Page 88 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

Am I crazy to go after him?

And I decide, what do I have to lose?

29

SAMANTHA

The flightto Maine is a blur.

I don’t remember the announcements overhead or the way the plane dipped slightly as it landed. I don’t even remember how long I sat there, gripping the armrest, heart hammering before I finally gathered the nerve to step off.

What I do remember is Ellie’s hug before I left. The way she clung to me, her small arms wrapped tight around my waist like she knew something big was happening.

You have to tell him, Aunt Sam,” she whispered against my stomach.

My brave, fearless little girl.

Maggie just gave me a knowing look as she took Ellie’s hand and steered her inside. “Go get him,” she said as if this was the easiest thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

But I was here anyway.

I didn’t call ahead. Didn’t tell my parents I was in town. Didn’t do anything except climb into a cab outside the airport and give the driver an address I wasn’t even sure was right.

Jake had mentioned in passing that he’d bought a house—something bigger than his old apartment, a place with space and a yard. But I didn’t know the street, and I don’t know the exact location. I only had a vague memory of the area he’d described, and I was banking on the fact that a place belonging to a newly signed pro athlete would stand out.

By some miracle, it does.

The cab slows in front of a house set back on a quiet street, its long, freshly paved driveway leading up to a home that looks like it belongs in a magazine. It’s not ostentatious, but it’s new, with crisp white siding and dark shutters, a wraparound porch that makes my stomach do a ridiculous little flip.

And sitting in the driveway, sleek and black against the snow-dusted pavement, is a Range Rover.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

He’s here.

I pay the driver, my fingers trembling slightly as I step out onto the sidewalk. The air is sharp and cold, nothing like the warmth of South Carolina. I pull my coat tighter around me, staring up at the house, my nerves suddenly a tangled mess.

This is crazy.

I should’ve called. Should’ve texted. Should’ve given him even the slightest hint that I was coming instead of just showing up on his doorstep like some desperate woman who doesn’t know how to let go.

Except I don’t want to let go. I want to hang onto him with everything I’ve got.

I take a breath, forcing myself forward, one cautious step at a time up the driveway. My boots crunch against the pavement, the sound deafening in the stillness of the winter air.

And then, just as I reach the first step of the porch, the door swings open.

Jake steps out, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his keys in his hand. He freezes the second he sees me, his brows pullingtogether like he’s not sure if I’m real or if the cold is messing with his head.

“Sam?”

I swallow hard, gripping the railing for balance. “Hey.”

His eyes sweep over me, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” My voice falters, the words suddenly caught in my throat. I hadn’t planned this far ahead. I’d spent the entire flight working up the nerve to come, but now, standing in front of him, all my carefully rehearsed explanations slip through my fingers like sand.

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