Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

Scott

I’ve started to think about my life in two ways.

There’s everything that came before Ivy and then everything that’s come after.

Before her I was a football focused, broody son of a bitch with resentment toward a whole damn city and no idea what would come next. Now, I'm still a football focused, broody son of a bitch but then I get to come home.

To her.

I come home to her and the world spins and the sun shines again and for the first time in my damn life, I feel like there’s something for me beyond football.

The last four weeks, since I came clean and we decided to give it a go even if it had to be on the down low, have been the happiest of my damn life.

Ivy makes me smile, and laugh, and enjoy my downtime.

I used to spend it watching game tape and waiting for the next practice, the next game. Now? Now all I want is to go home and see my girl.

Which is why I am racing off the team plane and to the parking lot the moment we land back in Boston from New York. We defeated the New York city team 54 to 36 in a Sunday lunchtime game which means we are home in time for a late dinner.

Before, I would’ve gone to a bar with Flynn and some of the guys to watch the Sunday Night game. Now the decision to blow them off is an easy one .

I slide into the driver’s side of my Mercedes SUV and as soon as my phone connects, I tap on Ivy’s name on the screen.

“Hi,” her breathy voice answers and it sends a jolt of heat straight to my groin. Damn it. Forty-eight hours away from her and I get hard just hearing her voice.

“Hey, you.” I clear my throat, turning out of the parking lot and heading towards her place. It’s become my unofficial home and if I didn’t think she’d totally freak out, I would just suggest we move in together already.

“How was the game, you guys win? Land okay?” There’s a small pang of hurt that she asks if we won. It means she hadn’t watched the game, again.

Part of me had hoped that after the one she watched with Billy not too long ago would get her over her irrational fear of watching me play or whatever it is that stops her.

I guess I was wrong. I try not to let my voice sound too disappointed as I reply to her. “Yep. 54 to 36, was a decent game. I’m on my way to yours now.”

“Oh …” There’s some shuffling and I can hear someone talking in the background. I listen closer and when I make out the sound of music, my heart starts to thump. She’s out? Since when does my girl go out on a Sunday?

Normally, I wouldn’t care less that she’d gone out with Katie or some friends but I just got back and it’s not like she’ll let me meet up with them at the bar.

“Ives? You there?” I ask after she doesn’t answer.

“Yeah. Yep, sorry.” She sounds out of breath.

“You okay?”

“I’m at Pats,” she replies. A small smile tweaks the side of my mouth upwards remembering the old fashion sports bar where we first met. “Let’s go to yours tonight? ”

“My place? We never stay at mine,” I say but I’m already changing lanes on the highway, preparing to make my way home for the first time in a week. If that’s where she wants to be then that’s where we’ll be.

“I’m already here and I can’t be bothered to get an Uber home now.” I can hear the smile in her voice as she says quietly into the phone. “Besides, you have those big windows and the view and I think they could be a lot of fun given the right circumstances.”

Yep. My dick is definitely hard now.

“Fuck me, Ivy.” I reach down to adjust as I take the exit to my apartment. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“I’ll tell Katie I’m leaving,” she giggles. “Then I will fuck you .”

I groan as she hangs up.

***

She flings her arms around my neck the moment I open my front door and all bets are off. I fuck her up against the giant, floor to ceiling windows. It doesn’t matter that the sun only just set or that we barely say hello to one another before I rip her jeans down her legs.

Eventually we make it to bed, tangled amongst the sheets and breathing heavily.

“I missed you,” Ivy murmurs into my neck, her face hidden. I look down at her and press a kiss into her hair.

“Missed you, too,” I say. My hands trace a path over her skin and I feel her shiver beneath my touch. She’s so damn responsive to me. My stomach growls and interrupts the silence that’s fallen between us. She laughs, dropping her hand to my abs.

“Sorry. I haven't really eaten yet after the game.”

“We better get some food into you then,” she says. Ivy sits up, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. Her hair falls over her shoulder and down her back .

I reach out, twirling a piece around my fingers. She turns her head to look at me with a smile playing on her lips. I sit up and shift in behind her. My dick is semi-hard again and pressing up against her back but I don’t care. I curl my fingers around the curtain of her hair and pull it to the side, pressing my lips against her pulse point.

