Chapter 28

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

“How’s Jay?”Fletcher asked when he and Trey crossed paths at the training facility Tuesday afternoon. Practice for Sunday’s season opener wouldn’t begin until the following day, but both men liked to take advantage of the quiet workout room whenever they could.

“In really good spirits,” Trey replied. He’d FaceTimed with both his parents yesterday, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing either one look so carefree. So happy. Even with the battle Jay still had to fight, his mom and dad acted like a couple on their honeymoon. “He got into the drug trial, thank goodness. There’s still a long way to go, but the doctors seem optimistic.”

“That’s good to hear.” The kicker adjusted his gym bag on his shoulder.

“Yeah. I still can’t quite wrap my head around my parents facing down my dad’s illness as a couple.”

“That’s because you let all that shite about your family being cursed influence your thinking.”

Trey opened his mouth to object, but Fletcher held up a hand.

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” the kicker said. “And this is the last time I’ll ever bring the subject up, mostly because you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“Just riddle yourself this. If the men in your family are so cursed, why would Jay and your Pops keep pairing up? I’m going to go out on a limb and guess they think the reward is worth the effort.” Fletcher sighed. “There are no guarantees in this life, Van Horn. None. At the risk of repeating my advice, you’ll never know if love is worth the risk unless you step off the sidelines and give it a shot.”

He saluted Trey and strolled out of the gym. Trey sat down at the leg press and contemplated Fletcher’s words. The kicker was just trying to manifest his own happiness on everyone else, that’s all. Trey was happy. Things were going just fine the way they were. He had football and he had London. Admitting he loved London wouldn’t change anything. His legs stilled on the machine.

Love?

Well, shit.

Of course he was in love with London. He always had been. Fletcher was right, dammit. Not that he’d ever admit that to his friend.

Trey had been a chickenshit all those years ago. The real reason he’d run back to Stanford was because he didn’t know what to do with the feelings he had for her. He knew now, though.

If the game of football was suddenly taken away from him, he’d survive somehow. But if London was no longer in his life, he’d be lost. And the version of himself he was when she was around—the one he liked the best—would be lost, too. He needed her in his life. Long-term. All he had to do now was convince her of the same thing.

An hour later, he headed over to the stadium for the photo shoot. He chuckled to himself as he climbed the stairs to the conference room. He’d be a different Trey Van Horn in these pictures. People wouldn’t be used to seeing him smiling ear-to-ear. But admitting his feelings about London made him feel lighter. Freer. Happier. He would have to resist the temptation to sweep her in his arms when he saw her in there.

“Here he is,” the Community Relations Director for the Growlers called out when Trey stepped into the room.

“We’ve already finished with the Timbers’ pitcher,” she told Trey. “We’d like to get a few shots of the three of you so he can leave and we can finish with you and Alek.”

“Sure,” Trey agreed absently as he scanned the room, looking for the woman he couldn’t live without.

“You’re wasting your time,” Bergeron murmured beside him. “London’s not here.”

Trey slowly shifted his gaze to the obnoxious hockey goalie.

Bergeron had the nerve to smirk. “I take it you haven’t heard?”

* * *

London enteredthe crowded salon hoping her flagging courage wouldn’t fail her when she finally dropped her truth bomb on Lucy. Breaking the news to the Westbrook staff had been more painful than she anticipated. They were a small office of twenty-one people, including her and Bennie. And up until today, they were tight-knit. The five younger staff—including interns—were all enthusiastic about the opportunity to work for a big-name firm like Nolan and Hemphill.

The rest of the staff, not so much.

Brenda openly sobbed at the idea of Bennie and London not being in the office any longer. The others grumbled about getting lost among the rank and file of an “advertising machine” while working in a “satellite” office in Milwaukee. One of the other account reps openly glared at London, obviously resenting the fact she’d be taking on larger accounts while he’d still be swimming with the small fish. The meeting left London feeling guilty and anxious.

“Shake it off, kiddo,” Bennie told her. “This was my decision. I could have closed up shop and walked away and they’d all be scrambling for work. Everyone wins this way, whether they believe it or not.”

She’d left early trying to ignore the incessant ringing of the phones, likely brought on by the email Bennie sent to clients an hour earlier announcing the merger.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” she mumbled to herself.

She caught sight of Lucy serving a small glass of wine to a woman getting a pedicure. Several months ago, London suggested her friend start hosting a “happy hour” a couple of afternoons a month where customers got a complimentary glass of wine from the liquor store with their pedicure. Lucy was pleasantly surprised at how many people purchased a bottle of wine on their way out the door. So surprised that now it was an everyday service.

Her friend smiled broadly when she spied London coming her way.

“Oh my gosh, you are glowing.” London wrapped her arms around Lucy. “That must have been some babymoon.”

“It was ahh-mazing. Just what Mike and I needed.” She tilted her head and studied London. “You however, look a little ragged. I hope that means our favorite quarterback has been keeping you up with sexy times all weekend.”

“I’ve had a few things keeping me up this weekend.” Not a total lie. She gestured to the glass of wine one of the customers was holding. “Got any more of that?”

Lucy winked at her. “For you? Of course. Come on over to the shop.”

They were headed to the back hallway that adjoined the two spaces when the chimes on the door rang and a chorus of excited whispers filled the salon.

