Chapter Eleven
Riley
I help Rebecca wash dishes from our Christmas breakfast. My hands are submerged in soapy water, and I’m scrubbing a particularly stubborn casserole dish, but my mind is miles away.
Travis has been upstairs for over an hour now, making phone calls.
Important ones for work, apparently. Maybe he’s talking to Sienna.
Maybe they’re working out how to handle the media fallout together.
Or maybe he’s not even calling Sienna at all but is discussing playoff strategies with his coach. Who knows?
“You’re awfully quiet, dear,” Rebecca says as she picks up a plate to dry.
“Oh, I was thinking about how I have to head home soon. Prepare for my classes after the New Year. You know, back to real life.”
“Well, we’ve loved having you here. Travis especially.” She gives me a wink that makes my stomach flip.
“Really?”
She nods fervently. “Absolutely! I haven’t seen him this happy in years. Not since before he went pro, honestly.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just focus on scrubbing.
The kitchen door swings open, and Beau walks in, snagging a leftover roll from the counter. “Hey, Sis. You okay? You’ve been weird all day.”
“I’m fine.”
“And you’re a terrible liar. This is about Travis, isn’t it?” he asks.
Rebecca suddenly becomes very interested in organizing the silverware drawer, giving us the illusion of privacy even though she’s definitely listening.
“There’s nothing to talk about. He’s leaving soon. End of story,” I say and pull my hands from the water before drying them on a towel.
Beau raises an eyebrow. “Is it, though? Because from where I’m standing, you two have been dancing around something all week. And those photos from the ice rink? Riley, the way you were looking at each other has to mean something.”
“Doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend. And a whole life that doesn’t include me.” My voice cracks slightly, and I hate myself for it. “Anyway, I need some air.”
I grab my coat from the hook by the back door and slip outside before Beau can stop me. The porch is cold, but it’s better than standing in that kitchen pretending my heart isn’t breaking.
The sun is starting to set, painting the snow-covered yard in shades of pink and gold.
It’s beautiful. It’s Christmas. It should be perfect.
But all I can think about is that the day after tomorrow, Travis will pack his bags and leave.
He’ll go back to his NFL life, and I’ll go back to teaching fifteen-year-olds about metaphors and thesis statements.
And eventually, the letters he promised to send will stop coming, like they did before.
Not because either of us means for it to happen, but because that’s what happens when people lead separate lives.
I hear the back door open behind me and roll my eyes.
“Beau, leave me alone. Seriously,” I snap.
“Riley.”
The voice doesn’t belong to my brother. It’s Travis’s. I don’t turn around. I can’t. If I look at him right now, I’m going to cry.
I hope he gets the hint, but he clearly doesn’t because he moves closer. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Nothing. You.
“It’s just been a long week. The flooded house, sharing a room, the photos, the media attention. I’m tired,” I say, trying really hard not to start sobbing.
“Riley.” His hand touches my shoulder, and I almost break. “Look at me. Please.”
I turn slowly and cross my arms over my chest.
“I ended it,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“The contract with Sienna. I called her this morning. We both agreed to end it, to make it look mutual. It’s done.”
My heart stops. “Travis, no. You told me yourself that you couldn’t. What about your career?”
“I don’t care.” He steps closer, and now we’re only inches apart. “I thought I did. I thought the money and the deals and the perfect image mattered. But they don’t. Not compared to this. Not compared to you.”
My hands start shaking. “Me?”
“You, Riley. I’ve been an idiot. For years.
Maybe my whole life. Because I’ve spent all this time chasing success and fame and everything I thought mattered, and the whole time, what I really wanted was right here.
Next door. You. Writing me letters about Shakespeare and Stephen King and making me laugh and looking at me like I’m just Travis, not some Travis, the NFL superstar who everyone adores, even though no one knows me.
Not as well as you do.” He shakes his head.
“I know I’m leaving soon. I know the timing is terrible.
I know I have no right to ask you to wait for me or to trust that this time will be different, but…
I’m in love with you, Riley. I have been for longer than I want to admit.
And I can’t leave without telling you that.
Without asking if maybe, possibly, you feel the same way. ”
The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over. “You’re in love with me?”
“Desperately. Completely. Inconveniently.” He grins, but his eyes are serious. “I know it’s complicated. I know long distance is hard. But I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t. So if there’s even a chance—”
I don’t even let him finish. I surge up on my toes and kiss him. For a second, he freezes in surprise. Then his arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and he kisses me back like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. Like I’m air, and he’s been suffocating without me.
His lips are warm and soft and taste faintly of cinnamon rolls.
One hand tangles in my hair while the other presses against the small of my back, holding me against him.
I grab fistfuls of his shirt, steadying myself, because my knees have gone weak, and the world is spinning, and nothing has ever felt more right than this moment.
When we finally break apart, he grins at me. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
I laugh. “Yes. Yes, Travis. I’ve been in love with you forever. I just never thought that, well…”
“That I felt the same way? Riley, how could I not? You’re brilliant and funny and kind. You see me. The real me. Not the player, not the brand. Just me.”
“I like the real you,” I whisper.
He kisses me again. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and every hair on my body stands up. Kissing Travis is even better than I ever imagined.
As soon as he stops kissing me, I already miss it.
“I’m still leaving. The playoffs aren’t something I can get out of.”
“I know,” I say.
“But I’m coming back. Every chance I get. And in the off-season, I’m here. With you. If you’ll have me.”
“What about your career? You can’t just—”
“I have a few years left, if I’m lucky, but honestly? I’m done. This is the last season I’m going to play football, Riley. I don’t want any of it anymore. What I want is to come home. To you.”
My heart feels too big for my chest right now. “You mean that?”
“Every word. I’m done putting my career before everything else. Done pretending. Done being afraid. Life’s too short, Riley. And I don’t want to waste another minute of it without you. I already missed years.”
I smile, and now my tears aren’t sad anymore. They’re happy tears. I wipe them away and then notice something I hadn’t before. Above us is a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the porch beam.
Travis follows my gaze and grins. “Well, would you look at that? Guess we’re obligated.”
“I think we already fulfilled that obligation. Twice.”
“True.” He leans down anyway, his lips hovering just above mine, and my stomach flips in anticipation. “But I’m a firm believer in following traditions.”
His hand cradles the back of my head while mine slides up to his shoulders, then into his hair. He makes a low sound in his throat that sends goosebumps all over my body. I want to memorize every detail of this moment. The way he tastes, the way he smells, the way his heart pounds against mine.
When we finally break apart, we’re both smiling like idiots.
“So, what do you say? Want to write me letters while I’m gone? Real ones, with that fancy stationery I gave you?” he asks while he keeps holding me close.
“Only if you promise to write back.”
“Riley Quinn, I promise to write you so many letters you’ll get sick of hearing from me.”
“Impossible,” I whisper.
The back door opens with a creak, and Beau’s voice calls out: “You two done making out yet? Because dinner’s almost ready and Mom’s about to send out a search party.”
Travis doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Tell them we’ll be there in a minute.”
“Make it five minutes,” I correct, pulling him close for another kiss.
This one is interrupted by Beau’s groan. “Gross. You’re my baby sister, Riley. And you, Travis, my best friend. I’m going back inside before I’m scarred for life.”
The door slams shut, and we both laugh. We stand there for another moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the Christmas lights from the house twinkling merrily. Standing on this porch with Travis Steelbird’s arms around me and mistletoe above our heads, everything feels perfect.
“Merry Christmas, Riley,” he whispers.
“Merry Christmas, Travis.”