I’m rewarded with a happy, content sigh before she leans back into me.

“There’s nothing here to eat,” I say against her neck. “We’ll have to order in.”

“Why do you have no food?” she asks.

I chuckle, threading a hand around her stomach and pulling her back into me a little further. “Because we never stay here.”

“Oh,” she hums as I press another kiss into her neck. This time I linger, sucking on her skin. “Right, yeah.”

“So what do you feel like?” I say moving my lips up her neck. I bite lightly on her ear lobe and she lets out a whimper.

“Stop that, I can’t concentrate.”

“So don’t.” I try to pull her back into bed but she resists.

Shaking her head, she pulls out of my grasp. “No, we need food. Then round two.”

I give Ivy a pout but as always, she wins. She orders Chinese food and we shower while we wait for it to arrive.

She’s sitting on the couch in my living room, a takeaway box in her hand and a Friends rerun playing quietly on the TV. She’s wearing a hoodie of mine from college and sweatpants she rolled the waist of multiple times. She’s my fucking dream. One I wasn’t even aware that I had. But as I stare at her, telling me about her day and all the things she did this weekend, I can’t help feeling disappointed that not once did she think to watch my game.

I know she wants to keep our relationship quiet and I know she has a thing about football but come on, if someone told me I could watch her teach day in day out it would become my favorite fucking show .

It would probably be boring as fuck and nothing exciting would likely happen but I’d still jump at the chance to watch her do something that she loves.

“Ives.” I start, interrupting her babbling.

She looks over at me, a sheepish smile curling her lips. “Sorry, I was rambling.”

“It’s okay, I like listening to you talk.” I sit up, pulling the takeaway container from her grasp. When I set it on the coffee table I ask her, “How come you didn’t watch my game?”

I hate how desperate and small my voice is.

She fidgets, her finger twisting together in her lap. “You know—you know I don’t watch games …”

“I know. I know you don’t normally.” I reach out for her hands, stopping her fidgeting. “But you did. With Billy. And I thought … I thought maybe you’d start … after that.”

I feel exposed.

Heat creeps up my neck and suddenly I’m twelve again, trying to tell Sabrina Winkleman I want to take her to a school dance. Fuck, that was a rough day for me.

All through my high school and college careers, never did I lay my feelings on the line for a girl. I got close with my high school girlfriend but we broke up and I just … let it go.

I was the silent, broody type.

Feelings aren’t my strong suit and unless you count my parents, I’ve never said ‘I love you’.

The high school girlfriend? She told me she loved me and I said okay.

There was a girl in sophomore year that I slept with for a few months. I thought it was casual; she thought we were official. When she sat me down to have the ‘what are we’ talk and told me how she felt, I stared at her dumbfounded.

Later after she stormed out of my dorm crying, I felt like an idiot because I actually liked the girl. But instead of just saying that and working the rest of my fears out with her, I let my thoughts go to football schedules, and classes, and exams, and not having enough time for her, and that she’d hate me because I never put football before her.

Again, I just let it go.

After that, I focused on football and didn’t sleep with the same girl again twice.

Until Ivy.

Everything is different now.

Before I couldn’t have cared less if a girl came to my games. Now, I am desperate for Ivy to sit in the stands.

And she won’t even watch one on TV for me.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy’s soft whisper brings me back to the couch. Her eyes are starting to water and I can’t stand it.

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head, disagreeing with me, and it only seems to make it worse because the first tear drips down her cheek and then the second. I pull her into my lap and wipe a thumb across her cheek. “Ivy, what’s going on? This can’t just be about me wanting you to watch my games?”

Her eyes close and she leans into my touch. Her voice is shaking and weak when she finally talks.

“Pops wants me to take him to a game. Before he … before he dies.”

“Oh, Ivy.” I circle my arms around her, running my hands up and down her back.

“He asked the other week, when we watched you play. I’m sorry, I know it’s a stupid thing to get so upset about and I would do anything for him. But take him to a game? I just don’t think I can do that.”

“Why? It’s just a game, baby. It won’t hurt anyone if you take him.” I frown.

“It hurts me .”

