Chapter 22

It took every fiber in me not to push Summer against the wall in my foyer and kiss the attitude right out of her mouth this morning. If she's kissing me she can't make her smart ass remarks, right? God, what the hell is happening?

It was the same at Nate and Mia's the other night—an impossible urge to just devour her lips again. I was hoping time away from her and minimal conversation might alleviate some of this tension I'm feeling, but then I'm forced to be in close quarters with her again and the need becomes a hunger and the hunger becomes all consuming.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans just as I'm about to get changed for practice. My body feels absolutely wrecked from all of the extra recovery training I've been trying to get in. The sauna helped my knees, but did nothing to help my current Summer problem. The one where I can't fucking get her out of my mind and every thought I seem to have ends with us wrapped up in bed together.

Summer

Hey Daddy.

My skin instantly feels hot. Since when is she calling me that ?

You can't call me that, Kincaid.

Summer

Guessing the picture of CeCe wearing a shirt that says "rad like dad" didn't come through?

I breathe a sigh of relief at the mishap.

Oh, no. No picture came through.

Summer

Figured. Let's circle back to the daddy thing though. Feels like a missed opportunity.

Fuck, I'll bite.

How so?

Summer

Well first of all, it's basically a term of endearment

And second?

Summer

Not sure if you can handle the second part, come to think of it. I wouldn't want to derail the rules you put into place

Trying to break them?

Summer

I might be.

That damn attitude.

I can't get swept up in the back and forth with Summer right now so I lock my phone and continue to change for practice. It boggles my mind, really. One minute I'm pissed off that she's clouding my thoughts and the next I'm wanting her to invade every piece of them. I can't fucking think straight when it comes to her lately.

"Hunt! We're going to mic you up for Sunday night's game!" Coach Aarons slaps my shoulder when I get back to the sidelines.

I hang my head, laughing at his statement and finally taking off my helmet.

"You don't want that, Coach."

"Ah, come on, old man. Let the people see how a team captain gets it done," another one of the defensive guys says to my left.

I don't take my role as a captain on the team lightly, I know it's something I've been chosen for by my peers, and that comes with responsibility and a level of respect. I've earned that over the last few years and being a play caller on the defense is something I take a lot of pride in.

It's surprisingly our only prime time game this season and with it being on a Sunday night, there's no way CeCe can attend with how late it'll end up running. I've already asked Summer if she can come stay with her and thankfully she'll be done working in time to help out. Although, another late night with Summer isn't exactly something I want to revisit, I'm once again out of options aside from her.

"Nothing exciting ever comes out of my mouth, so it'll be a snooze fest. Rethink this one, Coach."

His lips turn down and he shakes his head. "Nah, you're a captain. A play caller. You can do it."

Liam and Nate are both practically jumping up and down at the thought of me having to be mic'd up during a game. The last time this happened, I ended up slipping out that I was about to be a dad to the entire staff who was monitoring the microphone.

After practice, there are two more text messages from Summer, one of them is a picture of my refrigerator and a paragraph about how it should be illegal to have things so organized in there. If I had to bet, hers is probably in shambles and would send me over the edge I'm sure. The second one was a little less judgy and a lot more… thoughtful.

Summer

I hope the picture actually comes through this time, because this moment was too sweet not to capture. She said one of her stuffed animals was in your bedroom, so she went to grab it. After like two minutes, I was concerned when she didn't come out right away and when I walked in, I saw this.

You should talk to her about him, Chase.

The picture is CeCe sitting in front of an old whiskey barrel in the corner of my room. The stuffed animal she was going to get was sitting on top of it and when she grabbed it, the frame must've come down with it.

I'd recognize the wooden frame she's holding anywhere. It's one of the few things I've kept that belonged to my dad. Quite a bit of his stuff was junk, if I'm being honest, and I know he would've thought so too. " Get rid of that shit ," he would've said.

Going through his life after he passed away was harder than attending his funeral, I think. That day was spent hearing stories from people who loved him, moments that made me laugh and cry and shake my head. But the stillness that followed—the silence and the sheer amount of time I had alone afterward was the hardest part.

