In Bounds

by Bronwyn Green

She sighed. “Partially. But also to see how you’re doing.”

  He sat on the bench. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, he quickly put his shoes on and tied them. “How I’m doing is going to depend on what Ivy decides.”

  Grabbing his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and glanced toward Simon where he was leaning up against the wall, waiting.

  “Decides what?”

  “Whether she’ll even give this thing between us a chance or if she’s going to run.”

  His sister sighed again. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Do you know? No. Wait. Don’t answer that. She can tell me herself. I need to hear it from her.” He swallowed, ignoring the way his voice just broke.

  “Wills...”

  “Wills, what? What do you want from me?”

  “I don’t know what she’s decided. I don’t know if she knows.” He smiled at the sounds of Phoebe and Kit arguing in the background, but it faded as he remembered Ivy’s text. We’re in the clear.

  He didn’t fucking want to be in the clear. Well, he wasn’t ready for a kid, but he was ready for Ivy.

  “Look,” Charlotte said, breaking into his thoughts as he and Simon walked out to the carpark and headed for the car. “Whatever happens, I want you to promise me something.”

  Will’s stomach dropped, and dread ran like ice through his veins. Charlotte knew more than she was letting on. She had to.

  “What do you need?” he forced out.

  “I just need you to promise me that whatever happens between you two, you’ll both figure out a way to be okay around each other. I don’t want this to turn into some big thing where you two can’t be in the same room together.”

  His breath caught at the thought of being in the same room as Ivy and not being able to talk to her—touch her. Of maybe even seeing her with someone else and having to pretend he was completely comfortable.

  “I mean, obviously, I’d love to see you guys work out.”

  “Really? Is that why you told me to keep my distance from her?” The anger he’d pushed down now bubbled up through the cracks.

  “She was fragile. I didn’t want her to get hurt, and you...”

  He waited for her to finish, but she didn’t. “I, what, Chaz?” he prompted. “What is it that I do or don’t do?”

  He tossed his bag in the back of Simon’s car and got in the passenger seat.

  “You don’t really keep the same woman around for very long.”

  He slammed the door harder than he needed to. “Did it ever occur to you that none of those women were Ivy?”

  “I didn’t want her to fall for you and get her heart broken again,” she said as if that made it all okay.

  He laughed, but it sounded cold. “You don’t need to worry about her heart. She’s the one walking away. Pretty sure her heart’s fine.”

  “You don’t know that,” his sister protested.

  He buckled his seatbelt and tried to keep his voice level. “I don’t know what? That her heart’s fine or that she’s leaving?”

  No, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what was happening on both counts.

  “I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I love you,” she said, sounding helpless.

  “Love you, too.”

  He disconnected and checked his messages to see if Ivy had texted. But there was nothing.

  “That sounded...fun,” Simon finally said.

  “Pretty sure I’m gonna need all the pints, mate. Best find something in walking distance to the hotel, yeah?”

  “I’m on it.”

  Two days later, the conversation with Charlotte was still ringing through his head, though he had no clue how that was even possible. He’d gotten so completely lagered up after talking to her he would have thought the booze would have washed his memory clean. But no. He still had the whole conversation looping though his brain along with the message Ivy had left on his voicemail while he’d been in the pub. Or maybe she’d called while he was drunkenly insisting that he was definitely sober enough to get another tattoo from the parlor he and Simon had passed on their way back to the hotel.

  Either way, it was probably good that he’d been too pissed to answer the phone or even realize it was ringing. He’d been in no shape to have what was likely going to amount to one the most important conversations of his life.

  Squinting, he checked to see if she’d called or texted during the night. Nothing. He listened to her message for probably the fifty-third time.

  Hey, Will. It’s Ivy. I was, um, I was wondering if you might have time to talk soon. I know you’ve got a lot going on, right now, with the exhibition matches, but I... Sorry. I’m bad at voicemail. Anyway, my flight leaves Sunday. I just wanted to let you know. I was hoping to see you before then. Okay. I’ll talk to you later. I— Bye.

  That hitch in her voice before she said goodbye gutted him every time. He’d called her back, of course. Texted, too. But there hadn’t been any response. He was sure she was busy packing and spending time with Charlotte and the kids. Knowing Ivy, she was trying to cram in as many lessons as she could before she left. She’d probably have Pheebs studying on the way to the airport. He smiled, but his chest ached, and it wasn’t just from the new tattoo.

  He pressed his hand to the new ink, remembering how he’d told the tattoo artist that he needed it because it was all he’d have left of Ivy. Christ, but he was a melodramatic fuck. He glanced down at the design. It would remind him of her for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t really bring himself to regret it.

  He sighed. If he could convince Simon to lend him his car after this afternoon’s game, Will could skip the bus ride and make it to wherever the hell Ivy was so he could talk to her before she left. And between now and then, hopefully, he’d think of a way to convince her not to walk away from him—from them.

  He rang her and went straight to voicemail. Again.

