I’m Yours_Sweetbriar Cove_Book Four

by Melody Grace

  But he hadn’t. He’d stuck with it, no matter how much it hurt. He wasn’t about to quit on his dreams, he’d worked too hard for that. Because he knew, if he just kept trying, he’d be back on the field soon enough, with his teammates. Where he belonged.

  But soon enough wasn’t coming any time soon. And now, feeling that familiar needle of pain in his knee as he made his way back down to the street, he wondered if it was on the horizon at all.

  Was he kidding himself believing he could make it back? Or was the doctor right: was it time to give up the ghost and stop pushing so hard just to put his body through hell all over again?

  He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

  Jake found himself walking past the intersection, farther out, all the way to the river. There was a path that wound along the waterfront, and he sat himself down on a bench there, watching the crowds. A rowing crew was out on the water, pulling hard, even in the autumn chill, and farther up the path a group of runners kept pace, sweaty and determined.

  That had been him, ten years ago. Workouts and training, drills, and routine. Ever since he’d picked up a football and thrown that first, spiraling pass, he hadn’t paused for breath. His body had become his weapon, fine-tuned and fueled just right. Sure, he knew how to let off steam with the guys, but they never let it get in the way of their real work. Five miles on the clock every morning, the right foods for lean muscle and speed. His world revolved around training, and those precious moments out on the field come Friday night. Day after day, year after year, the same grueling workouts to get the same all-star results.

  Now that he thought about it, this was the longest he’d been off the field since high school. Eight months and counting. Jake hated to admit it, but it felt . . .

  Good.

  Like he could finally breathe.

  He slowly exhaled, watching the water. It was a betrayal, even thinking it. Coach would probably kick his ass if he knew. But the past few weeks back in Sweetbriar Cove had almost been a relief.

  The worst of rehab was behind him, with nothing to take its place. No five a.m. alarm calls. No watching his glucose intake like a hawk. No falling into bed every night with an exhausted ache he felt all the way to his bones.

  He’d had no choice but to take it easy, doctor’s orders, and although his body was itching to get back out there again, he couldn’t deny the part of him that recoiled from the idea, too.

  Imagine, not putting himself through it again.

  Imagine, he could just be.

  But be what?

  That was the other side of the blade, the thing that had kept him pushing for so long. If he wasn’t Jake Sullivan, all-star player, who was he? This was his life—his team, his passion—and no matter what the doctors said, he’d fought way too hard to just walk away.

  Jake impulsively pulled out his cellphone, scrolling through his contact list until he found DeJay Yate’s number. DeJay had been a teammate, close to three years on the frontline together until a brutal tackle had sent him off the field on a stretcher. His ankle had been shot, and he quit that year and switched to sportscasting instead: running commentary from the box in a sharp suit every Sunday.

  Now, Jake could hear the kids in the background when DeJay picked up. “Jake!” He sounded happy, that big voice booming. “What’s up? How’s that knee of yours?”

  “It’s getting there,” Jake said. “You know the doctors, they’d have me on bed rest if they could.”

  DeJay laughed. “Yeah, I remember. You must be climbing the walls by now.”

  “Almost.” Jake looked out at the water. “What about you? Things good with the family?”

  “Can’t complain. The youngest picked up a football the other day, I said, ‘No thanks,’ and steered her over to a science kit.”

  “Don’t want her following in your footsteps?” Jake teased.

  “Lord, no. Can you imagine me on the sidelines? I got banned from Little League last year, they said I was causing a ruckus. If anyone laid a hand on my baby girl . . .”

  Jake laughed. DeJay always did have the loudest voice on the sidelines, and racked up a half-dozen reprimands for trash talk every season. “I saw you commentating the game last week. Very smart.”

  “Thanks man. We’re renegotiating my contract, my agent’s pressing for a wardrobe allowance this time around.”

  “You ever miss it?”

  Jake didn’t even realize the reason for his call until the question was out there, in the chill of the cloudy afternoon.

