Page 86 of Play the Last Card

“But I’m not.”

“What’s there left to talk about? My inability to move on and get over it? This is just how my life is.” She sucks in a short breath, obviously trying to keep her breathing steady. “I won’t watch your games and I can’t take Pops to one. End of story. It is what it is.”

“No,” I bite out. “It’s notis what it is. Ivy, this is my job. My passion. I—” Three words sit on my tongue, waiting their turn to fall out but I don’t let them. It’s not the time. “How are we supposed to have any kind of future if there’s this huge part of my life you refuse to be a part of?”

Silence falls around us and the air becomes stifling. Ivy is still trembling in my arms and my heart races miles a minute. The longer she doesn’t answer, the deeper my fear sinks into my chest.

I wait, heart pounding and blood rushing and fear building, as I stare at her. When she finally looks up at me, her eyes are filled with tears and I feel like my heart cracks in two when she still doesn’t answer me.

“Right,” I whisper. “See the thing is Ives, I want you. I want all of you. But you don’t want all of me.”

“I—”

“You don’t. Whether you like it or not, I play football for a living. It’s my job. One that I love. If you can’t get on board with that then you’re not all in and I don’t know where we stand.” I cup her cheeks in my hands, stroking my thumb down her jaw line.

“I can’t … I won’t make you a promise that I’m not sure I can even keep.” She tries to wipe furiously at her cheeks but my hands are in the way. “I don’t … I can’t … please don’t ask me to …”

“I’m sorry, baby, but I have to,” I murmur as my thumb swipes to catch a tear. I take a deep breath because the next thing I have to say is going to hurt us both.

“I’m going to drive you home, okay? I think we should take some space. Think about what we want.” Pray she changes her mind.

***

When things start to feel so out of my own control, I sometimes think standing still will fix them. If I just don’t move, don’t change anything, don’t make any waves, everything that feels out of my grasp will settle and make its way back.

Team dynamics feel off? I’ll stop pushing and just let others move around me until we find our places and start to meld again.

In college when I would get overwhelmed with school work, and practice, and trying to keep up with a social life I would spend a few weeks staying in. Keeping to myself until I got some sense of balance back.

I’m so out of my depth with Ivy.

So out of control of my own actions. This secret relationship isn’t sustainable. I want more from her, morewithher. She’s dictating the path and I am almost blindly following.

I’m officially torturing myself and I’m not sure if I’m even upset about it.

Two nights ago, when we had half an argument about her not coming to games and what the future looked like for us, I’d barely been able to go a night without her.

Ivy texted me the next morning before I headed to the gym for a workout apologizing. She hated the space as much as I did but it still didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t open up to me.

She said she would think about the game with Pops and I accepted that.

Just like I’d accepted the secret relationship. I’d let my fear win and told her it was okay. I’d back tracked and caved and I felt like shit for it.

I want more. I want everything with Ivy. I just need time to break through her walls because there is no way in hell I am giving her up now I have her.

So today, as I sweated out the frustration in morning drills on the field, I made the decision to make it happen.

Ivy is scared, I get that. Why? No idea. I am going to make the game happen anyway.

I walk toward Coach’s office, freshly showered and a Broncos gym bag over my shoulder. We’ve just finished Wednesday afternoon practice and everyone is heading home for the day. If I’m going to pull this off, it has to be now.

“Coach, got a minute?” I knock on his open door.

Jeff Brady looks up, his eyes narrowing at me standing in his doorway. His pen hovers above the notebook spread on his desk and the three TV’s lining a wall of his office are all playing different football games with different teams.

“What is it, Harvey?” His eyes flicker back to his notebook but he waves at me to sit down, so I do.

“I, um, have a favor to ask.”

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