  “Hey, love. Just me. Was just hoping to hear your voice. I’d really like to see you before you go.” He laughed slightly. “Actually, truth is, I’m desperate to see you before you go.” There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t manage to put any of them into some semblance of coherence. Finally, he settled on, “I love you.”

  Dropping his head back against the pillow, he lay there for a while longer, willing his phone to ring. But there was nothing. He willed Ivy to text him. But she didn’t. He considered calling Charlotte and asking if she knew what the hell was going on. But he wouldn’t. This was between him and Ivy. They’d sort it out on their own. And if she’d changed her mind about talking to him before she left, he supposed he’d at least know where he stood.

  Forcing himself from bed, he pulled on shorts and a t-shirt. He needed to clear his head before the game, and the best way to do that was to go for a run. He’d been brutally hungover yesterday, and the coach had made him pay for it at practice. Not that he hadn’t deserved it. He’d known better than to get shitfaced in the midst of exhibition games. The coach would have been well within his rights to suspend him, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d made him suffer.

  Ivy finally responded as he was on his way to the stadium locker room.

  I’m sorry we keep missing each other. I’ve been traveling with Charlotte and the kids, and there’s been no privacy to call, but...I’d like to see you before I go.

  There was that catch in her voice again. The one he could tell meant she was trying her damnedest not to cry.

  He knew, even without speaking to her, that was it. Despite attempting to convince her otherwise, trying to fight it, he finally knew, for sure, what they’d had was over. He couldn’t even respond—partially because it was time to take the field and partially because he had no idea what to say.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ivy literally sat at the edge of her seat, hands pressed against her mouth, and eyes wide. Will and his teammates had played hard during the practices she’d watched, but this was a whole other level of in
tensity. It seemed like they were all out for blood and destruction.

  She looked at Charlotte. “Is it always like this?”

  Her friend looked unconcerned. “Pretty much.”

  Peyton leaned down from the row behind Ivy. “Relax, ducks. Your man knows what he’s doing.”

  Phoebe, who was on the other side of Ivy, turned to look at her. “I thought you said you and Uncle Wills weren’t getting married.”

  “We’re not.”

  “Wouldn’t put money on that,” Charlotte muttered, and Phoebe continued to give Ivy a heavy dose of side-eye while Kit ignored everything, his nose in a book.

  Ivy couldn’t help but wonder how Will had taken the news about her period. Was he be disappointed or did he feel like he’d dodged a bullet? Did he still want to marry her? Did he still love her, or had he come to his senses?

  She sighed, disgusted with herself. She’d been over and over this in her head. He’d said he loved her long before her late period had ever come into play. She was being stupid and insecure. Will had never shown her anything but kindness, desire, and affection. Why was it so hard to believe it was genuine?

  Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she knew the answer. After everything that had happened—first with Justin, then her parents, and finally, Daniel—a part of her that doubted she was actually worthy of love.

  But what she felt for Will surpassed anything she’d ever experienced before. It was possible he truly felt the same. Her gaze followed him across the backfield as he repeatedly blocked members of the opposing time. She gasped as one of his opponents snaked out his foot and caught Will’s ankle, bringing him down on his injured knee. But Will climbed to his feet again and didn’t seem to be limping.

  Phoebe immediately leapt to her feet, screaming, “Red card! Red card that tosser!”

  Ivy and Peyton burst out laughing as Charlotte gritted, “Enough, Phoebe Elizabeth!”

  “But he tripped Uncle Wills,” the girl protested.

  “That doesn’t mean you get to use foul language. Or do we need to go sit in the car and wait for the match to end?”

  “No! I promise, I’ll beha—” Her attention was drawn back to the field. “Clear their lines! Clear their lines!”

  Charlotte shot Ivy a look and shook her head while Peyton laughed hysterically behind them.

  The entirety of the game consisted of Ivy’s muscles turning into knots of tension as Will threw himself headlong into the action with a force she’d never seen from him. She’d lost track of how many times he’d gone down or taken a ball to the head, though Phoebe had insisted that had been on purpose.

  Eventually, the game was over, but even though Will no longer appeared to be in any kind of imminent sportsball-related danger, Ivy was tenser than ever. It seemed like they’d been apart for a lot longer than five days. Felt more like five months. Maybe even five years.

  The opposing teams did that weird show of good sportsman-like handshakes and bro hugs that ended up looking more like an exchange of thinly veiled threats regarding the next time they’d play each other. She didn’t think sportsball was ever going to make sense to her.

  Family members spilled out onto the field to greet their players.

  “I want to go see Uncle Wills,” Phoebe pleaded. “Please.”

  Charlotte waved her ahead. “Go on with you, then.”

  Phoebe tugged at her little brother’s arm. “C’mon, Kit.”

  Kit closed his book and obediently followed his sister.

  Peyton was already on her way down the steps to greet her brother and Will when Charlotte looked at Ivy. “You coming?”

  Ivy took a breath and nodded, watching Will. He’d stripped off his shirt and wiped the sweat off his upper body then draped the jersey over his shoulder. A huge smile spread across his face as he noticed Phoebe tearing toward him. He caught her and lifted her above his head before giving her a huge hug. Then he bent to hug Kit, too, setting Phoebe on the ground and talking to both kids.

