It’s noon on Christmas Eve, and I’m sitting in my home with my car keys in my hand, dreading going to my grandparents’ house. Christmas is always the hardest season of the year for me anyway—it was my mom’s favorite holiday. Every year I just hang in there and wait for it to pass. But this year is even more painful.

I’ve lost everything. Everyone.

Grandma, of course, doesn’t care about my internal misery and wouldn’t take any excuses for me not to come over today. She gives solid guilt trips. I couldn’t find a way to back out of it without causing more issues. I think I’ve already caused enough.

The days since I quit The Baldwin Corporation have passed in a daze. I spend most of my time doing whatever I can to numb myself. Alcohol, sleep, even some gambling in Atlantic City.

But in the end, blowing a few thousand dollars and waking up with a headache that could kill an elephant wasn’t doing anything for me.

Clearly those coping strategies aren’t working.

I don my winter coat and head down the elevator, to the garage. Thankfully the press can’t get in here, since the place has closed access only for residents and approved guests. So I’m able to slip into my ride and head out.

The drive is calming, just the feel of the road beneath me. The city shrinks in my rearview mirror until it’s gone, and it’s just me. I have to pull out of this. I can’t keep on this self-destructive path. But how the fuck can I ever turn things around? I lost my company. I lost my reputation. I lost everything that made me who I was. All because I became weak for a woman.

Not just any woman, my heart whispers.

I grudgingly cede the point, but it doesn’t matter. I gave her up, and it’s for the best. We were never gonna work anyway. She needed someone who hadn’t blown up their entire life.

And I was never gonna be right for her. Good for her.

The thought sours my mood, and I crank on the radio for distraction. It’s on a sports radio station, which I’ve been avoiding for obvious reasons. I move to turn it off then decide to leave it on. Because some part of me wants to hear what is happening. If people have stopped giving a shit about me and have moved on.

There’s the usual speculation about player health, upcoming drafts, promising college students. Then it cuts over to a talk show hostess, who is discussing prominent female athletes. I find myself paying attention out of habit. Running through scenarios in my mind about the people being featured.

I’m drifting off in my own world when the station turns to taking callers. More back-and-forth banter. God, I find myself missing that thrill of excitement when I heard about someone new with potential.

“—Andrea Bradshaw,” I hear a female caller saying, and suddenly my attention is snagged to the radio. My stomach wrenches. “I loved her interview and was wondering if you were planning on having her back on the show?”

The deejay says, “Yes, Andrea is going to be joining us tomorrow morning with her analysis of the Christmas Day football game. We’re also going to have her on for upcoming draft discussions. And our next caller, please?”

My heart is thudding so hard I can almost hear it. Andrea is working on radio now? I’m filled with a strange sort of joy to get news on her, even as there’s a stab in my gut when I realize she’s moved on without me. Is she still at the company?

I don’t have a right to know. But I want to.

Hearing about her has brought her right to the forefront of my mind. The rest of the drive I spend distracted, drowning in memories. Haunted by her scent, her touch, her taste. Her flashing eyes and bold smile.

The rip in my heart grows wider, and there’s no way for me to heal it. I abused her trust, twice. She’s better off with me leaving her alone. Even though the realization that I’ll never see her again brings a special sort of pain.

Fuck. I slam my palm against the steering wheel. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m a miserable, sad sack. I can’t bring this shit with me to my grandparents’ house. They didn’t do anything to deserve that. I need to let it go.

I get to their driveway, pull in. Kill the engine. Grab their presents and the wine I brought for dinner and knock on the door.

“You know you can just come in, right?” Grandma says when she opens the door. Her gray eyebrow is raised. “We go through this all the time.”

“It’s your house,” I tell her as I brush a kiss on her cheek and enter.

“Yeah. Okay.” A flash of emotion crosses her eyes, and she looks away. Walks into the back room. I put the presents under the brightly lit and decorated Christmas tree in front of the picture window.

Grandpa comes down the stairs and hugs me. “Hey, good to see you.” He pats me on the back then looks around. “Where’s your grandma?”

