Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
GRAYSON
I shut the lid of my laptop as the jet touches down in Denver.
Outside the windows, the runway slides past, snow pushed back into icy banks.
In the distance, white mountains cut into a clear blue sky.
There’s something about seeing them, and being back in Denver, even just briefly, that eases some of the tension.
Beside me, Helena exhales softly and smooths a hand down the front of her coat. “Will I like these people?” she says lightly, examining her nails.
I smile, because I hear what she isn’t saying. Helena Ashborne might have spent most of her twenties holding her own beside our father in the hostile world of Ashborne Holdings, but being dropped into a social environment with people she doesn’t know, yeah that’s gonna make her edgy.
“You like Flic,” I say. “And you know Donny. Don’t worry. You’ll love everyone.”
“And they’ll love me?” she asks, arching a brow.
“They will,” I say without hesitation.
She sighs. “Fine.” Then she relaxes a little.
As the jet taxis toward the hangar, I’m buzzing.
It’s been a long week without Flic. We’ve messaged.
Flirted. Teased. Pretended we’re both perfectly fine waiting until Sunday to see each other.
But I’ve missed her in a way that has nothing to do with what we did in my bed last weekend.
Almost nothing, I correct, thinking of the raging morning wood I’ve woken with every day since.
I miss her presence beside me, and the knowledge she has my back.
And the way she calls me out when I get lost in my head.
I think I’ll always be someone who tries to help whenever they can.
That’s ingrained in me. But with Flic by my side, the pressure and the weight of it all doesn’t feel as heavy.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the exhaustion.
This week nearly broke me. It’s been back-to-back meetings at the top of the Stormhawks stadium.
Flic’s ideas are already in motion, and we have a team putting a pitch together to approach new potential sponsors.
But it’s going to take months, if not years, to see her ideas come to fruition.
And in the meantime, our current sponsors are still on edge.
It feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for me to fuck this up.
I spent the second half of the week in New York at city council meetings, tangled in red tape, dodging my father’s request for meetings. I feel like I’ve been torn in two directions, but the whole time, my thoughts barely strayed from Flic and how much I want to see her again.
As the jet pulls to a stop and Nicholas readies the door to open for our guests, Helena unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to me. “Remind me again why this game matters so much?”
I can’t help but grin. I never thought I’d be asked about a football game, let alone know the answer.
“We’re in a knockout competition to decide the overall winner of the NFL.
This is the furthest the Stormhawks have made it in years.
Today we’re playing the Kansas City Trailblazers.
They’re last year’s Super Bowl winners.”
She makes a face. “That sounds unpleasant.”
“And,” I add, unable to keep the excitement from my voice, “if we win today, the Stormhawks are headed to the Super Bowl in New Orleans next weekend.”
The pressure coils tighter. New York. Denver.
My father. Flic. I push it aside, along with my exhaustion, and stand to greet the passengers we’re collecting before heading on to Kansas City.
Seconds later, the door opens and Madison bounds onboard, a walking explosion of Stormhawks red.
Head to toe merch. Even her hair is threaded with clip-on red braids that bounce when she moves.
“Hey, Grayson,” she calls.
“Hey, Mad.” I grin, instantly lifted by her infectious energy. “Excited?”
“Yes,” she squeals.
I gesture behind me. “This is my sister, Helena. Helena, this is—”
“I’m Madison, but everyone calls me Mad. I’m ten years old. Mom and Dylan aren’t with me today because Mom is having my little brother or sister in less than five weeks and she’s the size of a mare,” she says brightly, already extending a hand.
“That’s a lot of information,” Helena replies with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mad.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” She turns to me. “Where shall I sit?”
“Anywhere you like.” I laugh, the last of my exhaustion draining away as Mad leaps into one of the seats in the lounge area.
The rest of the group bundle on after her. Mama is first, all calm authority, but there’s a warmth to her now that wasn’t there at that first meeting in the skybox in Buffalo. She greets me with a hug and thanks me for the ride. Then come Serena and Harper, mid-conversation and already laughing.
Donny is next, pausing in the aisle to take it all in. “And here I was, thinking I was your only friend,” he calls, clapping me on the back.
“Oh, you are,” Flic says from behind him. “We just use him for his money and his jet.”
Laughter ripples through the cabin, and I’m smiling too, even as my world narrows to one woman.
She’s wearing a tight red sweater with white trim that somehow manages to look both casual and lethal, the black jeans that fit her like a second skin, teamed of course with her biker boots.
Her hair is loose down her back in glossy white-blonde waves.
“I missed you, too,” I reply, meaning it.
Her gaze lifts to mine and the pull between us is a physical, undeniable thing.
We both said we’d only cross the line that once.
But standing here, watching her smile at Mad, at Mama, at me, thinking of the flirty messages we’ve exchanged this week, I’m certain I’m nowhere near done with this woman. Not even close.
It takes everything I have not to kick all the other passengers off this plane, lock the doors, and take her somewhere far away. A desert island, just the two of us, sounds ideal right about now.
The spell breaks when Mad pipes up, impatient. “When are we going?”
