Tyler’s staying in the guest house on Ian and Sadie’s property, which allows us to keep to our training schedule at a local gym. No frills, but it gets the job done and has been blessedly clear of rabid autograph seekers.
The neighbors have been chill about having an NFL player in residence once more. Ian’s been around enough that they’re used to it. Although it’s a little different since I’m going to be wearing the orange and blue uniform of the hometown team. Ian never played for Denver and arrived after he retired. Most people in Colorado are convinced God made sunsets orange because He’s a Grizzlies fan.
The eighty-year-old lady at the end of the block stopped me on my run yesterday to tell me she expects the Grizzlies to make the playoffs next season. “My grandson plays receiver for his high school team,” she’d informed me, hands on her hips. “He watches your highlight reels. Don’t let him down.”
It was sweet, and a good reminder that what I have to prove on the field this season is as much for the fans as it is for me.
It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m sitting at Piper’s kitchen table watching her make coffee while Ellie colors at my feet. The house is way smaller than either the cabin or my Denver McMansion, but there’s something about it that makes my chest feel less tight than it has in months.
Maybe it’s the worn hardwood floors that creak under my weight, or the way the rooms feel comfortably lived in, like it’s a place to build a life and welcome you home. I’m guessing that last part is just the fact that Piper’s here, moving around the space with an ease that makes me crave things I have no business wanting.
The house itself is kind of a time capsule. Most of the furniture looks like it could have been purchased when her mom was alive. There’s an overstuffed plaid couch that’s seen better days, a scuffed coffee table and a worn recliner in the corner. Family photos line the walls, most of the sisters as kids. There are a few touches that are obviously Sadie’s, like dog-training certificates and a wedding photo, but nothing in the common living area screams Piper.
The lack of personality reminds me uncomfortably of my childhood home. Not that our house was welcoming. Quite the opposite, actually. We lived in a run-down duplex where nobody gave enough of a shit to fix the leaky faucets or patch the drywall. After the divorce, Dad moved to a bachelor condo, filling it with fake-leather furniture and a fridge perpetually empty except for beer, olives and mustard.
Once we were old enough, Ian and I tried to fix things at Mom’s place. I mowed the lawn, and he updated what he could. But you can’t fix everything with elbow grease and embarrassment.
Our fingers brush as Piper hands me a mug. You’d think I’d get used to the jolt of electricity every time we touch, but a bit of coffee sloshes over the side of the cup before I manage to hidemy reaction.
“Thanks,” I grunt, and she gives me a funny look.
“Fee, wook!” Ellie holds up a drawing that’s mostly purple scribbles.
“I’m looking, munchkin.” I bend down to study it. “Is that a dinosaur?”
Her feathery brows draw together. “It doggy!”
“Oh, yeah. Obviously a doggy, and so purple. I can see that now.”
“Pi, wook at Ellie doggy.”
Piper smiles as she slips into the seat across from me. “That is an excellent doggy, Ellie Bean.”
I take a sip of coffee, trying not to think about how perfect this feels. How I can imagine Piper smiling down at our baby in a few months.
“I have a meeting in Denver today,” I blurt.
Her head tilts as she shifts her gaze to me. “Thanks for sharing?”
“It’s at my new house. With the interior designer.”
“Okay.” Something that could be disappointment flickers across her face. I guess I’m not the only one enjoying our pretend life together. “Ellie and I will be great here.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d come with me.” The words come out before I’ve fully thought them through. “I’d like your opinion on some things. And after, we could take Ellie to the zoo. Make a day of it.”
She blinks, clearly surprised. “You want my opinion on your house?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
“Because it’syourhouse. My opinion doesn’t matter.”
A whole bunch of wrongs tied up in that response, but I decide to let it slide. “It matters to me. Plus, the interior designer is kind of terrifying. I need backup.”
The truth is, I want to show her the house and have her see where I’ll be living. Where our baby might visit. I’m curious toknow if she can picture herself in it, even though there is zero indication that will ever happen.
“Okay,” she says after an interminably long pause. “But we need to get a polar bear stuffed animal at the zoo gift shop. Ellie needs one for her collection.”
“Ellie needs one, huh?”
