24. Griffin
Chapter twenty-four
Griffin
I shake my head, certain I misheard her.
“Sorry, did you say you’re interviewing in Florida?”
“What do you mean, you signed an extension?” The hurt in her eyes guts me. Almost as much as the thought of her taking this job.
She scoots back, but I cling to her. I won’t let her put space between us. “Nope. We’re having a discussion.”
She gives me a playful glare. “And I have to sit in your lap to do it?”
“Yep.”
Fuck. What a cluster. I was pumped to come home and tell her the good news, so I called Seth before the ink was dry and asked him to set up the celebratory champagne. I never thought my announcement would be met with the possibility of a long-distance situation.
She wriggles again, but I clamp my hands on her ass. “You keep that up, and we’ll need to table the discussion for later.”
“I don’t see why we have to do this with me straddling your lap.”
“Baby, you just told me that half of my heart might be moving to Florida. I’m keeping you close.”
The fire in her eyes dims. “Griff, I just thought… ”
“You thought you’d punish me because my ex-girlfriend fucked with us.”
“No.” She opens her mouth to explain, and I take advantage. I kiss her like a man going off to war. She stiffens, but at the first lick of my tongue, she melts like butter. Her hands fist my shirt as our lips perform the sensual dance they know so well. When she starts making those little whimpers I love, I break the connection.
Her eyes remain closed as she catches her breath. But when they pop open, her brows pinch together. “What was that for?”
“Just wanted to remind you of what you’ll be giving up.”
“You’re not being fair.”
“Fuck fair. I’m in love with you, goddamn it. I won’t fight fair.”
“Then I won’t either. I’m not giving you up.” Her voice is stern, and she holds my face between her palms. “Nothing is decided. I can cancel the interview. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction to that picture. I was wrong to do that, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t completely impulsive…” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about that job since I got the email. I don’t know if it’s the right fit for me. For us. But I didn’t know football was still part of the equation.”
Now it’s my turn to apologize. “I’m sorry I took the offer before talking to you. Shane called Kevin this morning. They wanted it locked down before the season ends.”
She studies the buttons on my Henley as she traces them with her finger. “How long?”
“One year.”
One more year to play the sport I love on my dream team. When my agent’s name flashed on my phone this morning, an offer for another year with the Blues was the last thing I expected. I’ve been playing as though this season was my last. And with the exception of the two games that I’d fucking love to do over, I’m proud of my performance on the field. I could walk away after this season with my head held high, satisfied to go out on top .
But how could I turn down playing here for another year? I’m as healthy as a thirty-five-year-old NFL player could hope to be. I’ve still got speed and stamina. Still have something to contribute to a team. Still love suiting up every week.
So when Kevin presented the Blues’ offer to me, I didn’t hesitate. Of course, I thought about Brynn when I said yes, but it was more of an I-can’t-wait-to-tell-her moment than an I-need-to-discuss-this-with-my-girlfriend moment. And I wanted to call her about it right away, but she was in class at the time, so I cooked up the champagne surprise instead.
My gut clenches. Shit, I’ve fucked up.
“I’m sorry.”
She drags her focus from my shirt to my face, a small frown marring her expression.
“I should’ve waited until we could talk about this,” I say. “It’s a life decision that affects both of us, but I was too excited to consider that. I don’t ever want you to feel like your opinion doesn’t matter. It fucking matters.”
“Griff, it’s football.” Her forlorn shrug pierces my heart.
“And I love football. But I love you more.”
Her eyes shine as she says, “I love you. I’ll cancel the interview.”
“No.”
She rears back, her eyes flaring wide. “But—”
“You’re not canceling. Go to the interview. Walk around the campus, get a feel for the place. See if you can picture yourself happy there.”
“Griff…”
I swallow past the burn in my throat. Fuck, this is going to hurt.
There was a time in my life—not so long ago, in fact—when I thought playing football was the thing I did best. But now? Maybe what I’m best at is loving her. And to love her well, I have to let her follow her heart.
Even if it leads her to Florida .
Her big brown eyes search my face. God, I love her eyes. All that the eyes are the windows to the soul bullshit is 100 percent true for Brynn Nelson. I’ve seen them excited and happy and turned on and mad. But right now, they’re anxious, and I need to fix that.
“Baby, we’re end game. There is no future for me that doesn’t include you. I want to be near you, every single day. But if we have to do the long-distance thing for the next year so that we can both chase our dreams, then that’s what we’ll do.” I wipe the tears from her cheeks. Kiss her nose. “It won’t be easy, but we’ll figure it out.”
Her breath shudders, and she licks her lips. “But the interview is on Monday morning.”
And our wild card game is on Sunday night.
“M-maybe I can change it.” She fidgets with my buttons again. “I didn’t know the hiring committee would want to meet so soon. When they said it was on Monday—”
“Don’t change it.”
“But your game—”
“Is just a game. There will be others.” I grab her hips and tug, like it’s possible to bring her any closer. “Besides, they’re predicting a fucking snowstorm in Buffalo this weekend. Who’d pick that over sunny Florida?”
Laughing through her tears, she surges forward, hugging me tight and resting her cheek on my collarbone. “I don’t deserve you.”
I rub her back and breathe her in. “You deserve the best of the best, so I’d say you’re set.”
Her chest shakes with laughter. “Good to see that Racy ego is alive and well.”
“Always.”
I trace soothing circles on her back while we sit in silence, and neither of us budges when the sound of rain on the sidewalks outside grows louder .
Finally, I say, “I’ve decided that this is how we’ll handle all future disagreements or serious discussions—with you on my lap.”
She snorts. “Can’t throw my shoe at you in this position, though.”
“Exactly.”
Sighing, she melts into me, and we sit, listening to the rain, holding each other.
