Page 3 of First Down Promise

I feel my cheeks redden, and I gulp. Josh…my stuff? In my room? “Oh, that’s not necessary. It’s not much,” I say, rubbing my forearm.

“Nah, it’s fine. I live like two minutes from here,” Josh replies.

“He practically lives here,” Pete teases.

Oh dear God, I think to myself as I run my hand over my hair.

“You’re not wrong, Pete.” Josh laughs, but brings his eyes back to me. “Looking forward to starting your new university?”

I lean against the wall, keeping my feet planted on the bottom step of the staircase. “Um, I don’t want to sound like a downer, but not exactly.”

Josh sighs and props one foot on the bottom step at the opposite end from me. He rests his forearm on his bent knee and scratches the scruff along his jaw and cheeks. “You know, I grew up in Texas, went to college at A&M, and it was fucking tough to leave. But Nashville grew on me.” He narrows his eyes slightly, and it’s more seductive than he means it to be and enough to make my breath catch. “I think it’ll grow on you, too.”

Chapter One

Abby

Two years later

“It’s so official,” I whisper to myself.

I reach up and run my fingertip along the smooth wooden frame holding my degree. Warm sunlight filters through the window, catching the glass beneath my fingertips.

It took a few weeks after my graduation for the piece of paper to show up, and it is now framed with the tassel from my graduation cap by its side. The frame was a graduation gift from Pete, and it hangs proudly in Pete’s home office. Fitting, since I spent more time in here over the past two years than he did. My degree is centered on the wall, among Pete’s degree from Minnesota and his various awards. Mom and Dad’s wedding picture hangs here too. Whenever I’m having a bad day or missing them, I’ll come in here, and it always brings a smile to my face to see them so young and in love.

I still enjoy comparing our appearances to theirs. I’m only a couple of years younger than Mom was when she married Dad, and aside from inheriting his gray eyes, I’m a copy and paste of her.

My eyes are drawn back to my degree, though. With its black frame and navy-blue batting, it’s the boldest thing against the cream-colored eggshell wall. I told Pete he needed a darker, more masculine office color and, honestly, more color in this house, but every paint swatch card I brought home, he just waved off. I painted my room, with his permission, a tasteful lavender-gray.

Abigail Marie Wilson

Bachelor of Science in Marketing

My expensive piece of paper doesn’t list my minor in dance, but I laughed when I saw my middle name. I saw a post recently that said nineties moms really thought they were doing something by giving their daughters middle names like Ann, Marie, and Rose, and it was funny because the post was wildly true. I don’t know where Marie came from, and Pete was given one of our grandpa’s names for his middle name.

I cross my arms and take a step back from the wall of Wilson accomplishments. Dancing was a fun side project throughout college. I hate to admit it, but the dance program here in Tennessee was better than the one in Wisconsin. However, it was still hard to make real friends at my new university. I kept my relationship with Pete under wraps, but in doing so, I was too guarded with my classmates. I tap my upper arm with my finger as my lips twitch in thought that while I may not have a friend group to go to clubs or brunch with, I have the Stallions.

Over the past two years, Pete’s front door felt like it revolved at times. If it wasn’t Josh walking through the door, it was Coop or Dane or someone else on the team. So many evenings were spent listening to them argue about calls and how other teams were performing. I laugh under my breath as I recall this past spring. My God, do not get those guys started on March Madness, where they compared their old colleges and made bets on a bracket.

From the built-in under the wall of our achievements, I pick up the framed picture of Coop and me at a restaurant opening last year and run my thumb along the top to wipe any dust. The other guys couldn’t make it, but Coop and I still had fun. Coop marveled that night that I was finally old enough he could buy me a drink. I tap my manicured nail on the glass and set the picture frame back down.

Pete was right that Coop was a good guy. He’s a little taller than Pete, but what stood out most was his heart. He quickly became a good friend when I needed one.

Another picture catches my eye. The guys at the end of last season on the field. They lost that night, which ended their playoff run, but they made it further than the Stallions ever had before. A rare smile was on Dane’s face that night. He was intense, and it took me a long time to feel comfortable around him. He wasn’t scary—quite the opposite. Handsome and chiseled despite his enormous frame, he and Pete put entirely too much effort into maintaining their six-packs.

I shift my weight onto my other foot, and my gaze drifts across the team photo next to it. I didn’t expect the Stallions to be so welcoming, but it helps being their captain’s sister. And given my close ties to the team and dance background, it was a natural step for Pete to encourage me to audition for the Stallions’ cheer squad a few weeks ago when their tryouts opened. He said the worst thing they could do is say no.

Pete’s reflection appears in the glass from the doorway to the office. “Looks good,” Pete says, his voice echoing around the tall walls. I glance over my shoulder at him, taking in how he’s casually leaning on the doorframe in a polo and golf shorts. The offseason brought him peace every year with the opportunity to recover from the previous season, but with training ramping up, it was only a matter of time before he had to lock in again.

“Thanks. Any word on who made the squad?” I ask.

Pete shakes his head. “Nah. They wouldn’t tell me anyway, but you know I put in a good word.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest as I turn toward him. “You know I want to make it on my merit.”

“And you will, sis. Just give it a few more days.” He knocks his bent index finger on the doorframe. “I’m meeting Coop and Josh to hit some balls. Want to come?”

I laugh lightly and shake my head. “You know I hate golf.”