Chapter 4
Callie
I feel like an inexperienced teenager.
I’m freaking out?
Over a kiss. What am I? Fifteen?
Understanding washes over Gage’s face and his eyes soften. He strokes his thumb along my cheekbone. “That’s okay. Talk to me.”
He sits back in his chair but not before he grips the underside of mine and tugs me closer to him.
“I threw a lot at you,” he offers with a thread of apology wrapped into his tone. “It’s your turn. Tell me what you’re freaking out about.”
“I…” I close my eyes, trying to put my thoughts in a coherent order. They spin relentlessly, making me dizzy. “I’ve been alone for a long time.”
“Too long,” he agrees.
At my look, he presses his lips together and pretends to zip them up and toss the key.
I snort, rolling my eyes. Gage is a grown man but sometimes, his playful side makes him too damn likable.
Like a golden retriever. There aren’t many players who have had as long a career as he’s had—and with the injuries and setbacks he’s overcome.
Still, he exudes a lighthearted, easygoing vibe that puts people at ease.
Most of all, he makes me comfortable without even trying.
He makes me want to crack and confide in him when there hasn’t been anyone to talk to in a long time.
“I’m stubborn. Set in my ways,” I add, as if I’m trying to talk him out of wanting to spend the week with me. Wanting to spend more than just a week with me.
He quirks an eyebrow that confirms my statement and questions it at the same time.
I huff and stand from my chair. Resting my lower back against the balcony railing, I cross my arms over my chest and stare at Gage.
“I’m married to my career. I promised myself, years ago, that I’d never need anyone else to support me.” I pause, waiting for his reaction.
He leans back, crossing his ankle over his other knee. “Being with someone, in a romantic relationship, is more than just finances.”
“What if you retire and I’m not a good partner?” I shoot back. “What if you hate sitting around, waiting on me, when I’m dashing across the country at a moment’s notice? What if you resent that? What if I can’t satisfy you?” I blush as the words, confessions, tumble from my mouth. “What then?”
Gage rolls his lips together, looking at me thoughtfully. He pushes to his feet, stepping next to me at the railing. He rests his elbows on top, leaning forward slightly, his gaze toward the ocean. The breeze from the sea ruffles his hair and I turn, taking in his profile.
Strong. Confident. So damn sexy.
Scruff coats his jawline and I have the desire to drag my palm across his cheek. He purses his full mouth, and my eyes trace his lips. I’ve fought my attraction to this man for years. More than a decade.
And now, with the soothing sounds of the sea, the comfort of the night sky, and the steady rumble of his tone, my defenses are down. My walls are crumbling.
I want him to crash through them as much as I want to fortify them.
Because I don’t know how to do this with him. I don’t know how to do this with any man.
And yet, there’s none I want as badly as Gage Gutierrez. But am I enough? Could I ever be enough?
My heart rate is steady as I study him. It should gallop frantically but that’s the thing about Gage—he puts me at ease.
He always has. Back when I was a green agent, new to the industry and trying to find my way.
Through the ups and downs, both professional and personal.
He’s been a constant presence in my story nearly as long as I’ve been a sports agent.
Rooting me on, celebrating my victories, and offering a shoulder and an ear when the losses gutted me.
He came to Dad’s funeral. And Grandma’s.
I blink, recalling the day I received the news of her passing.
I’m sitting in the stands after a Coyotes win.
The crowd is going nuts, celebrating and cheering their home team on.
I’m caught up in the merriment, in the excitement unfolding over thousands of people.
For an instant, things are perfect. My heart is light, my eyes are trained on Gage, huddled with his teammates, and the sun warms my cheeks.
As the cheers fade and the stadium empties, I plop down in my seat. I want to wait for the crowd and traffic to die down before I leave. Besides, I want to catch up with Gage.
My phone rings and I reach for it, frowning when I note Dad’s name on the screen. He knows I’m in Tennessee, cheering on the Coyotes.
“Dad, hey,” I answer.
A muffled sob rings out.
“Dad?” I ask, my concern heightening.
“She’s gone, Callie,” he whispers, his voice broken-hearted.
“I’m so sorry, sweet girl. Grandma passed away in her sleep.
It was peaceful. And quick. She went to lie down and when I checked on her, she was already gone,” he rattles off monotonously, as if he’s speaking about someone else.
Someone other than his mother and my grandmother.