“She went in the back,” I said. “Seemed off. She okay?” I carry the wine bottles into the kitchen.

Grandpa sighs, and in this moment I realize how much older he seems. He’s not looking right either. Like there’s a deep sadness in his eyes. Did something happen? Or has it been there for a while and I just haven’t seen it? “She’s…we’re having a rough one. Up in the attic earlier while looking for a certain cookbook her mother gave her, she found an old clipping of your mom’s…” He drawls off. “A clipping about her murder.”

“Oh.” I lean back against the counter. Peer toward the direction of the dining room, where my mom’s face shines at me from a picture on the wall. “Why would she keep that?”

“I think she was still holding out hope then that they’d find the killer.” Grandpa rubbed the top of his balding pate. “Then she couldn’t deal with it anymore and hid all those things away. She was obsessed when you were little, trying to solve it. Relentlessly on the police to do more.”

“I had no idea.” I didn’t remember her doing any of that. Then again, I stayed locked in my new room for ages when I first moved in. I didn’t interact with anyone.

“Not to mention she’s been worried about you.” Grandpa frowns. “You’re just like your mom, you know. She was stubborn and dealt with problems alone. Never turned to us the way we wanted her to. Like when she got pregnant with you…” He grabs a bottle opener and pops the wine cork out, then pours us each a glass. “We begged her to move in home and let us help. She refused. It hurt your grandma to never feel like she was wanted.” He gives me a pointed look. “She felt the same about you too.”

My face burns, and I turn my gaze to my wine glass. Force myself to take a sip, though my mouth is dry and it doesn’t taste good to me right now. “All I ever did was let you guys down. Time and time again.”

Grandpa reaches over and grabs my upper arm. His eyes are serious. “Enough of that talk. It’s just not true. You acted out, and we didn’t know how to handle you. But we still love and support you. We just wish we could help you and feel more like a part of your life. It might make the pain of missing your mom a little easier, if we could do something for her son.”

I just stare at him, letting the words roll around in my head. I never thought about those things from their perspective. Just dwelled on my own misery. My own pain. To feel powerless, helpless…I can see how me turning them away and avoiding them caused them to feel unwanted.

Shame washes over me, hot and hard, and my skin burns all over. Fuck. “I really messed up with you guys, didn’t I.” My words come out little more than a whisper.

“No, you didn’t. You’re here.” He lets my arm go. “Today matters. Even if we can’t fix yesterday. You’re here right now.”

He’s right.

There are things in my life I can’t fix. Losing my company. Ruining my reputation. But for far too long, those are the only things I focused on. The only things that mattered to me. Meanwhile, my grandparents just wanted to be a part of my life, and I kept them at arm’s length. Same as I did to Andrea.

I put my wine glass down on the counter. “Grandpa, I fucked up with a woman I fell in love with, and I think I need help. I don’t know how to win her back.” I haven’t asked him for advice since I lived here. I haven’t tried to be close to them at all. But somehow, I feel like I’m being given a second chance with them. They should see that I need them around. Because they’re my family, and they love me, and we can find a way to make a relationship work.

He tilts his head and nods. “Better get your grandma in here for this. She’s better at advice than I am. And let’s pour her a glass of wine. She says it helps her think.”

* * *

When I wake up on Christmas morning, stretching across my king-size bed to shut off the alarm, I find a text from my grandma on my phone.

You can do this. Let us know what happens. Love you.

My heart gives a funny skip. I never had that kind of relationship with them, where we engaged in talk that way. But talking to them yesterday afternoon forged a new, unexpected connection.

Turns out, Grandpa was right. Grandma is incredibly insightful about relationships and gave me a lot of perspective about women that I never considered before. I was blunt and honest, told them everything that happened. To their credit, they didn’t shame me for my behavior.

Instead, they reminded me that today, that every day, I could wake up and be the person I wanted to be. That I don’t have to be shackled to the past. I can let the old Ryker Baldwin go and become a new man. It was the most we’d talked ever.

I admit, I drove away from there feeling a bit skeptical about their thoughts on reinventing myself. How could I do that when the public believes the worst about me now? Who’s going to take a chance on someone like me—especially Andrea?

