41. Carter

41

CARTER

She’s here!

Valerie is here…

I can’t believe she’s here.

I know I shouldn’t be this surprised. Valerie is Coach Palmer’s daughter. All the coaching and training staff have invited loved ones to the game.

Not to mention, Valerie lives in California now. It’s not like it was a great lift for her to get to the stadium to watch the game. Not that going to the Super Bowl wouldn’t be worth whatever effort required to make it here.

I should have expected she’d be here and that I would see her. My subconscious must’ve blocked out the possibility to protect me.

Because after seeing her standing there in Rough Rider red, her long dark hair hanging over her shoulders, and her green eyes shining under the stadium lights—all progress I’d made in getting over her vanished into thin air.

She took my breath away.

Literally.

It took Watson slapping me in the back to make me inhale. By the time I caught my breath, she and Megan were disappearing into the crowded sideline, and I lost the chance to speak with her.

A pit in my stomach forms when I admit it might’ve been the only chance I’d get.

“Jones,” Coach Owens barks.

I jolt.

The head coach scowls at me. “Get your head out of your ass and focus.” He waves his laminated play page in his hands before turning it over to Coach Palmer to talk to the defensive squad.

“Yes, Coach,” I grunt, pulling my eyes away from the stadium's second deck. I’ve spent too much time pointlessly scouring the boxes as if I could see which one Valerie is in from down here.

I’m a fucking mess.

We’re halfway through the first quarter of the biggest game of my life and I can hardly think of anything but Valerie.

Did I imagine it, or has her skin lost some of its olive tone?

I know it’s winter, but she lives in California now. Surely, she goes outside. It shouldn’t be difficult for her to maintain her natural tan.

“Jones!” This time, it’s Brody who shouts my name. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen up!”

The men around me all stare with a mix of anger, uncertainty, and disappointment. It’s obvious my head is not in the game, but they aren’t sure why.

There was a slight hiccup in my performance when Valerie first left Dallas, but it didn’t last long. Turns out, I can be hyper-focused on the game when I don’t want to think about the girl of my dreams moving on with her life without me.

But seeing her in person shook me to my core.

I’m a distracted mess.

I need to get it together. I owe it to my team. Hell, I owe it to myself. We all worked hard to be here tonight. I’ll never forgive myself if I fuck it up because I’m behaving like an immature man-child who is unable to process a breakup he initiated.

“Sorry, man,” I tell Brody then make a point to stare at Coach Palmer as he finishes running down our defensive performance that possession.

We stopped Arizona from getting a touchdown, but we couldn’t hold them out of field goal range. The score is currently 3-0. We hope our offense will score this drive to give us the lead. But even if they do, Coach Palmer and the rest of the defensive coordinators have come up with a plan on how to disrupt Arizona’s running game the next time we take the field.

“Alright men.” Palmer claps his hands together firmly. “Hydrate and rest up. We’re back on shortly.” He and his assistant walk away from the benches to rejoin Coach Owens on the sideline. Our offense is already at Arizona’s forty-yard line. A few more yards and we’ll be in field goal range ourselves.

Some of the players around me get off the bench and begin talking to each other. They’re trying to distract themselves from the nerves we’re all feeling about the game today.

Other players remain sitting, acting chill as hell, and talking as if this isn’t the biggest game of our careers.

“You all good, Jones?” I look away from where I’d been staring at the water table a few feet in front of me to find Deon staring at me. His brow is furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, man.” I cough to clear my throat. “All good.”

“You sure? Because you look like shit.”

I huff a laugh. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”

“I mean it. Is something wrong? Are you sick? You gotta say something if you’re not up to playing. You owe it to the team.”

He’s right.

I do owe it to the team.

“I’m not sick, but I do need to talk to Coach Palmer.” I stand from the bench and make my way to the sideline where the defensive coordinator is chatting with his assistant.

