Page 2 of Merry Me
And then I got in the car, closed the door, and drove away.Pretending that I didn’t hear him yelling “This isn’t over; we’ll never be over,” as he ran after the car.
It was over.
Even if it felt like I was dying as I drove away.
Even if I cried the entire drive home and then for days and weeks after.
He went west the next day—to bright lights and red carpets and dreams so big they barely fit inside movie screens. And I stayed. Quietly. Hollowed out. Pretending I hadn’t just let go of the only real thing I’d ever felt.
People said I’d move on. That I was young, that I’d fall in love again.
But I knew better.
What we had…that kind of love didn’t come around twice.
And I was the one who’d let it go.
I told myself it was for the best. That I needed space to grow, to find myself, to become someone on my own. But watching him become famous, watching the world fall for him while I stayed behind—still aching, still hollow—that was a kind of punishment I hadn’t prepared for.
Because the truth was simple and cruel:
I didn’t think I’d ever find anything like that again.
CHAPTER 1
NATALIE
ONE YEAR AND ELEVEN MONTHS LATER
It wasn’t just loud…it was apocalyptic. The kind of roar that made your ribs buzz and your brain short-circuit. A sea of orange and white screamed from the stands, like they'd all decided to collectively lose their minds in unison. Tennessee’s colors bled into everything: the field, the stands, the shirts, the painted faces, and apparently the bra the girl a few seats down was wearing like she thought ESPN might zoom in for a halftime segment titled “Spirit Gone Wild.”
“Get it together, Davis! My grandma could make that throw, and she’s blind in one eye!” My voice cut through the noise like a rogue trumpet blast, drawing a few laughs and more than a few glares from the die-hard superfans around me, decked out in full body paint and beads like this was Mardi Gras in Knoxville.
But I had no regrets.
Parker Davis, golden boy of the college football world and my best friend Casey’s personal Ken doll, was currently playing like he’d forgotten what team he was on…andsomebodyhad to hold him accountable.
If these people were really diehard fans, they would be yelling, too.
Maybe a little heckling would light a fire under their asses.
Jace, Tennessee’s star wide receiver and Parker’s best friend, somehow heard me out on the field. He turned his head, giving me a salute and a smirk so obnoxious it should be illegal.
Casey nudged me with her shoulder, her cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe secondhand embarrassment from how bad her fiancé was playing. “Is your grandma really blind?”
“No,” I said, straightening up and crossing my arms. “But they need me out there, so I’m trying things out.”
“They definitely need you,” she muttered, and I side-eyed her.
“Are you being sarcastic? Because I’m a critical component of Tennessee’s game-day strategy, I’ll have you know.”
“Of course,” she said with a grin. “You’re their secret weapon.”
“Exactly. You may be Tennessee’s lucky charm on account that Parker Davis can’t breathe unless you are in the stands,” I continued, gesturing vaguely toward the field. “But everyone knows that I’m like the unofficial mascot. If they lose this game, it’s because I didn’t yell enough.”
“Or because you insulted every offensive starter,” Riley, Jace’s fiancée chimed in, appearing next to us with a hot chocolate that looked like it had more whipped cream than liquid.
“Constructive criticism builds character,” I said solemnly.
