“I’ve never been this resentful about away games,” I mutter to Dax while we board the plane that will fly us home from Seattle.

He gives me a knowing look as he slides into the window seat and I take the aisle. “Because you’ve never been in love before.”

I toss him a sharp look. “I was engaged to Lindsay.”

We fasten our seat belts and stow our carry-on bags beneath the seat, and he leans in and lowers his voice. “Compare it. You thought you were in love with Lindsay back then, sure. But did you feel all this”—he waves a hand at me—“when you were with her?”

Dammit. He’s right. It’s not the same. Sure, I’d had feelings for Lindsay, but looking back, the depth of them pale compared to how I feel about Ivy.

“Shit.” I blow out a long breath.

Dax nudges my shoulder. “It’s not like you went into that thing with Lindsay knowing she wasn’t the one.” He shrugs. “But I have to say, things worked out for the best. Even if they were pretty shitty.”

“You think?” I say drily.

With a shake of his head, he mutters as he looks out the small window, “She wasn’t good enough for you.”

I try to get comfortable in the seat and stare down at the cell phone in my grip. “What do you think of Ivy?”

He swivels his head against the headrest to peer at me. “You asking if I can see her pulling another Lindsay on you? Or are you just asking me what I think of her in general?”

A long, slow exhale escapes my lips. “Both.”

His lips part before he snaps them shut, as if trying to choose his words carefully. “I can’t see her doing a stunt like Lindsay. Not at all.” He raises his eyebrows a fraction and twists his lips thoughtfully. “I think she’s amazing. Anyone who’s an entrepreneur at a young age, and successful at that, gets points in my book.” He hesitates, and I instantly tense, waiting for him to continue. His eyes meet mine, and they appear almost troubled. “But I get the feeling something’s holding her back.”

I scrub a hand down my face and along my jawline against the bit of scruff that’s grown. “She had a rough childhood from what I understand.” I stare unseeing at the seat in front of me. “Doesn’t talk about it.”

“Just worry about you, man.” He injects a lighter tone in his voice. “Don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath.

“Speaking of hurt…” Dax glances around, likely noting our seatmates are either already dozing or have on headphones or earbuds in, before he whispers, “How’s the shoulder?”

I wince and whisper back, not wanting to be overheard. “It’s okay, but honestly…” I shake my head and look at my friend. “I really think this is the end of the road for me.”

His features drop, but there’s also understanding there. We all go into this knowing we’re putting our bodies through the toughest test. We take a beating out there on the field, and the smart guys plan for a future that doesn’t include football.

“Can you make it through the end of the year at least?” he asks.

I nod. “As long as I don’t take a bad hit, I think I’ll be good.”

He raises his eyebrows pointedly. “No BS?”

“No BS,” I assure him. “It’s not debilitating pain at this point, but I know my body is telling me I can go out on a high note…soon. But if I prolong it…” I finish with a shrug because we both know what I’m not saying.

The last thing I want is to be forced to finish my NFL career and let down my team. I know my body and its signs, the indications it gives me, by now. I’ve got enough left to help carry my team through the next few months and, God willing, to the Super Bowl.

We both relax and prepare for the plane to begin taxiing the runway.

“You know one major difference I’ve noticed about Ivy?” he asks.

I turn to him in question, and he says, “When she looks at you, it’s clear she sees you and not the NFL player. Unlike Lindsay.”

The vibration of my cell phone startles me. The caller ID flashes with the name of my manager—who’s basically my assistant extraordinaire, as well.

“Hey, Chris.” Dax and I exchange a look since Chris rarely calls me. He’s got to be the most organized and thorough manager I’ve ever had, which is why I pay him well. He keeps me on schedule, makes sure there are never conflicts, and helps with Daisy while I’m away.

More recently, he’s helped control the media’s interest in Ivy much like he did back when Blue moved here and served as a “plus one” to my public appearances.

My manager’s next words send panic shooting through my body.

“It’s Daisy. I’m at the vet now.”

He goes on to explain how he took her to the dog park the other day and now she’s come down with what they’ve diagnosed as kennel cough. “They’re giving her some medication to prevent it from turning into pneumonia.”

