Page 48 of Only Between Us

You were amazing out there, Attwood. Injury and all.

I kept up with active players, despite the injury. Even Thomas fucking Ivers gets injured. And this one is fixable—minimal, compared to the concussion I survived years ago. Parker and Summer will murder me for playing on it, but it’s not like I had a choice. Sitting out the rest of that scrimmage would have killed my already shaky career prospects, and making this comeback is how I get to feel better. Feel happy again.

And then there’s Siena. I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t part of what got me back on that field. She’s used to running with elite athletes, and fuck, I really wanted to impress her.

I should know better.

After the way Naomi ripped me apart, I promised myself I’davoid this. That I’d never get involved with anyone who made me feel like I was only worth the trouble with a football in my hand.

I extend my leg farther, flexing my foot to try to get a good stretch in my calf, but end up grazing Siena in the process. “Shit, sorry. I’m not being a creep.”

“Does your knee hurt? I can move if you need more room.”

That, there.

That’s the difference between them, isn’t it? The look of deep concern on that sideline when I told Siena about the injury, and again when she massaged the muscles. She didn’t have to do that.

She’s been turning down an easy $30,000 she probably really needs, for the sake of my career. Didn’t have to do that, either.

It’s become impossible to slot her in the same category as the woman who called me a coward for retiring out of fear of my own brain damage.

A wave of shame washes over me, remembering the way Siena’s beautiful smile faded in the coaches’ booth after the things I said to her. I don’t think I could have been more wrong about her if I’d tried.

“Siena…” I stare up at the sliver of light on the ceiling from a small split in the window curtains, trying to pick the right words while leaving out the gory details. “I’ve had an issue in the past. With people being with me for the wrong reasons.”

Siena watches me in silence. In an effort to say as little on the matter as possible, I’ve ended up saying nothing at all.Fuck it. “My ex cheated with a teammate while I recovered from the concussion and then left me for him when I retired.”

It spills out of me fast and breathlessly, but the words are followed by a surprising rush of relief. Like shedding an armor I never wanted to wear in the first place.

Siena’s head lifts off the pillow. “Who?”

“Doug McDaniels. I caught them together.” Her mouth pops open. She’s a Rebels fan. Would have watched us play together foryears. “It fucked me up, but I stopped loving her the second I figured out who she really was. She’s nothing to me, but it still—”

My voice dies at the ache in my throat and burn in my eyes. I clamp my jaw, because God knows this woman has dealt with enough of my baggage already. I take a few seconds to fight the burn and point at my chest as a substitute for the rest of the sentence.

It still kills me that I wasn’t enough.

Siena’s legs slide under the covers, toes brush my calf. Just a whisper of a touch, but it’s all I need to pull myself together. “That’s why you turned on me after you heard about my ex.”

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I’m a walking cliché of trust issues, and you were an easy target.”

“Tom and I met through our moms.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I know. I want to.” I swear, it could be pitch black, and the blue in her eyes would still shimmer. “Tom’s parents retired in Baycrest. Our moms became friends and introduced us while he visited for the holidays. I didn’t go looking for him—he’s the one who asked me out, and I was the one to end it after two years together. The day I snuck into the Huskies stadium was the anniversary of my dad’s passing. It was his favorite place in the world—well, second-favorite place, after Ship Happens. I wasn’t trying to track you down.”

Shame and guilt twist inside me.

“I’m so sorry. For all of it, Pip.” I clear my throat when it comes out gravelly. “Accusing you of tracking me down for attention. For making an already bad day worse. And for what it’s worth—which I imagine is very little—I don’t think that about you anymore.”

She offers me a small smile. “As for the reason I agreed to fake-date you… My rent went up. Things stopped working at the shop. My car broke down. All in the same day.” She pauses, staring back at me. “The day we met, it felt like my dad was calling me to that stadium. I think maybe he knew things were about to go wrong, and hewanted to put me in a position to handle it. I think you were meant to crash into me on that field.”

“You believe in that? Things being meant to be?”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve lived through too many shitty things I can’t explain.”

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