Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
There was a knock at the door. I jerked in my seat before frantically swiping at my cheeks with the backs of my hands. Of all people, it was Tiller who popped his head in after my father’s shouted “Enter.”
“I wanted to talk to you about my arm,” he said, obviously not noticing me yet. I didn’t turn around. He would notice right away I’d been crying, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him any of what my father had said.
Dad said, “Give me a minute, Raine. Wait outside.”
“Mikey?”
I squeezed my eyes closed and tried not to shed more stupid fucking tears. “Yeah. Hey,” I said, still not turning around.
“What are you doing here?” He walked over and put his big hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. “Uh,” I croaked before clearing my throat.
Dad cut in smoothly. “He came by to tell me about a friend of ours who’s having a health scare. Mikey’s very close to the family. Give us a minute to finish up, Raine.”
Tiller squatted in front of me and reached for my chin to force me to face him. Before he got that far, my dad barked at him. “Raine! Out!”
He left reluctantly, but I knew he’d be waiting for me just outside the door. I tried to pull myself together.
“Go to Galveston,” Dad continued once he was gone. “Get your book done. I’ll sit him this Sunday, but then he’s going to have to focus on the playoffs. After the Super Bowl, we’ll talk. You can’t tell me he’s not worth waiting two months for if you truly have real feelings for him, can you?”
He made it sound so easy, but I knew his words for the tempting lie they were. He wouldn’t feel any differently in February than he did now.
He continued pounding more nails into the coffin. “His contract isn’t worth shit right now as long as he’s carrying that injury, and you know it. If I cut him loose now or trade him, he won’t be in a position to get nearly as much money as before. We’re talking millions of dollars, Mike. Is that what you want?”
He obviously didn’t know Tiller very well if he thought Tiller cared about the money. Hell, the man already had more money than he could ever spend in a lifetime.
But Tiller cared about football. He cared about his stats and his reputation. The man beat himself up to be the best, and being traded away while down with an injury would gut him. He’d feel like he let the team down.
He’d feel like he let his family down.
I steeled myself and met my father’s eyes, mentally begging Tiller’s forgiveness for not protecting his career over my own heart. “I can’t let you manipulate me like this, and I’m disgusted that you’re even trying. It’s clear where your priorities lie. Do what you have to do.”
“Don’t be rash. Take a day to think it through.”
I’d done all the thinking I needed to do, and maybe it was overly sentimental and idealistic of me to think my feelings for Tiller were worth fighting for, but I at least knew I wanted to tackle this problem together. As a team.
I strode out of my father’s office without looking back, and when I found Tiller pacing restlessly in the outer office, I walked right into his arms.
Everything would be okay. It had to be.
21
Tiller
When I was fourteen, I’d snowboarded right into a tree, breaking my leg so badly the bone had pierced through my skin.
Seeing Mikey Vining crying hurt ten times worse.
When the door to Coach’s office opened and a bedraggled Mikey came out sniffing, I thought my heart would fly right out of my chest and land at his feet.
“Are you okay?” Before I could get the words out, he smacked into me, tightening his arms around me and holding on for dear life. “Baby? Is it bad? Is it Mr. Nibert?”
He shook his head against my chest, and I heart a soft sigh from Noreen’s desk. When I glanced at her, she looked away quickly but not before I saw the affectionate look in her eyes. She’d always had a soft spot for Mikey.
I ran a hand through Mikey’s hair before leaning down to press a kiss on his head. The familiar smell of his shampoo reminded me of home and sleeping in his bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He pulled back and wiped at his cheeks. The poor guy looked miserable. “No. Not really. Not right now. But will you be home for dinner?”
“Of course. I saw the ingredients for apricot chicken in the fridge. I’m not missing that for love or money,” I said with a grin, trying to cheer him up.
It didn’t work. He looked even more miserable.
“What did the doctor say?” he asked.