Page 88 of The Game Plan

“So you’re leaving me?” he asks, jaw stiffening.

I drag in a breath because yes, I am leaving, but hearing him say it aloud makes it even harder to take. “I’m not trying to be cruel, or hurt you, Jax, but I’m not good with emotions and feeling out of control and I’m so angry and frustrated, with Carl and the fact I’ve let him…”

I bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying. “I hate that he’s hurting you more than me,” I say. “I’m sad for us and that we didn’t meet or date in different circumstances. That I couldn’t get to know you without this shitstorm around us because I think in another time and place… I could… I— Things would be different.”

“Sienna, please don’t run. We can find a way to put things right,” he says, voice pleading.

“I am, Jax. I’m going to go to Canada to tell my parents the truth about us, everything. That my life has imploded and I’ve…”

Fallen for the most unlikely, incredible guy. I see it now. I know definitively. I didn’t have an ounce of the feelings for Carl that I do for Jax. Carl was the obvious choice. The smart choice – until he wasn’t. Jax is the guy I am most unlikely to be compatible with. My polar opposite in so many ways. Yet, the thought of getting on a plane and flying to a different country without him, even for a couple of days, is killing me.

I love him.

“I think you should do the same, Jax. Tell your family and the Dragons who don’t know the truth. Tell Coach Garrison. Put it all on me. Hell, I’ll go and tell your parents the truth if you’d rather. I don’t want to hurt you or the people you care about any more than I already have.”

There’s suddenly a short, yappy bark from somewhere in the apartment.

“What’s that?” I ask.

Jax’s mouth falls open but before he speaks, a tiny blond puppy comes running into the room, sliding across the wood floor like Bambi.

“Shit,” Jax says.

I know immediately that my minion husband has defaulted to immaturity off the charts. Even as the cute as hell puppy runs between us, excitedly jumping at our legs and spreading a line of tinkle juice around the pristine floors.

“Jesus, Jax, a dog?” I ask with horror.

Jax winces. “I bought him for us.”

I close my eyes. This is the entirely wrong thing to do. Something Jax would do without thinking through the consequences. I, on the other hand, would have thought about every single consequence of owning a dog – the tie to each other, the implications of having a dog in a condo building, the impracticalities of walking and feeding it around my work schedule – before embarking on this spontaneous buy.

Which serves to highlight how different Jax and I truly are. “A dog won’t fix this, babe.” I close my zipper and, watching the floor through blurred eyes, I walk out on my husband and our adorable new puppy.

“Sienna—”

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, Jax. I need to get my head straight and start doing the right things. I suggest you do the same.”

37

OCTOBER

Sienna

Small Town

Dad is waiting for me in arrivals. If his age-old stonewash jeans and checked shirt didn’t give him away, the sign he’s holding up saying Sienna Jamieson would. Does he think I’ve forgotten what he looks like?

“Dad, it’s been a while but not that long,” I say, wheeling my case to him and letting him pull me into a hug.

I’ve spent the flight researching how to look after what I’m convinced is a Labrador or golden retriever puppy, for no real reason because if Jax even decides to keep it now, I won’t be its owner. Maybe I was punishing myself by looking at cute pictures and fighting against the idea of a life where Jax and I are together and share a dog, take it for walks on the beach and sit on his rooftop with the pooch lying by our feet as the sun rises and sets.

So as much as Dad’s embrace now takes me by surprise, given the animosity I’ve been expecting, it’s a welcome comfort. Home. I let go of my luggage and lean into his chest. My dad is a relatively big guy. Not pro-athlete tall and certainly not lean like Jax, but wide and strong and everything I didn’t know I needed.

Dad smells like he always does – wood smoke, outdoors, mechanical oil – and the effect is nostalgic. Until I remember why I’m here.

“How angry is she?” I ask.

“You’d best brace yourself, kiddo,” he says, stepping back from me and taking hold of the handle on my small cabin case.