Page 3

Chapter 2

Lily

A nd that one sentence tells me all I need to know. I can’t believe Lance didn’t tell him I was coming. I’m going to strangle him the next time I see him. How awkward is this? Awkward for me, but mostly for him. Even I know that Tyler doesn’t do roommates, but when Lance suggested it and then never said anything else, I thought he’d been given the green light. It never occurred to me that Lance would wait until the last possible second to spring this on him. The poor guy really didn’t even have a chance to say yes or no, or at least let it sink in, and judging by the way his biceps are crossed and popping over his chest, he is not happy that I am here.

I don’t know what I expected, but on my eleven-hour drive down from North Carolina, it wasn’t this.

Did I think he’d be thrilled to have me staying with him? No. But I wasn’t expecting him to be so growly bear about it. For years, we’ve been friends. We hung out some in college, and we’ve been around each other for all of Lance’s big life moments. Was he a little more subdued the last time I saw him when my nephew was born? Yes, but I didn’t think anything of it. Maybe I should have.

“I do have one rule for you that I know for certain,” he says. “No guests. Ever. I let very few people into my home, so if that is a deal-breaker for you, then I’m sorry.”

Tyler’s lips pinch together, and the muscles in his face turn to stone. He’s very serious about this rule, and I completely respect it.

“No, it’s not. I’m a bit of a private person myself and appreciate the quiet and the solitude. Besides, I don’t know anyone here. Who would I invite over?” I crack a smile at him to try to ease some of his tension, but two tiny lines strike between his dark brows instead.

Dean loved having people over. I swear our front door was revolving, especially during the offseason when people came and went all day and night. Privacy was the first thing I noticed when I got to the lake, and the thing I didn’t realize I was missing the most.

His shoulders drop a little, and he nods once. “As for the rest, I’ll get back to you.”

“Deal. Thank you, Tyler.”

“No worries,” he says, leaning forward. His foot drops to the floor, and he moves his elbows to rest on his thighs. He’s itching to leave either this conversation or me, and I suddenly feel bad that he seems so put out. “Do you need me to help you with anything?” he asks. Meanwhile, his expression is screaming, “Please say no.”

“Nope. I have it from here,” I tell him, giving him the biggest, fakest smile I can muster, given the uncomfortableness of this situation.

A muscle twitches in his face as he stares at me, then he unfolds himself from the chair. I know I shouldn’t, but I take a few seconds to take him in. When I first met him in college, he had some build to him, but he was still lanky and boyish. Now, however, there is nothing lanky or boyish about him. He is all man. Insanely tall, layered in muscles upon muscles, his hair is so dark it’s almost black and styled short, and he has rich, deep brown eyes. He looks good, too good. How is he single after all this time? Then again, maybe he’s not. Lance didn’t mention anything, and I didn’t think to ask.

“I usually go for a run when I get home from working out. You good if I leave?”

“Of course. I promise to stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“I doubt that,” he says, and then as if realizing he said it out loud, he clears his throat, runs his hand through his hair, glances at me one last time without making eye contact, then strides out of the room. I stay seated on the couch as he heads upstairs, stomps around, and comes back down. Glancing down at my phone, I try to make myself smaller on the couch, at least until he heads out again. He fills up a glass of water in the kitchen, drinks it in one go, fills it again, sets it on the counter, and strides for the door.

“I’ll, uh, see you later,” he says like it’s foreign to have to say goodbye to someone.

“Have a nice run,” I tell him as the door bangs shut behind him.

Despite that initial awkwardness, I do feel like this is where I’m currently meant to be. Of course I didn’t tell him that, but from the second I walked in, I just knew. A feeling settled over me, and for the first time since I left DC, well, actually, since who knows when, a peace settled over me. Unbeknownst to him, wild horses would have to drag me out of his house, and this couch might be my new favorite couch in the whole world.

Looking around his house again, I smile at how quaint and cute it is. Manly but stylish and clean, with its French-blue, country-chic-but-modern vibe. It’s perfect. Oh, and don’t get me started on that fish tank. I love fish, so when I walked in earlier and saw it, I might have gasped. It’s so beautiful as it glows blue, and I love that you can see straight through it into the kitchen.

