28. Sam

Sam

“Hey,” I say, watching as Finn slowly wakes up, her eyes struggling to open. She’s tucked into my bed, a pillow jammed under her left side to keep her from rolling over onto her shoulder.

After she passed out, I put her in my car and took her straight to urgent care. According to them, she had a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. Nothing serious, but she’d be in some pain. She was sleepy and pissed while they waited for the results of her CT scan, and adorably frustrated that she couldn’t just take a little nap.

Finn was particularly upset at the florescent lights, calling them abrasive enough times that the nurse finally agreed to turn them off, but kept the lamp next to her hospital bed on so she wouldn’t fall asleep. The scans came back, and, finally given permission, Finn drifted to sleep while I waited for them to get her discharge information together.

“With a grade one concussion, we just need to be cautious for the next day or so,” Dr. Roberts said, handing me a packet of information. “She needs rest. Limited screens and no intense concentration.”

I had to hold back a smile thinking about the tablet in her purse. All Finn did was concentrate intensely. On the way to the urgent care, she’d roused in the passenger seat and murmured something about watching game film after climbing.

“She's not going to like that,” I’d said.

“Well, she doesn't have to like it. She just has to do it.” He looked at me seriously. “Someone should check on her periodically through the day. Sleep is the best thing for her, but we need to make sure she’s recovering and not getting worse.”

I glanced at Finn, head lolled to the side on her pillow. No way was I taking her to Aldine’s guest house and leaving her there, so I decided to bring her back to my apartment. I’d text Penny to let her know.

“Watch for unusual drowsiness or severe headaches. If symptoms worsen, bring her back in.” He wrote something on his prescription pad. “This is for any nausea, and the pain in that shoulder. Make sure she doesn’t sleep on it. It can be useful to tuck a pillow into the side,” he gestured to this ribs, “like this. So she doesn’t turn in her sleep. Ice that bump on her head, but not for too long.”

“Okay.”

“And she needs at least twenty-four hours of rest before returning to work. When she does return, it should be gradual.” He handed me the prescription.

Now, I help her sit up and shake out the medication for nausea and pain into her palm. Finn blinks at it for a second, as though she’s never seen pills before.

“Take ‘em,” I say, handing her a glass of water.

To my surprise, she blinks at me once, then obeys, taking the pills and knocking them back. She makes a face after drinking the water, her eyes shifting, unfocused, to mine.

“Is that filtered?” Finn asks.

I press my lips together. “I filled this from the tap.”

“Microplastics,” she mutters, shaking her head and burying her head in the pillow. Her voice is muffled and barely legible when she says, “Bad for you—bad for performance. Tell Penny to order you a filter.”

A second later, she’s drifted to sleep again, and I watch her, the water glass in hand. Even disheveled and cranky, she’s gorgeous. And I want to take care of her for the rest of her life.

That knowledge settles in me like sediment forming solid rock. I want to take care of her. I want her . And I’m going to do what I can to make that happen.

I sit with her, reading a motivational book on the long list she wants me to get through, until it’s time for bed. Sleepy and loose, I get her into the shower with me, then blow-dry her hair for her and tuck her back into my bed, setting an alarm to wake up every few hours to check on her.

The next morning, Finn wakes up more like herself, but I insist on dropping her off at the guest house anyway. It’s in the back of the property, so unless the Aldines are actively looking out the window, it’s not likely they’ll see me.

“See you after practice,” Finn says, her eyes skipping to mine. Maybe it’s delusional, but I’m starting to think something in her gaze might be changing when she looks at me—something more open than before.

Something that gives me hope. That when I ask her to give this thing a shot, she might actually say yes.

***

“Sammy!”

I wince at the name, and I don’t know why. It used to be Sam that bothered me, and now Sammy is starting to feel…different. Childish.

“Hey, Harper,” I say, turning to face her. Today she’s wearing a blush-pink sweater dress and thick wool tights. A camera hangs loosely around her neck. “You need a picture or something?”

“Actually,” she says, clearing her throat and rolling her lips into her mouth. I stare at them for a moment, my brain trying to catch up with what’s happening right now. The air between us has changed, shifting and warming a few degrees.

“I already got some amazing shots. You had a great practice today,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“The lighting was perfect,” she goes on, leaning closer. Her cheeks are pink, and her lip gloss shines in the arena lighting. My mind skips to Finn, whom I’m supposed to meet with after practice, and I resist the urge to check my watch.

“You can really… feel your confidence through the lens, you know?” Harper says.

