Page 53 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

MIKEY

Leaving the sleepy, warm embrace of the man I loved was pretty much the worst thing ever. But I’d made a deal with the devil, and it was time to pay the price.

I snuck out of Tiller’s bed, away from his warm body, and made my way to my bedroom.

I’d already spent most of the afternoon yesterday preparing meals to help tide him over while I was gone.

He had much more knowledge and resources now than he’d had five years before, so I knew he’d be fine whether I’d cooked for him or not.

But he was right when he said cooking for someone was how I showed them love.

Even the fridge and freezer were full to the brim of his favorite meals.

After packing for longer than the original week I’d planned, I headed out to my car and tossed my luggage in the hatchback. The drive to the airport was uneventful, save for the mental cursing I did at my father.

Of course I’d agreed to his terms. When Tiller had come back from the specialist with fear in his eyes, it hadn’t even been a question.

I’d told myself it wasn’t a big deal. I could change my mind at any time.

It wasn’t like I was giving Tiller up for good.

As long as Tiller didn’t have to play this week, I could deal with the rest of it later.

In the meantime, I mourned the loss of my father, of the man I’d thought he was, had hoped he was. It was clear to me now he wasn’t that man. Maybe he never had been. He cared more about his job than my heart, and that was an incredibly heartbreaking and bitter pill to swallow.

It was especially hard to take when I couldn’t lean on Tiller for comfort and understanding.

So I was a sad sack as I checked my bag in the terminal and made my way through security, and I was extra pitiful at the gate when the agent called me up to give me an updated boarding pass reflecting the upgrade to first class Tiller had somehow managed from afar.

I hated that I loved him. Worse than that, I hated that I was essentially lying to him.

It wasn’t fair, but neither was my father prioritizing his fucking playoff chances over Tiller’s career.

When I boarded the plane, I stashed my carry-on bag under the seat in front of me, fastened my seat belt, and grabbed the blanket before curling up in a little ball and trying to close out the world around me. It didn’t work.

“Hey, aren’t you the guy who makes the couscous salad at Hilltop Cafe?”

I blinked up at the thirtysomething woman in yoga pants and a flowery tunic standing in the row in front of me facing backward. She had creamy brown skin and a shaved head that set off her big brown eyes and thick dark lashes. She was gorgeous, but after scrambling my memory, I couldn’t place her.

“Uh, yes?”

She slapped a palm over her heart and smiled. “Thought so. I saw you deliver it one time. I am in love with that salad. I’ve been begging Sid to finagle the recipe out of you for months. I was devastated when I found out you weren’t supplying it anymore.”

I returned her smile and held out my hand. “Thank you for saying that. I’m Michael Vining.”

She shook my hand over the top of her seat.

“Konni Prater, nice to meet you. Hilltop Cafe is kind of my office,” she said with a light chuckle.

“I’m a writer, and for some reason I can focus more with the buzz of hungry customers around me.

Sid and Marti are awesome to let me loiter in a back booth most days. ”

As other passengers continued to make their way down the aisle, Konni rifled through her bag before stowing it in the bin above her seat. When I saw her at an angle, I realized I did recognize her.

“Oh, I think I remember seeing you there. Do you wear glasses when you work?”

She grinned and nodded. “Yup. Kind of like yours. Love those, by the way. But not as much as your food.”

As she winked and took her seat, I realized I felt a little better than I had before.

There was more to my life than Tiller Raine, and I needed to remember that.

Even Tiller wouldn’t want me to spend my week in Aster Valley sniffling about him.

I needed to embrace new opportunities and push all of this other shit to later, maybe after Christmas which was only a week and a half away now.

I had my own talents and plans that had nothing to do with Tiller or football, and it was in my best interest to make sure whatever direction I took with my own future, I was actively choosing it instead of letting the tide of indecision take me.

When we landed in Denver, I said goodbye to Konni with a hope of running into each other sometime soon at the cafe.

I headed to the car rental desk and got behind the wheel of a smaller SUV than before.

I was on a Mikey budget this time, but I still had the Rockley Lodge to stay in since Tiller’s reservation had been booked for the entire month.

