Chapter 6 Spencer Nash

The Only Constant in the Turbulence

Three and a Half Months Before the Wedding

I sit in my car and stare out the windshield at the practice facility.

Or, I guess…my former practice facility.

The place that's been home for the last seven years.

Seven seasons.

The only home I've had during my tenure as a professional football player.

The news hasn't quite sunk in yet, but that feeling I got at the end of our last game of the season was right on the money.

It was my last home game at that stadium.

Coach just said the dreaded words nobody in the prime of their career on a team they love wants to hear. "We've decided to release you."

Coach was everything he needed to be. Supportive, sympathetic, sorry.

But the three S words don't keep me on the team.

He told me they wouldn't make the information public for another few weeks. It'll give me time to digest it before it's public .

A mix of emotions plows into me, but disbelief seems to grab hold of the reins the tightest.

It'll sink in later. Tomorrow, or the next day, or…

In April, when voluntary minicamp starts, and I have to report to work on a new team—if anybody picks me up since I'm a free agent now.

Fuck. Fuck!

It feels like my carefully planned life is falling apart. Like I can't control anything at all anymore.

I thought I could. I thought I had my path all figured out. I'd play three more years an hour away from the woman I planned to marry. I'd retire to the vineyard.

Everything feels like it's been thrown into a tailspin lately, and not just because of this news. The feelings for my fiancée have shifted to be less than positive. The little voice in the back of my head keeps asking me why I'm with her at all.

Because it was part of the fucking plan, and it feels like it's the only part of the plan I can still safely hold onto. We're so different, and that just seems to become more and more evident to me the longer I'm with her. But as soon as I'm convinced I should just end it, she manages to put it off or find a way to convince me to stay with her.

And now…she feels like the only constant in all this turbulence.

So do I end it with her and start completely fresh when I find my new team? Or do I hold onto the one constant that I've had over the last two years?

I'm very much a creature of routine, and this is throwing it all out of whack for me. But maybe that's what I needed. I got stuck, and this change that's being forced upon me is forcing me out of my comfort zone toward something different.

I've never been a big believer in the fate of everything happening for a reason. My logical brain strives to find the cause-and-effect relationship in every aspect of life, and I get it. Getting rid of me opens up a hell of a lot of money to pay someone else. But maybe fate is at work here, too.

And right now, fate is telling me to let Amelia go and to move on with my life .

I'm not looking forward to the conversation, but it needs to happen.

Now.

I shift my sleek black Audi into drive and head toward my soon-to-be ex-fiancée's house. I pull onto the street leading there, but the vineyard is a huge complex comprised of over eighty acres. There's the mansion with the offices, tasting room, restaurant, and gift shop. There's the wedding venue, the production facility, the barn, the original estate where Amelia's grandmother, dad, and uncle— Maggie, Steve, and Jimmy—live, and five three-bedroom bungalows near the office, one of which Amelia lives in.

Even though it's January, it's still busy at the vineyard. The close proximity a little over an hour southwest of Minneapolis means lots of tourists during football season, and the production staff is hard at work aging wines in barrels while the winery hosts various events and prepares for the upcoming busy season.

Aside from the wine, though, what really made this place famous is the wedding venue, the Grand Hall and Gardens. Brides find the name to be good luck, and the old wives' tale that couples married at this venue have never gotten divorced seems to have spread far and wide.

And it's true, by the way.

Maggie and Steve Senior were married here, and they were married until Amelia's grandfather passed away eleven years ago. Maggie's parents were together until death, too.

Amelia and Grace's parents were not married here, and now they're divorced.

Amelia wants to have the wedding here sometime this year despite my wishes to wait a few years. Grace said the venue is booked solid—thankfully. Amelia reserved the first opening, which isn't until November of next year—nearly two full years away.

I think we can go ahead and cancel that.

Or, that's my plan anyway. Until I park behind her bungalow, get out of the car, knock on the door, and find my would-be future bride wearing a white bridal gown as she opens the door .

A sharp puff of air escapes my mouth.

She looks beautiful—there's no denying that.