“I don’t,” I laugh, scratching the back of my neck. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“Sammy,” she exhales, letting out like a breath she’s been holding, “my friends and I are getting together for New Year’s tonight. I want you to come and meet them.”

I blink at her, my voice caught in my throat.

Harper is asking me out. This is what I’ve wanted since the moment I saw her. When I imagined this moment, I always thought it would be a victory for me. A triumph. A miracle.

But it doesn’t feel like any of those things. It feels wrong, like I’ve stepped into the incorrect storyline. Like I’m a character, playing a part in a play.

“Here.” She smiles up at me warmly, like she thinks me being tongue-tied is because I’m too nervous to speak, and not because I’m genuinely baffled. Gently, she takes my phone from my hand and opens the notes app, jotting down the information for the party. “I’ll see you tonight, right?”

I blink at her, then down at my phone, which she’s sliding back into my hand. Before I can say anything else, Harper smiles, rises up on her tiptoes, and presses a kiss to my cheek.

My heart is hammering for all the wrong reasons as she walks away, her boots clicking against the arena floor. My gaze falls to my phone again, and I feel sick.

“I can’t believe it worked!”

I look up to see Finn walking toward me, a smile plastered over her face. For the life of me, I can’t get my brain to keep up with what’s happening.

“What?” I ask.

“Harper!” Finn says, and the smile on her face looks so genuine that I’m confused. Why would she be happy that another woman asked me out. “The whole fake dating thing worked! Now you can go on a date with her, push through the block, and take home the rest of the season!”

“Finn,” I say, shaking my head a bit like I’m the one with the concussion. “But—I’m spending New Year’s with you.”

And the rest of the team, at Devon and Lola’s tonight. The moment I got the invitation, I asked Finn if she wanted to come. We were cuddled in bed, and she laughed, telling me not to expect a midnight kiss.

I was planning on telling her tonight that I’m in love with her, and I want to find a way to make it work. At first, I’d thought about asking her to stay in Burlington. But after a call to my manager, I realized that I might be able to swing a transfer to California. Or some team on the west coast. That I might be able to make this work for her on her terms. I’d miss Burlington, and the guys would hate me for leaving. But it would be worth it.

“Not anymore!” she says, still smiling. Too much smiling—Finn never smiles this much. “Now, you’re spending it with Harper.”

“I’m not,” I say, the words coming out as a growl. Surprise flashes over her face, and her eyes flick from my eyes down to my lips. Fuck—did that just turn her on ?

I have to focus, even as her eyes are dark, her lips parting the slightest bit.

“Sam—”

“I don’t want Harper, Finn,” I say, the words low. I realize I’ve backed her out of the hallway and into a little alcove. Someone would only find us here if they were looking. Crowding her against the wall, I fix her with my gaze.

I need her to know I’m serious about this. “I want you .”

“Don’t—” she starts, but the words get choked in her throat when our chests meet. For the first time since I first walked into her office, Dr. Finn Asher is at a loss for words.

“I want you, Finn.” I watch her watch me. She’s breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. “However I can have you. I was planning to tell you tonight but—fuck it. Harper isn’t happening anymore I thought that was obvious.”

“It’s not—”

“You’re going to let me finish,” I say, lowering my head and bracketing my hands on the wall behind her head.

She could leave if she wanted to—duck out under my arm, push me, tell me to fuck off and I would—but she stays still. I see that same flicker of something in her face that I saw last night. Something changing. Opening up. Letting me in.

“You’re smart enough to know that there’s something happening here,” I say, eyes flitting back and forth between hers. “This thing…it’s not just sex, Finn. Not for me. And I don’t think it is for you, either.”

“Sam,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “It’s not going to work.”

“I’ll come to California.”

“ What ?” Her eyes fly open, widening.

“I already talked to my manager.”

“You did not .”

“I’m serious about this, Finn. That serious. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with you. These past few months have been the best of my life, and not just because of the coaching. Because of you . You’re funny, smart, gorgeous, and so driven. Having you in my life makes it better. Tell me right now that you don’t feel the same.”

She looks windswept. Like this is the first time in her life she wasn’t able to predict what would happen next.

“Tell me that you don’t feel the same, and I’ll drop this,” I say, knowing I mean it. I would never want to push her into an impossible situation, but I’m so sure she feels it, too. I’m never happier than when I’m around her. I want to protect her at all costs. I’m my best self when I’m with her.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

“Say it, Finn,” I dare, knowing—or hoping—she won’t. “Say you don’t want this.”

“I…” she finally says, licking her lips.

My chest tightens before she looks up at me, her face open. Vulnerable. Needy and wanting and without a single wall.

“I can’t.”