Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 9 TESSA

I allowed myself to sleep in all the way to nine o’clock, something I rarely do these days, but I guess my body needed it.

The first thing I do before I even get out of bed is check my phone, and I have another message from the unknown number. It must have come in last night after I fell asleep.

Unknown Number: It’s Stephanie. Your sister.

A chill crawls up my spine.

I’d hardly call her my sister , although technically I guess that’s what she is. My half- sister, but my sister nonetheless.

How did my half-sister hear that I’m back in Fallon Ridge. And furthermore…why does she want to come visit me?

I’ve gone twenty-five years without knowing I had a sibling. I would’ve been fine to continue on toward forever not knowing what my dad did.

I pad out to the family room in my pajamas, the chill in the air combined with the one still crawling around my backside from that text message making me wish I’d thrown on a sweatshirt over my t-shirt.

In a habit that’s been around since we moved into this house, I glance out the front windows on my way to the kitchen. Tristan’s truck isn’t out there, and a dart of disappointment rushes through me.

I find a note from my mom on the kitchen table.

At the church if you need me. Help yourself to anything—we have eggs and bacon. :)

I giggle at the note about the food I bought last night and make myself a bowl of cereal. I flip on the television to enjoy the latest episode of The Price is Right while I eat, and I feel a little kick from my belly as the audience screams and the music plays. I set a protective hand over the swell I can make out through my t-shirt.

I want to tell Tristan that I’m pregnant. I want to share with him the real reason why I came home, why I had to quit my job, why my life feels like it’s in chaos right now.

But I’m terrified I’ll just scare him off. I want to solidify our friendship before I hit him with everything that’s gone on in my life in recent months, not to mention the other stuff he’s missed out on.

I scroll my phone after I’m done eating, and I find a couple of nursing openings within a half hour drive. I just feel so…apathetic toward them. I should be interested. I should want this. I should apply, should be excited, should start working on the next step.

But when I click the link to apply, suddenly I have zero interest in filling in the text boxes with my personal information.

I sigh, feeling more than a little defeated.

One of the things that defines me is being a caretaker. It’s why I went into nursing. It’s why I want kids of my own. It’s my motivation in a lot of different ways, but I just don’t see how it’s fair to apply for a job when I’m nearing the halfway point in this pregnancy. I close the window and instead open a new one. I search for obstetricians in Davenport. I check out the one my mom recommended, and I call to make an appointment.

I deal with the mundane stuff—showering, unpacking, looking through my drawers at the things my mom kept for me. I smile at the photos of Tristan and me at that Homecoming dance sophomore year. Shortly after the professional photograph was taken, he led me out to the football field for our first kiss. I stare at his young face as I wonder for a moment whether he knew what he was about to do. Whether he was nervous to kiss me. Whether he’d been planning it for weeks or months or years even, or whether it was a spur of the moment type of decision.

Those thoughts lead me to the present. He’s married . It’s sort of hard to believe, but I can’t stare at this picture from our past and not acknowledge that thought. He’s been with other women. I’ve been with other men. In this photo, I’m clutching onto him as if he’s the only boy I’ll ever need.

He was. Maybe he still is…but time had different plans for us. Or my father did, anyway.

I keep my shades open just in case, a bulky sweatshirt covering the evidence of what’s going on with me before I get the chance to voice the words, and I find my eyes flicking over to the window every few minutes as I wonder where he is and hope he’ll suddenly appear.

He doesn’t. He’s busy—busier now that he’s a star football player, certainly. He was always busy and active. He always found ways to fill the hours whether it was helping his dad with woodworking projects or volunteering for something at school or playing a sport, and I imagine he’s not much different now.

My mom arrives home and we cook dinner together, and I forgot how much fun we used to have together in the kitchen. We make a mess, we laugh, we sample, we laugh some more, and eventually we eat our creation, a chicken stir fry with cookies for dessert.

I eat too many cookies, and my mom heads to bed at nine-thirty as usual.

I head to my room, too, but only because it means nine fifty-seven is right around the corner, and I don’t want to miss it.

I don’t really expect him to be there, and yet he is. Right on time.

My chest wavers as nervous tingles rush through it. He’s so…jeez. He’s some combination of familiar and just freaking gorgeous . He was always attractive, even in that phase when the rest of us were awkward as hell, but now he’s something else entirely. He’s in a league of his own, too good for this small town and yet somehow still perfectly set within it.

I’m already sitting in my seat, my feet propped and my blanket tucked snugly around me. I’m still wearing that sweatshirt, the baby growing inside me hidden beneath my layers.

At some point, surely I’ll get up the nerve to tell him. Today isn’t that day.

“How was your day?” I ask after we both slide our windows open, the cool February air rushing in.

“Busy,” he says. “I’m freaking beat.”

A question has been playing in my mind all day, and it comes tumbling out of me before I can stop it. “I saw you were selected for the Pro Bowl. Why are you here in Iowa instead of getting ready for that?”

A flash of regret passes through his eyes. “My hamstring has been giving me issues on and off, and Coach thought it would be better to rest it. I wanted to play, but I was ready to get out of town.” His voice is a little subdued, and I can’t help but wonder why he was ready to get out of town.

I want to ask, but he doesn’t offer it up, so I change the subject. “How was FRHS?”

A soft smile plays at his lips, and I can’t help but wonder what our years apart have done to those lips. Does he still kiss the same way he did when he kissed me on that football field in the rain?

