Page 87 of Play the Last Card

“Hm. Thiswouldn’t have anything to do with the fact you’ve been dating Ivy Booker, would it?” The look he levels me with has my mouth turning to sandpaper. I’m twenty-nine years old, sitting in front of my coach and I’m terrified.

“You know?”

“Billy and I are good friends. You don’t think he’d call me and tell me his granddaughter, who also happens to be like a niece to me, is dating my new QB?”

“I guess he would.” Fuck, this is not going well. “Y—yes, it is. Kind of.”

Coach’s expression is stone-like as he stares at me. I wait for him to say something, anything, but he just continues to stare. When I can’t take the silence anymore, I decide it’s better I get it over with so I can vacate Coach's office before he decides to murder me.

“Ivy’s pops has asked her to take him to a game.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I thought since we are playing at home on Christmas Day, it would be the perfect game. I want to ask if I can use the executive suite for them. It’s the most private, and has the biggest bathroom attached and closest to the service lift so if something were to happen, they’d be able to avoid the crowds. I know Ivy feels hesitant about coming to a—”

“Yes. Tell Meghan, she’ll organize it.”

“—but I think if I can sort out something private and completely away from the press she might be open to it.” I finish slowly. I stare at Coach, who’s already lowered his head back to his notebook.

“Anything else, Harvey?”

“I—uh, no, sir.” I rise from the chair, tapping my fingers on the side of my leg as I hesitate leaving the office.

I’ve always looked up to my coaches. High school, college, LA. My QB coaches, offensive team coaches, my head coaches. They’ve all taught me something along the way.

Jeff Brady is a legend and when he called, asking if I’d come to Boston, I’d said thank you but no, thank you.

Then, he told me I’d regret it if I didn’t. A week later, I signed a one-year deal.

I tap my fingers against my leg and grab my bag from the floor.

“Harvey,” Coach calls after me and I pause in the doorway.

“Coach?”

“Ivy’s … not as okay and open as she pretends to be. She’s happy and kind, but she’s had a hell of a childhood.” Coach leans back in his chair. “If you hurt her, Harvey, I don’t care that you can throw a fifty-yard touchdown. I’ll end your career.”

I gulp. Then, nod, because there is nothing else to do but agree.

Yep, I’m terrified of my coach.

Chapter Eighteen

Ivy

“How was work?”

Scott’s making dinner as I organize the mid-year reports for parents to take home with their kids tomorrow over the break. Most teachers in kindergarten don’t bother with them normally, but I find that if there’s a child that needs an extra hand in the second half of the year now is a good time to point it out. This week has been torturously slow. Time seems to have completely slowed down since Pops asked me to take him to one last football game a few weeks ago. Thinking about the promise I made to Pops makes my stomach turn sour because I’m a terrible granddaughter.

I haven’t even begun to think about planning it.

Just like I have been avoiding thinking about the sort of fight Scott and I had about it. The one when he told me I wasn’t all in.

Aren’t I?

I barely slept that night without him next to me. Knowing he was in the same city yet not in the same bed drove me crazy. But every time I’ve tried to wrap my head around it, every time I try to break down my reasoning in my head that pain pulses in my chest and I can’t take it.

It feels like I am being torn in two.

I want to open up, but I can’t.

I look up at Scott, shrugging. “Last week of school before Christmas is always the same. Who asked for what from Santa and whether they’ve been good enough to get it.”

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