Usually, Palmer sits in the box with more members of the defensive coaching staff to watch the game from above. Today, he’s staying on the field and trusting one of his assistants to take over that spot. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he switches it up at some point in the game.

“Coach,” I grunt when I reach him, belatedly realizing I interrupted him mid-sentence.

Coach Palmer furrows his brow. “Jones.”

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Can it wait?” He makes a point of looking at the playbook in his hands. “I’m a little busy.”

“It won’t be long.” Gripping my helmet’s facemask in my hand, I turn and stride over to the bright orange water coolers a few feet away. Most of the players have water bottles delivered to them by the training staff, so there aren’t many bodies in the area to eavesdrop on a conversation.

Coach follows. “What is it, Jones?”

“Valerie is here.”

“Ah.” Understanding crosses his stern features, softening his expression just a bit. “Yeah, she is.”

“Is she happy?”

“What?”

“In California.” I hear my heartbeat in my ears. “Is Valerie happy in California?”

He frowns. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I just saw her, and my gut tells me something is wrong.”

“Wrong?” Worry fills his gaze. “What do you mean, ‘wrong’?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. She just… she didn’t look like her normal self. She didn’t look… happy .”

And despite what I did—despite putting an end to the best relationship of my life based on the belief that I was doing it for her own good, I am ready to take it all back.

I will go to Valerie crawling on my hands and knees if her dad admits these past months have been just as horrible for Valerie as they’ve been for me.

Seeing her in person broke the seal holding back the full extent of my regret.

Now that it’s unleashed, only one thing will keep me from begging Valerie to forgive me for breaking things off. And that’s if she is glad to be in California and glad to have this new start in life.

But the only way I can know that is by talking to her which I don’t know if I can do without revealing my position and potentially influencing her response—the exact thing I wanted to avoid when I ended things.

The alternative is talking to someone who knows her inside out. Someone like the man staring at me like he thinks I’ve been hit in the head one too many times playing ball.

“What makes you think Valerie is unhappy?”

Because even though we haven’t known each other for long… I know Valerie.

“It’s just a feeling.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Just tell me, Coach. Is she glad she took the job? Is she happy in California?”

His eyes drift away as he considers his response.

I hold my breath, bracing myself for whatever I’m about to hear.

If I’m wrong—if Valerie is happy with her decision, I’ll keep my conflicted feelings to myself.

But if she’s not, nothing will stop me from righting the wrong I committed to both of us.

“She enjoys the challenges being a CFO gives her.” His words puncture the balloon of hope that had been billowing in my chest. “But no… I wouldn’t say she’s happy living in California.”

The balloon inflates once more.

I steel my nerves with resolve. “You told me you didn’t want my relationship with Valerie to influence her career decisions. And because I respected you and cared about her, I listened.” The words flow from my lips. I don’t even stutter. This moment is too important to stutter.

I continue, “I ended things with Valerie even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, but I know now that it was a mistake. I’m going to ask her if she feels the same way. I just thought you should know.”

I sound like a nervous teenager asking my girlfriend’s dad if I can take her on a date.

I might be a grown-ass man, but I have a healthy respect that borders on fear for my defensive coach. I don’t need his approval, but I want it. Bad.

Coach Palmer watches me for a moment and then releases a heavy sigh. It’s not an outright disagreeable sound.

I brace myself for his response.

Before he can say a word, we’re interrupted. “Carter Jones!”

Coach Palmer and I turn toward the authoritative shout. An LAPD officer jogs in our direction. Two stadium security officers follow.

I frown. “What is it?”

The other players and staff on the sideline watch the scene with interest.

“You need to come with us,” the officer states. “There’s been an incident.”

“Right now?” Coach waves a hand around us. “We’re in the middle of a game.”

“Yes, sir. I know. But this is important. It’s about your daughter.”

Fear overwhelms my confusion. “What? What happened?”

The officer’s features twist in regret. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, sir, but it appears that your daughter is missing.”