  DeJay paused. “Sometimes,” he said at last. “You love something that much, you can’t just give it up overnight. But I don’t miss the travel, or Coach screaming at me every time I missed a throw,” he said, sounding rueful. “I get to spend time with Mindy and the kids instead of training, and that commentary box isn’t the field, but it’s close enough.” He paused again, his voice turning sympathetic. “You thinking about calling it a day?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll get the choice,” Jake said quietly. “My whole life’s been football.”

  “But you have your exit plan, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he sighed. He hadn’t blown his money on fast cars and big mansions like some of the other players. He’d been careful with his paychecks, and made solid investments. He and his family were set for life, but that wasn’t the point. “Not as good as some people,” he added. DeJay had bought into an energy drink a few years back and watched the company skyrocket.

  DeJay laughed. “You’ll figure it out then. And any time you want a game-day spot on air, just holler. The network will go crazy for your baby blues.”

  Jake laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Not all of us want the spotlight.”

  “That just leaves more room for me!”

  They said their goodbyes and hung up. It was getting darker out now, but the crew were still on the river, rowing back and forth with hard, steady strokes. Maybe they were training for a big race, or maybe this was just a regular afternoon session. If Jake was back in Miami, they’d just be wrapping up right now. Hit the showers, head out onto the town. He’d be in the VIP section of a new, hot restaurant, basking in the glory he’d worked so hard for.

  All year, he’d been wishing he was back there, and he could still feel that restless burn. But it had faded a little, with distance and time, and now that world seemed more than a few hundred miles away—it was a different lifetime. Now, he pictured Sweetbriar Cove instead. A warm fire burning, a cold beer, a quiet night.

  A redhead curled up beside him, with that tempting smile.

  Jake shook his head, pushing the image aside. Where the hell did that come from? Mackenzie wasn’t his to go home to, and he wasn’t about to risk their friendship on his mixed up emotions, not when she deserved much better than him.

  This injury was temporary—and his time in Sweetbriar was, too. He would get it all back, no matter how long it took. This doctor didn’t know him, didn’t know how determined he could be. A few months more recovery and rehab, and he’d be back on that field where he belonged.

  He finally got to his feet and left the river behind.

  9

  It was Thanksgiving.

  Somehow, between the Starbright Festival and Jake sending her emotions flipping upside down, Mackenzie hadn’t even registered the holiday coming. It wasn’t until people started leaving the bakery early on Wednesday, while she was still savoring her lunch, that Mackenzie realized something was different.

  “Don’t rush,” Summer insisted, even as she began flipping chairs over around Mackenzie’s table. “I just want to get a head start. We’re meeting my mom in New York for the weekend,” she added with a grimace, “and the traffic will be a nightmare.”

  Mackenzie blinked as it finally dawned on her. The paper turkeys lining the counter should have been her first hint. “Thanksgiving! Right.”

  “I’m just hoping my mom breaks her diet. She’s much easier to handle with carbs,” Summer grinned. “Do you have any plans?”


  “I’m not sure yet,” Mackenzie replied, her mind racing. “I’m sure I’ll figure out something.”

  She left the bakery—with a goodie bag of pastries—and called around, seeing if anyone wanted to get together to celebrate. But Poppy and Cooper were visiting her folks back east, and even Riley was closing up the pub and heading out of town.

  “We’re taking the boat down the coast,” he explained with a smile. “I never thought Brooke would take the time off work, so I’m getting her out of cellphone range before she changes her mind. What about you?”

  “Just family, I guess,” Mackenzie replied, but when she called her mom, she got a brief text message in reply.

  We’ll be at a silent retreat until Monday. Have fun!

  It looked like she was spending Thanksgiving on her own.

  Mackenzie tried to ignore the pang of loneliness. It was just another weekend, she told herself. And sure, everyone else was celebrating with loved ones, but she could do the same: all she needed to do was stick her favorite pot pie in the oven and cue up a classic movie marathon.

