Chapter 44
SAM
I knew I came on too strong today. I should have kept my hands to myself. Shouldn’t have let my gaze linger on her every time she was in my line of sight. Shouldn’t have been searching for her when she wasn’t.
Rosie
No, it’s really not bad. x
When do you want to talk?
I ask and then sit there staring at my phone, my stomach twisting itself into knots.
You are back on Saturday, right?
Yes. Do you want to come over here?
Can you meet me at the house at 10?
Of course!
Are you ok?
Yes. I mean…
Yes.
Sleep well, Sam xoxoxo
Sleep tight, Rosie xxxxo
I miss playing. I think that every time the guys take the pitch at the start of a game.
Then someone gets hit just right, and I realize that I don’t miss waking up feeling like I was hit by a truck.
I don’t miss the painkillers or shots of cortisol.
Ultimately, I missed being around the game.
Coaching suits me and my body just fine.
“How’s the flat?” Colin asks, handing me a beer and sitting across from me in his new living room, the night before our teams are set to clash.
I eye him before looking over my shoulder to where Sarah is hovering. Neither of them cares about the flat.
“Flat’s great.” I grin, knowing I could jump right to how Rosie is doing, but there’s no fun in giving up that information.
Colin’s attention flicks to Sarah so quickly I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he wasn’t about to fish.
“And you’re settling well? Feeling good about being back in the city?” The floor creaks behind me, and I know Sarah is moving closer. They’re like a pride of lions moving in for the kill.
“I feel great about being back. I haven’t missed the bookstore once.” Leaning back, I take a long pull of my beer and wait for the next cast of his fishing line.
The next time Colin looks at Sarah, it’s with a pained, somewhat desperate expression. He’d rather be chatting about Crawford’s torn hamstring than my sex life.
“How long do you reckon you’ll stay at the flat?” Sarah jumps in, sitting next to Colin.
“Oh, you know, for a while. Why? You’re not thinking of selling, are you?” I know they aren’t. I know for a fact Colin has dreamed of owning multiple properties as investments. The flat I’m subletting right now is the first piece of his “future empire.”
“No, just wondering if you were contemplating putting down more, well, permanent roots now that you’re back. Thinking about long-term plans,” Sarah says coolly, relaxing back into the couch and taking a sip of her water. She’s far better at this than Colin is.
I mimic her body language. “No plans as of yet.” I shrug.
“Just enjoying the moment.” It’s a stone-cold lie.
While I am indeed enjoying the moment, I’m planning a future with a certain redhead and her daughter, whether I mean to or not.
I close my eyes and there she is, smiling up at me.
I open my eyes in the morning and swear I can hear Maggi giggling down the hall.
These visions, or whatever they are, are so intense that I’ve thought about talking to someone.
Maybe getting an MRI because clearly something is wrong with me.
Except I don’t have any interest in making any of these imaginings go away.
“Have you been catching up with people? Old friends and the like?”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. She’s cracking, and that means I’m winning.
“Not as much as I’d like to. Hopefully I’ll have a bit more time in the coming days with the break.”
“Any plans?” Sarah asks innocently while Colin sits there in silence looking uncomfortable.
“Nothing concrete yet. Any suggestions?” I ask sweetly.
It almost happens in slow motion—the moment Sarah realizes she has lost whatever little game we’re playing.
“What about Blythe? Have you seen her?” The exasperation in her tone makes me chuckle and Colin look to the heavens.
“Oh yeah, we’ve been out a few times. Helped paint her new place, had breakfast with the family last weekend.”
“I told you,” she hisses at Colin. “I knew Mum was acting weird when we talked yesterday.”
“She seemed fine at breakfast,” I assure her.
Colin is pacing along the pitch, hands on his hips and occasionally breaking into a run, desperately trying to inspire his team to leave it all out there.
I’m standing still, arms crossed and calm, as my team does all they can to leave his bloody and broken. Okay, not that vicious, but the score is definitely painful for the other team right now. We’re coasting at this point.