As I made the drive through Denver and out the other side, I imagined what it would be like if we could return to Aster Valley and build a life there, just the two of us.

Maybe if the B&B didn’t work out, I could spin up my catering business again.

Tiller could coach football or befriend Truman and help plant stuff.

I wasn’t sure what his role would be, exactly, but I definitely got the sense he’d be happy there.

Not right now, while he was still playing professionally, but later. One day down the road.

The drive was gorgeous in the afternoon sun.

Driving into Aster Valley was just as stunning the second time as it had been the first. It embraced me like an old friend, and I knew already I didn’t want to leave.

Friendly faces lined the streets outside the shops, and someone dressed like a reindeer waved from the street corner outside Truman’s Honeyed Lemon.

After pulling down the now-familiar driveway to the lodge, I pulled out my phone and texted Sam. He’d already messaged to tell me he was back in Houston.

I’m going to stay in Aster Valley longer than a week.

Sam

Makes sense. You said you loved it there. You and Tiller can always go back after the Super Bowl.

I bit my lip.

Do you think they’ll make it?

Sam

Without Tiller?

He followed it with a frowny emoji.

I was thinking about staying here through the end of the season. Let Tiller focus on football. The Aster Valley house is paid for through the new year. And then I can rent something smaller.

The three typing dots appeared while I waited for the judgment.

Sam

What does Tiller think about that?

I couldn’t exactly tell him about the deal I’d made with the devil to stay away. Before I could answer Sam, I got a text from my mom.

Mom

Your father told me not to expect Tiller at Christmas. Did something happen?

I’d never been able to understand how you could be married to someone and barely talk to them.

Sam

Did you ask him or is this you running away from him?

I decided to answer my mom first since it was way past time she got to be naively unaware of what lengths my father was going to for his precious team. My mom needed to know.

Yes, something happened. Dad blackmailed me.

Said he would play Tiller on a bad arm and possibly even transfer him to a shit team if I didn’t break up with him to spare everyone’s reputation.

Jesus, Mom! Don’t you two ever talk? Do you have any idea the asshole you’re married to?

He also said he would yank the Riggers’ endorsement of my cookbook deal.

By the time I hit Send, I was pacing through the drifts of snow next to the wide wooden front door.

I quickly pressed the button to call Sam so I wouldn’t immediately see my mom’s response.

I needed to calm the hell down, and Sam was usually good for that.

His deep voice was familiar and reassuring. “What’s going on?”

“I just… I just think things have moved really quickly, you know? And Tiller has a lot on his plate. And I have a lot on my plate. And… and in Aster Valley everything is calm. I can focus on my cookbook project and just enjoy myself. It is calm .”

When I heard myself repeat the word, it was like a lightbulb snapping on.

Houston was noisy and busy, overwhelming and intimidating.

Aster Valley was like a warm hug. Everywhere I went people were friendly and interested, the way Konni had been on the plane.

That was an anomaly in Houston, but in Aster Valley, it was the norm.

I really did feel at home here.

Sam hesitated for a few minutes. “If staying in Aster Valley will make you happy, do it. Tiller isn’t going to have much spare time in the next several weeks if the team makes it all the way through playoffs. You know that.”

I did. It would be the four most important games of the season played over six weeks, and if I had to watch him put his body at risk in each game as the stakes raised exponentially higher, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.

Which, of course, made me second-guess whether the two of us even made a good match in the first place. It wasn’t easy to watch him get tackled on a good day, but the older he got and the more injuries he received, the harder it would get to witness.

“I do,” I said. “And I think he’ll understand, especially if I tell him I need to focus on my own work for a little while.”

“Of course he’ll understand. But is that what you really want? To be alone in Colorado?”

His familiar steady calm grounded me. “I think so?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be here for the playoff games? You haven’t missed one of his games in five years.”

Guilt twisted my gut. It was true. Even when I hadn’t been physically present, I’d still managed to catch his games.

Maybe I folded laundry with the game on in the background, or maybe I tuned in on the radio when I delivered catering orders, but I always managed to catch the game when Tiller was playing.

“I won’t miss it,” I said lamely. “I just can’t watch it live. Not knowing if he’s going to be hurt.”