  There was nothing wrong with being alone.

  * * *

  She worked late that night on some sketches, and woke early on Thursday to find the streets of Sweetbriar eerily silent. Strolling to the gallery, it almost felt like a ghost town, empty, save a few anxious-looking men loitering outside the market with lists crumpled in their hands. She was lucky to be saving herself the stress of a big dinner, Mackenzie told herself firmly, as she unlocked and made her way to her studio in the back. A whole day just to focus on her art without distraction. That was something worth being thankful for.

  Right?

  There was a list of orders waiting, but Mackenzie moved her potter’s wheel aside and dragged her favorite work bench into the middle of the room. She tugged down the sheets she had covering her sculptures, and stood back, assessing her progress.

  It was a new series, a trio, she imagined, although she was still working on the first piece, the figure of a woman, sleek and abstracted, a suggestion of the human form instead of something recognizable. Arched, reaching, in motion—Mackenzie was trying to capture a feeling more than anything, and although some days she looked at her progress and felt stupid for even trying, today, in the silvery morning light, she could see where she was going.

  It was a start, anyway.

  She put on some music, hauled a chunk of wet clay from the bin, and set to work, this time on the next figure. He would be reaching too, and the third piece would be the two of them, intertwined. Inevitable.

  At least, that was the plan.

  Mackenzie didn’t share this side of her art with anyone. It felt too personal, too out there to just put on display for everyone to see—and judge. They knew her for her cute bowls and pretty ceramics, and Mackenzie didn’t want to imagine what people would say if they were faced with this side of her art: weird and abstract, and hard for her to even put into words.

  Still, she loved it. Here, in the privacy of her studio, with the clay sinking under her fingertips and the light falling through the windows just right. She lost track of time, smoothing and molding the clay just right, until a second figure was slowly shaped in front of her: not reaching and open like the first one, but holding back. Restrained. Closed, and careful.

  Just like Jake.

  Mackenzie paused, coming out of her reverie. You couldn’t see it in the abstract form, but now that she stood back and assessed the sculpture, she could see it was him.

  Or rather, the heart of him.

  Leaning back while she was reaching forward. Always drifting out of reach. Without even realizing it, she’d been sculpting their relationship, committing her own foolish yearnings to solid clay.

  It was like she was seventeen all over again.

  Mackenzie flushed, remembering her big plan to finally come clean about her feelings. She and Jake had agreed to go together to prom, and despite everything, she couldn’t help getting caught up in wishful fantasies about their romantic night together. Every smile, every glance . . . Mackenzie wondered if this was finally the moment he would realize she was more than just a friend.

  After the dance, the party moved to his place, and—fueled by too many teen movies and a dose of peach schnapps—Mackenzie somehow decided a dramatic romantic gesture was in order. She snuck away up to Jake’s bedroom, peeled off her dress and arranged herself in a seductive pose, and was just about to text him to come meet her there, when she’d heard voices outside the bedroom door. Jake, and some of his football buddies.

  She froze.

  “Mac’s looking hot tonight, man,” one of the voices jeered. “Didn’t think she had it under those sweaters.”

  Jake’s voice came, sounding annoyed. “Come on, quit it.”

  “So you’re really not getting any?”

  “No way, man.” Jake laughed. “She’s like a sister to me!”

  “Sweet. So you won’t mind if I hit that!”

  The voices moved further away, and Mackenzie sat there, frozen in place, her blood rushing hot. She’d known that Jake was probably oblivious to her feelings, but hearing him laugh along to their crude jokes was too much. The rejection sliced through her, knowing without a doubt that the boy she’d spent so much hope, and energy, and sleepless nights on didn’t even see her, not as a girl who mattered.

  Then, just when she thought her humiliation couldn’t get any worse, Jake’s voice came again. “Hold up, let me grab that CD—”

  Mackenzie panicked.

