Page 9 of Goal Line Love

“With the travel, you should go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“You’re right, I’m exhausted. Thank you so much.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll find Harrison and let him know I’m going to bed.”

I go downstairs and notice the table is cleared and the kitchen is clean. I frown. I wanted to help with clean up.

Harrison isn’t around, so I step outside, and I find him he’s sitting on the steps. A beautiful woman is on the phone screen. She’s around our age.

“Glad to hear. I’ll see you soon. Love you, Millie. Bye.”

Millie?

So that’s the story that’s missing. My walls raise up high and I didn’t even realize they were crumbling. I step back inside and try to be quiet, but the screen door creaks as it closes. In the corner of my eye, Harrison spins and sees me. I don’t stop. I head for the stairs.

Another cheater? Maybe? Or maybe not? But I’m not willing to take a chance. My heart cracked last time, but with Harrison Briggs, he’ll shatter it. As much as it pains me to admit it. I’m falling for him against everything I said I wouldn’t do.

The door opens and closes as Harrison steps inside. “Hey, Bergan? Bergan!”

I turn around with my professional mask firmly in place.

Why does he have to look so sweet and so unguilty?

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Harrison.” I resume heading upstairs and when I get to the landing, I look down and Harrison’s head is dropped along with his shoulders. He looks downtrodden, and my heart squeezes. But this is for the best.

I’m a sports journalist and I want his story and want to move on. That’s been the goal the whole time.

But why does it feel like I’m moving backwards?

8

HARRISON

I stare up the stairs long after Bergan shut the door to her room.

What happened? Why suddenly the cold indifference?

“Hey, come have some of Dad’s expensive whiskey.” Colt waves a couple glasses and the whiskey as he leads me into the den. I do one more glance at Bergan’s door, hoping she’ll open it, but sigh as I follow my cousin.

We sit and I grab the tumbler in my cousin’s outreached hand and sip. “Damn that’s good.”

“How’s your dad and Gina?”

“They’re good.”

“And Millie?” Colt’s voice softens and I smile.

“Still in remission.” I take another swig of the whiskey.

Colt takes a drink and leans back. “Wish my dad hadn’t been so stubborn. He might have had some more days with us.”

“Seems that’s a Briggs family trait.”

Colt lifts his glass and chuckles. “Damn straight.”

I clink my glass against his and we grin at each other.

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