Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

JETT

Despite my restless night of sleep, I can't help grinning the next morning as I watch a couple dozen eight-year-olds line up for the kickoff of the Houston Pumas annual charity all-star game for kids. While schmoozing a bunch of rich people who paid thousands of dollars for seats at the game and the chance to mingle with the Pumas players isn't my ideal morning activity, watching kids discover their love for this game is. I'll just cross my fingers that not too many people will sit around me and interrupt my enjoyment of the game. I could use something to take my mind off last night and the uneasiness that's dogged me since I saw Ava.

I clap as the Blue Team fields the ball and returns it for about ten yards. The Pumas players who come to the game split up who cheers for the Blue Team and who cheers for the Black Team, and I'm a designated Blue Team cheerleader today. I give a loud whistle as the Blue Team boys huddle up, and a couple look my direction and give me a thumbs-up.

My phone rings and I pull it out to see a FaceTime call from my mom. She appears on the screen, looking at me over her reading glasses, which she takes off once I pick up. Dad sits next to her, his own reading glasses on, looking at something on his tablet.

"Hey," I answer, and he looks up, removing his glasses as well and setting the tablet down.

"Oh," Mom says, frowning at me. "I wanted to catch you before you got to the field."

"It's okay. I'm not at practice. It's the charity game for the kids." I offered to get them tickets, but both declined, saying they'd feel out of place.

"Right. Of course." Mom nods. Her expression is set on concern, and it's easy to guess why she's calling. "Well, we can call you later. I know you have responsibilities at these things."

I'd rather get this out of the way and assure my parents that everything is fine. "I have a few minutes."

They share a look, and then Mom takes a deep breath to speak. I almost laugh that Dad hasn't said anything since his opening greeting. "Jenna said Ava's back in town … renting her beach house."

"Was there a family meeting about it?" I ask dryly.

Dad laughs and Mom even cracks a smile.

"Jenna and Devin are coming for dinner tonight, and I called to plan a time with her. The subject might have come up." Mom shrugs.

"Maybe it was the first thing to come up," Dad adds, his commiserating expression tinted with some amusement.

"It's fine," I say. "I knew I'd run into her sooner or later. It was just a surprise."

Mom nods. "Julie mentioned at church that Ava was coming into town for an event, but she didn't say when, and I never thought she'd be at Jenna's beach house. I would've said something?—"

"Mom. It's really fine. Promise." Maybe if I say it enough, even I'll believe it.

Her expression tenses like she believes that as much as I do. " Okay. Do you want to come for dinner tonight? We're eating at six."

"If I'm done. I'll try to make it." With the charity game today, practice might run long to prep for Sunday's game.

"Sounds good. Hopefully we see you." Mom and Dad both wave and then hang up. Is it wrong of me to hope we're on the field late today? I want more time to process last night's events before I face down my whole family at dinner. I can say I'm fine as much as I want. They probably won't buy it, and though they won't force me to talk about it, I'll see it in their pitying expressions. Sheesh, Jett. It's been over seven years. Get over yourself.

Someone approaches where my camp chair is set up right at the fifty-yard line, but I hope if I ignore them and force them to make the first move in conversation, they'll decide one of my other teammates is a better bet and move on. The feet stop right at my chair, and although I can see the white tennis shoes in my peripheral, I keep my gaze on the field.

The person next to me clears their throat, but I don't take that bait. Claire's going to be annoyed that I'm not making sure to get as many selfies as possible and posting them to Instagram. I'll worry about her new campaign to make over my social media another day when I've had more than a few hours of sleep and more than a thin control on what might come out of my mouth.

"Mr. McCombs, can I get you anything?"

I have to drag my attention from the game now, and I turn to see one of the waiters standing next to me and instantly feel bad. Poor guy—just trying to do his job. "A bottle of water, thanks," I respond. I'll tip him well for having to put up with my grumpiness.

He nods and moves down the row. Most of the seats around me are empty since I've made zero effort. One of my teammates catches my eye around an attractive woman wearing a casual dress, sneakers, and a hat. He smiles, tilting his head back for me to come join them, but I give a small shake of my head and turn back to the game .

"Do you mind if I take this seat?" Another voice asks, making me turn to where the waiter was standing just moments before. A tall woman in denim shorts and a black tee with the words Black Team in blue letters stands over me. Her blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and before I can answer about her taking the chair next to me, she looks back at the field, clapping and whistling for the Black Team—a tackle that I missed, I think.

"No, I don't mind," I answer reluctantly. Part of me can't help but like that she's wearing the T-shirt. All the donors that bought tickets to this game got one, splitting them into Blue Team supporters and Black Team supporters, just like the Pumas players here, but she's the only woman I've seen wearing it.

She drops down into the seat and takes her eyes from the game for a moment to put her hand out toward me. "Hayden Reid," she says, introducing herself.

"Jett McCombs." I shake her hand. She holds on to it, the tiniest lift of her lips saying that she knows exactly who I am.

She doesn't point that out though. "Nice to meet you," she says.

I nod, and she looks back at the game, so thankfully I do too. I'm wary of flirting with Hayden or leading her on. The fact that she's here says that she's got money to throw around, and her outfit, while one of the most casual ones I've seen, speaks to that too. Her sneakers are a rare pair of Nikes that were selling on online auctions for thousands of dollars last year, and they're pristine. Her shorts are a designer denim brand even I recognize—and I realize with a start that it's because of Ava. She was so excited about a pair she'd found on one of her favorite thrift apps for "insanely cheap," in her words. It was right after she moved to Reno the beginning of my junior year, right after we got engaged. She wasn't going to buy them, even though they were less than twenty dollars. She watched every single penny. So I did and gave them to her for Christmas. The grin on her face when she opened them had sent my heart racing with delight, and even now warmth surprises me as I think of how she jumped at me, throwing her arms around me and kissing me in front of my family to hoots and whistles.