I cover my eyes with my hand. “Thanks, Chris. I should be home”—I glance at the time on my phone—“not long after midnight.”

“No problem. She’s doing well now, but I wanted to let you know as soon as I had a handle on things and knew I could get a hold of you.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” And I mean it.

“She’s in good hands. I’ll call with any updates.”

I thank Chris again before we end the call. I lean my head back on the seat and let my eyes fall closed.

“She okay?”

“Yeah,” I say in an exhale. “They’re treating her for kennel cough, but he says she’s doing better.”

“That’s a relief.”

We both fall silent, and Dax closes his eyes, understanding my need to digest everything that’s transpired.

So many things flit through my mind. Retirement will not only allow me to spend more time with Daisy and be there for her but also with Violet and Emilia. Eventually, Blue’s little one.

And Ivy, too, I hope.

I’ll finally be able to utilize my degree in civil engineering, and I’ve already explored a few avenues. The University of North Florida in Jacksonville is expanding exponentially, and the work I’ve contributed to my alma mater, the University of Florida, for their campus expansion certainly couldn’t hurt in getting my foot in the door.

I just wish I had better insight into what Ivy’s plans are. She’s come so far from the skittish, I’m only in it for sex standpoint. Her toiletries have their own designated drawer in my master bath. A section of my dresser now includes some of her clothes. I’ve even made room in my garage for her to park either her car or motorcycle, and she has a copy of my house key.

Basically, I’ve eased her into pseudo moving in with me. She spends the bulk of her nights at my house, bringing her laptop and case files with her when she’s working overtime to ensure a new client’s “ditched” process goes off without a hitch. We make dinner and talk about how we tried to use the Word of the Day at some point and if we succeeded or failed miserably. Then, I watch SportsCenter while she catches up on emails and whatever else before we head to bed.

On the nights we make love—which are the majority of them, thank God—after cleaning up and climbing back in bed, she’ll kiss me good night and fall asleep beside me with one hand outstretched to settle on my chest. What she may not realize is, as soon as she falls asleep, she shifts, scooting closer until her arm wraps tightly around my chest and one slim leg is tossed over mine.

Ivy snuggles me in her sleep. And it’s fucking glorious because, while she may not want to recognize it yet, subconsciously, she trusts me enough, cares for me enough to do that.

I can see us together for the long haul, can see us down the road, going for walks with Daisy, showing her whatever project I’m working on, having her by my side every year at the Mayo Clinic’s gala, and falling asleep beside her every night. Will I miss the game? Of course. But the prospect of having a normal schedule and life with Ivy trumps that.

Now I’ve got to see if she wants the same.

* * *

I make it home just short of a quarter after midnight. I may have gone a shade faster than the speed limit, but it’s worth it because I need to see my girl and make sure she’s okay with my own eyes.

As quietly as possible, I step through the door and close it behind me. I set my bags down by the stairs and kick off my shoes on the mat. Hanging my keys on the hook by the door, I pad down the hall toward the living room, zeroing in on the sight of Daisy lying curled up in her doggy bed. From the corner of my eye, I see Chris asleep in the reclining part of the couch. Daisy opens her eyes groggily when I crouch down to pet her gently.

“Hey, girl. How are you feeling?” I whisper softly.

She curls deeper in her bed, seeming content with me petting her. When she gives a terrible sounding cough, I tense worriedly, but she simply closes her eyes and dozes, and her doggy snores become the main sound in the quiet room. I straighten and move to tell Chris he’s free to head home but stop short at the sight of the person who’s asleep on the other end of the couch, curled beneath a thick blanket, her hair fanning out against the leather.

Ivy.

I don’t realize I’ve whispered her name aloud until her eyes flutter open, exhaustion etching her features.

“Becket,” she breathes, and the smile that forms on her face literally robs my lungs of air.

I draw to a stop at the edge of the couch and hold out a hand to help her up. “How long have you been here?”

She glances over at Daisy. “As soon as I came over and realized she was gone, I called Chris. That’s when he told me she was sick.” Her features wrinkle into an expression of remorse. “I’m sorry I didn’t come over sooner. I was bombarded with work and—”

I stop her words with a gentle kiss. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just feel bad.”

