Chapter 22 #2
He was about to correct her, but he stopped himself. It wasn’t like the stuffed animal even looked like a moose. It was rotund with short, stubby legs. “It’s a funny chicken, all right.”
She hugged it to her chest. “Dat my guy.” And then she lifted her arms to be carried.
“What should we name him?” he asked as he settled her on his hip.
“Moo.”
“Okay. We’ll name your chicken Moo.”
When he paid, he asked the clerk to snip off the tag. Birdie still had the soiled pink ribbon in her fist, so as they headed for the exit, he asked, “Do you want me to tie it around Moo’s neck?”
“No. Dat Fifi’s.”
“Good point. When Fifi shows up, he might not like seeing it on Moo.”
“Fifi’s a gorl, siwwy.” She giggled adorably.
“She called me silly,” he muttered to Willa.
“And you loved it,” she said.
He did. Outside, they walked around the collection of antlers the Boy Scouts were tagging for sale at the auction to get to Bliss Ice Cream where they bought cones.
As they licked, he wiped chocolate from the corner of Birdie's mouth with a napkin.
When she tried to juggle the cone and Moo at the same time, he offered to hold the moose until she was finished.
They circled back around to the Wild Rose’s tent. The line was longer than it had been that morning. People were taking pictures of the historic inn and debating flavors. Jack was talking with his hands, animated in a way Decker hadn’t seen before.
“My dad looks great,” Willa said.
“He does.”
She threaded through the crowd and wrapped an arm around her dad’s shoulders, kissing his cheek. “Lookin’ good, Dad.”
“I feel great. Probably ready to get back to my studio.”
She pulled away, smiling. “And this is why I’m still in town. You might feel great, but the doctor said no heavy lifting, no long hours on your feet, and absolutely no jumping back into twelve-hour days like nothing happened.”
“I should’ve been a lot sterner with you.” But he was smiling when he said it. He leaned closer to Birdie and tapped the moose. “And who’s this?”
“Dis Moo.”
“Moo, huh? I like this guy. Reminds me of a moose I ran into one night when I was taking out the garbage.” He glanced at the adults. “You guys want some pie? It’s on the house.”
Willa laughed. “Thanks, but we had ice cream.”
“I want pie,” Birdie said.
“You got room in your tummy?” Jack asked.
She patted her belly. “I hongry. Moo hungry, too.” She tried to wiggle out of Decker’s arms, but he wouldn’t let her go—not when it was this crowded.
It killed him to let her eat nothing but sugar and fat, but he knew Willa was right. My job right now is to make her feel safe. Nutrition can come later. “Well, then, let’s choose one. What’ve you got?”
The older man pointed to the boxes. “Cherry, rhubarb, apple, and peach.”
“Which one sounds good to you?” Decker asked her.
“Shock-lit.”
The three of them laughed. “Then it’s a good thing we made one yesterday.”
“And that I hid it from my dad.” Willa gave him a teasing smile. “Don’t think I didn’t see you going in for a second slice.”
“I’ve got a sweet tooth.” Her dad tapped Birdie’s nose. “Just like this one.”
As they talked and joked, Decker held on to his daughter, and the strangest feeling spread through him. It took a moment to identify because he’d honestly never felt anything like it in his life. It was warm. Safe. It was a sense of slotting perfectly into position.
It was contentment.
Like hell he’d give it up now that he’d found it. Sure, they worked on opposite coasts, and both worked crazy hours. But they both knew it was worth fighting for. They’d talk about it more tonight. After he peeled her clothes off and took his fill of her body.
Nothing turned him on more than watching her come apart in his hands. This woman held nothing back. Everything she felt, he could read on her features. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—inside and out.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He ignored it as he imagined her dark bedroom, the one streetlight that angled a beam of light across her bed.
It was his favorite thing about her room because when he woke up in the middle of the night, if she was in the right position, he got to watch her features soft in sleep and the rise and fall of her breasts.
It spilled like cream over her cheeks and made him hungry for her pink lips.
He loved getting to see her in her most unguarded moments.
When it buzzed again, a cold bloom spread under his skin. Something was wrong. He shifted Birdie onto his other hip and pulled the phone free to find a text from his manager.
It was a video attachment. He tapped it open and immediately recognized practice footage. The California sky was bright over the field. The first-team offense was lined up, and Jenkins stood under center.
There was no orange jersey, no rotation, no coach signaling a switch.
They were running it live.
The ball snapped clean. Jenkins took a balanced three-step drop, hitched once, and released the ball before the receiver had fully finished his break. The pass landed in stride.
Good. That’s what they’d been working on.
His phone buzzed again.
Noah: Jenkins ran with the starters all day.
All day?
No rotation? No splitting first-team reps?
Just…Jenkins, running it straight through.
That wasn’t how it usually worked.
Another message popped up.
Noah: Front office asked for updated durability projections.
Anxiety roiled in his gut. Sunlight burned the back of his neck.
Durability projections had nothing to do with how well his ankle was healing or how soon before he was dependable again. It was about timelines. Availability. How long before things could get back to normal.
A third message slid onto the screen.
Noah: Starters looked comfortable with him.
He’d been gone two weeks.
That was all it took for the offense to start moving on without him? For guys to get used to a different cadence, a different voice in the huddle. For Jenkins to stop being a temporary solution and start becoming the guy.
Unease crept through him.
This was his team.
Everything ran through him. Always had. His timing, his reads, his decisions at the line. You didn’t replace a franchise quarterback in two weeks.
His mind called up the goal.
Seven hundred yards.
That was all that stood between him and the record.
Two strong games.
He was that close.
“Yeah, okay,” he muttered under his breath, more to steady himself than anything else.
He forced the surge of adrenaline down, locked it where it belonged. The building had to prepare—he knew that. Ankles didn’t always cooperate. Injuries lingered. They couldn’t sit around, waiting and hoping he’d come back in perfect condition.
He understood it.
Didn’t mean he was going to let them get comfortable without him.
If he wanted those seven hundred yards, he needed snaps.
If he wanted snaps, he needed to be functional.
He shifted instinctively into planning mode.
Swelling was nearly gone. Range of motion was improving daily.
If he increased load progression carefully—morning Anti-Gravity sessions, evening stability work—he could advance weight-bearing faster without compromising the ligament.
Seven days to full-speed plant and drive wasn’t reckless. It was aggressive but realistic.
He didn’t need to be one hundred percent to reclaim the huddle.
He needed to be able to plant and throw without hesitation.
That, he could control.
His thumbs moved over the screen.
Decker: Glad to see Jenkins is improving. Keep me posted on reps. I’ll be back in a week, as planned.
He lowered the phone and looked toward the tent. Willa stood behind the table, smiling at a customer, her eyes bright, her whole face lit up in a way that caught him off guard every time.
Something pulled tight in his chest. It wasn’t the same hollow ache he remembered from being a kid, wanting something he couldn’t have.
This was different.
Because now… he had it, had the thing he’d always yearned for.
Willa Holland was the only woman he’d ever—
Loved.
It was wild to call it that, but a teammate had once told him you could be with a thousand women and not feel a thing, but when it was real, you knew.
His friend was right. Because Decker knew.
Which meant he didn’t have to choose.
He could handle both. He’d balanced harder things than this.
He’d get back to his team. He’d finish what he started.
And he wasn’t letting anyone in that building forget who he was.