Dean never wanted any pets. Not even a fish, and I did try. I once brought home a beta fish, and we argued over the point of it for days. It was such a stupid argument too. The fish was in the bottom of a clear glass plant vase, with a plant on top. I bet if I didn’t even mention the fish, he wouldn’t have noticed it, but I ended up taking it to my office and leaving it on my desk where he couldn’t see it.

That’s how it was with Dean. I genuinely think he’s one of the nicest people until he disagrees with you. He’s unforgiving and closed-minded. While I never questioned whether or not he loved me, it very much felt like things were his way or no way, and toward the end, the scales tipped more in the direction of no way.

They say there’s a moment for women when the switch flips, clarity reveals itself, and a no-going-back decision occurs. I didn’t think it would happen to me, but it did.

That moment occurred while I was scrolling through social media, and I came across a post from a friend of mine who is married to another quarterback, and they were announcing their third child.

Third.

I’ve done my best not to play the comparison game over the years, but at some point, it becomes less about what others are doing and where they are in their life, and more about where I’m at with mine.

Dean and I met when he was a sophomore in college and a backup quarterback at our university, the University of Miami. I was a freshman and cared zero for his sports title, and only had hearts in my eyes for the boy. A boy with sandy-brown hair, sharp, focused eyes, and a dimple on one side that rarely popped out, but did every time he smiled. A boy who also played on my brother’s football team.

Lance wasn’t a fan. At the time, I thought it was because he didn’t want me with any of his teammates, but looking back, I realize now it wasn’t about that at all. It was about him, Dean. But I loved this boy. He was sweet, funny, kind of shy, and 100 percent mine.

As time passed, our relationship grew, but so did his career. He transferred schools in his senior year, won the prestigious Heisman Trophy, and was selected in the draft's first round. His terms with his current professional team are so extensive that he is one of the highest-paid players in the league ever.

But where does that leave me?

In the same place I’ve always been for the past eight years, cheering for him in the background.

Sure, there are plenty of pictures out there of us together, but for the most part, we agreed to keep our private life private, so there are no pictures of me on his social media pages. It’s not that I mind. I understand the photos are of his career, but they’re also supposed to be about your life, and I’m nowhere on it. Over the past year, I kept asking myself why. Is it that he doesn’t care about social media, like he says? Is it that he truly just wants it to be about him professionally? Or is it that at the end of the day, I’m no longer certain what I am to him?

I’ve never needed fame. I’ve never wanted any sort of media recognition. All I ever told Dean was that I needed him. But as the years have stretched on, I’ve realized that he doesn’t need me.

And that doesn’t feel good. At all.

When I think of love, I want the soulmate kind of crushing love. I have so much to give, but I want to receive it in return. I want a best friend, a confidant, and someone who shares not only their dreams but mine too.

But I digress. Back to the friend.

This friend, the one with the growing family, is not the only one. Year after year, not only have I watched so many others have their dreams come true but I’ve also attended weddings, been a bridesmaid, and even hosted a baby shower.

The question was always the same too. “When are you and Dean getting married?”

One I started asking myself, and unfortunately, I realized the truth a little too late. We probably never are.

We used to talk about having a family one day, but the older we’ve gotten, the more these conversations have slipped away. Even the condo where we live is not a place to raise children. It’s just a place close to the stadium for him and one convenient for his friends.

I used to drop hints or make loving comments to him while attending others’ weddings, but his hackles rose every time. He would call me irrational and tell me he didn’t appreciate me pressuring him, but how many years have to go by for someone to either commit or leave? The expression shit or get off the pot —that’s how this felt. I never needed all this time to know I wanted to spend my life with him, but it felt really bad knowing apparently he wasn’t as sure about me. Not in the way that I needed or had hoped for my life.

And that changes things.

So at twenty-six, while he was away at one of his offseason camps, I packed my things and headed to my parents’ house in Tennessee. It was at their house, and through many tears, I realized that we were over quite some time ago. I just didn’t get the memo. We had grown apart instead of together. We were complacent, and as the pieces of my future fell together, that just wasn’t good enough anymore.

Dean called when he got home from the camp. I’m pretty sure that he saw I had moved out, and not surprising, he didn’t ask me to come back. He didn’t fight for me, for us. Instead, he just said that he would miss me.

Eight years.

Gone.

Pretty much a third of my life.

I’d seen it with others. I just never thought it would happen to me. Football was Dean’s first love, his one true love, and everything else came second. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.

At that moment, I vowed never to date another athlete again.