I can't let this throw me off course.

"Oh, Spencer! I didn't know you were coming!" She rushes out of the room and returns a beat later with a blanket wrapped around her. "It's bad luck to see the bride in the dress!"

"Is, uh…is that the dress?" I ask.

She nods as her eyes move up to mine. "It's one I'm thinking about. But now you've seen it, so I'll have to pick another one."

I press my lips together. Why is she wearing a bridal gown at five o'clock on a Friday? This is one of the busiest times at the tasting room. Shouldn't she be working?

I don't ask.

"I'll, uh…give you a minute to change."

I walk around Amelia's place and across the road toward the tasting room.

The first person I see is Grace. She's leaning over the counter as she talks to Maggie, who's serving the samples from behind the counter this evening on one side while Delilah serves the other side. She's laughing at something Maggie just said along with the customer Maggie is serving, and that's not unusual. The woman is always saying something totally inappropriate, and it's part of her charm. Hell, it's part of the charm of this entire place. She's really built an empire here, and I know what it means to her entire family.

But none of us know what her intentions are with this place once she can no longer run it. She hasn't been running it for years. From what I understand, she's not ready to give it up even though Steve is the president and has been the head winemaker for at least a dozen years.

Amelia has expressed her interest in wanting to be the next president, and I think it was part of her motivation in quitting her teaching job. She wanted to prove she belonged here.

But from everything I've witnessed over the course of our relationship, I can't help but feel like the only reason she's interested in it at all is because her sister is.

I've never once seen Amelia interacting in the tasting room with customers the way Grace is. I've never seen Amelia hop in to help at the restaurant when someone called in sick. I've never seen Amelia fire up a tractor. I don't even think she knows where they keep the keys, to be honest. But I've seen Grace do all those things.

She glances over at me as if she can feel my eyes on her, and her smile broadens as she straightens to a stand and walks over to me. She gives me a hug that feels warm and welcoming.

"Hey," she says softly.

I clear my throat as I take a step back, pulling out of the hug early. "Hey."

"Glass of malbec?" she asks.

I glance over at the customer, who's looking curiously at me. He definitely recognizes me, so I offer a smile and a nod of my head.

"I'd love it—maybe after seven."

She chuckles as I name the time the doors close in just a half hour from now. "I'll be here. And I can snag us a flatbread from Pete."

"Deal." I grin at her. She knows I can't resist Pete's flatbread.

"Get over here, boy," Maggie says, and I round the corner of the counter to give her a hug.

"I missed you, Maggie."

"Right back at you, Spencer." She slaps my ass in a way only a woman in her eighties would be able to get away with, and I chuckle.

The customer snaps his fingers. "I knew it. Spencer Nash. Helluva loss." He shakes his head as he laments what could have been had we not lost our last game of the season.

"Don't I know it," I mutter.

"Next year," he says, and he's friendly enough. You never really know what you're going to get with football fans who recognize you. I'm glad this one isn't the harassing kind.

But his words plow into me.

If it is next year for me, it won't be here in Minnesota.

Coach's words still haven't quite hit me.

"And he'll sign any bottle you buy," Maggie promises.

I narrow my eyes at her. "She does this to me every time I come in. "

"He's going to be my grandson-in-law," she says proudly.

"Oh? You two?" the woman with the fan asks, and she points between Grace and me.

"Oh, no! No, no," Grace says, and she flushes as if she's flustered by the insinuation. "He's engaged to my sister."

I chuckle as I watch her stammer. I haven't told Amelia. I haven't told Grace.

I've thought a lot about retirement and what comes next after the game. I've always wanted to have the next phase of my life planned when I finally do hang it up, and now that I'm a free agent, something that still hasn't quite settled in, maybe I should hang it up now .

But what's waiting for me?

A woman I don't want to marry wearing my engagement ring?

Statistical analysis was the first thing that came to mind. It would keep me connected to the game beyond playing.

But I'm starting to feel like I don't want to be connected to the game beyond playing. And that feeling first started the moment I stepped foot on the grounds of Newlywed Vineyard and Winery.

