Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

AVA

My eyes are closed when we pull up to my beach house rental. It's late and my body is beyond exhausted.

"I'm going to help you inside," Jett says.

Yes. Jett is with me. Jett is the one who insisted on driving me home instead of having Gabriella drive all the way out to Kemah only to drive back to Houston. Jett, who through most of today's drug-induced haze, I remember being the gentle, sweet man I had to tear myself away from seven and a half years ago to save his career.

"Thanks," I say, pushing open my door and surprising myself by how difficult that is. I couldn't protest his help if I wanted to.

He puts an arm around my waist, supporting me as we walk up the driveway, with me leaning into him. "I can also stay with you during this, you know, really difficult time."

The hint of amusement in that is hard not to smile at. "I appreciate your support," I say dryly.

"Avocados," he says solemnly. "That's a big deal. I understand there's going to be some grief you need to work through." The wobble in his voice warns that laughter is imminent.

I have to chuckle. I don't know how long this truce between us will last, but I want to enjoy this whisper of our old relationship for the time being. I revel in the comforting warmth of having him near, the sparks of anticipation in my stomach since I can't convince them that nothing will come of this. Jett is just being nice. He's still mad at me for leaving.

"To be honest, after everything that happened today, and it's all because of some guacamole, avocados and I are in a little bit of a fight anyway," I say. They did scratch tests at the hospital since the list of things I'd eaten that day wasn't too long. Jett's eyes got so big when the doctor told me they were pretty sure it was the guacamole. The reaction made me laugh. He was my rock today, and I needed that.

We reach the door, and I tell Jett the key code to unlock the door. He doesn't say anything as he leads me down the hallway to the bedrooms, passing the extra bedroom and heading to the master suite at the end of the hall.

I sit down heavily on the bed, kicking off my sandals and sighing. "Tell me the truth, Jett," I say, turning to where he leans against the doorframe. He tenses just the slightest bit, and since my brain cleared enough to take note of him at the hospital, this is the first hint I've seen that everything isn't the same between us as it was back then. Since he noticed the hives, we've been in an alternate reality where we never broke up, a vision of the life we would have led if I had stayed. His protective care of me. The panic in his eyes that he tried to hide, reminiscent of the time I called him after getting into a fender bender and he got there before my parents, his eyes raking over me, trying to find any injury. He'd gathered me up in his arms like he'd imagined the worst even though I'd told him I was okay.

"I've never had a problem with that." His voice is wry, and though he smiles, it doesn't hide that we both remember the things he said the night I left. And that he probably doesn't regret them either.

"Did I say anything embarrassing?" I pin him with my best shot at an intimidating stare, but it's hard to really get into it, given what I went through today.

His lips twitch, but he shakes his head. "Nope."

I did. I absolutely did and he's laughing about it. "Jett."

He shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets, and his smile relaxes again. "I don't think anything you said was embarrassing. For one thing, you staunchly defended your right not to eat salt-and-vinegar chips with guacamole."

I laugh. I'm tempted to push him about the difference between what I think is embarrassing and what he does, but instead I say, "Sit down. Stay for a minute."

He hesitates, but I want to suck everything I can out of this moment. Those times earlier today when it was hard to breathe are clinging to me, and Jett was the calming element that kept me from making it worse by hyperventilating. The strength and safety I always counted on from him before hovers in the room, and I don't want to let it go.

"Please," I say softly.

He nods and comes fully into the room, settling into an overstuffed chair, kicking his legs up on the ottoman in front of it. Despite the show, he looks anything but comfortable. I want to ask him what he's thinking, but I'm not sure I can handle that much honesty.

"Tell me about getting drafted," I say instead.

He grins and his shoulders relax more. "It was the most satisfying moment. All these guys were getting picked, and I kept thinking there were so many guys who were better than me, and even though there'd been so much talk about the Pumas drafting me with their first pick, and I'd been talking to them…" He pauses, and it's easy to picture now what he's remembering. The moment they announced his name.

"You had the biggest grin on your face." The words spill out, and I wish I could blame the Benadryl, but it's not that. It's been hours. It's because being with him feels good, real, natural. I can say anything to him. "So … triumphant. A little bit of I told you so ."

His eyebrows jump. "You watched?"

"I watched." Of course I watched it on TV, because even though I walked away, I never really quit him. Not fully. I burst into tears when they said his name, and I remember the acute ache I had, wishing I was the one he was pulling up into his arms and hugging—though I wouldn't have wanted to take that moment away from his mom.

Except I definitely did.

Even now it's hard to keep the emotion out of my voice. It's been a long day. "I bet people were so excited when the Pumas picked you—their hometown hero, coming back."

He scoffs, but the pride is in his eyes. "I don't know. Fans were split between me and convincing Vince Hamilton not to retire."

"Everyone says when he did retire, it was because he saw the writing on the wall. That you were going to start that next season whether he came back or not." I know the talk and the headlines, but seeing his reactions now is like that moment a groom sees his bride for the first time, coming up the aisle. It's one of my favorite things to watch. I miss Jett so much. It's probably just everything that happened today, how tired I am, but I want us back.

He shrugs and doesn't answer, but his smile says it all. "How'd you end up in Atlanta, planning weddings?"

I arrange the pillows on the bed against the headboard and lean back into them. "It started with working in Gabriella's aunt and uncle's restaurant in college. They did—still do—a lot of parties there because the food is amazing. Those were my favorite nights. After my begging all the time to help with them, Gabriella's aunt let me start helping with organizing them. By the time I graduated from college, I was basically in charge of events at the restaurant. Gabriella's aunt knows Kristen, the founder of my firm, and put in a good word. The rest is obviously history." I stifle a yawn. I don't want Jett to see that everything is catching up with me. This is nice, and there's a dreamlike quality of our conversation that has me convinced that after tonight, this bubble where we're almost friends again is going to pop.

He shifts, sitting up from his lounging position, but he doesn't move to stand. Of course he caught the yawn. He's been watching me closely all day. It warms me and unnerves me all at the same time.

"So you felt like you owed Gabriella? Is that why you're planning her wedding? Colby said you had to be talked into it." Confusion crinkles his eyes, and he leans forward. Talking about the wedding could easily derail the companionship we've shared today.

I tense. "Planning stuff for friends can get really tricky," I say. "Weddings are important and emotions can run high. I didn't want to ruin my friendship with Gabriella." Specifically if something went wrong.

Not only did Chelsea stop answering my calls and texts after the fundraising fiasco, but she blamed me to anyone who would listen. She commented on and shared every negative post that mentioned me.

"Hmm" is Jett's only answer. He moves forward. "I should let you get some rest. You must be exhausted."

I am, and I can't argue it. Despite that I don't want our night to end, I won't be able to keep my eyes open for much longer.

"Thanks, Jett. For everything today." I want to get up and go to him, risk giving him a hug and having his arms around me for just a minute, but I don't have the strength.

He stands, moving to the doorway. "Get some rest. 'Night." He disappears into the main room of the house. A moment later the front door closes, and then I hear his truck backing out of the driveway. I watch the street through the window, seeing which way he drives away and almost hoping that it's just a few houses down from mine. But the sound of his truck disappears, and all I have the will to do is flop back onto the bed and curl up to go to sleep.