“Uh-uh. Don’t you get that look on your face, Gunner. Don’t you start wondering if she did all of this to get back in your good graces.” She grabs the clipboard from me and starts searching for something. “Aha. Right there.” She points. “This has been in shipment since last week. There is no way she could have coordinated all of this just to win you back.”

“I never thought that.” But I did.

And now I feel like shit for it.

It’s so freaking confusing to want someone and hate someone at the same time. Even worse is almost wanting my theory to be right so there’s justification for hating her.

“You know you have to call her and thank her, right?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing it’s going to kill me to hear her voice. That’s why I’ve deleted all of her voicemails. Her voice was sunshine.

But she took that away when she left.

Hell, I couldn’t even welcome the gloomy skies and sprinkles that hit this morning, because she changed how I look at rain too.

So I deleted her voicemails because hearing them, listening to them, is a reminder that life will once again go on without her. It will go on, but will be lacking something crucial.

Joy.

Her.

The better man she made me become even in such a short time.

But despite her deceit, this incredible truckload of generosity—of thoughtfulness—needs to be acknowledged.

Despite my agony, Chase’s goodness needs to be thanked.

Shit.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Chase

“NO. THAT’S NOT AN ACCEPTABLE counteroffer. I won’t even bring it to Jorge. He’s worth more than that. I know it. You know it. And he most definitely knows it,” I say to the GM of the Pittsburgh Steelers. His shirt is stretched tight over his belly, the buttons straining against it, his mouth pulled just as tight.

“I don’t have any wiggle room, Chase.”

“Sure you do, Larry.” I take a step back from his desk and shrug. “A lot of other teams would love to have a former Heisman Winner and last year’s NFC Player of the Year on their roster. He’s yours to lose.”

“You love to just grab on tight and not let go, don’t you?” He laughs.

“It’s one of the perks of the job. If you’re lucky I’ll twist them while I’m at it.” I give a sharp smile and stride out of the room.

He’ll call.

I give him twenty-four hours, and he’ll call me with a salary figure more suitable for Jorge.

I walk outside the Steelers’ front office and take a deep breath. It feels good to be back negotiating. To feel normal. To try and control something when my emotions still feel raw and out of control.

But I haven’t cried today. That’s a step.