Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
I’ve known the woman for a week, and unintentionally, I’m collecting pieces of her life.
Not that I mind.
“How’s retirement treating you?” I ask as we reach the top of the hill. “You look pretty relaxed.”
Gray takes a long, deep breath and blows it out steadily. “It’s fucking great, to be honest.”
“I bet it is.”
“I knew I needed to walk away,” he says. “It was time. But this little voice in the back of my head kept asking, what if I’m making a mistake?”
“That’s normal, I’d think.”
“Probably. But every morning I wake up here with Astrid beside me and … I’m free, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have it all figured out. I’m gonna help Hartley around here and do some ranch shit, but I’ll have to figure out something else to occupy my time.”
I chuckle, stretching my arms over my head. I’m not even retired, but I understand what he means. This ranch and the clean air and nature surrounding us make me feel free, too.
“But, yeah, this is it,” Gray says. “This is the life. I’ve never been surer of anything.”
My chest aches as his words sink into my bones. I know what I’m walking away from after next season, but I just haven’t figured out what I’m walking toward.
I’ve toyed with the idea of retiring for the past three years, keeping my eye on the upcoming season when my contract expires. Rugby has taken a hell of a toll on my body, and I’ve absorbed enough damage to be concerned. My mom has practically begged me to stop playing. And if I’m being honest, I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish in the beginning.
I had fun, made a shit ton of money, and won a few championships.
But that was all before I had Gus. Back when retiring felt like a ticket to a beach somewhere and a life spent blowing the money I’ve made over my career—probably in a semi-hedonistic fashion.
That’s not what it looks like anymore.
The choices I make matter. Where I live is a significant decision. I don’t want to live in Nevada. I hate the desert. But Gus lives there with his mom, and they’re happy, so the most logical solution is to move closer to them whether I want to or not. Because as much as I hate geckos and cacti, I want to be an everyday dad. I want to experience Friday football games at the high school and lazy Saturday mornings. Sunday dinners. Throwing a ball around in the yard. Taco Tuesdays. I want to be there for his first date, the first time he falls in love, and the first time his heart gets broken.
I just hope I haven’t missed too much of his life to fit into his world like that. I hope it’s not too late for us to fashion that kind of a relationship, one that survives more than a couple of months together, max. And I really hope that I don’t insert myself into their lives and fuck it up.
You don’t change things that work. That’s Game Planning 101.
“How are you liking Sugar Creek?” Gray asks.
“It’s unlike anywhere I’ve ever lived.” I chuckle softly. “But I like it. Gus seems to be having a good time, too, so that helps.”
“It’s a great place to grow up. I mean, I know he’s not growing up here, but it’s a good place to spend a summer when you’re that age.”
“I can see that,” I say. “This is what I wanted for us. Just a moment in time when we can forge a bond—just the two of us. Last summer felt so rushed and unsettled, and I just wanted us to have a home base this time.” I gaze across the fields. “You know, I’ve lived in Tennessee for a few years now, and this is my home. I really love it here, and I guess I wanted Gus to get a taste of this life, too.”
Gray nods as we turn up a driveway toward his cabin. “I get that. Once you fall in love with a place, it’s hard to get it out of your blood.” He peers at me out of the corner of his eye. “Where are you thinking about landing once you retire?”
I blow out a breath. “Fuck if I know.”
We make our way to the cabin, and the only sound is the crunching of our shoes against the rocks. Wind sweeps across the fields, carrying a lonely sort of whistle with it. But the home in front of us—small, with a chimney, porch swing, and another goose beside the door—is warm. Welcoming. Like something you’d love coming home to.
I can imagine living in a place like this with Gus. His bike on the front porch and a rugby ball on the swing. The idea causes a wave of warmth to swell in my chest, and I shove it back down because I’m not sure what to do with it.