Chapter 20
Colin
I FUCKING HATE that couch.
It absolutely haunts me. All I see when I look at it is Sam laid out, needy and raw. All I hear are her soft moans. I swear I can still smell her perfume when I walk past it.
I thought the Christmas break would help. A full week apart from her while I visited my mom and sister in Vermont should have been the antidote I needed.
It wasn’t.
My sister knew something was off, but she didn’t push.
And even though I was desperate to talk to her, we were both too busy being the perfect siblings for Mom, who was deteriorating way faster than Erin had let on.
Whenever it was just the two of us, the only real topic we talked about was caring for Mom.
“You can’t control this, Colin,” she’d said with a roll of her eyes. “The money you send is too much.”
“Because you won’t move down with me,” I countered.
“She doesn’t want to leave.”
Arguing was pointless. Rather than going around and around with my sister, I’d spent my time fixing things around the house and doing everything in my power to make life as comfortable for Mom, and as easy for Erin, as I could.
But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Talking with the physical therapist who came every day to help Mom, and insisting she keep me informed on a weekly basis, wasn’t enough.
And underneath all of it was the unbearable knowledge of Sam.
Sam, who seems to be a totally different person around me now. We’ve been back from break for a week, and she couldn’t be more professional if she tried. She’s just…I can’t put my finger on it.
She smiles at me, and it’s the exact same smile she gives everyone else. The one that I know isn’t genuine. Not really. But even still, she’s more visible than I’ve ever seen her, even showing up on the pitch to watch Xavier and offer suggestions to keep him from injury.
She’s handling this better than me, that’s for sure.
I glare at the couch, then pull out the blanket that Kari brought up from the bowels of the building the Monday after our break. Said it was cold in my office and tossed a bag on my desk in the most unceremonious gift-giving move I had ever seen.
It’s a fleece Granite blanket, the logo emblazoned across it. I drape it across the couch, hoping it’ll give me some relief. Maybe if evidence of my actual job is staring at me from those damn cushions, I won’t think of the beautiful woman I’d been lucky enough to have on it.
I snort. Fat fucking chance.
But I know I did the right thing. Stepping away from her and focusing on the team has been beneficial for both of us. It seems to have been more than beneficial for her, in fact.
The woman I met in Vegas isn’t here. That woman was sure of herself in a way that the woman who is at this very moment out on the pitch with her brother isn’t.
Yes, the Sam down there is sure of herself – very, very sure of herself, actually, and it’s sexy as hell – but it’s different.
The Sam in Vegas was warm and open. Trusting.
She believed in herself, and for some reason, she believed in me.
The smiles I got from her that night are ones that I have yet to see again.
I’ve gotten close to seeing them, but since we returned after Christmas? Nothing.
That’s the part that fucks me up.
I shake my head and turn away from the window. She’s fine. I’m fine. This is the right thing to do.
I just need to concentrate on the upcoming season, which is coming up quickly. Sam will do her thing and I’ll do mine. It’s what I wanted.
But if it’s what I wanted, then how come all I want to do is sink to my knees and beg the woman I met in Las Vegas to come back?
I step to the window and look back down.
Sam’s out there with Ollie, Ansel, Carter, Woods, and Lennox.
And they’re doing…yoga? I’d heard she was doing sessions for the staff while we practiced outside.
I watch, unable to help a sigh as Kari comes into view with a phone.
I know they have to film content to put out there, but I swear half of it is thirst-trap material.
The men sink into the saddest imitation of a warrior pose that I think I’ve ever seen, and Kari winces even as she keeps the phone trained on them. Ouch. My players clearly need to stretch more.
This is the kind of thing she’s supposed to be doing.
It is. I know it is. And it’s got nothing to do with me. With us. There is no us.
Her chin lifts, and I’m certain she can see me looking at her. I freeze. Maybe she can’t. Maybe if I stay still, she’ll think it’s a trick of the light and ignore me. But she doesn’t stop looking. And because I’m nothing if not a pathetic shell of a man, I raise my hand and place it on the glass.
She looks away.
I curse and back up. I’m an idiot. I need to focus.
She’s clearly moved on. It’s what I wanted.
What I made happen when I acted like an utter and complete asshole.
Being ignored by her is the nicest thing she could do, and I’d do well to remember it.
This is the woman I’m married to, after all.
There’s nothing stopping her from going to Scott and telling him everything.
Or telling Neesha in HR. Or even going to the press, though I doubt she’d do that.
I flop into the desk chair and swivel, taking in the office. The framed jerseys from the past five seasons I asked to be mounted, the table and chairs where I meet with Ryan and Elliott, the blue of the sky, the couch. Everything I’ve killed myself to get to, and all I feel is hollow.