I told them my tentative plan to see her today. Grandma approved, but recommended I try not to force her. Honesty and vulnerability, she said, are key. And apologizing my ass off. Quote unquote. I admit, I snorted hard—I’ve never heard her say a swear word before.

Even Grandpa laughed, though he teased her about cussing the day before the Lord’s birthday. I pointed out that the word “ass” is in the Bible, and he mock scolded me, but Grandma gave me a wink for coming to her defense.

I text her back and thanked her, then went about getting ready. My whole body is tense, on edge. Anticipation. I’m afraid—legit afraid. That I’ll bare my heart to her and she’ll reject me. Even as I tell myself I don’t have a right to be afraid of that, I remember Grandma telling me that feelings aren’t right or wrong. They just are.

I still have so much to learn about emotion.

When it’s finally time to leave, I’m too nervous to drive, so I have the limo driver take me to the radio station where Andrea is going to be featured as a guest in the studio. I’m not sure I’ve ever sweated this much in my entire life. Even when I was playing the seventh game of the World Series. Somehow, those stakes didn’t feel as high as they do right now.

“I’ve got this,” I chant to myself.

My plan is pretty sparse, admittedly. To get her out of the deejay booth and convince her to talk to me. Apologize and plead for another chance. The fact that I’m publicly disgraced right now will actually work to my advantage—I don’t think the radio personas will hesitate to let me in once I promise them an exclusive interview.

I found Andrea’s interview on YouTube last night, the one hinted at on the radio yesterday. I listened to it twice. Relished the sweet sound of her voice, the strength emanating from her as she explained what happened.

That she had feelings for me, even as she fought against the feeling, and how I defended her when another man tried to dishonor her. That she was passionate about her work and she hopes someday to get back into a sports agency. But for now, she’s going to spend her time focusing on getting herself in a better place. Finding a solid job. And exploring her proud new home, New York City.

She had feelings for me, I know. Does she still?

My mouth is dry as fuck, and my tongue is a clay slab as I exit the limo and enter the radio station. I walk up to the receptionist, a pretty blonde in her twenties.

Game time.

“Hi,” I say in my most charming voice. I lean forward and rest my forearm on the countertop. I spin my yarn for her, telling her who I am and what I hope to achieve.

By the time I’m done, she’s clutching her chest and gazing at me. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” Tears glisten in her eyes, and she whips out a tissue and dabs the corners. “And on Christmas, nonetheless. But I’m not really supposed to let people back here who aren’t expected.”

“I hope she agrees,” I say wryly. I straighten. “Can you go get Nancy Spiro out here so I can talk to her? If you’ll do that, I’ll be eternally grateful. I’ll plead my case to her.”

She sighs. “She’s on the air…” Her lips thin. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll send her a note and tell her you’re out here. I can’t make any guarantees though.”

I smile. “That’s all I ask.” Then I step back and sit on a reception room chair.

Minutes tick by. My anxiety grows second by second. Maybe no one gives a shit about me and my story anymore. Maybe Andrea heard I was here and said she doesn’t want to see me. Maybe—

The side door opens. “Mr. Baldwin,” a woman says, coming out with a smile. She extends her hand. “I’m Nancy. Sorry, we had to finish the halftime segment.” She takes a seat beside me. “I understand you’re willing to grant me a personal interview if I bring you back to talk to Andrea?”

“I know it’s a long shot, but I couldn’t wait,” I explain.

She scrutinizes me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. This woman is sharp. She’s eyeing me up to see if I’m worthy. No doubt her opinion of me shrunk even more after Andrea’s interview. The man who abandoned the woman he loves. Shitty story. “I’ll do it. If Andrea is amenable to it. I’m not going to force her. But I’ll ask her. Regardless, I want the interview with you. Deal?”

This woman plays hard ball. I like it. I give her a nod of respect. “Deal.”

She stands. “Then follow me.”

I’m led back through the station toward her deejay booth. And there she is, the woman who destroyed me so thoroughly that I’ll never be the same. Andrea is sitting in a chair at the booth, headphones on, smiling and talking with a caller. Her buttery-smooth voice comes out through a speaker as she discusses stats.

