I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2) (24 page)

“Riley, your collection of junk food is impressive.”

“I know, right?” the brunette said as she came back into the kitchen. “Some people collect stamps, I collect chips.”

Mollie accepted the pair of folded sweats Riley held out, even as she continued to stare at the cupboard stocked with chips, candy, cheese crackers, and chocolate-covered pretzels.

“Not quite the shelf life of stamps, though,” Mollie mused.

“Pretty damn close,” Riley’s husband muttered from the kitchen table, where he sat bent over a laptop. “That crap is so full of preservatives it could withstand a nuclear holocaust.”

Riley made a crude gesture at his back, and Mollie smiled in spite of her ravaged mood.

She still wasn’t quite sure how she’d ended up here. Upon walking out on Jackson a couple hours earlier, she’d found herself standing on Park Avenue, on the verge of a complete breakdown and with absolutely nowhere to go.

She’d nearly called Kim. But while Kim was her best friend in the whole world, her friend had a teensy problem with the phrase “I told you so,” and that
so
wasn’t what Mollie needed to hear right now.

So instead she’d called a newer friend—one certain to give it to her straight, even if straight hurt.

She’d called Riley Compton.

Mollie had said all of ten words on the phone before Riley had interrupted and asked where she was. Directions on which subway train to get on had followed, and an hour after leaving Jackson’s place, Mollie had found herself standing outside Riley and Sam Compton’s brownstone in Brooklyn.

It had been the right decision. Riley had opened the door, opened her arms, and tightly squeezed Mollie before telling her she’d made up the guest room.

“You know, normally I don’t share my goods,” Riley was saying, “but I make exceptions for friends whose hearts have been trampled by boys. Take your pick. Sweet tooth? Salty tooth?”

“Actually, I’m not all that hungry,” Mollie said. She
should
be. She hadn’t eaten breakfast. Certainly hadn’t eaten at her disastrous lunch with her sister. But she couldn’t fathom the thought of eating right now. Couldn’t really fathom the thought of doing much more than curling into a ball and crying.

Riley shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now, what do I want? Sour cream and onion, or salt and vinegar?…It’s a bit like
Rosemary’s Baby,
isn’t it?”

“Hey, Ri, how about something from the fridge? Carrot sticks? A salad?” Sam said, turning around in his chair to give his wife an exasperated look.

“Don’t be silly, honey. We don’t keep any of that nonsense in the fridge.”

“We do now. I went shopping.”

“Ooh, did they have any of those powdered-sugar donut holes that I like?”

“Riley!”

“You know, maybe you were smart to get out when you had a chance,” Riley said to Mollie out of the corner of her mouth. “Stick with ’em too long, and they start getting weird.”

“Are you a health food guy, Sam?” Mollie asked curiously, looking over at Sam.

He ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “No. Not really.”

“Oh.” Mollie frowned, a little confused as to why an apparently easygoing guy was trying to influence Riley’s eating habits. Based on what Mollie had seen, that seemed a bit like trying to roll a square boulder up Everest.

“Sam, honey, we need whisky and girl time,” Riley said, grabbing a bag of chips and closing the cupboard.

“Oh no, I don’t want to intrude,” Mollie said quickly. “I can just…”

Sam was already moving, closing his laptop and going to a bar cart along the far wall.

“You drink whisky, hon?” he asked Mollie.

“Uh, not really.”

“Well, you do now.” He poured a splash of amber liquid into two crystal glasses and brought one to her before holding up his own glass.

“What are we toasting to?” he asked.

“To men being shits,” Riley said.

He gave his wife a look. “I’m not drinking my own whisky to that.”

“You made this?” Mollie asked, bringing the glass closer and sniffing.

“I did.”

“His distillery is called ROON. It’s won like a dozen awards this year alone, and what he won’t tell you is that it’s the best damn whisky you’ll ever taste,” Riley said, moving closer to her husband and resting a hand on his back as she kissed his cheek.

Mollie’s heart twisted at the easy affection. She wanted that—wanted it with Jackson.

Just like that, the pain came rushing back over her. The pain of telling him how she felt, only to have him stare at her.

“Oh, honey,” Riley cooed, coming up beside her and ushering her toward the kitchen table. “Come. Sit.”

She did as she was told before lifting the whisky to her lips and taking a small sip. It burned in the best way possible. She liked the burn. Needed it.

