Chapter 41
SADIE
My palms are warm and sticky, nerves buzzing through me like I just took a stick and hit a beehive.
We’re parked outside a steakhouse. I’ve changed from Milo’s jersey and my sundress to a simple pink dress that hugs my curves and has a slit halfway up my thigh.
Another purchase I’d made that hung in the back of my closet until I put it in my suitcase for this trip.
My hair has been washed and tamed and my makeup refreshed.
“Am I overdressed?” I ask as I check to make sure my thin straps are in place.
“You’re gorgeous, Sadie.” I hear Milo’s grin before it appears on his face, turning to see how his blue eyes have turned dark and heavy.
My cheeks warm, but I don’t claim embarrassment at this moment; instead, I slowly slide to the middle of the bench seat, Milo’s body tensing slightly as my leg presses against his.
“You’re trying very hard not to kiss me, aren’t you?” The words are warm and velvety as they leave my mouth.
“I don’t want to ruin your lipstick,” he says as his gaze dips down to my lips.
I give him a half smile. “And what if I want you to?”
I lean over and press my lips to his. The heat in the cab teases my hair and causes my skin to freckle with sweat, but it’s nothing like the fire engulfing me from within.
Kissing Milo burns away the noise in my head.
The guilt. The what-ifs. The carefulness.
With him, I don’t feel like a woman trying to earn her life.
I feel like a woman who finally has permission to live it.
With or without the list.
When I slide back across the bench seat, I lean back and let a laugh from deep within rumble through my chest until it fills the air.
“What?” Milo asks as he busies himself with wiping red lipstick off his face and trying to fix his hair.
“That was fun,” I say.
Milo smiles over at me, reaching for my hand, and I put mine in his. Then he says, “Well then, I really like your version of fun.”
This makes me laugh more, and before he can wipe the rest of my lipstick off his face, I crawl back over and make another mess.
The buzzing is back in my veins as Milo leads me through the restaurant to a private room in the back.
When we enter the room draped in black curtains and twinkle lights, there are five men and four women sitting around a large table.
My anxiety begins to crawl up my spine, and there’s a voice within saying I don’t belong here.
But Milo squeezes my hand, and I feel rooted to his steadiness.
A woman with tight blonde curls in a gorgeous green dress jumps up from the table where she was sitting next to Sean. She hurries over toward us—no, toward me.
“Sadie Summers?” she squeals with a voice that twangs like a banjo. “I am so excited to meet ya. You’re just a pretty little thing—like a rose in a thorn bush. No wonder this guy always told me to stop trying to set him up.”
“Laura?” I ask.
“Oh, where are my manners? My mama would skin me alive. Yes, Laura Gregory,” she says as she grabs for my hand and tucks me in beside her. “Let me introduce you to the group.”
Milo follows and mutters, “Good to see you too, Laura.”
She raises her hand and flicks it at him. “You ain’t nearly as interesting as this girl.”
He chuckles behind us and replies, “Very true.”
“Everyone, Sadie Summers,” Laura says, and now all eyes are on me.
I give a small wave. “Hi, everyone.”
“All right, I’ll go ’round the table and tell you who everyone is,” Laura says to me before she lays her hand on Sean’s shoulder sitting down to her left.
“My handsome husband, Sean, who you’ve already met.
Heard ya teased him ’bout his running game, which he needed.
Man’s gotta learn how to do more than throw. ”
“Amen,” a man says from across the table.
“That’s Trevor Morgan, receiver,” Laura fills in. “And his girlfriend, Nina.”
Nina grins at me as she leans into Trevor. “I’m fairly new here, too,” she says.
Laura continues pointing. “That’s Finn Hurts, tight end, and his wife, Reagan, and then Emmitt Marshall, running back, and his wife, Paisley. And that poor guy down there at the end is Desmond Rivers, defensive end, and he doesn’t have a girl yet. I’m workin’ on it, though.”
“Nothing to work on, Laura,” Desmond replies in a low tone.
“Men need their women in this business,” she says. “We keep y’all from being jerks.”
Sean reaches up and carefully grabs Laura’s hand and kisses it. “I’m proof of that,” he says.
“All the proof anyone should need,” she teases as she sits next to her husband. “Anywho, that’s everyone!”
“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I’ll remember everyone’s names,” I say as I look around the table. They all smile back at me.
I feel Milo put his hand on the small of my back, the touch warm as he steps up beside me.
“Oh, and here’s Milo!” Laura adds with a mirthful tone.
“Thanks, Laura,” Milo says dryly with a slight smirk as he glances down at her. Then to everyone he says, “Thanks for inviting us, although I’m not sure you guys are going to make the best impression on Sadie.”
Emmitt throws a spoon at Milo from across the table. Milo catches it and grins before he says, “Proving my point, Marshall.”
“It’s good to see you, Carter,” Emmitt replies.
Milo nods before he pulls out a chair next to Laura for me. I sit down, curious about what kind of conversation is about to spill out on the table. Then Milo sits down next to me, his hand heavy on my thigh under the table.
“So, Sadie Summers,” Emmitt says as if my name isn’t new to him. “What do you do?”