  Charlotte made her way to Will and gave him a quick hug, wrinkling her nose at the sweat, no doubt. But Ivy hung back, suddenly unsure of her welcome. Will grinned at his sister then looked around, freezing as his gaze fell on her.

  She took a few wooden steps forward, her courage faltering, leaving her motionless in the post-match frenzy of people. Pushing through the crowd, he closed the distance between them, caught her face in his big hands and kissed her so fiercely her head spun. Leaning into him, she parted her lips beneath his and welcomed him inside as she clung to his shoulders.

  She was dimly aware of Peyton and some of Will’s teammates cheering as they finally broke apart.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded then shook her head. “I don’t know how I feel. All I know is that I miss you so much it hurts, and it’s only been five freaking days.”

  “Same,” he murmured, smoothing his thumbs across her cheeks and swiping away tears she hadn’t realized had leaked from her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was afraid, and I didn’t know how to handle anything. I’m not sure I know now.” She took a shuddering breath. “I just know that if you still want me, I’d like to try.”

  His eyes were suspiciously shiny for a moment before a blindingly happy smile spread across his face. “Of course, I want you. I want you more than ever, love.”

  He kissed her again, then settled his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and staring into her face as if he was memorizing her.

  “I get that you've had a rough go,” he said. “I do. And I'm so fucking sorry you were hurt. I’d love to beat the shit out of that sorry fuck you married. But you know what? I'd also like to shake his hand for being too fucking stupid to know what he had. Who he had.”

  He gently tucked her hair behind her hair and shook his head. “I know this makes me a selfish, selfish prick, but I'm glad he didn't have a clue. Because it gave me chance I never would have had otherwise. I never would have approached you if you’d been happily married.” He smiled wryly. “I might have even gone along with your attempt to pretend you didn’t recognize me.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad you didn’t let me get away with that.”

  “I kind of feel like we should send him a fruit basket or something.”

  She smoothed her hand over his head. “Did you get hit out there harder than I thought?”

  “The fact that he’s a selfish wanker gave both of us a chance to see how good we are together. That we belong together.”

  “Oh, fuck him,” she muttered. “You deserve the fruit basket.”

  He slid his hand over the curve of her ass and squeezed. “I’ve got something much sweeter in mind.”

  She shivered at the hunger in his voice. “You’re the one who gave us a chance,” she continued, needing to get this all out before she lost her nerve. “You’re the one who showed me what it was like to truly love someone.” She swallowed hard as she stared into his eyes. “And I do love you.”

  His eyes widened slightly, and he smiled. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “Jerk.” Grinning, she smacked his chest, and he winced, drawing in a hiss of air through clenched teeth. “Will? Are you okay?”

  Reaching out, she carefully lifted his shirt that was still draped over his shoulder and covering half his chest and spotted what was clearly a brand new tattoo. Meticulously rendered ivy vines had been inked in shades of green over his heart.

  He pressed her hand to his chest, the newly tattooed skin discernably warmer than the rest of him. “After you got your period, I was afraid that you were going to tell me that it was over and you never wanted to see me again.” Slashes of color appeared high on his cheeks. “I might have had too much to drink after I’d had that realization.”

  Her lips twitched. “Might have?”

  “Okay. Fine. I had way too much to drink and decided that this was the only way I’d be able to keep a part of you with me.”

  S
he shook her head. “God, I love you.”

  “Marry me.”

  A panicky flutter beat inside her chest, and it must have shown on her face because his expression fell.

  “I love you so much, but I’m not ready to get married again. Not so soon. I need to get a visa. Find work. Actually support myself...”

  “I get that,” he said quietly.

  She couldn’t bear to hurt him any more than she already had, and she did want to be with him. “How about we live in sin like you suggested earlier, and you ask me again in a year?”

  His smile was like the sun emerging after a year of rain. “Deal.”

  She pressed a careful kiss to his chest next to the delicate vines. When she looked up at him, his smile had faded, but the love in his expression hadn’t. “I love you, Ivy. And there’s nothing in this world that will ever change that.”

  “Show me?” she whispered, her body flooding with need.

  “Every single day for the rest of our lives.”

  Epilogue

  Three years later...

  Will stood at counter, putting the finishing touches on supper as Ivy came home from a tutoring session and set down her satchel.

  “Oh, my god—what smells so good in here and how soon can I eat it?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her cheek against his back.

  He laughed. “Baked camembert, soupe à l’ongnon, and crème brûlée.”

  She groaned appreciatively.

  “And you can eat it just as soon as the camembert is out of the oven.”

  “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” she murmured.

  He turned in her embrace and wrapped his arms around her before leaning down and kissing her gorgeous upturned mouth.

  He smiled down at her. “You may have mentioned it a time or two.”

  “Good. I’d hate to be remiss.”

  “Never that,” he agreed and kissed her again.

  “How did you know that I was in the mood for French food today?”

  He traced her lips with his fingertip, and she drew it into her mouth, sucking on it. His cock instantly began to harden against her.