I can’t think of a more magical way to spend a Tuesday in Memphis.
I wake before dawn on Saturday and kiss Brynn’s body until she’s awake, too. Then, as the sky outside transforms from darkest night to the steel gray of early morning, I make love to her. It’s slow and sweet and perfect, and I suffuse my languid strokes and unhurried touches with every ounce of my love for her.
There was no fucking way I could abstain this past week. I’ve had her every night, including last night, like we’re living on borrowed time. I remind myself that she’s coming back so often that the words play on a constant loop in my head.
She sleeps while I shower and pack the rest of my things. As I move through our bedroom on silent feet, I try to ignore the small open suitcase that awaits her last-minute additions. She’s flying to Florida tomorrow afternoon, and by the time she returns on Tuesday, a few of our unknowns will be clear.
Will my season be continuing into the divisional rounds? And will she be heading to Florida this summer?
I check the time. Damn, I’m not ready to say goodbye. It’s not a forever kind of goodbye, but it still fucking hurts.
I perch on the edge of the bed and drink her in. She’s curled on her side, knees tucked.
Burying my face in her neck, I rub her hip. “Baby, I’ve gotta go.”
She blinks awake, and as I pull away, she stretches and rolls to her back. We stare at each other like we’re memorizing every last detail. When I bend to kiss her, she loops her arms around my neck.
“You’re gonna kick ass tomorrow.”
I smile against her lips. “Thank you for believing in me.”
“Always.”
We kiss once more, then I straighten my spine. Her cheek is soft and warm when I trace its curve with my fingers. “And you’re gonna kick ass in your interview on Monday. Can’t wait to hear about it.”
Her lips stretch into a smile, and I feather my thumb over them. “I love you, Brynn.”
“Love you so much,” she whispers.
I roll my lips to hold back the don’t go threatening to force its way out of my mouth. Then I rise from the bed, and with my duffel in hand, I move to the door. From there, I turn and study her once more, noting the way the sheen in her eyes mirrors the one in mine.
The plane ride to Buffalo is less lively than just about any other flight this season. We’re all calm, focused. I sit next to Beau and complete a couple of crosswords while he studies the playbook on his iPad. When his eyes blur from too much screen time, we play a few rounds of blackjack and talk in low voices about his first playoff appearance. He doesn’t seem nervous, and I don’t think the playoff game hoopla will rattle him. He’s as poised and steady as ever.
“You wanna talk about it?” He deals the next round.
I tap the tray and glance up from my hand. “I did the right thing, telling her to go?”
Beau deals me another card. “Yeah. It would be a bad move to convince her to turn down the interview. She could end up resenting you down the line.”
Nodding, I collect the cards I’ve won. “Gonna gut me if she takes the job, though. ”
“Paige will be devastated if she leaves.” My friend frowns. “You willing to pack it all up and move to Florida after next season? Memphis is your town. And your family is close.”
“I’d follow that girl to the ends of the earth, Cap.”
He studies me for a beat, then shakes his head, smiling. “Yeah. I know that feeling well.”
When we land in Buffalo, we’re greeted by six inches of snow and a wind chill of ten degrees. A few of the guys complain, but not me. I fucking love a snow game.
After team meetings and a run-through of our formations, we’re released with enough time to grab dinner and make it back to the hotel before our curfew. Brynn and I have a quick chat before bed, and when we hang up, I’m certain I’ll toss and turn all night. But the stress of the last few days takes me under, and I get a solid eight hours.
While we’re killing time in the locker room on Sunday, several texts from Brynn come through.
Brynn
Just landed. Love you!
Oh my gosh, it’s freezing there! Stay warm!
Almost time! Watching with Mom and Dad. I love you so much.
Just before we take the field for warm-ups, I dig through my bag until I find it—the tiny velvet pouch Celeste gave me in Charlotte. I’ve carried it to each game since that day, with the exception of last week, when Brynn asked to borrow the green one.
I hold the two stones in my palm—one for luck, and one for love—until they’re as warm as my skin.
In the end, though I have both luck and love on my side, and though our team plays their fucking hearts out in brutal conditions, the Blues come up short. Final score: twenty-four to twenty-one. Even though we’re not the victors, we’ve built something to be proud of this season that will hopefully carry into the next.
Brynn sends me a single text after the game:
I love you.
The apartment is quiet and empty when I make it home around four a.m., but Brynn left a lamp on in the living room for me. I crash on the couch, not wanting to sleep in our bed without her, and stare up at the ceiling, fingers laced behind my head, imagining what my life will be like next season if she’s not living in Memphis.
Studying the patterns above me, it hits. The pain and depression I suffered last year when I got hurt and the Tors let me go is nothing compared to the agony I’ll experience if she’s not here with me. If she’s not around to make me laugh and give me hell. She loves me so well, better than anyone ever has. I don’t want to wait days or weeks for her love to shine on me.
I want to fall asleep and wake up beside her as often as I can.
I might be a selfish ass when it comes to that woman, but I’m still dedicated to letting her make the decision, regardless of what I want. She has to choose her path on her own.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be there to support her when she does.
I sit up and check the time. It’s not quite Seth’s early-bird gym hour, but I tap on his contact anyway. If he doesn’t pick up, I’ll leave a voicemail, and he’ll have this handled in an hour. Too wired to sit still, I pace while I wait for his recorded greeting. When I scan the kitchen, I freeze in my tracks.
The white board has a new puzzle.
Three words. Eight boxes. And a clue that reads “This is all that matters. ”
Seth answers an instant before his voicemail picks up, his voice scratchy. “Ugh, Griff. You better pay me overtime for this.”
Zeroed in on the board, I say, “I need you to get me a flight to Florida. Today.”