“It was…incredible. Inspiring. More than I thought it would be.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, and I can’t help my own smile at his description. “How so?”

“Coach asked me if I’d talk to the kids working out, and I said a few things about being focused and reaching potential. But that kid, the cashier from the market?” he says, inflecting his voice like a question to see if I remember.

“Landon?” I ask, not sure if I remembered the name correctly.

He nods. “Yeah. He came up to me afterward and we had a nice talk. Then Coach filled me in on the kid’s situation. It’s…it’s pretty rough.”

“Why?”

“His dad died a few years ago and his mom is unable to work. He’s got three younger siblings that he helps care for, and Coach said the kid might not be able to play next season so he can take on more hours at the market to help his family out.” His voice is low and filled with something I can’t quite identify. Regret, maybe? I already get the sense that he’s not going to leave Fallon Ridge without doing something for the boy.

“Whoa,” I murmur. “Poor kid.”

“It’s tragic, and I know there are a million situations out there just like his, but I wish I could just fucking do something, you know? He’s here in our hometown and they’re suffering. There should be something we can do as a community, something we can pull together to help his family.”

I nod as a million feelings flap around my chest. On the one hand, I feel a deep sadness for Landon and his situation.

And on the other hand, my heart swells at the man Tristan has become. He’s always been sensitive to others. He’s always wanted to help where he could. He’s the kid that pulled a stray cat from a tree and found its home by plastering signs all over Main Street.

He’s the kid who woke up at five in the morning when everybody else was sleeping in so he could volunteer his assistance at setting up and blocking off the streets for the annual Corn Boil, the three-day festival at the end of September that draws in huge crowds from neighboring cities and raises an enormous amount of funding to benefit our little town.

He’s the kid who mowed Mrs. Burton’s grass after Mr. Burton had surgery, the kid who sat in a rocking chair on a porch with Mrs. Ford when Mr. Ford passed away, the kid who makes eye contact and smiles and nods at every person who crosses his path.

He’s the kid who stayed after school dances to help clean up.

He’s the kid who befriended the new girl before the start of seventh grade and made it his mission to help her fit in.

My entire life changed because of how strong his trait of compassion is.

And now, being in the position he’s in…he has the power to change far more lives than just mine.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t just hand money over to the kid. Coach said his family has a lot of pride and won’t take handouts.”

“But if he had to apply to receive the funds and he happened to be chosen…” I trail off.

He clears his throat. “Exactly. I’m thinking of some kind of annual event, maybe in March to offset the Corn Boil. Something that could help out more than just one kid one time.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t figured out what, though.”

“So some sort of fundraiser to raise financial assistance for a resident of Fallon Ridge who applies?”

He nods. “To benefit a student at FRHS, I think. I could talk to Mrs. Asher and see if she has time to do a lesson on essay writing and applications,” he says, naming the English department chair. “It would give them some real-world experience and prepare them for college admissions.”

“Would you need to set up a private charity?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I can check with my publicist. She knows more about it than I do. Or the Aces’ director of charities.”

I think of his dad’s incredible woodworking ability. Of Mrs. Burton’s quilts. Of my own mother’s pastries and the beautiful cakes she decorates. I think of Coach Beatty’s mother and the knitted winter hats she makes for the fresh crop of boys who join the team each season in the school’s colors of green and white. I think of Margaret Sullivan who makes handmade soaps, of Paula Cleary who makes beautiful jewelry, and of all the others in this town who have hobbies and talents they could sell.

“What about a craft fair?” I suggest.

His brows crinkle as he considers it. “Wouldn’t that benefit the vendors?”

“Well yes, of course, but there’s lots of ways to turn it into a fundraiser. Admission tickets, food and drink, an auction, raffles, sponsors. You could have the vendors pay a fee to appear, too. Maybe a ticketed section for kids with bounce houses or other ticketed types of things like carnival games.”

“I think you might be onto something.” He tilts his head. “And I know Coach would do whatever he could to help. FRHS always donates tables and chairs for use at the Corn Boil, so we’d save on renting that sort of thing to create a bigger bottom line.”

“I’d be happy to help, too,” I say softly. “I started looking at jobs today, and I just…couldn’t find it in me to apply.”

“Do you like being a nurse?” he asks.

I nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to change the subject.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not.”

I blow out a breath. “Yes, I like it. But I don’t love it. There were things I loved about it—my boss, especially. He was like a father to me.”

Recognition seems to dawn in his eyes. “Was he at the funeral?”

I nod. There’s more to that story, but today doesn’t feel like the right time. Not on the heels of this new and exciting idea. “Back to the craft fair.”

He chuckles. “I love the idea. But it’s big. And I’ll be honest, I have no idea how to pull it off, and I don’t know that I can commit the time it will take to get it done in the next month and a half. I’m working on a building project with my dad and I still need to keep up with workouts so I’m camp-ready in July.”

“Then it’s a good thing you ran into me.” I wink at him, and he grins.

“I already knew that.” His voice is soft and tender, and it sends a thrill right up my spine.

God, how I’ve missed him.

We say goodnight, and just after I climb into bed and turn off my light, my phone dings with a new notification.

I want it to be Tristan texting me to say goodnight one last time, but when I open the message, it’s not Tristan at all.

Stephanie: Let me know a good time to stop by! Can’t wait to get to know you better.

I feel like any chance of a good night’s sleep just flew out the window with one message.