I know in this moment that I’ll do anything for her. Any fucking thing she wants. I miss her beyond reason. And seeing her makes me feel like this is the first time in weeks I’ve drawn a real breath.

“Stay here,” Nancy says. She disappears into the booth, and my heart stops beating as I wait. Like my entire life isn’t on the line.

The feed changes to a commercial. I see the two women talk, though I can’t hear what they’re saying, and Andrea freezes. Looks through the glass, our eyes connecting. Hers are filled with confusion, tinged with anger.

I don’t break eye contact. We remain like this for a few moments, then she looks away and talks more to Nancy, who gives a slow nod.

Nancy comes to the door, while Andrea resumes her seat.

My stomach sinks all the way to the floor.

The woman gives me a quick smile but shakes her head. “She doesn’t want to come out here, sorry. I tried.”

I’m not walking away. Not when I already did. So I stride past Nancy and open the booth door.

“Hey,” Nancy starts, but I ignore her and step right in front of Andrea, who shoots out of her seat, her mouth dropped.

“Wh—why are you here?” Andrea stutters. Her cheeks burn red, and she steps away from me as far as she can get. Admittedly, the gesture stings. But I try to respect her feelings and need for control in a situation where she feels powerless.

“I know you didn’t want to hear me,” I tell her. “I don’t blame you. I fucked up royally, and I don’t deserve your time. But I hope you’ll listen to me, because I have some explaining to do.”

“Commercial break is ending in thirty seconds,” Nancy says as she slaps on her headphones.

Andrea stares hard at me. “Okay. You wanna talk? Do it on the air. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say to all of the listeners.”

Fuck. This woman challenges me beyond anything I’ve ever dealt with. I know she’s calling my bluff, putting forth a counteroffer she’s sure I’ll reject. And why shouldn’t she assume so? I’ve spent weeks avoiding the public.

Despite the ricochet of my heart in my chest, I nod. “Fine.” I grab a pair of headphones and put them on, then settle in a seat.

I can hear Andrea gasp even through the headphones. “Wait, what? We’re going to do this on the air?” She shakes her head. “I… What?”

“And this is Nancy Spiro, welcoming you back.” The woman’s smooth voice fills my ears and she nods at me in question. I nod back. “I’m pleased to announce we have a special guest who just dropped by unexpectedly. Listeners, we’ll return to your guest calls in a few moments. But right now, I want to welcome…Ryker Baldwin to the show. As most of you may know, Ryker is a former New York legendary pitcher who opened his own sports agency after being forced to retire young because of an injury.” She pauses. “Ryker is our other guest Andrea Bradshaw’s former employer. Right after this brief message from our station, we’ll talk with Ryker. Stay tuned.” She pushes a few buttons then looks at both of us expectantly. She’s buying us a minute or two to sort this out.

Andrea is still standing, staring in shock. I can see her warring with indecision. She wants to run.

I start to reach toward her, but pull back. Grandma warned me to give her a little space and wait to see her warm up before I touch her. “I’m willing to share it all with the listeners if it’ll convince you I’m serious. Unless you’re too afraid to talk to me.” I can’t help but prod her a bit. Poke the bear to get a reaction.

It works. Her eyes flare, and she grabs the headphones. “I’m not afraid. Say what you need to, and then leave.” Andrea takes a seat in the chair opposite me.

Nancy says, “Okay, you two sure?”

We both nod.

“And we’re back,” Nancy says with a smile on her face. “Thank you for tuning in. For those of you just joining us, we have Ryker Baldwin and Andrea Bradshaw in studio. Both are former sports agents at The Baldwin Corporation, and briefly represented Cade Thompson. Ryker wishes to speak to our listener audience. Go ahead, Ryker. And welcome to the show.”

“Thank you for having me,” I say roughly. Fuck. I sound weak, not confident. Come on, you can do this, I rally myself. “Until now, I’ve not come forth and spoken about the incident that occurred with Cade. Nor about how Andrea became unfairly entangled in this mess.” I look at her, unable to read the expression on her face. She’s shuttered to me.

