I lost my breath.
"Are you going to stop fighting me now?" He asked. "Turn in your notice. Pack up your shit and get your ass to Florida where it belongs."
His eyes flickered under the moonlight. "As much as I love you bossing me around in bed, because I do, it's not the same in real life." I saw the anger on his face. "I have a job. I've been completely on my own for eight years. You think you're going to be in charge of my every move?"
"Do you want me to be?"
And that was the question. How far did I want his control to go? When I was seventeen and had given myself to him it was different. I didn't know what I was doing. I was young and naïve. But I'd made it on my own since then. I went to journalism school and paid for it myself. I never took a cent of his dad's money.
I sighed. "I'll give my notice." I held up my finger. "But I want another job first. I want to move and have something on my own."
"Fuck, Sierra. You do have something. You have me."
And we were back to the impasse. To the thing that kept us on separate sides of the same goal.
"I know. But can't you see I want something too? You have football. I'm not asking you to give up being a quarterback. I'm not asking you to leave the AFA. You don't have to quit your job. You just have to be patient."
"I've waited eight fucking years for you. Damn it. Don't do this."
"I'm only asking for a little time. I have to get my resume together and call some contacts in Orlando. I should be able to have something in six months. My work in Dallas is really strong."
"Six months?" And that's when I knew he was over the talking. He was done with all of it.
There wasn't enough moonlight on the water. There wasn't enough sparkly champagne or romantic slow songs. He was done.
I looked up. "It's not that long."
He buckled his pants.
I wiggled trying to rearrange the skirt of my dress. It was full of sand.
"When you think you've found the love of your life again and she tells you to hold off because it's not convenient, you start to think otherwise."
He started walking toward the small set of trees that separated us from the reception.
"Blake, don't go like this. Stay. Please stay."
He looked over his shoulder. "Good luck, Sierra. I mean it. Good luck this time."
"No." I ran barefoot to chase him. "Just stop. Please."
"I can't. Not this time."
He stormed through the brush onto the manicured lawn at the edge of the party. No matter what I said, or did he wasn't going to turn around.
"Don't do this, Blake. Don't say goodbye. Please."
I watched as his dark silhouette disappeared. I lost him when he joined the crowd.
I stood, trying to cover up my lacy bra, and realized I was more bare than I'd even known.
I looked up at the house where I had spent part of the summer. The breeze blowing off the sound skirted through the wind chimes. Three weeks ago, I had thought I was going to hate my trip back to the island. It was only going to drudge up painful memories. And maybe for the first week that was true, but looking out across the sound to where the lighthouse stood, I knew I had grown to love this place and all its quirks all over again.
I had fallen in love a second time. I didn't know it was possible.
I tossed my purse in the front seat. I knew I was stalling, but everything about this moment was surreal. It felt like I was walking through a fog.
I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. I didn't want to drive over that bridge a second time without saying the words. But Blake wouldn't answer my calls. He didn't answer the door when I knocked.
He wasn't in the boat barn. I couldn't find him anywhere on the island.
He was the one who had escaped this time.
I slid into the seat and turned the keys in the ignition. She rolled the window down to inhale the last whiffs of the salty air. I didn't know when I would be back to work on the house. It would sit and wait for me. It wasn't the first time it had been through a storm.
I exhaled and put my foot on the break. It was time.
I put the car in reverse as I pulled away from the house. Away from a place that had become home. Away from where love had found me.
29
Blake
"Get your asses out here," I yelled at the team.
The receivers were on the sidelines like they didn't have routes to run and two of the tight ends were sitting on the bench.
"What the fuck is going on around here?" I looked at Coach. He shrugged.
He was worried about the personnel issues he had with the new coaching staff. We had too many new hires. Not enough seasoned talent.
This was how the first part of the season always started. A complete cluster fuck. But I needed it to go smoother than this. I needed to control it.
The season opener was in two days. Camp was over. The pre-season kicked our asses royally. No one had any faith in the Thrashers. They didn't think we could pull off a winning season. Looking at this group of lazy ass grown men, I knew why. No one gave a shit. No one had an ounce of passion. An ounce of drive.
But I did.
I shouted at the linemen. "Are you ready?"
They nodded.
"Good. Then let's go."
If the guys on the sidelines didn't want to practice, I was sure some of the rookies did. And if they could catch the ball, I'd request they start on Sundays. All I cared about was getting the W.
I heard the receivers grumble on the field. "Thought he went to some fishing hole. He is not relaxed."
"What the fuck are you saying over there?"
"Nothing."
I dropped the ball and ran over to the guy. "If you have a problem with how I'm running practice today, maybe you don't need to show up. Can't really tell you're here anyway."
The receiver stood. "I said it was nothing."
The other guys had huddled around us.
"Then shut the fuck up and catch the ball when I throw it."
I turned, but my anger was still back where I'd left him. I didn't need some new traded tight end, mouthing off. There was only one person who set the rules around here. And they were making a spectacle of my team. No wonder people were betting against us.
"Wyatt, why don't we take five?" Coach called. "Everyone's looking worn out. It's hot."
He had finally looked up from his clipboard long enough to realize there was a real problem out here. If we didn't have things straight on the field who in the hell cared who his third defensive coach was.
"After this play." Sure I was hot. But we were inside. It wasn't like we were out in the heat like some teams. It was the entire reason we had indoor training facilities.
I ignored him and walked back to the huddle.
"Let's try this again," I announced.
I counted off the snap before stepping back to pass it.
I searched the field for what I wanted to see, but no one was open. Our corner backs were doing a better job than our offense. I cursed under my breath.
"Hell." I let the ball soar through the air. Someone better catch that shit.
It hit one of the guys in the chest. Not the receiver who was supposed to run the route. Just a lucky bastard who saw where I was headed with the pass.
I threw my helmet to the ground and walked past the coaching staff.
"Wyatt, come on."
I waved them off and headed for the locker rooms.
It didn't matter. There was no excuse for it. None. It was bullshit and they knew it.
This wasn't the summer season anymore. Didn't they see that? Summer was fucking over. In more ways than I could explain to them.
No more late night cruises. No more fishing with Cole. No boats that needed work. No dancing on the docks. No sex on the porch with a fucking sex siren. No. That was all over. It had been.
Fall was here and the sooner we all accepted that, the sooner we could leave the summer behind us.
30
Sierra
It had been a month since I drove off the island. An entire month had passed. I stared at the city below me in disbelief. Drinking coffee in a high-rise building didn't feel the same as it had when I watching the boats from the porch at Aunt Lindy's. I sighed, knowing that below me was chaos. Noise. Frenetic energy.
I didn't know how the eight years I had spent here suddenly seemed like a foreign memory. Something I almost didn't recognize. It was supposed to be the other way around.
I heard my phone vibrating from the kitchen counter. I hopped up to answer it. "Sierra Emory."
"Sierra, get your ass into the station. There were two hit and runs today in the same neighborhood. Dallas PD thinks it might be a serial case," the anxious assignment editor barked on the other end.
I looked down at my running shorts and the tank top that I was wearing.