Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

Ivy

“How was work?”

Scott’s making dinner as I organize the mid-year reports for parents to take home with their kids tomorrow over the break. Most teachers in kindergarten don’t bother with them normally, but I find that if there’s a child that needs an extra hand in the second half of the year now is a good time to point it out. This week has been torturously slow. Time seems to have completely slowed down since Pops asked me to take him to one last football game a few weeks ago. Thinking about the promise I made to Pops makes my stomach turn sour because I’m a terrible granddaughter.

I haven’t even begun to think about planning it.

Just like I have been avoiding thinking about the sort of fight Scott and I had about it. The one when he told me I wasn’t all in.

Aren’t I?

I barely slept that night without him next to me. Knowing he was in the same city yet not in the same bed drove me crazy. But every time I’ve tried to wrap my head around it, every time I try to break down my reasoning in my head that pain pulses in my chest and I can’t take it.

It feels like I am being torn in two.

I want to open up, but I can’t.

I look up at Scott, shrugging. “Last week of school before Christmas is always the same. Who asked for what from Santa and whether they’ve been good enough to get it. ”

“Did you do that Elf on the Shelf thing you were talking about?” I smile at his question because I love that he remembers the elf on the shelf idea I pitched him over a month ago.

“Yes,” I laugh quietly. “And the kids love it.”

I put my pen back into my bag along with the report cards and move it to the side. Getting off my stool and moving around the counter, I wrap my arms around Scott’s waist and press my forehead into his chest.

He instantly wraps me up in his arms.

The past few weeks haven’t been the easiest in terms of this ‘private’ relationship. We put a pin in the football conversation and neither of us are too keen to pull said pin out again any time soon. Scott also hasn’t brought up the secret part of this secret relationship either, even though I know he’s getting sick of having to hide away.

I overheard him explaining to his mom on the phone the other day that we couldn’t go out to dinner with them next week because I’m not keen on being spotted by the paparazzi. I’m not sure what Annabel’s reply was but it had drawn a lengthy sigh from my boyfriend causing the guilt to flare under my skin.

It’s not like keeping things quiet is my favorite thing either but every time I imagine what it would be like if the world knew, I’m thrust into the midst of a minor panic attack.

So I’ve avoided both topics and when it seems like things are starting to get a little tense, I distract Scott by kissing him. Which usually then leads to him kissing me back, neither of us letting go, and after a couple of mutual orgasms the tension is normally gone.

So far, so good even if I was feeling guilty about it all.

“How was your day?” I ask, my question muffled into his chest.

“Good. Practice was good. Getting ready for the playoffs now we’ve clinched a spot.”

“What?” I look up at him, my eyes widening. “I didn’t know that. Congratulations!” I smile genuinely because I know that playoffs are a huge deal. I’m not a total monster when it comes to football .

Another pang of guilt hits me right in the chest. I smile wider, masking it.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, leaning down to kiss me. “I also spoke to Coach today.”

“Oh?” My hands start to itch and I feel like pulling them back from around his waist so I can wring them together but I keep them in place.

“I—Uh, I spoke to him and organized the executive suite for the game on Christmas Day. For you to bring Billy.”

I flinch and my arms start to withdraw but Scott doesn’t let me. He continues before I can tug out of his grasp. “I know you weren’t sure when or which game, but I thought since it was Christmas Day it might be nice. And the exec suite is totally private with its own bathroom, fully catered in the suite and close to a service lift so you can get in and out without being seen.”

He goes quiet, staring down at me.

I don’t move for a moment, stunned by his confession. I can feel the anxiety clawing at the base of my throat but more than that, I feel the relief that floods my veins when he tells me it’s all taken care of. All I have to do is pick up Pops and turn up at the stadium.

He’s taken care of it.

All of it.

“Thank you,” I whisper, standing on my toes to kiss him again. I ignore the anxiety building at the thought of the football game and focus on everything else. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I did,” he says against my lips.

“I’m terrified,” I admit in a small voice, still trying to disappear into his large form. “It’s only a game of football and I am terrified to take him. What kind of person does that make me? That I can’t even do this one thing for Pops after everything he’s done for me.”

Scott reaches behind him and turns off the stove. He takes my hand and leads me to the couch to sit down. I pull a blanket over my legs, trying to ward off the December chill that seems to be creeping through the house.

It might be time to start lighting fires in the evenings. With Pops not here, I’d have to learn how.

“Ivy,” Scott says, bringing my attention back to him. “I was thinking about this aversion you have to football and I just want to get through this without us having a fight or me making you cry.”

I huff out a soft laugh, because damn he’s right. I’ve been crying a lot lately. I nod for him to go on.

“When Jeff Brady called to ask if I would be open to signing a deal with Boston after my contract ended in LA, I originally said no. I said no because I couldn’t stomach the thought of being in Boston. I couldn’t stomach the thought of being in Boston because my birth mother still lives here.”

I inhale sharply. Scott doesn’t acknowledge the sound or stop, he just reaches for my hands and squeezes them between his own.