“Well, currently I’m an accountant back in Dusty Hollow,” I say, the words dry in my mouth. I grab for the glass of water in front of me. Milo softly squeezes my thigh, his thumb rubbing against my bare skin.
Emmitt nods. “You like numbers?”
I laugh dryly. “Actually, no. I hate them.”
This causes Emmitt’s mouth to tilt up in a half smile. “So, what do you like besides Milo here?”
I glance over at Milo, whose brows are slightly furrowed, as if he’s silently communicating with Emmitt.
“I like books,” I answer with a shrug, and then continue as the words spring up, “I like the stories—where people have been, what they’ve been through.
I like feeling what they felt, crying their tears and laughing their joy.
I like hoping for their happy ending and wanting more for them when they feel they’re not enough. ”
When I feel like I’m not enough, I add in my head.
“Well, that almost makes me want to read a book,” Sean jokes.
I smile. “Might help with your stats if you did.”
Laura giggles as she leans into me. “Oh, I like you.” Then she looks at her husband and says, “I’m gonna find you a book, baby.”
“You do that, but it doesn’t mean I’ll read it,” he replies with a grin.
“Then I’ll read it to ya.” She laughs. “Think you can help me find one?” she asks me.
“I sure can try,” I answer.
Two hours pass quickly. Laughter and easy conversation focused on summer vacations, Finn and Reagan’s children, the youngest who just turned one, and a few memories from past games. No other spoons are thrown, and I don’t take any more verbal jabs at Sean.
Slowly everyone starts to leave until it’s just Emmitt, his wife, Paisley, Milo, and me.
Emmitt takes a deep breath. “So, you too good to coach me, Carter?”
Paisley elbows him, and Emmitt mocks hurt before he places a kiss on her forehead. “Excuse his bluntness, Milo,” she says.
Milo smiles at Paisley before he looks at Emmitt and answers, “It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?” he asks. “I could use your help.”
I look over at Milo. He’s smiling, but there’s something careful in it, like he’s already bracing for disappointment.
Emmitt leans back in his chair. “I’ve got the speed. I’ve got the size. But sometimes I get in my own head.” He shrugs. “Coach says it’s mental. Says I need someone who’s been there. Someone who knows what it’s like when the game stops being fun.”
Milo’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and my mind snags on the fact that Emmitt just said there was a time when the game wasn’t fun for Milo.
“You were different,” Emmitt continues. “You didn’t just run plays. You saw the field. You made it make sense.”
Silence stretches between them.
I watch Milo then—not as the man I know I still love, but as the one they’re talking about. The one who listens when others speak. The one who steadies without trying to lead.
The one who never realizes how much space he fills simply by being himself.
This is what I saw in Milo so many years ago. His potential.
And I’m afraid he’s wasting it by not being here.
Emmitt exhales. “Listen, I get it if you say no. I really do. I just figured I’d ask, as a friend.”
Milo nods once. “I’ll think about it.”
It isn’t a promise, but as we stand to leave, I notice Emmitt’s shoulders relax, just a little—like hope alone is enough for tonight.
Paisley walks over to me, reaching her hand out to grab mine.
She pulls me to the side, out of earshot of the men.
“It was really great to meet you, Sadie.” Her eyes flit over to Milo before they return to mine.
“It’s good to see Milo’s grin back, although I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him like this. ”
I study her face—freckles dancing across her nose and lashes framing subtle green eyes. “Like what?” I ask.
“Happy,” she replies simply.
I furrow my brows. “Well, I know the injury—”
She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about after the injury.”
“Then what do you mean?” I glance over at Milo, who’s looking at us instead of focused on Emmitt talking to him.
“Milo dated one girl during his first year as a Giant.”
“Evelyn,” I say, remembering the name easily. Milo said they dated for two months—that she was as serious as a conversation about the weather.
Paisley rolls her eyes, laughing under her breath.
“I set him up. He was so reluctant. Talked about this girl named Sadie, and I kept asking him where she was. He finally gave in.” She pauses and chuckles lightly.
“Milo was polite, reserved. It was like he had to remind himself how to smile when she was talking to him. He’s not like that with you.
He’s . . . different—like part of him had always been missing, and it was you. ”
Paisley gives my hand a squeeze before letting go, like she’s said everything that needed saying.
I look over at Milo, and he’s still looking at me—steady, soft, familiar.
Paisley leaves me and loops her arm through Emmitt’s. “Ready to go, love?” she asks.
Emmitt reaches out and squeezes Milo’s shoulder. “I hope to see you soon, Coach.”
Milo rocks back on his heels, hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. “Good to see you, Marshall.”
This is a world I don’t know Milo in, but even a stranger could see how adored he is by his past teammates and their wives—like they were more like family than friends.
He strides toward me. “What’d Paisley have to say?”
I smirk. “Said you are terrible at dating—that she’d bet you can’t even flirt.”
Milo’s lips turn up in a small smile. “Oh really?”
I nod. “Really.”
His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before lifting back to my eyes. “Well, I don’t make bets with just anyone.”
My stomach flips. “No?”
“Just you.”