I thought the day of his service would be the worst day of my life. Saying goodbye to the man who raised me, the man who never missed a game and always made the time. But it wasn't. There were people around constantly, making sure we had what we needed, almost afraid to leave me, my mom, and sister alone.

It was the days after, the weeks. When life for everyone else resumed as normal and all I had was the quiet around me and my own thoughts and memories circulating. The painful reminder that for everyone else who knew my dad—they were sad Jack Hunt had passed away, but they said their goodbyes and got to jump back into their everyday lives and routines. And while I tried to throw myself back into football and my way of life, it was just me desperately trying to avoid being alone and avoid having to talk about him because it hurt too fucking much.

CeCe's ponytail is falling out and the yellow princess dress is hanging off her shoulder. The stuffed animal is sitting next to her and the beginning of a smile coming together on her face as she stares down at the picture of me and my dad the night I got drafted. Cloudy eyes and proud smiles for both of us.

After taking a minute to let the photo sink in, I lock my phone and get changed. I don't talk about my dad much to CeCe—if ever, actually. I should, though. I know it. But it's so damn hard. The moment I think I can start sharing a memory or a piece of who he was I can feel the lump in my throat building and I just shut it down. She asked about him once earlier this year. My mom had just left from a weekend she was staying with us and CeCe questioned why I have a mommy and not a daddy. Kids are more intuitive and observant than we realize, that's for damn sure. I wasn't ready for the question and didn't know how to answer her without making myself miserable in the process—so I avoided it. I changed the subject after saying something about him no longer living here. It was selfish and wrong, but I just… I wasn't ready.

Summer knew my dad well. It was a trip seeing the two of them together. Come to think of it, they're actually pretty similar. My dad was just as sarcastic and witty as Summer. Calling things how he saw them and standing up for the little guy. She reminds me of him in that way, actually. Kind of reckless and impulsive, not always making the best choices, but always trying their best. The quick humor, and quite frankly, irreverence they both shared. Not taking life too seriously, I guess, is something they have in common.

He'd call her a spitfire and she'd joke that he was an old man when he'd make noises every time he got up from a chair. He'd always tell me to make sure I was looking out for her along with Abby.

When I walk into my apartment, I set my bag down near the laundry room and make my way toward the living room. I can hear faint sounds coming from the television. When I round the corner and glance into the living room, I see all of my dining room chairs lined up in a row. My barstools are on the other end and a fitted sheet is stretched across them, making a fort over the floor.

"CeCe," I whisper, but don't get a reply so I try to quietly move around the chairs and pillows set up in my living room.

When I poke my head around the side, I can see into a very cleverly crafted pillow fort. Couch cushions are lined up around the perimeter and pillows from CeCe's bed and her comforter are laid out with an extra comforter I had in the hall closet.

But the best part? CeCe curled up against Summer. Her teddy bear under one arm and the other resting right against Summer. Chocolate is rimmed around CeCe's lips and I find the evidence of Oreos and milk on the coffee table beside them. Summer's chest moves up and down as she lays there, eyelashes fanned over her cheekbones and I just watch both of them for a moment. Soaking in the sight of my daughter with a woman she loves. A woman who loves her just as much, if not more.

Deciding not to wake either one of them, I head to my bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the water warm up while I get undressed only to hear someone clear their throat just before I undo my belt.

"I'll clean it up, don't worry." Summer stands in my doorway, gesturing down the hall, no doubt referring to the fort. Her red shirt hangs off one shoulder, exposing the part of her neck just above her collarbone. Staring at Summer right now has my blood running to one place and as much as I want to keep forcing the thoughts away, I'm too fucking tired of fighting it at this moment.

"It's a nice fort," I say, smirking at her.

"We had fun making it. She asked if you could do it with us next time."

"Count me in." I pull the belt from the loops and toss it on the floor beside me. I catch Summer's eyes on my bare chest as she stands there.

"You mind?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow in her direction. It's definitely a bad idea to get undressed in front of her.

"No, not at all. Continue." She crosses her arms over her chest, getting comfortable as she leans against the frame.

"Kincaid." Her name rumbles in my chest.

"I'm joking. Relax. Have a good shower."

She leaves my room as swiftly as she entered, but my pulse is still pounding.