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I want to ask him, but I can’t make myself form the words. Maybe I’m afraid of the answer.
He stares at the flames as they crackle and snap in the pit. “She’s just…stubborn and persistent, and I thought we sort of balanced each other out. I thought some of my own traits of responsibility and accountability were starting to rub off on her. I guess I was wrong.”
I get the sense for the first time that maybe he’s with her to give her that balance. He seems like he’s the kind of guy who takes care of those around him, who takes on projects to help others. Maybe he’s got that white knight syndrome where he thinks he can save her from herself. But what he doesn’t realize is he’s sacrificing his own emotional well-being by trying to fix hers.
“She’s thirty-one now, Spence. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” I push as much sympathy as I can as I deliver those words, but I’m not sure they soften the blow.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
“Do you want to marry her?” I finally ask. I keep my eyes on the fire.
He’s quiet a few beats, and I feel him glance at my profile. “I’m not sure.”
I exhale the breath I was holding.
He sucks in a breath and changes the subject. “What’s new around here?”
I fill him in on the latest news. We finish our first glass, and I pour another while we chat about everything except Amelia.
I’ve just split what’s left in the bottle between our glasses when I say, “Talk to me, Spence. How are you really doing?”
He sighs as he takes a sip of his wine. “I’m hanging in there.” His eyes are focused on the fire as he takes a beat to think about something, and then he says, “When we lost, I sat down on the bench and looked around the stadium, and I got the strangest feeling like it was going to be the last time I did that.”
My brows dip at his admission. “Are you leaving?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not planning to. But the offseason, especially the first two months, is always a wild time where anything can happen. We fell short this year, so Coach is surely going to be mixing things up to try something new next year.”
“And you think that falls on you?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ve always been of the mindset that players aren’t really people in the game. They’re commodities. I know my worth, and I know what my team could get for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if the front office decided to use that to their advantage, especially since we ended up with a decent draft position.”
“And you have no say in that?” I ask.
He takes another sip of wine. “No. I didn’t work a no-trade clause into my contract, so they’re free to move me how they see fit. I know I’m the highest paid wide receiver on the Vikings. I know we’re receiver heavy, and I know that our offense is turning more to the running game than the passing game. It makes some of us superfluous, and the team is going to want my high salary back in their salary cap.”
Fear flitters through me. “You might…you might not play for Minnesota anymore?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I might not play for anybody anymore. I doubt that would happen, but every moment I step out onto that field, I realize there is not a single guarantee that I’ll get to do it again.”
“But…but…I can’t cheer for another team. I just can’t do it.”
He chuckles. “And you shouldn’t. You were raised bleeding purple, and for now, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good,” I murmur. I chug a little of my wine as I realize how heavy things just got between us.
“I should go,” he says quietly, and he lifts to a stand. “Have a good night.”
He heads for my sister’s bungalow, and I keep my eyes on the fire as I try to categorize my feelings. I’d only be sad if he left because he’s my friend. My hot friend, yes, but still just a friend.
He can’t be anything more than that.
Chapter 5: Grace Newman
It’s Not, and It Can’t Be, But It Feels Like It Is
Three and a Half Months Before the Wedding
The week drags, but Nana mentioned a symposium coming up in Vegas for hospitality in the beverage and restaurant industry. My uncle was going to attend, but they decided to send me instead.
