Page 71 of Sunsets & Slow Dances

I let out a huff of a laugh. I found it funny that Junior thought he could pressure me into not only making a decision but also saying yes by threatening to drop me as a client. I wondered if his tactics worked with other athletes he represented. They must, or he wouldn’t use them. He should know better than to givemean ultimatum. I did not respond well to people manipulating me. If someone tried to use leverage to get what they wanted, even if what I wanted aligned with what they wanted, I would choose the opposite to spite them. Why? Because fuck them, that’s why.

I always hated bullies. The older I got, the more I recognized that my dad was a bully. He wasn’t the throw-someone-in-the-locker or call-people-horrible-names type of bully. My dad was more subtle, more nuanced than that. His bullying was done in the silence between the words he spoke. It was done in the stares of disapproval, disgust, and disappointment that lasted a second too long. It was done in handshakes that were firm enough to cause people to wince in discomfort but not tight enough that they would leave any physical mark.

Chuck Knight used his influence, power, and intelligence, along with his commanding size, presence, and strength, to intimidate people. He never blatantly threatened anyone, but that didn’t mean he didn’t psychologically strong-arm them. One thing was indisputable: until the day he died, healwaysgot his way. No one dared to question or challenge him except me—his only son, which was why our relationship changed so drastically after I turned eight and I saw him for who he was.

If I didn’t let my own father, a man whom I idolized for the first eight years of my life, give me an ultimatum, Junior had to be high to think I was going to let him.

I immediately called his bluff.

Me:I don’t need 24 hours; the answer is no. I agree you are no longer the right person to represent me. I will have my attorney send you a letter dissolving our contract. You can expect it in the morning.

I pressed send, grabbed my mini-cooler and thermos, and stepped out of the truck. Before my work boots touched the dirt, I already had two texts, both of which were from Junior. I didn’t have to read them to know he was trying to crawl out of the hole he’d just dug for himself. I’d throw him a rope soon, but first, I wanted him to sweat a little.

When I reached the top of the porch, I heard Matty’s belly laugh. I turned in the direction the sound was coming from, and I saw Shadow in the pen on the south field, and she wasn’t alone. Chloe was riding her, and Matty was seated on the fence, cheering his aunt on. Buzz was walking in the center of the pen, thumbs hooked in the straps of his overalls, verbally guiding Shadow. Matty’s floppy brown hair was blowing in the evening breeze. Chloe’s face was earnest with concentration as she held the reins. Brilliant shades of red, orange, yellow, and pink created a postcard-perfect backdrop as the sun set behind them.

This was another reason I didn’t want to leave. Matty rarely spent time outside back home. He didn’t have many friends in our neighborhood, and the friends he did have didn’t play on the street there. Some of that was because the temperatures made it impossible, but it was also because kids were just on their devices these days. Of course, I knew kids were on devices here, too, but at least they had this to balance it out. They had fresh air, animals, land, and family here. This was what a childhood should be.

I didn’t have any of this to offer either of them in Arizona. And I didn’t have Nadia. There was that too.

25

NADIA

The soundof a toilet flushing in the stall beside me perfectly encapsulated the previous week; it was shitty and had gone down the drain. After spending what I thought was the most intimate, mind-blowing night with Callum, his ex showed up, and we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since. Coincidence? No. Probably not. A blow to my ego, pride, and heart? Yes.

Which was how I ended up hiding in the bathroom, obsessing over a text I received from Callum this morning. I stared down at it and read it for the fiftieth time. I was deadlocked over whether or not I should message him back.

Callum:Are you free tonight? I want to talk.

Those last four words caused a cement block to form in my stomach that had been weighing me down all day.

Why did Callum want to talk to me?

Did he want to tell me he loved me?

Did he want to tell me he never stopped loving me?

Did he want to tell me that not a single day had passed that he didn’t think about me?

Did he want to tell me that he couldn’t go another day without me being his and us being together?

No. I didn’t think so.

Felicity was back in town, and it looked like she was here to stay. The other half of the ‘it’s complicated’ relationship. The woman he’d gotten down on one knee for. The person he’d asked to spend the rest of his life with. The woman he shared an entire human being with was back with her family.

How could I compete with that? I couldn’t. I should be happy for them. Other people—better people—would be happy for them. I was not, which was why I had ignored Callum’s text all day.

Tonight wasnotgoing to be about us. Tonight, Callum was going to come over to discuss damage control. Tonight, Callum was going to ask if I could keep our secret rendezvous just that—asecret—so it didn’t get back to his Instagram-model-fiancée-baby-mama. Tonight, Callum was going to let me know that he and Felicity were going to try and make things work because they had a family together, and what happened between us was a mistake.

Which was fine. He had every right to do that. He didn’t owe me anything. There’d been no promises made. Not even any implied. We’d just done what we always did; we got caught up in the moment.

Who could blame us? The energy between us was supercharged. When we were together, if we were having a disagreement, or we were being playful, or we were within five feet of one another, our chemistry was like a match head rubbing against a striking surface; it was combustible.

What we should have done, whatIshould have done to protect myself, was sit down and have a mature, adult conversation about what it would mean if the two of us got physical. The truth was, even before he told me he didn’t want to leave and that he wanted to kiss me, I was all in. I didn’t just get swept up in the moment. On my part, at least, our sexy time waspremeditated. I consciously dove into the deep end of the live-in-the-moment pool headfirst. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by Barbara Walter-ing it and asking the tough questions.

I didn’t need Callum to be Jerry Maguire and crash a group therapy session to have me at hello. He had me by simply existing. There was never going to be a world where I wouldn’t want to have sex with Callum, no matter the consequences. Even if it destroyed me, I was his, for better or worse. I may not have made those vows to him; there was no legal document on record, but that didn’t make it any less true. I knew I was pathetic, and I wasn’t proud of it, but that was just the truth. I’d denied it, ignored it, and tried to numb myself to it for years, but it was time to face it and then, hopefully, get over it.

With a heavy sigh and a tiny violin of self-pity playing for myself, I texted back, letting Callum know what time I’d be home and that, sure, we could talk. There was no reason to postpone the inevitable. Might as well get this conversation over with. The only silver lining in this was no one, other than Amos, who only suspected, actually knew we’d done the dirty deed. As far as anyone else in this town was concerned, Callum and I had not gotten intimately re-acquainted since he’d been back. My heartbreak and humiliation would be contained to me, myself, and I.

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