Lucy turned to investigate. “Speaking of our favorite quarterback.”

Holy hell. Not now.

London’s stomach seized up. He wasn’t supposed to be here. She couldn’t put this conversation with Lucy off any longer. Besides, Trey was supposed to be at the gala media day.

“Why aren’t you at the gala meeting?” she demanded in lieu of a greeting.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucy’s knowing smile fade into a confused expression.

Trey’s expression wasn’t any better. The flecks of gold in his eyes were hidden beneath the penetrating look he pinned her with. “Funny thing, that. I was under the impression that you’d be at that meeting as well.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Trey stopped in the center of the salon, seeming to take up half the space in the room. He crossed his arms over his chest, showcasing his hard-earned muscles beneath his Henley. Muscles parts of her would likely never stop wanting to touch. Or taste.

“When were you going to tell me, London?” he demanded.

He must have seen the truth in her face because he swore violently.

Seriously?

They weren’t in a real relationship. He wasn’t supposed to care where she lived or worked.

“You know what, let’s talk about this in the back,” she managed to say around her suddenly tight throat.

“Why? There’s nothing left to talk about. I already know Bennie sold his firm to Nolan and Hemphill in Chicago. And all his accounts along with it.”

The salon went so still, the only sound was the staccato beat from the tango music playing in the ballroom dance studio two doors down.

Trey turned to Lucy’s mom. “Don’t worry Mrs. An. London will still be managing your account. Only she’ll be doing it from Chicago.”

That wasn’t exactly true. London’s Milwaukee accounts would be spread among the remaining staff. Not that she would be clarifying that right now. She was too concerned by the look of hurt on Lucy’s face. Pain that she was responsible for.

“Is this true?” Lucy whispered.

Mrs. An rushed to place her arm over her daughter’s shoulders. She shot London a well-deserved look of annoyance. But Trey deserved some of the blame, too.

This was not how this was supposed to go down.

She was furious at him for taking over the narrative. Grabbing his wrist, she marched him into one of the waxing rooms, slamming the door behind them. He was still wearing an inscrutable expression when he leaned a hip against the table. She fisted her hands on her hips.

“I was always very upfront that I was putting my career first.”

“Yes, you have been. You just never bothered to mention that career would be in a different city. Imagine my surprise when I had to find out from Alek fucking Bergeron!”

His outburst had the thin walls of the room quaking. London pressed her fingers to her throbbing brow. Her stomach sank even further realizing that Trey wasn’t angry about the move. His ego was bruised because Alek got the news from someone before he did.

“I’m sorry about that. I had plans to tell you in person.”

His laugh rung hollow. “Good to know where I rate on your list of friends. Tell me something. How do you see this—” he gestured between them “—playing out? We’ll just hook-up whenever we are in the same city?”

His affront was surprising to her because she was certain that’s how he pictured their relationship. And it was exactly how she saw their relationship, too. Until the other night at the boathouse. When she realized her heart was coming into play.

“There can’t be a this, okay?” Not without love.

His head jerked back as though she’d punched him.

She blew out a breath. “I thought I could do this.” She tried to clear the emotion from her voice. “But it turns out I can’t.”

“Only because you won’t give it a chance.”

It was her turn to recoil this time.

“Are you kidding me with that crap? And leave myself open for you to crush my heart when you walk away without a word again? Because you will. You said it more than once that you’re not a good bet where relationships are concerned. That you don’t believe in them.” She sucked in a lungful of air in an attempt to steady her breath. “It’s taken me ten years to get back the guts to go after what I really want. I can’t afford the chance that you’ll knock me off course a second time. I just can’t, Trey.”

Her lungs seized as she watched him seem to deflate before her eyes. The silence stretched for several long heartbeats. Eventually, he stepped away from the table with a heavy sigh.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’m a bad bet long-term. Believe me when I say the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you, London.”

Tears stung the back of her eyes at his admission. He stepped close to her, lightly brushing his knuckles along her cheek.

“Hold out for someone who’ll put you first. He’s out there. I promise you.”

He moved for the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “I believed in love once,” he said, keeping his back to her. “That summer, you had me convinced it existed. But then I let someone convince me you were a mirage. A fake. My stupidity that day changed the direction of my life. And you’re right. It’s too late for a course-correction now.”

His words confused her. She wanted to demand an explanation, but he was already gone. The tears came then. Tears of grief at the love she would never have. Tears of anger at the universe for making her want the one man on the planet who wasn’t open to love. Tears of panic at the prospect of losing her best friend.

The door opened and closed. London hadn’t realized she was sitting on the floor until someone slid down the wall and landed next to her.

“Of course you’d have to be on the floor,” Lucy grumbled. “Well, you’re going to have to help me up when the time comes.”

Gulping sobs wracked London’s body.

Lucy rubbed her back. “Shh. It’s all going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

“You’re n-not mad at m-me?” London asked when she could finally get words out.

“Oh, girlfriend, I’m pissed as crap right now. Both at you and the fact that I can’t share this bottle of expensive Prosecco with you.” Lucy brushed a kiss over London’s head. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I know the way to Chicago.”

The tears now were from relief. And love. And happiness with the knowledge that she wasn’t alone. She was going to be okay. Or at least better. She might actually survive this.

Someday.