Chapter 57 Desiree Dixon

Someone I Want You to Meet

“Come on, come on, come on,” I mutter under my breath as I watch Nick Dawson as he takes a step, plants his foot, and swings his leg to kick the ball through the uprights. My folded hands are under my chin as I say a silent prayer for it to go where it’s supposed to go.

It goes wide to the right.

The Aces lose the conference championship to the Bills at home.

Poor Nick Dawson. I can’t imagine the weight he’s feeling right now even though it’s a team effort. It’s not his fault, but he’ll feel like it is.

I feel horrible for the entire team. They played their hardest, but in the end, they came up short. They couldn’t seem to find a rhythm, even here at home—even when it seemed so damn easy all season.

It’s the fucking conference championship game that killed their season last year, too. Two years in a row, they got to the game before the big one, and now…

The season is over.

I watch as the Bills players rush out onto the field in celebration. I glance up at the rafters where the black and red confetti was waiting to fall.

Instead, it’ll be saved for next year, I guess. I’m not really sure what they do with confetti when the home team loses, but they’re not releasing it onto the field for the visitors.

“Oh, no,” my mom says beside me, and it’s almost like a hushed silence falls over the crowd.

I look through the players on the sidelines for eighty-five, and when I spot him, he’s facing me.

He takes off his helmet, and though he looks disappointed, his eyes find mine.

Something passes between us in that moment, and it’s not disappointment. It’s not even the heat I usually feel when he looks over at me.

It’s excitement.

For as much as neither of us wanted to see the season end like this, we still get to take a step in the next direction.

This offseason will hold a lot of weight for us. Before next season officially begins, we’ll be parents. We’ll be moving into a house together. The future we’ve talked about and fretted over and prepared for will be in our hands.

I’m wearing a jersey with his last name and number on it, and his eyes flick down to my chest in approval—of my tits or of what my shirt says, I’m not sure. Probably both, knowing him.

My mom and I head over to the family area after the game. It’s somber down here tonight as we wait for our players and coaches to exit the locker room. Nobody’s talking, and there isn’t the usual buzz as we all think about the men we love in that locker room. They’ll be disappointed in the way their season came to an end, even though there’s no shame in being one of the top four teams in the entire league.

They never see it that way. I’ve been around the game long enough to know that much.

The first of the players emerge, and they leave quietly with their families. It feels like a funeral back here, to be honest, and my hormones can’t take it.

I let out a deep sigh, and some more players exit.

Ellie comes over and gives me a somber hug with a little bit of enthusiasm as she quietly congratulates me on the news in person for the first time since I told her.

It’s nearly an hour after the game by the time Asher walks out before my dad does, and he looks around the room and spots me.

His lips tip up in a smile as he turns to the older woman running toward him for a hug. After he hugs her, he takes her arm and escorts her across the room.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” he says quietly to me. “Mom, this is Desiree. Des, my mom.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs.—” I begin as I stick my hand out to shake hers.

She shakes her head instead and walks straight past my hand to pull me into a warm hug. “Call me Missy. And it’s wonderful to finally meet the woman who my boy can’t stop smiling about.”

I catch Asher’s eye over his mom’s shoulder, and he mouths sorry to me. I grin.

Missy introduces herself to my mom, and I walk into Asher’s open arms.

“I’m sorry about the game,” I say softly.

I feel his lips on the top of my head. “Me too.” He leans down closer to my ear and says quietly, just for me, “But to be honest with you, I’ve been ready for what comes next for months now.”

My smile widens into a grin as I back up. “Me too.”

He leans down to drop his lips to mine, and I’m positive his teammates are watching. I’m certain gossip will run rampant around the locker room tomorrow during exit interviews.

But I can’t find it in me to really care anymore.

I hear a throat clear, and I break apart from Asher with a healthy dose of guilt. The man doing the throat clearing certainly cares.

His brows are raised and his lips are pursed, and I’d swear if I didn’t know better that he sucked on a lemon before he left the locker room.