“Help me understand,” I plead with her. “Please, Ives, I just need to understand this aversion. At first, I thought it was because you just weren’t a fan but you won’t even watch me play on TV. ”

I watch her face, the color draining. She squirms a little in my arms and I lean back, trying to give her space but without fully pulling away. My heart starts to sink. I feel close to begging on my knees.

“If I go, if I take Pops, the press will report it. And then, for the weeks after that, they’ll parade my family history on every sports program, every local newscast. They’ll talk about my dad as if they know him better than I do. They do know him better than I do.”

Ivy’s face scrunches up in pain and she sniffles before continuing, “I can’t watch games because when I do, all I see is my dad running down the field. All I hear is the commentators calling out his name as he throws the ball. I—” She inhales and I tighten my grip on her hips, ensuring she doesn’t move from my lap.

“I can’t go to a game because the last time I tried with Katie a few years ago, a few people recognized me from the news stories that had been floating around and they were quick to tell me how good my dad was and how sad they were that they never got to see him play pro ball. They were sad. Imagine.” She lets out a small scoff, like she’s angry just thinking about it. “I had the worst panic attack of my life that day and I didn’t even make it to my seat.”

“Oh, damn. Baby, I’m sorry.” I rub her back. “But this is Pops we’re talking about here. I’m sure things will be different this time.” She shakes her head so violently her hair falls around her face and her eyes glaze over. She’s putting up walls behind those piercing blue eyes.

Fuck. Whatever is going on in her head is so much worse than I thought.

Logically, I’m still confused about how football and games are still a trigger for her. Her parents died when she was so young, I didn’t think this kind of thing could still affect her so much.

But emotionally, the look on her face is breaking my heart and I can’t bear it.

We sit in silence, her sniffles subsiding with time. She doesn’t move off my lap at first but as if the wall she put up physically manifests in front of me she quickly scrambles off the couch and off me, getting to her feet. Ivy adjusts the rolls of her sweats, swipes at her eyes one last time and gives me a weak smile.

“Do you have any ice cream?”

I stare at her.

What the fuck? Ice cream?

How have we gone from opening up and finally getting somewhere to ice cream?

“Ivy, I—” I follow her into the kitchen and watch her dig through my freezer. Her hands are trembling but she doesn’t stop.

“Seriously? No ice cream? Who the hell doesn’t keep ice cream in their freezer?” She rattles off and I don’t even think she’s paying attention to me anymore.

I move to stand behind her. I pull her hands from the freezer and close the door. When I turn her in my arms, she avoids my gaze.

“What just happened?”

“I’m done talking about this,” Ivy whispers, still not looking at me.

“But I’m not.”

“What’s there left to talk about? My inability to move on and get over it? This is just how my life is.” She sucks in a short breath, obviously trying to keep her breathing steady. “I won’t watch your games and I can’t take Pops to one. End of story. It is what it is.”

“No,” I bite out. “It’s not is what it is . Ivy, this is my job. My passion. I—” Three words sit on my tongue, waiting their turn to fall out but I don’t let them. It’s not the time. “How are we supposed to have any kind of future if there’s this huge part of my life you refuse to be a part of?”

Silence falls around us and the air becomes stifling. Ivy is still trembling in my arms and my heart races miles a minute. The longer she doesn’t answer, the deeper my fear sinks into my chest.

I wait, heart pounding and blood rushing and fear building, as I stare at her. When she finally looks up at me, her eyes are filled with tears and I feel like my heart cracks in two when she still doesn’t answer me .

“Right,” I whisper. “See the thing is Ives, I want you. I want all of you. But you don’t want all of me.”

“I—”

“You don’t. Whether you like it or not, I play football for a living. It’s my job. One that I love. If you can’t get on board with that then you’re not all in and I don’t know where we stand.” I cup her cheeks in my hands, stroking my thumb down her jaw line.

“I can’t … I won’t make you a promise that I’m not sure I can even keep.” She tries to wipe furiously at her cheeks but my hands are in the way. “I don’t … I can’t … please don’t ask me to …”

“I’m sorry, baby, but I have to,” I murmur as my thumb swipes to catch a tear. I take a deep breath because the next thing I have to say is going to hurt us both.

“I’m going to drive you home, okay? I think we should take some space. Think about what we want.” Pray she changes her mind.

