Page 66 of Sealing the Deal

“And I’m not leaving you alone,” Dylan adds without hesitation.

Izzy rolls her eyes, but the smile she tries to hide tells a different story.

“Mama and I will look after Mad,” I say, before wishing Chase and Jake good luck, and reminding Izzy to call me if she goes into labor. When she had Mad at nineteen, she was living in Nashville away from her family and everyone she knew. Her useless husband, Hooper, would’ve offered no support. Even though I know Izzy has Dylan now—a man who would move mountains to give her everything she needs—I want to make sure she has all the people she loves, and who love her, around her this time.

Then I say my goodbyes. As the house and paddocks disappear in my rearview mirror, I realize I’m smiling. I was wrong to feel left out a minute ago. This place and these people are where I belong. And maybe Izzy’s right. Maybe whatever this thing is with Grayson has a natural end point. So why deny ourselves something good while it’s here?

TWENTY-NINE

GRAYSON

I shut the lid of my laptop as the jet touches down in Denver. Outside the windows, the runway slides past, snow pushed back into icy banks. In the distance, white mountains cut into a clear blue sky. There’s something about seeing them, and being back in Denver, even just briefly, that eases some of the tension.

Beside me, Helena exhales softly and smooths a hand down the front of her coat. “Will I like these people?” she says lightly, examining her nails.

I smile, because I hear what she isn’t saying. Helena Ashborne might have spent most of her twenties holding her own beside our father in the hostile world of Ashborne Holdings, but being dropped into a social environment with people she doesn’t know, yeah that’s gonna make her edgy.

“You like Flic,” I say. “And you know Donny. Don’t worry. You’ll love everyone.”

“And they’ll love me?” she asks, arching a brow.

“They will,” I say without hesitation.

She sighs. “Fine.” Then she relaxes a little.

As the jet taxis toward the hangar, I’m buzzing. It’s been a long week without Flic. We’ve messaged. Flirted. Teased. Pretended we’re both perfectly fine waiting until Sunday to see each other. But I’ve missed her in a way that has nothing to do with what we did in my bed last weekend. Almost nothing, I correct, thinking of the raging morning wood I’ve woken with every day since.

I miss her presence beside me, and the knowledge she has my back. And the way she calls me out when I get lost in my head. I think I’ll always be someone who tries to help whenever they can. That’s ingrained in me. But with Flic by my side, the pressure and the weight of it all doesn’t feel as heavy.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the exhaustion. This week nearly broke me. It’s been back-to-back meetings at the top of the Stormhawks stadium. Flic’s ideas are already in motion, and we have a team putting a pitch together to approach new potential sponsors. But it’s going to take months, if not years, to see her ideas come to fruition. And in the meantime, our current sponsors are still on edge. It feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for me to fuck this up.

I spent the second half of the week in New York at city council meetings, tangled in red tape, dodging my father’s request for meetings. I feel like I’ve been torn in two directions, but the whole time, my thoughts barely strayed from Flic and how much I want to see her again.

As the jet pulls to a stop and Nicholas readies the door to open for our guests, Helena unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to me. “Remind me again why this game matters so much?”

I can’t help but grin. I never thought I’d be asked about a football game, let alone know the answer. “We’re in a knockout competition to decide the overall winner of the NFL. This is the furthest the Stormhawks have made it in years. Today we’re playing the Kansas City Trailblazers. They’re last year’s Super Bowl winners.”

She makes a face. “That sounds unpleasant.”

“And,” I add, unable to keep the excitement from my voice, “if we win today, the Stormhawks are headed to the Super Bowl in New Orleans next weekend.”

The pressure coils tighter. New York. Denver. My father. Flic. I push it aside, along with my exhaustion, and stand to greet the passengers we’re collecting before heading on to Kansas City. Seconds later, the door opens and Madison bounds onboard, a walking explosion of Stormhawks red. Head to toe merch. Even her hair is threaded with clip-on red braids that bounce when she moves.

“Hey, Grayson,” she calls.

“Hey, Mad.” I grin, instantly lifted by her infectious energy. “Excited?”

“Yes,” she squeals.

I gesture behind me. “This is my sister, Helena. Helena, this is⁠—”

“I’m Madison, but everyone calls me Mad. I’m ten years old. Mom and Dylan aren’t with me today because Mom is having my little brother or sister in less than five weeks and she’s the size of a mare,” she says brightly, already extending a hand.

“That’s a lot of information,” Helena replies with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mad.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” She turns to me. “Where shall I sit?”

“Anywhere you like.” I laugh, the last of my exhaustion draining away as Mad leaps into one of the seats in the lounge area.