Chapter One
WYATT
DECEMBER
They completely wrecked this airport with construction since the last time I was here. I had to fit my truck in the world’s tightest parking spot, and cram myself between the Mini Cooper next to me to get the flowers, balloons, and teddy bear out of my back seat.
My heart races from both my speed and my excitement as I walk quickly through the airport toward the arrivals area. The airport smells like one-thousand different perfumes mixed with body odor and the scent of fresh-baked dough from the Pink’s Pizza inside of the terminal. I mentally kick myself over my choice of roses on my way to stand near the door where travelers exit. I had red roses in my hands at the store, but put them back because I read online that they represent love and I didn’t want to overstep. So I ended up with yellow, which are supposed to mean friendship.
Finally, I’m in the right place. I rock foot to foot while Iwait. The smell of the roses hits my nose and distracts me for one second. Just enough time that when I look up—she’s there.
“Nash,” I wave. I jog toward her to help with her bags and deliver my gifts. I can’t help but devour my first glimpse of her in nearly six months. Blonde hair shining, green eyes like sea glass, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered.
Her face lights up when she sees me. “Wyatt!” Her eyes appraise the flowers in my hands, then immediately jump to my chest where my heart beats furiously. “Where did you get that?” She’s surprised, but laughing, as I spin for her, showingGreenprinted across the back under the number ten. “I bought one the first day they were available.”
“Idon’t even have one yet,” she cries as she reaches out to touch the pink jersey. She runs her fingers reverently over the chest where there’s a crescent moon, and my heart kicks one big beat under her touch.
I hand her the flowers, then the teddy bear, and finally, the balloons. Her arms are loaded down with my gifts and the half-drunk bottle of water she brought from the plane. “This is all for me?” she asks.
I look around, playfully trying to find someone else they could be for. “I think so, yes,” I laugh.
“Thank you,” she says, but her eyes are on the roses.
“No problem. How was your flight?”
She shrugs. “You know how it is.” I do. I travel a lot for football, but usually we are on a private plane, or at the very least, in first class. I don’t know if I could do economy for a long-haul flight like she just did. There’s never enough leg room when you tower over people like we do.
I guess being crammed into a tin can, hurtling through the atmosphere at five-hundred miles an hour never really improves with time or experience. But flying private certainlylessens the pain. “We’d better get going. It was a nightmare getting in here; I’m sure it will be a nightmare getting out.” I take her checked bag and her big carry-on tote, and together we head toward the parking garage.
My truck waits for us just as stuck as I left it. Could I have gone through the regular pickup line? Sure. But Nash isback. She deserves to be met at the baggage claim.
“Let me pull it out, so you can get your stuff in.” I turn sideways to get in the driver’s seat sucking the hell in out of my gut. I slide into the driver’s seat, turn on the engine, and back out just enough that Nash can get in more easily.
When I get out, Nash admonishes me, “You’re blocking the whole lane!”
“We’ll be quick,” I wave her off, then toss her luggage into the bed of my truck. I help her shove the balloons and flowers in the back seat. Looking at all the welcome home paraphernalia strewn across the bench, I realize I may have gone overboard, but I’m just so excited for her to be home.
Once we’re on the road, an amicable silence falls over us. I can’t count how many times we’ve done this same airport pickup routine. I’m sure it has taken a toll on Nash. Living so far away from home, from family. Being in different time zones, a ten-hour flight anytime she wants to come back. Looking at her now, blonde hair messy from the plane, no makeup, stolen Houston Hurricanes sweatshirt, you can’t see the dedication she has to volleyball. You see a woman with green eyes and a bright smile. One who is unfazed by having missed so much at home while she was in Rome. But I know better.
“Are you happy to be back?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road. If I look at her too long, I might forget I’m driving. My mind is so desperate to soak her in, to make it click that this isshe’s really back. My brain’s trying to catch up to what my eyes keep confirming is real. She’s here. Close enough that the smell of her shampoo cuts through the stale truck air.
She nods slowly, watching the city roll past the window. “It’s bittersweet,” she says after a beat. “I built a life there.” Her voice drifts as she talks about the league overseas, the friends she made, the kind of competition you can’t find anywhere else. I let her words fill the space between us.
When she finally goes quiet, I risk a glance. Her profile’s lit by the late afternoon sunshine, calm and familiar in a way that hits somewhere deep.
“I’m just glad you came back,” I say.
She doesn’t answer right away, just gives a small smile. The kind that says everything I need to hear.
And for the first time in months, I feel truly happy.
Chapter Two
NASH
“Welcome to your new home sweet home.” Wyatt spreads his arms out wide. “Your room is all ready for you.”
I want to barrel my way into those arms and have him tell me everything will be all right, but I keep my feet firmly in place.