***

When things start to feel so out of my own control, I sometimes think standing still will fix them. If I just don’t move, don’t change anything, don’t make any waves, everything that feels out of my grasp will settle and make its way back.

Team dynamics feel off? I’ll stop pushing and just let others move around me until we find our places and start to meld again.

In college when I would get overwhelmed with school work, and practice, and trying to keep up with a social life I would spend a few weeks staying in. Keeping to myself until I got some sense of balance back.

I’m so out of my depth with Ivy.

So out of control of my own actions. This secret relationship isn’t sustainable. I want more from her, more with her. She’s dictating the path and I am almost blindly following .

I’m officially torturing myself and I’m not sure if I’m even upset about it.

Two nights ago, when we had half an argument about her not coming to games and what the future looked like for us, I’d barely been able to go a night without her.

Ivy texted me the next morning before I headed to the gym for a workout apologizing. She hated the space as much as I did but it still didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t open up to me.

She said she would think about the game with Pops and I accepted that.

Just like I’d accepted the secret relationship. I’d let my fear win and told her it was okay. I’d back tracked and caved and I felt like shit for it.

I want more. I want everything with Ivy. I just need time to break through her walls because there is no way in hell I am giving her up now I have her.

So today, as I sweated out the frustration in morning drills on the field, I made the decision to make it happen.

Ivy is scared, I get that. Why? No idea. I am going to make the game happen anyway.

I walk toward Coach’s office, freshly showered and a Broncos gym bag over my shoulder. We’ve just finished Wednesday afternoon practice and everyone is heading home for the day. If I’m going to pull this off, it has to be now.

“Coach, got a minute?” I knock on his open door.

Jeff Brady looks up, his eyes narrowing at me standing in his doorway. His pen hovers above the notebook spread on his desk and the three TV’s lining a wall of his office are all playing different football games with different teams.

“What is it, Harvey?” His eyes flicker back to his notebook but he waves at me to sit down, so I do.

“I, um, have a favor to ask.”

“Hm. This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact you’ve been dating Ivy Booker, would it?” The look he levels me with has my mouth turning to sandpaper. I’m twenty-nine years old, sitting in front of my coach and I’m terrified.

“You know?”

“Billy and I are good friends. You don’t think he’d call me and tell me his granddaughter, who also happens to be like a niece to me, is dating my new QB?”

“I guess he would.” Fuck, this is not going well. “Y—yes, it is. Kind of.”

Coach’s expression is stone-like as he stares at me. I wait for him to say something, anything, but he just continues to stare. When I can’t take the silence anymore, I decide it’s better I get it over with so I can vacate Coach's office before he decides to murder me.

“Ivy’s pops has asked her to take him to a game.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I thought since we are playing at home on Christmas Day, it would be the perfect game. I want to ask if I can use the executive suite for them. It’s the most private, and has the biggest bathroom attached and closest to the service lift so if something were to happen, they’d be able to avoid the crowds. I know Ivy feels hesitant about coming to a—”

“Yes. Tell Meghan, she’ll organize it.”

“—but I think if I can sort out something private and completely away from the press she might be open to it.” I finish slowly. I stare at Coach, who’s already lowered his head back to his notebook.

“Anything else, Harvey?”

“I—uh, no, sir.” I rise from the chair, tapping my fingers on the side of my leg as I hesitate leaving the office.

I’ve always looked up to my coaches. High school, college, LA. My QB coaches, offensive team coaches, my head coaches. They’ve all taught me something along the way .

Jeff Brady is a legend and when he called, asking if I’d come to Boston, I’d said thank you but no, thank you.

Then, he told me I’d regret it if I didn’t. A week later, I signed a one-year deal.

I tap my fingers against my leg and grab my bag from the floor.

“Harvey,” Coach calls after me and I pause in the doorway.

“Coach?”

“Ivy’s … not as okay and open as she pretends to be. She’s happy and kind, but she’s had a hell of a childhood.” Coach leans back in his chair. “If you hurt her, Harvey, I don’t care that you can throw a fifty-yard touchdown. I’ll end your career.”

I gulp. Then, nod, because there is nothing else to do but agree.

Yep, I’m terrified of my coach.