“What?” I whisper, shocked.
“She’s gone,” he repeats, as if he’s trying to convince himself. And then, “I’m sorry, Callie. That’s emergency services. They’re here. Let me call you back.” Dad disconnects the call.
I stare at the screen, stunned.
Grandma passed away. I knew it was coming; we all did. But it doesn’t lessen the surprise of knowing, the hurt of feeling her loss.
My shoulders curl inward as I hunch forward and stare at the spot between my shoes. I don’t know how much time passes but when a heavy hand lands on my back, I jump.
My face snaps upward and my gaze slams into Gage’s.
“Whoa, hey,” he says softly, sitting beside me. “I was calling your name.”
I stare at him, trying to form words. None come out.
“Cal, what is it? What happened? Are you okay?” His brow furrows and his narrowed eyes flood with concern. He looks around, as if searching for a threat.
I open my mouth and a horrible sound bursts forth, like a wild animal.
Gage grips my upper arms. “Look at me, Calla Lily,” he demands.
I do, falling forward into the soft brown of his eyes. Into the safety they provide.
“What happened?” he repeats.
“She’s gone,” I manage, saying the exact same words Dad used.
“My grandma passed away.” Saying it aloud somehow makes it true and now, the tears come.
They form as tiny pockets of moisture in the corners of my eyes but once the first tear slips over and falls onto my cheek, they all follow. A torrent I can’t control.
Gage pulls me into his arms. He wraps me up and hugs me against his chest and I bury my face against his sweater as I sob. My shoulders shake and I break apart.
But Gage holds me together.
Once the jagged crying spell passes, Gage takes my hand and leads me from the stands, from the stadium. He drives me to my hotel in downtown Knoxville, pinches my keycard from my wallet, and settles me into my hotel room.
“Come here, sweetheart.” His voice is low and even. I follow him into the bathroom as he flips on the shower, tests that the water is hot, and hangs a robe on the back of the bathroom door. “Take your time, Callie. I’ll be waiting outside, and I’ll order room service.”
“Okay,” I blubber. “Okay.”
Gage closes the bathroom door and I strip slowly.
My skin is pale and my eyes are devoid of everything except heartache.
I take a long shower, steaming up the bathroom mirror.
But when I emerge, dressed in a fluffy robe, hamburgers and fries, a cheesecake and carafe of coffee, and a bottle of wine await me.
“You didn’t have to order all this.” I gesture toward the food.
“I wanted to,” Gage says easily. He ushers me into a chair.
Once we’re settled and eating, he smiles at me. “If you want to talk about her, I’d love to hear everything you want to share.”
Tears pool in my eyes and I realize I do want to talk about her. I want to tell someone about how kindhearted and lovely she was. About how she sewed my Halloween costumes from scratch and made a mean icebox cake—the hit of our summer block parties. I open my mouth and the words flow.
I share memories of my grandmother with Gage for hours.
He asks questions, laughs with me, and helps lessen the burden of her loss.
That night, when the wine kicks in and the grief of the day catches up to me, sleep finally beckons.
Gage tucks me into bed, kisses my forehead, and promises to call in the morning.
He calls every morning for the next few days to check on me. And when I toss a single white rose on Grandma’s coffin and look up, it’s Gage’s eyes that center me and give me the strength to get through the service.
I swallow, shaking the memory from my mind.
Other memories, moments, filter through.
Like how he sent me flowers when I signed one of the big Valencia soccer players.
He made sure my house was lit up in Christmas lights on the years I was too busy to decorate.
He always showed up for me. Big gestures and simple acknowledgements.
But I drew a line in the sand. I don’t date clients.
And Gage is still very much a client.
“You’ve already been the best partner I’ve ever had.
” His voice, low and even, pulls me from my thoughts.
His dark eyes flash as he turns to hold my gaze.
“You know that? All these years…” He gestures between us.
“It’s always been me and you, Cal. We’re a team.
My career wouldn’t have flourished the way it did without you.
I wouldn’t have had the endorsement deals, especially after my last injury, if you hadn’t gone to bat for me.
You’ve always, always, had my best interests at heart—regardless of what the bottom line meant for you.
I’ve never had anyone look out for me like that, not counting my family.
So, I’m not worried about the type of partner you’d be. I already know.”
I pull in a breath, his words nearly undoing me while simultaneously stitching some of my frayed edges back together.