“I know who she is. I know where she lives. I know where she works.” I gaze at him. His face is emotionless but his eyes are darkening and he looks almost angry. “I found her a few years ago after the details of my adoption became public and I was making my own money to be able to pay someone to look. I ended up telling my parents but they were just supportive, as I suspected they would be.”

“Did you meet her?” I ask him.

“No. I never want to meet her. I have never had the urge to know her, to speak to her. I don’t care what excuses she has or reasons she cares to give me. I found her because I want to avoid her. I hated walking through life knowing she’s out there and could pop up at any moment. When I learned she was living in Boston, I started to avoid the city. When we played here, I’d fly in and out but I’d never linger. I never joined my parents when they travelled back here. I hated Boston. All because she chose to call it her home. ”

As Scott takes a few deep breaths, his thumb rubbing mine with our hands still clasped together, I watch as the anger fades in his eyes.

“I realized pretty quickly that I was meant to come to Boston. As much as I hated it and protested the move, something was drawing me here. You were drawing me here.”

“Me?”

“I told Jeff Brady thank you but no thank you.” Scott nods. “I only took the call as a consideration to his reputation; I was never ever going to say yes. But after I hung up the phone with him and went back to whatever I’d been doing there was just something tugging in my gut telling me that maybe I made the wrong choice. That feeling stuck around for a whole week before I called Coach back and told him we could talk. Even when I signed, it was no longer than a year because I was so sure that I’d be uncomfortable living so close to her. But something was still telling me that I should come here so I did. Then I met you.”

Scott takes a sharp breath and reaches up to cup my face. His thumbs stroke across my cheek and his fingers splay down my neck. My body warms under his touch and I relax into him.

“If anything, anything in your gut is telling you that taking Billy to a game is the absolute wrong decision for you, I will respect that and we can make other arrangements to get him there. But I think if this is what he wants then you should try.” Scott gazes at me, his eyes searching my own. I allow myself a moment to get lost in the pretty green, gold flecks swirling around and around the inner ring as he watches me right back.

His beautiful, grounding green. It’s becoming a lifeline. A tether.

When he told me about organizing this for Pops I felt relieved. A little anxious and guilty because I hadn’t been able to do it myself but overall, relieved.

I take a calming breath, shaking off the lingering anxiety still clawing at me and focus on the warmth of his body. “I can do this.”

“You can,” he agrees.

“It’s just a game. ”

He nods. “And when you’re watching that field, you focus on me. On my number. On my plays. On me.”

“On you,” I agree, leaning in to kiss him gently.

***

Scott took care of everything.

When I say everything, I mean it.

A week after I agreed to the Christmas Day game, the day itself arrives and I’ve been an anxious mess from the moment he left me in bed this morning. I dragged myself through my breakfast and morning routine to get ready. When I stepped outside at the sound of a car horn, I realized Scott had meant what he said when he whispered in my ear before leaving me with a kiss.

“ Just get dressed and be there. Focus on me, baby. ”

Just before lunch, a car pulls up the curb outside the house. Blacked out windows, a huge SUV with so much space inside it I swear I could live in there comfortably. Once I’m settled into the seat, the driver informs me that we’re stopping at the hospital. Pops is waiting, decked out in Boston Broncos gear, alongside one of the nurses, Sara.

Pops tells me that the only way Dr. Bryden is letting him do this is with the proper care, so his favorite nurse volunteered for the extra hours and outing. I’m sure the fact she gets to meet a team of NFL players has zero to do with it.

We turn up at the stadium and get escorted by a golf cart to an underground private parking lot.

“They didn’t have this back in my day,” Pops murmurs as he stares out the window at the giant painted tunnels. I watch him closely as a few security guards help him out of the car and wheel his chair into the elevator. Pops is speechless—not something that happens all that often—as we are let into the box suite overlooking the stadium and the field. Katie and Grant are waiting for us, drinks and snacks already in hand.

“You made it!” Katie squeals, hurrying over. “This is insane. Mystery football man did very well.”

I only hum in agreement, my eyes darting around the room.

Pops sets himself up at the very front of the box, right against the windows that look down at the seats that are filling fast. Waves of white and navy move around below us, fans pouring in. I walk over to him, looking down at the green field. Players litter the field, warming up or crowding the sidelines.

I scan the field for the number eighteen but I’m too far up and there are too many people. I can feel the anxiety creeping up my neck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Pops asks quietly. No one else can hear him, just me.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Of course. You? Are you feeling okay?”

The smile he hits me with is so bright, so wide it lights up his entire face. He stares out at the stadium and nods.

“It’s like coming home again.” Pops takes my hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Ivy. Thank you for making this happen.”

“I—” The words get stuck and I blink away tears. “I didn’t do anything. This was all Scott.”

Understanding floods Pops’ features and his smile softens. “He’s a good man. Good for you.”

I nod in agreement. Mostly because if I open my mouth the only thing that will come out is a sob. And once I start sobbing I won’t be able to stop.

