Chapter 49 Spencer Nash

Feeling the Crack

Four Months After the Wedding

"You what ?" I ask.

It's the Friday night of my first full week at training camp with all of my teammates, some of whom won't make the fifty-three-man roster, and I'm exhausted. It's possible I'm mishearing things.

"I stole the SIM card out of her phone, and she had to go into town. Nana needed help, and I was there." She says the words again, and nope…I heard right the first time.

I draw in a deep breath. This isn't my problem to figure out, yet I'm so tangled in it that it feels like it is. "Grace, this isn't you. Revenge? Stooping to her level?"

She's quiet on the other side of the line, and I can't help the thought that the manipulations and lies were what spelled the end for Amelia and me in the first place.

"What were you thinking?" I ask, filling the silence between us.

"I was thinking I'm tired of getting played by Amelia. I was thinking I'm tired of losing to her. First you, next the vineyard."

"You didn't lose me to her," I point out. "I married you , didn't I? "

"Yeah, because we were drunk and high on allergy medicine!" she protests. "Not because you're in love with me and asked me to spend the rest of my life with you!"

She has a point…but I've also been thinking a lot about that over the last couple of weeks we've been apart, and I am in love with her. I do want to spend my life with her.

I just haven't told her that yet.

And now that she's stooping to the level of the person I broke up with in large part because of the way she lived her life, I'm not sure I can tell her that.

She'll be here next weekend. It's our first game, a preseason game where I'll only play a few snaps, and it'll be my first chance to pick my wife out of the crowd.

I blow out a breath. "What if I'm getting there?" I finally ask.

"Huh? Getting where?"

"To the point where I want to spend my life with you."

"Oh," she murmurs. "I, uh…"

"But I have to be honest with you, Grace," I add, too tired to sugarcoat it. "I don't want to be with someone who's like Amelia. I ended things with her for a reason, and this is something she would do."

"She intentionally hurts people, Spencer," she says quietly. "This was just a silly prank."

"That's how it starts. What's next? Look, I don't really want to get into this with you. I need to go take a shower and get ready for tomorrow, but just…take a step back and look at what you're doing. You'll get the vineyard on your merits, not because she had to go into town for a phone emergency. I gotta go."

"Okay. Goodnight." The two words sound so sad, but before I can backtrack and apologize, she ends the call.

I head to the shower with thoughts of her heavy in my mind, but I force myself to wash them away and focus instead on the strategy meeting with the wide receiver coaches today.

The playbook is vastly different from what I was used to in Minnesota. The Storm focuses much more on man-to-man offense versus zone. I was used to finding an open spot in my zone and running to it to make a play, but now I have to memorize all these plays on top of different strategies for breaking away from the defender covering me to execute the play. Neither is easier or more difficult—it's just a lot of change all at once to contend with on top of the typical physical aspects of training camp.

Coaches are constantly watching players to see where their strengths lie and how they'll best serve the team in the upcoming season, so players are forced to leave it all out on the field. We push ourselves to our very limits, and I'm feeling every second of that tonight.

I text Grace in the morning before I head to the practice facility where our training camp is taking place.

Me: Sorry if I was cranky last night. Camp is intense. I hope you have a great day today.

Her response comes just after I park my car.

Grace: You were right. I don't want to stoop to her level, and I needed your honesty. You have a great day too.

I can't help but smile down at my phone as I appreciate the open communication we have. It's what a marriage should have, and it's another sign that I'm with the right person.

But the signs against us are adding up…starting with the second I get out of my car.

There are only three of them, but it feels like a hundred as they hammer me with questions on the walk from my car to the front door with their cameras in my face, recording my every move.

"Spencer, is it true you and your wife were drunk in Vegas when you got married?"

"Mr. Nash, who is the blonde in the photos all over social media this morning?"

"Spencer, tell us how camp is going and how all these women play into your time off the field."

I debate what to do. I have two options: ignore them or answer them. Neither feels like the thing I want to do, which is rearranging all three of their faces, but violence has never been my default.

I turn to look at them as I set my hand on the handle to open the door. "I have no comments at this time." I open the door and head inside, knowing full well they won't follow me in .

It feels like a bit of a relief to have them off my back as my day gets started, but the jokes start up in the locker room as soon as I walk in with Jensen Bybee, a defensive end, trailing in right behind me.

"The paparazzi is out in full force this morning for Mr. Spencer Nash, everybody," Jensen announces when he walks in.

I lift a shoulder. "Just one of the many perks of being part of the Nash family."

"They sure as fuck weren't here for me," Jensen says. "But hey, can you hook me up with some of that blonde pussy you're getting?"

"I'm married," I say flatly.

"So?" Jensen asks.

And that's sort of the problem here. We're in a locker room, and men talk. Very few players I know were raised with the values I was. I was raised to respect women, and I'd never step out on someone I'm in a relationship with.

I guess I'd just marry her sister. Is that really any better?

What the fuck have these Newman sisters done to me?

Six days later, I'm pulling into the pickup area at the airport, and Grace stands with a suitcase, watching for my car. She smiles when I pull up right next to her, and I hop out of the driver's seat to help her with her suitcase.

But first…

I pull her into my arms and press my lips to hers.

"What was that pact about never more than a week apart?" I ask softly.

She chuckles. "We really need to be better about that."

"Agree." I grab her suitcase and toss it into my trunk as she slides into the passenger seat, and when I join her as I slip into the driver's seat, she reaches over and grabs my hand.

"I'm so excited to watch you play."

"I'm so excited to have you here," I admit. "But you've seen me play before."

"Yeah, but before when I saw you play, you weren't my husband."

"Fair point." I merge into traffic as we head toward my place .

The paparazzi are out again, firing questions at us. We continue to ignore them, but I can't pretend like it's easy.

I can't pretend like I don't feel the way it's creating more cracks between us. I can't pretend like I don't see her flinch every damn time. She hates it, but it's going to be a reality of life with me.

Maybe it wouldn't be if Amelia weren't somehow tracking our every move and tipping these assholes off. It has to be her doing it.

But it doesn't really matter why it's happening. The fact of the matter is that this is what my life looks like right now, and it's the ugly side of reality.

It's the side I wish I could hide from her to make her want to hang onto this thing with me, but I'm not sure it's what she really does want after all.