“Chris said she’d be fine.” I tug her close, wrap her in my arms, and bury my face in her silky hair. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Same.”

“If it’s okay, I’ll head out.” Chris’s hushed voice interrupts gently, and he sits up, lowering the foot of the recliner back into position. By far, he’s one hell of a dedicated manager, always going the extra mile. This is yet another example of that.

“Of course. Thanks for everything.”

He nods with a smile. “Call me if there’s anything else you need.” He gestures to the papers sitting on the kitchen island. “That’s the printout from her visit to the vet, and the meds are there with instructions.”

We say goodbye, and Chris exits quietly, leaving us ensconced in silence.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower and get some rest.” I press a kiss to her forehead and back away and head toward a sleeping Daisy.

“What are you doing?” Ivy asks as I crouch down and carefully scoop the pup into my arms.

I murmur quietly to Daisy, “Easy, girl. I’ve got you.” I cradle her against me much like I would Emilia, and she nuzzles me without making a peep.

When I turn and meet Ivy’s eyes, they’re widened, appearing almost startled. “I don’t want to leave her down here without me. Plus”—I step past her to make my way toward the stairs—“she has her bed up there, too.”

Without a word, Ivy follows me up the stairs, and I settle Daisy back in her bed. With a soothing stroke of her back, she emits a cough that sounds like she’s choking before she settles back down. I let out a sigh of relief when her breathing evens out again and remain rooted to the spot, staring down at her.

Ivy’s arms snake around my waist from behind. I place my hands over hers and close my eyes, taking comfort in her touch.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Her hushed words wash over me, easing some of the tension in my muscles, and I realize how anxious I’d been to get here and ensure Daisy was okay.

She leads me into the en suite bathroom, flips on the lights and fan, and turns on the water in the walk-in shower. While I rid myself of my clothes, she adjusts the water temperature before turning to face me. Her eyes study me. “All set.”

I step closer, cupping her face in my hands, and dip my head to graze my lips across hers. “Will you shower with me?”

She leans back, her gaze searching. “Are you sure you don’t want to be alone?” There’s no hint of reproach in her tone; simply understanding. “I know sometimes when you have a lot on your mind you like to be alone and mull it over.”

I freeze, and every fiber of my being draws to a screeching halt at her words, at her observation. It’s true, but that’s not what gives me pause. It’s the fact we’ve known one another for about five months now, and she’s recognized this, whereas Lindsay and I dated for two years, and she never once picked up on this nuance.

I reach for the zipper of her hooded sweatshirt and tug it down slowly while holding her gaze. “I need you.” I swallow hard. “Please.”

God, Ivy, I think to myself. If only you knew how much I need you, how much I ache for you.

It eats away at me, not being able to tell her how I feel. I want to express my feelings outright, but I don’t want to scare her off. We’ve come so far, and I don’t want to undo that progress.

Emotion flickers within the depths of her blue eyes, and she quickly disrobes and steps back into the shower. I follow, and soon, we’re surrounded by the textured stone walls and the multiple showerheads spraying warm water against our bodies. Ivy grabs the body wash and begins lathering it over my skin. As weary as I am from the game, the travel, and the worry over Daisy, it all slides off me much like the way the water rinses the soap from me, disappearing down the drain.

I wash her hair and body, giving her the same thorough care she did me. When I glide my palms over her breasts, purposely running my thumbs over her nipples, she lets out a faint gasp. She tilts her head back, and her long, dark hair adheres to her back and shoulders. Droplets of water cling to her eyelashes and her fresh-faced skin. The way she arches into my touch, I’m convinced I haven’t seen a more beautiful sight.

She opens her eyes and meets my gaze. “You take my breath away,” I say softly and run my index finger along her cheekbone and trace the line of her jaw.

When her lips curve, just so, into a private smile for only me, is when I know I was wrong a moment ago. This—this right here—is the most beautiful sight I’ve witnessed.

Though she might not be ready to voice it or admit it, it’s written on her face.

Ivy Hayes loves me.