“Andrea,” I continue. “I can offer you a thousand apologies for how I left you to deal with the fallout of the Thompson situation. But the truth is, we both know that words won’t help anything in this situation.”

She clenches her jaw but stares at me. Unmoving.

“I want to go on the record personally and say that attacking Cade in the gym was unacceptable. However…” I swallow. “I fell in love with Andrea, and when I heard he came to her apartment and threatened to leave the agency if she didn’t submit to his sexual needs, I became enraged.”

Upon hearing my feelings for her, Andrea sucks in a shaky breath. “Wait, what did you say?” I can see the fear in her eyes. Fear of being hurt by me. But I also see a tiny spark of hope, of need.

I finally reach over and let myself touch her hand. She doesn’t move away, though she doesn’t squeeze it back. “I’m madly, wildly in love with you, Andrea. You’re the most beautiful and hotheaded and stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and every day I’ve spent without you has been miserable.” The words are spilling out now, and I can’t stop it. I don’t even care if this is being heard all throughout the metro area. I care if she’s hearing it. How she feels. “I miss you. I want us to try again. I want to be able to prove to you every day that I love you and I’ll never abandon you like that, ever.”

Nancy sucks in a shaky breath, clearly moved by my words.

And let’s face it. She knows this is great radio, and incredible for her ratings.

But I don’t give a shit about any of that. All I care about is Andrea.

Andrea rolls her lips between her teeth. “I…” She looks away. “I can’t believe you’re saying all this on the air.”

“Me either,” I admit baldly. “It’s insane. But then again, so are my feelings for you.” I drop to my knees in front of her and grip her hands. Peer up into her eyes. Because now is the time for me to put it all on the line. “I know you’re afraid that if things get difficult, I’ll bail again. But I’ve had a long history of avoiding my feelings, since…” I flush.

“Since your mom,” she whispers.

I nod. “Before I met you, I thought I was living my best life. But I wasn’t living at all. I was existing. You woke me up, and I ran. Because I was your boss and I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Because ultimately, you have the power to break my heart if you choose to.” I suck in a breath.

She starts to cry, her hands shaking.

I remove one hand and dig into my coat pocket. Pull out the ring box. Andrea gasps in shock, as does Nancy, who says, “Oh my God, he’s got a ring.”

“Ryker?” Andrea says, a question in her eyes.

“I’m in love with you. I lost my company, and I lost my reputation, but the thing that crushed me was realizing nothing mattered without you by my side.” I flick the box open. “Be my wife. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life proving to you how precious and loved you are.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. I can’t hear above the roar in my ears.

Then Andrea nods, and I pull her out of her seat, rip the headphones off of us, and kiss her until our air is mingled and I feel safe and whole again. We cling to each other, desperate, frantic, the weeks of absence fading away into the distance.

I rain kisses all over her face, whisper in her ear as I slip the massive engagement ring on her finger. “I’m in love with you. I heard your interview, and I’m so fucking proud of your courage. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Andrea breaks into a sob and claps a hand over her mouth, staring at me. Her eyes are red-lined and tears stream down. I squeeze her tight, kiss her brow, the top of her head. This is right. This is where I belong. Holding my baby. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I want to be right by her side as we pave our own future together.

Nancy peels off her headphones and shakes her head at us, wiping away her tears. “You guys, that’s the most fucking amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” She gives a wry chuckle. “Not to mention you’ve pretty much just vaulted me into a promotion.”

I laugh, and Andrea does too.

“Did you really promise her an interview just to talk to me?” Andrea asks me. She bites her lower lip.

“I did.” I stroke her face, relishing the feel of her soft skin. I can’t wait to take my fiancée to bed. To make love to her until we’re both spent and sore.

I can feel my phone vibrating in my pants pocket. I imagine it’s people who heard the radio spot. Me proposing live on the air to Andrea. Spilling my guts and baring myself to her, to everyone.

And you know what? I don’t care. What matters is the woman in front of me who has shown me what real love is. The woman I’m going to make my wife.