  She bolted up, grabbing for her dress. They were on the second floor, and the only other way out was the window. She yanked it open as she struggled to pull her dress on again. It was a ten-foot drop, but she didn’t hesitate for a moment.

  A broken ankle was better than Jake finding her there, so, saying a quick prayer, Mackenzie clambered out the window, and dropped to the ground.

  RIIIIP.

  Her bodice caught on the ledge and tore clean away. Which is how she wound up sneaking home through the Sweetbriar town square in nothing but half her prom dress and a nude strapless bra. Somebody must have seen her, because soon the gossip spread, but Mackenzie never said a word. They all assumed she’d had some scandalous hook-up, and she let them go right on believing. Better some sexy story than the humiliating truth. Jake left for college a few months later, and as far as Mackenzie was concerned, she was taking her secret to the grave.

  And here she was, spending precious time and energy on Jake all over again. Except this time she had more to go on than wishful thinking. Two whole kisses more, and the kind of chemistry than her teenage self could never even dream about.

  But had anything really changed?

  Mackenzie looked at the sculpture again. She was tempted to smush the whole thing down and start over, but something made her leave it. There was a beauty to the longing, at least, and even if her own romantic dreams were nothing but that—dreams—at least it was good material.

  She rinsed off and cleaned her things away, and when she emerged from the gallery, she was surprised to find the streets dark in the late afternoon. The whole day had disappeared, but it always went that way when she got lost in a piece. Even when she was back in high school, she would get so deep into a painting or project, that her teachers would have to clap out loud to get her attention again.

  She pulled her coat tighter and started walking for home. Then she saw a familiar figure on the other side of the street, his head bent against the wind.

  Mackenzie couldn’t see his face, but she already knew. It had been thirteen years since she’d learned his steady gait by heart, and time may have changed a lot, but it didn’t change that.

  Jake looked up and saw her. Mackenzie raised her hand in a wave. He crossed the street, smiling as he reached her. “Another Thanksgiving orphan?” he asked. “I thought you’d be with your folks.”

  “Mom’s dragged them to some retreat,” Mackenzie explained. “You?”

  Jake
shrugged. “I pretty much forgot about it, until I went by the pizza place, and they were closed.”

  “You should come over.” She made the invitation without thinking. “For dinner, I mean. Us orphans have to stick together.”

  Jake’s face softened. “I’d like that,” he said. “If you’re sure I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Cary will understand.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow.

  “Cary Grant,” she explained. “I had a hot date planned with him and Gene Kelly.”

  Jake chuckled. “Then sure, I’d love to come.”

  “Give me an hour?” Mackenzie looked down at her clay-stained hands. “I’m on Primrose Lane. The one with the blue door.”

  “Alright then. See you later.” Jake saluted and strolled away. It wasn’t until he was around the corner and her pulse had just about returned to normal that Mackenzie realized what she’d just signed herself up for.

  Thanksgiving dinner from scratch in an hour?

  She better get a move on.

  * * *

  Jake stood on Mackenzie’s doorstep with a Tupperware container in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, feeling like he was fifteen years old and picking a girl up for a date for the first time. His shirt collar was tight around his neck; he’d figured he should make an effort for the occasion, but now he felt overdressed and just plain awkward.

  He used his elbow to knock, and a moment later, the door flung open.

  “Hey! Come on in.” Mackenzie was barefoot in jeans and a tank top, her red hair damp from the shower and falling out of a messy bun. Her smile lit up the night, and

  Jake tried to remember how to speak.

  “Ignore the mess,” Mackenzie continued, gesturing him in. She headed inside, calling back over her shoulder. “It was either a clean house or food, and I figured you would only care about one.”

  Jake stepped inside and carefully wiped his boots on the mat. Music was playing, some jazz song on the old-fashioned record player that was sandwiched on a cabinet between a stack of art books and a bowl of yarn, and everywhere he looked, there was bright, haphazard clutter: paintings on the wall, and colorful throws on the furniture, and even a carved wooden panther sitting waist-high beside the fireplace.