Merry with a Playmaker (Love Beach Holiday Collection)

Chapter Nine

Easy, Merry. It's just a friendly reunion, nothing more.

I near the sidelines, a familiar figure catches my eye - not the one I'm seeking, but impactful. Coach Wallace, the mastermind behind our college rugby success paces in front of the opposing team's bench. The strategist at work. Memories of late nights hunched over play diagrams and formations flash through my mind.

I smile. "Well, if it isn't the legend himself!"

Coach's weathered face splits into a grin as he turns. "Merry Robinson! Still crunching numbers and whipping teams into shape?"

"You know it, Coach. Somebody's gotta keep these boys on their toes."

He chuckles, pulling me into a quick hug that smells of sweat and grass. Same old Coach. "Glad you're on our side today. Maybe you can talk some sense into that partner of yours."

My pulse quickens. Partner. If Evan and I didn't spend a decade apart living separate lives. A roar erupts from the crowd. The teams are taking the field.

This is it. Ten years of unspoken words about to collide at the fifty-yard line. I square my shoulders and turn toward the pitch, ready to face the man who still quickens my analytical heart. Game on, Evan. Game on.

A familiar figure emerges from the sea of jerseys, his stride purposeful and assured. Evan de Nemours, the man of the hour. He moves with the confidence of someone who's commanded rugby pitches across Europe, yet there's an ease to his demeanor that feels familiar.

Our eyes lock across the field, a decade of distance evaporating in an instant. His face splits into a grin, and he waves me over with an enthusiastic gesture. Same old Evan, always ready with a warm welcome.

I make my way to the sidelines, navigating the energetic crowd. The air crackles with anticipation, a palpable buzz that sets my nerves humming. I reach the team bench, Evan's there waiting, his smile brighter than the Zahranian sun.

"Merry, you made it!" His voice carries over the din, rich with genuine delight.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I reply, mirroring his grin. "Someone's gotta make sure you remember those college plays."

He laughs, the sound deep and inviting. "You drilled them into my head often enough."

We're transported back to those late-night strategy sessions, huddled over whiteboards and empty coffee cups.

The referee's whistle pierces the air, jolting us back to the present. Evan claps me on the shoulder, his touch lingering a beat longer than necessary.

"Duty calls," he says with a wink.

**********

The opening whistle blows, and the field explodes into a flurry of motion. I lean forward, my eyes glued to Evan as he weaves through the opposing team with a grace that belies his size.

He's always been a force to be reckoned with on the rugby pitch, but there's something different about him now. A newfound confidence, a sense of purpose that radiates from every precise movement.

My heart swells with pride watching him execute a perfect pass, the ball soaring through the air like a missile. It's a play we spent hours perfecting back in college, and I’m smiling like a loon watching it come to life again.

The game unfolds like a well-choreographed dance, each team vying for dominance. My focus never wavers from Evan, my mind working overtime to analyze his every move.

It's a familiar rhythm, this unspoken language of strategy and instinct. We may have been apart for years, but in this moment, no time has passed.

The referee's whistle signals the end of the first half, and I realize I've been holding my breath. Evan jogs over to the sidelines, his face flushed with exertion and determination.

"So, what's the verdict, coach?" he asks, grabbing a water bottle and downing half its contents in one gulp. "Am I living up to your exacting standards?"

I fail to fight back my smile. "Not bad, de Nemours, but I think we both know you're capable of more."

He grins at that, a flash of white teeth against sun-bronzed skin. "Is that a challenge?"

"More like an observation." I shrug, but there's a current of electricity buzzing beneath my words. "I know you, Evan. You never settle for less than your best."

Something flickers in his gaze, a momentary crack in the armor of his easy confidence. "You always did see right through me, Merry."

The words hang between us, weighted with unspoken history and the tantalizing promise of what might be. The whistle blows again, signaling the start of the second half.

Evan tosses me a salute, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Watch this space, Robinson. I'm just getting started."

Game on, de Nemours. Let's see what you're made of.

The ball rockets down the field, a blur of motion against the crisp green turf. I track its trajectory with laser focus, my mind whirring with calculations and probabilities. Evan's team is putting up a fierce fight, but they're still trailing by a narrow margin.

Evan breaks away from the pack, his powerful strides eating up the ground as he barrels toward the try line. I smirk in recognition at the play unfolding before me - a daring maneuver we'd dreamed up back in college, a Hail Mary pass that had stunned our opponents and clinched us the championship.

Time seems to slow as Evan leaps into the air, his arm outstretched, fingers straining for the ball. The crowd holds its collective breath, the tension palpable.

And then, in a moment of sheer athletic brilliance, Evan snatches the ball out of the air and tumbles across the try line, scoring the winning points just as the final whistle blows.

The stands erupt in a deafening roar, but all I can see is Evan, his face alight with triumph as he pumps his fist. Our eyes meet across the field, and a jolt of electricity sizzles through me, a silent acknowledgment of the role I played in his success.

Pride mingles with a fierce surge of something more complicated. Memories of late-night strategy sessions and stolen glances rush through my mind, a kaleidoscope of possibility and regret.

Evan jogs to the sidelines, his teammates swarming him with congratulations. Shit. Here comes another goofy smile, and it’s damn embarassing. The thrill of victory is intoxicating, but it's the glimmer of something deeper in Evan's eyes that sets my heart racing.

He reaches me, slightly breathless, skin glistening with sweat. "Merry Robinson," he grins, shaking his head in wonder. "I couldn't have done it without you."

My pulse stutters at his proximity. "I don't know about that, de Nemours. You've always been pretty good at scoring, on and off the field."

Evan laughs, and I try to ignore the flutter from parts below the belt. "True enough, but there's something about having you in my corner, Mer. I can take on the world."

"Evan, I need..."

We’re interrupted by a gaggle of his teammates, all clamoring for his attention. Evan shoots me an apologetic look as he's swept away in a tide of backslaps and high-fives.

I watch him go, my heart a riot of conflicting emotions. Pride, longing, fear, hope - they swirl together in a dizzying cocktail, leaving me breathless and off-balance.

The adrenaline of the game starts to fade, I'm left with the unsettling realization that my feelings for Evan are far more complicated than I'd ever dared to admit. The easy camaraderie of our youth has given way to something deeper, more intense - a connection that both terrifies and exhilarates me.

**********

The chill in the December air creeps through my bones as I sit alone in the now-emptying arena, lost in thoughts of him. I wrap my coat tightly around me, but it does little to ward off the chill settling in my heart. Evan was always the one who had my back, the one I could depend on. But life, and our own ambitions, had a way of getting in the way.

I stand to leave, my phone vibrates in my purse. A smile creeps onto my face as I see his name flash across the screen.

"Hey stranger," I answer, feigning a nonchalance I don't feel.

"Hey yourself," Evan responds, his voice a welcome balm. "Sorry about that, it's just...winning the championship, you know."

"No worries, I get it," I say, trying to mask the disappointment in my voice. "So, I guess you're off to celebrate with your new teammates?"

"Actually, that's why I called," he says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "There's a little place by the harbor, Kitty's Crab Shack.”