I quickly shove the unwelcome memory away. It's tainted by the fact that a few short weeks later she bailed on me. On us.

I pull out my phone, tilting it away from Hayden in what I hope is a subtle move, and search for her name. Google's top result is an Instagram account, easily identifiable as belonging to the woman next to me. I scroll through a few pictures and inwardly cringe. She's an influencer with a lot of followers. She glances up at me and smiles, and I quickly pocket my phone and turn my attention to the game.

I don't want to discount her just because her profession is to market herself to people, and I remind myself that I'm not getting chummy or talking to her because I'm not doing that with anyone, not just because of what she does for a living.

The Blue Team quarterback throws a long bomb. Well, it feels like one for an eight-year-old. Probably no more than fifteen yards. And, most surprising, his teammate catches it. The Black Team wasn't ready for the play, and the receiver runs another five yards before he gets tackled. I stand up and cheer loudly. Hayden sighs and looks comically disappointed.

"Do you usually sit next to the opposing team?" I ask when I sit back down.

She smiles. "Makes things more interesting, don't you think?" Her easy manner has me truly relaxing for the first time since she sat down. "What do you say to a friendly wager?" Her smile widens, and she digs into her pocket, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. The fact that she doesn't have a fancy wallet or purse with her has me taking a step or two back in my judgments of her.

"You trying to get me suspended? Betting on sports is a big no-no for professional players," I joke with her.

She tilts her head, her expression holding a little taunting and a little flirting. "Scared?"

I can handle a friendly wager, and just because she's flirting, doesn't mean I have to flirt back. I pull my wallet from my pocket and slip out a twenty of my own, putting it in the cupholder of my camp chair. She adds hers to it and raises her eyebrows before clapping for another good stop by the Black Team.

Shoot. My team's definitely got the offense to win this game, but her team's defense is no joke. "I'm pretty competitive," I warn Hayden.

She shrugs. "I don't mind. So am I. I got thrown out of a cheer competition last year for getting in a heated exchange with an opposing cheer coach." She cringes, but there's no real embarrassment in her tone. "The girls were ten. I didn't even have a kid on the team—just the daughter of a really good family friend."

"My brother, Devin, has to warn me before my nephew's games not to get too excited. I have to pay him $100 every time I yell ‘unsportsmanlike' things at other adults there."

Hayden laughs and settles back in her chair. We both focus on the game for a few moments, until a pair of women walk up to me.

"Jett McCombs?" one says.

I look up at them politely. I don't really need to confirm my identity, do I?

"Can we get a selfie with you?" the other one asks.

I tense. This is why I'm here, even if I hate doing it. I don't mind engaging with fans, but these women didn't even bother with small talk.

"Did you pay for the upgraded media package?" Hayden says from next to me. There's no upgraded package, but she speaks with a confidence that has the other women blinking at her and then looking between the two of us, eyes asking who she is and probably whether they can challenge her authority.

"Uh…," the first one murmurs.

"Sorry," the second one says, yanking her friend away. They glance back over their shoulders at us as they hurry away .

"I'm kind of supposed to be doing that kind of thing," I say, knowing Hayden can probably hear the laughter in my voice.

"Meh." She waves a hand in their direction. "If they were real fans, they would've known I was full of it. They're just here to look for the hottest players to take pictures with." She nods at where they've joined a group of men that includes most of the Pumas' defensive line and some guys in golf shorts and polos.

The thing is, I don't mind that she rescued me. I'll get a lecture from the higher-ups about not interacting enough with fans, but I can deal with that if it means not having to snap pictures and talk awkwardly to people I don't know all day. If I'd taken the picture with the women, the floodgates would have opened for others to follow their lead. Hayden's probably saved me from more than one excruciating interaction.

"My agent's going to be mad at me. She wants me working on a friendlier image."

"Yeah?" We've both gone back to watching the game. "I can go get them for you if you want. I'll even tell them I lied." Hayden's taunting me just like she was with the bet earlier. I make a face, which she laughs at. "Tell you what. Take a selfie with me. You'll get way more views anyway."

I hesitate. On the one hand, it might invite more spectators to come take a shot, negating what Hayden just did. On the other, I could probably mitigate that possibility by taking the selfie with my own phone, making the shot seem less about a picture with a fan and more like friends hanging out. The photo would probably placate Claire for a while too, especially if what Hayden says is true about the views it would get on her account.

I hold out my phone. "I'll take it and text it to you."

Hayden's eyes widen, surprised at the offer that will give her my phone number. "Okay." She says it like a question, waiting for me to take it back. Instead I flip the camera around and lean toward her. She quickly adjusts her pose and leans on the arm of her chair, letting her shoulder touch mine.

Once I've taken a few, I hand my phone over to Hayden and tell her to put her number in. She hesitates again, eyeing me. But I've realized something else. While I've been talking with Hayden, I haven't been spinning over seeing Ava last night. I need to prove to myself that I am over her, that I've moved on, and giving my phone number to a woman who's really outside of my normal dating pool seems like a great way to do that.

I smile at Hayden and she shrugs, opening a text on my phone and keying in her number just as the Blue Team scores a touchdown.

"Get ready to lose twenty bucks," I say as I accept my phone back.

She scoffs. "We'll see."