Helena doesn’t miss a beat. “When my brother picks his jaw off the floor and takes a seat,” she calls out.
Laughter erupts again. Introductions finish. I drop into a chair, very aware that Flic pointedly avoids the empty space beside me, choosing to slide into a chair beside Mad instead. I tell myself I don’t mind. I lie.
Nicholas moves smoothly down the aisle, joined by another member of staff I’ve brought in to help him today.
He runs through the safety demonstration with practiced ease before taking drink orders.
It’s under two hours to Kansas City, but judging by the volume of conversation as we taxi toward the runway, it’s going to be a boisterous flight.
Donny moves to sit next to me. “Did you hear Flic defending your ass on Fourth & Forever this week?”
I smile. “I did.”
“Gotta say, I thought you were crazy to try and work with Denver’s biggest fan, but you were right, man. She’s made a huge difference to how we’re seeing things and the fans’ opinion of you.”
“And the sponsors?”
“Watching closely but less worried, I’d say.” Donny drops his voice before he continues. “I got your email.”
“Which one?” I ask.
“Both of them.” He studies my face. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. I glance toward the lounge area where Mama and Serena are already laughing over something Mad has said. “And before you ask—I’m not moving on the outreach program, either. It stays exactly as it is.”
He sighs, probably remembering the two-hour budget meeting we had this week and how I refused to move an inch. “No one wants to get rid of it altogether. It’s just trimming it a little to save on costs while we get ourselves—”
“No,” I cut in. “No cuts. We should be expanding the team’s role in the community. It’s like Flic said, we need to get out from under the radar.”
“And the other thing—” Donny starts.
“Not now,” I say quietly, aware of Flic and the Sullivans only a few seats away.
The second email—the one about the future of the Stormhawks, my future with them—isn’t something I want anyone, especially not Flic, to know about yet.
Let the lawyers do their work. It’ll come out eventually.
The thought makes me feel a little queasy.
I just hope Flic will understand when the time comes to tell her.
My attention slides back to her. She’s laughing now, playing a clapping hand game with Mad, and looks completely unguarded.
Donny follows my line of sight and presses a hand to my shoulder. “Yeah. Well, for what it’s worth, Ashborne, I’ve known you a long time. I’ve never seen you this relaxed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” He smirks. “Just glad your dick didn’t drop off, after all.”
“How much is it going to cost me for you to never mention my dick again?”
Donny laughs. “Some things are priceless, man.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. New York. Ashborne Holdings. My father. I don’t even look at the screen before silencing it. I can’t be in two places at once, no matter how hard I try, and today is about the Stormhawks and spending time with the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
The Trailblazers stadium rises out of the concrete parking lot like a blunt instrument.
It’s functional, built for purpose not aesthetics.
There’s no elegance to it, no architectural poetry.
But the moment we step into the skybox, and the roar of nearly eighty thousand people slams into my chest, I understand that this is power.
This is noise. This is belief. And I feel the fizz of nerves and the desire to win like a drum beat in my blood. Even Helena is quietly transfixed.
On the field below, helmets gleam under the lights.
The Stormhawks in red. The Trailblazers in white, moving with the confidence of reigning champions who expect to win.
I lean forward as the game kicks off, elbows on my knees as everything else fades away.
At first, it’s brutal. The Trailblazers dominate the opening drive with short, efficient passes.
Flic groans from the seat beside me as they grab an early touchdown. The stadium erupts, the sound vibrating through the glass. “The trailblazer QB is reading our defense like we gave him a goddamn map.”
I glance at Flic as she stands, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the field.
Fierce in her support. The only smile comes when the Stormhawks push back on our offensive drive.
Chase throws with clinical precision. And every time we catch the ball, our offense takes hits that would flatten most men. The game is gritty and relentless.
By halftime, we’re still behind, and the Trailblazers are looking dangerously confident.
Then something shifts in the third quarter.
Both sides tighten their defense, but we grab some points, inching closer.
In the fourth quarter, with under two minutes on the clock, Chase leads a final drive.
It’s a chaotic mess of white and red as the Trailblazers swarm.
We’re still down by three points when the ball reaches our wide receiver, and he’s streaking down the field.
A linebacker crashes into him just as he dives, but he twists mid-air, absorbs the hit, and lands across the line.
Touchdown!
The skybox explodes.
Shouts. Laughter. Mama is crying. Donny has both fists in the air.
and I’m jumping up and down beside him, lost to the celebration.
The Stormhawks have just punched their ticket to the Super Bowl for the first time in ten years.
And they’ve done it from the seventh seed.
The underdogs of underdogs, as Flic called them.
My team. I’m caught off guard by the emotion choking my throat.
In the middle of the celebrations, when no one is looking, Flic’s hand finds mine. I turn, and our eyes meet across the noise and movement. No words. No need for them. Just heat and a solid, undeniable certainty.
I don’t want to let go. Not now. Maybe not ever.
This isn’t about sex. It isn’t about a deal we made, or saving her bar, or even saving the Stormhawks.
It’s about her hand in mine and the terrifying truth that it feels like it’s exactly where it belongs.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want to fix anything. I just want. And what I want is her.