“Oh, Bill, lighten up,” my mom says, elbowing him. She hugs him and murmurs something to him—surely something about how she’s sorry about the loss or something along those lines.

I hate the tension between the two most important men in my life. I’m not quite sure what to do about it. I’ve gone easy on my dad because he was focused on the playoffs, and I’ll give him another night or two since they just lost.

But the reality is that I’m moving out of his house and into one with Asher. The reality is that I’m having Asher’s baby.

Bill Dixon is my dad, and he always will be. If he chooses to write himself out of my story because he doesn’t like that we kept our relationship from him, that’s on him.

I can’t pretend any longer that I’m not head over heels for the man whose arm is slung over my shoulder.

An older man with many similarities to Asher saunters over to us next. We haven’t had the pleasure, but from the slick way he punches Asher’s arm to the slightly sleazy smirk on his face, I know exactly who he is.

I get the feeling if he wanted me to meet his mom, he doesn’t want me to meet his dad.

Asher clears his throat. “This is my dad, Eddie.”

“Hi,” I say with a small wave. “I’m Desiree.”

“I know exactly who you are,” he says. “And I’d love to take you two kids to dinner one night.” He turns to Asher. “Tough loss, kid. I’ll see you back at home.”

Asher raises his brows and nods, essentially brushing his dad off. What the hell is with our dads? His is a sleazeball, and mine’s being all overly protective and completely out of line.

This isn’t the time to address any of it, so I simply offer him a smile. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Great. Tomorrow night.” He walks away before I can protest, and knowing what I know about his dad, I have a feeling he’s someone I need to watch out for.

“You ready?” Asher asks.

I glance up at him with a question in my eyes.

“Some of the guys are going out,” he clarifies. “Do you want to come?”

I look at my dad, who looks like he’s about ready to take my mom and me home as usual, and in the split second I have to make a decision, I realize my dad has my mom. Asher needs me more than he does.

“I’d love to,” I say to Asher, and then I turn to my parents. “I’ll probably be late.”

My dad looks angry, but he doesn’t say a word. I chalk it up as a win. It’s one of the first instances where I get the chance to assert my independence, and since I’m going to be a mom in about a little over six months, it’s about damn time I stop letting him call the shots.

We head to the Gridiron for an hour or so before Asher asks me if I’m ready to go.

“Go where?” I ask.

“Home,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Where?” I repeat.

“Our home.”

My lips tip up into a smile. “I’d love to.”

On the way home , a word that puts warmth into my chest every time I merely think about the house Asher bought for us, we chat about what we have going on in the coming weeks.

“What do you usually do in the offseason?” I ask.

He chuckles as he glances out the window of the backseat we’re sitting in together. “Usually I do whatever the hell I want. Last year, I went to Australia for a month. The year before, I took a trip to Costa Rica. Sometimes I travel, sometimes I spend time hiking or biking or finding some adventure. But this offseason, I have Ellie filling up my calendar with appearances.”

“How are the sponsorships coming along?” I ask.

He lifts a shoulder. “Not great. I have a couple of offers, but nothing worth the effort. But appearances? Every nightclub in Vegas is thrilled to invite Asher Nash to party for a few hours. My social calendar is full.”

“Do you like doing them?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at the thought of him out partying every night of the week.

“Not really.” He lifts a shoulder. “It’s an hour or two of fake smiles for photos and pretending like I’m having a good time with people I don’t know.”

“Then why are you doing them?”

He glances at me, and it’s hard to read his eyes in the dark backseat of an Uber. “Because I have a baby on the way, and it’s extra cash in the bank.”

My chest tightens at his words. There’s something so sweet about the sentiment that heat pinches behind my eyes.

“You don’t have to do that. We’ll be fine.”

He leans over toward me and presses his lips to my cheek. “Yes, I do.”

The sentiment feels so honest and sweet. So perfect, just like everything seems to feel when it’s just the two of us.

I just wish my dad could see it, too.