pull all the cutlery and plates out and get them set up on the island. Then we need to pull the tables and chairs from the garage and set those up in that big empty room over there.”
I look where she indicates, and sure enough, it’s a massive empty space, tailor-made for a big table. That doesn’t exist, apparently. “That’s…really empty.”
She chuckles. “Yeah. Elodie wants a very specific table, and Ansel has decided he wants to build it for her.”
“Can he do that?”
“Guess he’s going to figure it out. You know, ‘if he wanted to, he would.’” She narrows her eyes at me as she says it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that if you wanted to get this divorce handled, it would be done already,” she hisses.
I smirk as I move to stand beside her. “I wondered how long it’d take you to bring that up.”
She jerks open the silverware drawer and grabs a handful of knives. “Say that again, only turn toward me so that I can stab you with these.”
“Oh, come on,” I say with a laugh. “Death by butter knives?”
“Don’t test me, Coach.”
With one swift movement, I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her to me. She yelps, the butter knives helplessly gripped in her hand. She smells so damn good. Maybe it’s her hair? Her soft as hell skin? I don’t know. She’s driving me crazy. “Don’t call me that,” I growl at her.
She gathers herself instantly, angling the knives at my chest and pushing them in. She’s strong, but again: they’re butter knives. “I’ll call my husband whatever I want to call him.”
My cock jumps awake at that, and I know she feels it.
She presses her lips together and looks away, patches of red blooming on her tan cheeks.
“Fuck,” I choke out, gripping her harder. “Are you trying to kill me, Sam?”
She raises an eyebrow, then pointedly looks at the knives pressed against my chest.
I exhale.
Dragging her gaze back to me, she says, “I want the divorce, Colin.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Her eyes flash. “You don’t know what I want.”
“I think you want the same thing I do.”
“Wrong,” she snaps. “You don’t know anything.”
“Oh, but I do.” I lean closer, my nose less than an inch from her neck, those damn knives making a hell of a dent, and breathe her in.
Smoke from the fire pit and roses and apples.
Fucking delicious. “I know the little noise you make when you kiss, because I hear it right before I fall asleep every night. And those smiles you’re handing to the team right and left?
I know they’re not the real ones, because I saw your smile that night with me.
And,” I lift my lips to the shell of her ear, certain that I’ve made goosebumps appear all over her body, “I know the words you said when you saw my cock. I’ll never forget them. ”
She lets out a staggered breath. “Fuck you, Colin.”
“Say the word, Sunshine.” I lean back and make sure she knows I’m serious. “And I’m yours.”
She clenches her jaw and looks away. When she swings her gaze back, tears glisten.
“That smile you saw that night? That was the old Sam. The Sam who believed in herself. Who knew all the answers and who knew herself inside and out. But you took that Sam and stomped on her. You made her go against everything she knew, and then you bailed. So no.” She pushes the knives harder, her knuckles white, her arm shaking with the effort.
“There will be no words. There will be nothing except you giving me the divorce.” Her voice wavers on the last word, and she lets the knives clatter to the island.
My chest cracks wide open. Shit. I gape at her. “Sam. I had no idea. I’m –”
“Sorry. Yeah, I know. You’re always sorry.” She grits her teeth and shakes her head, as though I’ve disappointed her yet again. “I have to go.” She whirls away and runs from the kitchen, leaving me staring after her, like I always do.