Others bustle in the box around us but I decide to stay by Pops’ side to watch the game. If this is the last time he will get to see one, live and in person, then I want to make sure I’m here with him for it.

When the game starts and the players fall into their lines on the field, I finally spot Scott below. He stands on the sideline, a cap on his head instead of a helmet. When his face floods the big screens, my eyes track the movement of his jaw as he chews on a piece of gum. He’s following what’s going on out on the field but when he spots the camera tracking him, he flashes a quick smile and a wink.

My heart soars because I know that’s for me.

Scott Harvey is a lot of things, but a football player that winks and plays up for the press? Absolutely not. The game I watched in Pops’ hospital room proved it. He didn’t bother interacting with the cameras that followed players around. He barely acknowledged them when he threw a pass into the end-zone other than congratulating the teammate who’d caught it.

The smile, the wink.

It’s just for me.

As the game goes on, the attention Scott gives the camera becomes less and less but the game is close and even I can tell that he's focused in.

Every time I feel the familiar hand of anxiety start to creep up my neck, I find Scott down on the field and just watch him. I focus so heavily and intently on him alone that eventually the anxiety disappears, taking every fan in the stadium with it.

I see him glance up at the box a few minutes into the third quarter. He finds our box. I can’t be sure he sees me too but it feels like our eyes lock. My body instantly reacts to being under his gaze, warming up.

Pops notices Scott down on the field too, turning his head to grin at me. “You’re smitten, sweetheart.”

“I am not.” I so am.

“You’re absolutely smitten over a football player.” Pops reaches out to take my hand, tucking it between his own. “I’m glad. It makes me feel better knowing he will be there to take care of you when I die.”

The tears sting behind my eyes instantly and my heart beats painfully in my chest. “Don’t. Don’t talk about that. Not today.”

“Okay,” he murmurs softly, lifting our hands so he can press a kiss to them. “No talk. Just enjoying Sunday football with my girl.”

Guilt floods me. Pops gave up such a huge part of his life because I couldn’t come to terms with the hand life dealt me. He’s always done what is best for me even when it meant giving up the game he loves.

“I’m sorry we didn’t do this more,” I say quietly, resting my head on his shoulder gently.

“Don’t be. We’re doing it now.” He sniffs. “I love you, Ivy.”

“Love you, too.”

Boston kicks ass and we win. The noise from the fans in the fourth quarter as Scott throws touchdown after touchdown is deafening. As the fans disperse from their seats around us, we remain in the box. The runner that’s been in and out of the box tells us that Uncle Jeff wants us to all stay put while they finish up their press interviews and shower.

Pops starts telling stories from his own career on the field.

His face lights up as he speaks. Grant hangs on his every word. Just as he starts telling stories about my dad’s pee-wee football days and himself as the coach, the doors to the suite opens.

For a second, my mouth goes dry and I forget where I am. Freshly showered with hair still damp and back in his game day suite, Scott follows Uncle Jeff into the room and heads toward me. He looks exhausted, moving slowly as he greets everyone.

“Hi.” I look up into his face, noting the small cut on his hairline and the bruising coming up along his jaw. I reach up and gently draw my finger over it, murmuring a quiet, “Ouch.”

“Hey, you.” Scott brushes my fingers away from his face and leans down, covering my mouth with his own. God, I love when this man kisses me without being prompted. I hear a wolf whistle from Katie as we break apart.

“Good game.” His eyes flash with pride as soon as the words leave my lips. Happiness floods his features and I’m a little bit flawed that I have that effect on him. Just by being here, just by watching him play one game I’ve made him so happy .

Warmth spreads through me and for the first time today I don’t feel even the slightest bit anxious.

“Thanks baby.” Scott’s arm snakes around my shoulders and he pulls me into his side. “How'd it all go here?”

I look over at Billy, sighing happily. “He looks more alive than I’ve seen him in weeks.”

“Good.” Scott presses his lips to my hair. “Felt good having you here.”

“Show off, did you? Played up for the cameras? Don’t think I didn’t catch that wink you threw.”

He shrugs but the smirk that lifts his lips tells me all I need to know. We just stand there, staring at each other, smiling like idiots. Pops is talking to Jeff somewhere next to us, likely giving his notes on the plays. Katie and Grant are talking to Sara. No one’s paying attention to us.

I lean into Scott. “Today wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Yeah?” Scott moves me in front of him. His fingers slide down my arms, tapping lightly over the fabric of my jacket.

“Mhmm.” I melt into his touch. “I don’t know. Maybe I can watch one or two again.”

The hope lights up his face and I melt even further. As I’d watched him down on that field today, everything I used to see, used to hear was gone. It was just him. I’m completely infatuated with him and it’s becoming more and more obvious.

He leans down and kisses me again. Lingering this time, pressing gentle kisses to my lips. I smile and lift myself onto my toes.

The tether connecting us tugs and tightens. I let it.

Maybe I can do this thing with him after all, football be damned.