Five minutes later, our star inside centre slides across the try line putting the game out of reach for the Inverness Eagles.
Colin grimaces over at me, and I nod back, doing my best not to appear too cocky. I’m a lowly assistant coach after all, while he’s the head coach. I’m new; as of right now, I haven’t contributed all that much.
“Glad to see you out here, mate,” Colin says when he shakes my hand after the game. “Feels right.”
“Happy to be back.” I clap him on the back as we head toward the locker rooms. “See you next week,” I call before he disappears through the door.
After the game is when I feel a bit out of place. I used to have my post-game rituals, but none of those make sense now. I don’t need to shower or stretch. I don’t need to cool down at all.
I chat with a couple of journalists. They ask the same questions I’ve gotten since I got back. “How does it feel to be on this side of things?” “What was it like to be playing against Colin rather than with him?” “How’s the shoulder?” “Does anyone in Canada know who you are yet?”
I give the same answers I gave after my first game.
“It’s different, but I’m excited about the challenge.
” “We’ve always been competitive, so in a way it felt right to be competing still.
” “Feels great unless it’s going to rain, and since it’s Scotland, I’ll let you come to whatever conclusion your readers would prefer.
” “Haven’t you heard? I’m huge on book social media.
” As it turns out, one of them did, in fact, know that I’m big with readers on social media.
I grab a coffee from concessions, sign a few autographs, and then climb on the bus with the team to head back to Glasgow.
That part is nearly identical to how it used to be, give or take one hundred fans yelling my name while holding out Sharpies and an array of photographs from over the course of my career.
Halfway home the ache in my shoulder intensifies, and I pop a couple of Naproxen right before the sky opens and the world is blanketed in rainfall.
On Saturday morning I’m sitting on the stoop to Rosie’s house half an hour before we agreed to meet. I’m annoyingly early as usual when it comes to plans with her.
When she pulls into her driveway I jump up so quickly I nearly fall over as a rush of blood goes to my head. Lucky for me, I manage to stay upright and avoid embarrassing myself.
“Are you ever late for anything?” she asks over the roof of her car.
“I had a coach that used to say on-time was late so I learned real quick how to be early,” I defend myself, joining her at the car and taking one of the boxes she’s got crowded in the boot.
“Are you moving in today? Because you could have asked me to be a mover for you. I could have gotten a uniform and everything.”
She laughs while shouldering a bulging bag and pulling another box from the car.
“Not moving today but figured I’d bring things over gradually.
Do you have any idea how much stuff we’ve accumulated since being here?
” She looks skyward and rolls her eyes. “All our stuff from home is sitting in Thomas’ study.
These things”—she nods at the boxes—“I don’t even know what half the stuff is. It just appeared.”
“Just appeared, eh?” I tease, taking the box from her so she can unlock the door.
“That’s the story and I’m sticking to it.” She grins back at me before stepping over the threshold.
It still smells like fresh paint but it’s much less intense than the last time I was here. The appliances have all been updated since then as well, and there’s a new rug in the middle of the living room.
“You can put those down in here,” she calls from the other side of the kitchen where there’s a small dining room with a table the previous owners left behind. “I’ll be right back,” she says, walking back toward the front door and I stand there wondering if I should follow or stay put.
She probably would have asked me to come help her if she wanted me to follow. Or maybe she’s doing that thing where she acts like she doesn’t need help to prove that she can do it on her own. Which she absolutely can, it just doesn’t mean she should have to.
Right as I make up my mind and go to take a step, she comes back in carrying two coffee cups and a white paper bag.
“Figured we could have a mid morning coffee break while we talk,” she says, her cheeks turning a shade of pink you would usually only see in a prairie sunset. She’s so pretty it almost hurts.
“Depends,” I tease, taking one of the cups.
Her eyes narrow. “On?” she asks slowly.
“What’s in the bag?”