This place feels like home, and home is hard to come by these days. I grew up in New York, and that always felt like home. The college years took me to Indiana, where I attended Notre Dame, and then I was drafted by the Vikings in the first round. I've only played here, and while this has become my home over the last seven years, the apartment I've rented the entire time I've been here has never really felt all that homey. I've thought about buying a place, but the fear of being traded or released kept me from settling into permanence.

As I fell in love with Amelia, I also fell in love with the charm of Maggie's estate, with the walking paths around the winery, with quiet serenity behind the Grand Hall overlooking the lake…hell, even with the process of winemaking, not to mention the fantastic wines made here.

I glance at the counter where Grace is already sitting waiting for me, and I slide onto the stool beside her .

"Cheers to the offseason," Grace says, lifting her glass in the air.

I clink my glass against hers. "Cheers."

We each take a healthy sip, and I set my glass down, gesturing to the flatbread for her to take the first piece. She digs in.

"What are your plans for your time off?" she asks.

"Well, your dad asked me for my opinion on the business reports here at the winery, so I'll work on that a bit." I think it's his way of involving his future son-in-law in the family business, which is fine. I like Steve, and I'm happy to help with an area where I have some knowledge. "I'm heading to New York to see my mom on her goat farm tomorrow. My brother's getting married in a couple months and having a huge blowout weeklong party there, so I'll be in Vegas for that. Otherwise…" I shrug as I trail off.

"Goat farm?" she asks, backtracking a bit.

I chuckle. "She always had this dream of owning a farm with goats, and she makes soaps and lotions and stuff out of their milk."

"That sounds fun."

I nod. "It is. And seeing my mom is always great. How have things been here?"

She shrugs. "The usual. What about you? What's new?" It's like she has this sixth sense that something's up with me despite my best efforts to hide it.

I blow out a breath.

"Whoa. That sounds serious."

My phone starts to ring, and I glance at my watch. It's my agent.

I send him to voicemail. He wants to talk about the release, but I don't want to talk about it with him in front of Grace.

"It is," I admit.

"Is everything okay?"

I glance up at her, and her eyes are wide with concern for me. She's being a good friend. A good future sister-in-law.

"I'm being released from the Vikings. "

She gasps, and she reaches a hand over to cover mine with hers. "Oh, God, Spencer."

"Don't say anything to anyone yet, okay? I just found out today, and I haven't told Amelia yet."

"Of course," she murmurs. "Why, though? I'm sorry. Is that insensitive to ask? You had amazing stats this season. You're the strongest receiver on the team."

I nod and press my lips together. "Doesn't matter when we ended up with a losing record. I'm the highest-paid receiver, so they got rid of me to clear that money for the salary cap. They're restructuring, and I'm not part of that."

"You say it so…matter of fact. But how are you feeling about it?" she asks.

I lift a shoulder, and I can't ignore the fact that not only is this woman asking me about how I'm feeling about this news, she actually cares. She's making it about me . And that's precisely the reason why I haven't told Amelia about it yet. She'll make it about her when it's just not about her.

"I'm disappointed. I'm nervous about what's next. You know me. I like my routine, and the unknown is a little scary." Not to mention, I'm the first in my family to be released from a contract. The fucking embarrassment and hit to my ego aside, I can't wait to face my father's disappointment in me.

"A little?" she presses.

"Terrifying," I admit.

She sighs. "I'm so, so sorry. What can I do?"

"Nothing." I glance at the bottle, and she takes the hint of my unsaid request.

She pours more into my glass. "What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea. I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment," I admit.

"You want my honest opinion?" she asks.

"I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't."

She sucks in a breath, and before she gets the chance to speak her mind, we both hear the door open.

Amelia prances into the room. "There you are! I have a new crime documentary all queued up for us. Are you almost done in here? "

I take another bite of flatbread. "Not quite."

"Okay. I can wait." She offers a smile and plops down on the stool on the other side of me, effectively ending my conversation with my soon-to-be ex-fiancée's sister.