Chapter 44 Spencer Nash

Does Fiona Heat Have Single Friends

A Month After the Wedding

Tomorrow is one month since we were married, and I can't celebrate it with my wife.

I haven't seen her since her birthday nine days ago, and the time apart is slowly killing me. I miss her, and for once, it's not about the sex—though don't get me wrong, I miss that too.

I miss the easy way we have together. I miss falling asleep with her beside me. I miss waking up with her next to me. I miss breakfast together. I miss laughing with her. I miss her smile. I miss the heat in her eyes when she looks at me. I miss that feeling like this isn't a marriage in name only so she can get her hands on something that is rightfully hers anyway.

I miss us . We were forming an us at a rapid pace, and now we're stuck somewhere in neutral since we can't progress forward when we're apart.

If anything, it feels like we're falling backward, and I don't like it.

Someone continues posting photos of me. Someone seems to know my every move and has alerted the paparazzi to my calendar so I'm never alone .

And meanwhile, I'm trying to fit in on a new team while I'm asserting my place, and it's all change and upheaval while I fight off overwhelm without Grace by my side. It's a lot for a guy who thrives on routine and organization.

We talk daily. We text hourly when we can. But her voice and her words aren't a replacement for the physical person, and she can't leave the vineyard for fear that Amelia will do something underhanded while she's away.

It puts us on hold, and maybe that was Amelia's intent from the start.

Whatever her intent was…it seems to be working.

When I walk into the locker room on Wednesday morning for OTAs, Clayton Mack is sitting on the bench inside his sports locker, which happens to be situated directly beside mine.

I glance at the nameplate in my locker. I'm still number seventeen, the same number I've worn my entire career—including college, high school, junior high, and all the way back to peewee league. I chose it because my birthday is the seventeenth, and I never had to change it.

I can't help but wonder if this is the last locker room I'll play professionally in.

Maybe only a few months have passed since I signed on the line, but turning thirty feels suddenly heavy. I'm not at the start of my career anymore. Any injury at all at this point could easily mean I'll never stand on the line as the ball is snapped again.

And that's why I'm here this week. OTAs may be voluntary, but I've never missed them. These are the first moments where I can bond with the other receivers, get back into season shape, work on conditioning to avoid those terrifying injuries that could be career-ending, and start building chemistry with my teammates.

So I'm here.

She's there.

And we're stuck like this for a few more days.

I have a flight back to Minnesota booked for late Friday after OTAs, and I'm hoping I'm not as sore as I was last week so I can unleash the need I've had racing through me since the last time I was lucky enough to share a bed with my wife .

My wife.

The realization that I'm married now is on constant replay in my brain, and it's becoming less surreal now that it's been an entire month. What's surreal to me now, though, is the fact that every decision I make seems to be made with us in mind. It's no longer just me .

I'm not sure I ever got to that point with Amelia even though I'd asked her to marry me. I still can't imagine what drove me to do that. Between her conniving and my own need to categorize what we had, I acted spontaneously. It makes me realize that marrying Grace wasn't so out of character after all.

"Does Fiona Heat have any single friends?" Clay asks me. "Or hell, if she doesn't mind sharing…"

I turn toward him and pause for a few beats as I try to process the question. "Fiona Heat?"

His brows draw together as he clarifies his question. "The porn star."

To be honest, it's not much of a clarification. I have no idea who he's talking about. "How the hell would I know?"

He picks his phone up off the bench where it's perched beside him and scrolls a little. "Don't you know her?" He flashes his screen at me, and sure enough, it's me kissing some blonde woman's cheek. Her chest is most definitely naked and also most definitely blurred in the photo.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I breathe, taking the phone from his hand to study it.

I zoom in—not for a better view of the tits, but for a better view of the photo. I try to piece together how there can be a photo that is so realistic that even I believe it when I know it never happened.

"My ex is apparently a Photoshop whiz, and she's trying to ruin my life. I've never met Fiona Heat before in my life," I admit. I hand the phone back to him.

"Jesus," he mutters. "That's…really something. She's got it out for you?"

"She's my wife's sister."

He bursts into laughter. "Your ex is your wife's sister? "

I nod, not joining in his laughter at all. "It's a long story, but yeah. I was actually once engaged to my sister-in-law."

"I take it she's out for revenge since you married her sister?" he asks.

"Something like that," I say dryly. I think about confessing the whole truth about the winery, but I also realize that the more people who know, the more likely it'll get blown out of proportion.

"I need a wild one like that," he mutters.

"Trust me. You don't want anything to do with her. I thought she was just a wild one, but as it turns out, she's pretty much a complete sociopath." I shrug.

"Well, best of luck with that, man." His tone is both teasing and joyous, but I can't muster up anything resembling joy over Amelia Newman.

I sink down onto the bench in my locker. "It's not the worst thing that I was called to a new city after the breakup."

"Well, we're happy to have you here."

"Even you?" I ask.

He nods. "Especially me. I already know it'll be you and me starting, and I also know you'll push me to a new level. I needed a challenge, if I'm being honest. It's the only way to improve."

"The other wide receivers are challenging," I point out, and I think through the roster. Apart from the two of us, we have Zach Moore, Sam Collins, Trey Clark, and DJ Evans. Of those four, Trey had the most receiving yards on the Storm last year after Clay. DJ was just drafted last month, so he hasn't had a chance to show who he is yet, and Zach was traded from Houston, so, like me, he's new, too.

It's a season of rebuilding—a nice way to say that the leaders decided it was time for a complete overhaul—but that also means OTAs and camps are the time where I can show what I'm made of. It's my opportunity to prove to the Storm why they're lucky to have me…and also to prove to the Vikings that it was a huge mistake to release me.

We start the day with a team meeting for those who showed up, and then we split off for different tasks. The defensive line heads outside for drills, and the offense heads to the weight room for conditioning.

We switch an hour later, and then we're given a working lunch as we sit through more team meetings.

So far, I'm impressed with how things work here. It's not so different from how it was in Minnesota, really, but I like how Coach puts his own spin on things. He's engaging when he's talking, and I can see how motivating he is to this team.

I'm excited to work with him, and instead of dreading the change, I'm working on a mindset shift to allow me to be eager to get to work.

I put all my focus into learning and growing when I'm at the training facility, but as I walk into my empty apartment, I see Grace everywhere she was when she was here with me.

I give her a call, but she doesn't answer.

I get a text from her a few minutes later.

Grace: Sorry, just finishing up on a conference call, and then I have a few other things I need to take care of. I'll call before bed, okay?

I glance at the clock. It's already after eight in Minnesota, and she's still hard at work. I love her work ethic. I love her dedication. I love that she wants the winery.

I just wish her fight for it didn't have to come right now when I want her to be fighting for the two of us to make this work. I want to fight with her for us.

I'm a pretty forgiving guy. I'd have to be to have been with Amelia as long as I was.

But if it's going to continually come down to me feeling like I'm taking second place to something else, I'm not sure we'll have it in us to be able to make the shift from fake to real.

And the more time we spend apart, the more I'm starting to think she doesn't want to make that shift after all.