She lifted her head to tell Sam she liked it, but he’d disappeared, only to reappear with a box of tissues a moment later.

He set it in front of her, resting a big hand on her shoulder for a moment. It was a kind touch—a comforting gesture.

And all she needed for the tears to start coming in earnest.

She put her hands over her face, too torn up to be embarrassed at sobbing in front of people she barely knew.

Riley made soothing noises, along with frequent comments along the lines of “Men are the worst.”

When Mollie pulled her hands away from her face long enough to grab a tissue, she saw Sam wrestling the chips away from Riley, replacing them with an apple before quietly leaving the room.

Riley threw the apple after him and didn’t even flinch at the dull thud of it hitting a wall somewhere.

“That was organic, Riley!” Sam’s voice called.

Mollie choked out a messy, watery laugh. “You’re
sure
he’s not a health food guy?”

“He didn’t used to be,” Riley grumbled, staring longingly at the barely touched whisky in front of Mollie. Mollie nudged it toward her, but Riley merely shook her head with a long sigh.

Mollie frowned in confusion. Then her eyes went wide as she put the pieces together: Riley saying no to a drink she obviously wanted, Sam’s determination to get Riley to eat better…

Riley was pregnant.

At the expression on Mollie’s face, Riley let out a long, weary sigh. “See, the thing that Sam doesn’t get is that it’s not that
I
want the chips, it’s that the
baby
wants the chips. If I try to put an apple down there, I guarantee he or she is going to send it right back up again.”

Mollie let out a happy squealing noise as she wrapped her arms around Riley’s neck in an awkward hug. “You’re having a baby! Congratulations.”

Riley laughed and patted her arm. “I am. It’s early yet, so no one outside of the family knows. And the girls, of course, but they
are
family.”

Mollie rested a hand on Riley’s stomach. The gesture was probably too familiar for a woman she barely knew, but she couldn’t help it. The thought of a little mini Riley or Sam was just too cute for words.

“How do you feel?” Mollie asked.

Riley shrugged. “Not too bad…yet. Mostly just excited. And, you know, terrified.”

“You’re going to make the best mom.”

Riley smiled. “Says the girl I just met last night.”

“Yeah, well,” Mollie muttered darkly, slumping back in her chair, “I think I’ve aged a decade in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Riley asked. “If not, it’s okay. You’re welcome to change into comfy clothes and wallow in the guest room as long as you want. There’s a ton of ice cream in the freezer that Sam won’t let me eat.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” Mollie said slowly. “It’s just…I don’t even know what to say.”

“You two seemed so right last night. You couldn’t take your eyes off each other. What happened?”

Mollie pulled the whisky toward her, cupping it between her hands without taking a drink. “He’s moving back to Texas.”

Riley’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. Did
not
see that coming.”

“Yeah. Me neither. Although I keep thinking I should have, you know? There was a time when I knew him better than anyone. And yet somehow, it’s like after we started sleeping together, he became more of a stranger.”

“It works that way sometimes,” Riley said. “Sex complicates things.”

“Why didn’t he just tell me?” Mollie said, more to herself than to Riley. “I would have understood.”

“Would you have?” Riley said with a little smile.

“Maybe. I mean, on one hand, I knew he wasn’t completely over the loss of his football career. But on the other hand, I really thought he was moving forward.”

“That’s why he’s moving back? Football?”

“He got an assistant coaching job on his old team.”

“Ah. Those who can’t play, coach?”

“Apparently.” Mollie rested her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples. “I keep thinking I should have been more understanding. If this is what he wants—”

“What do you want?”

Mollie gave a harsh little laugh. “I don’t know that that matters. For the first time in my life, I did what I wanted. I moved to New York. I made a move on Jackson. Which my sister now knows about, by the way. Went over
super
well. I did what I wanted, and I’ve never been so miserable.”

“Do you think you would have been happy if you hadn’t? Would you be happy if you were still keeping your feelings all bottled up?”

“At least I wasn’t hurting,” Mollie whispered.

Riley shook her head. “That’s not what I’m asking. Would you have been happy?”

Mollie turned her head and met the other woman’s piercing blue eyes. “I’ve never been so happy as I was the past couple weeks. It felt like my heart was flying.”

“Love can do that.”

“Yeah.” Mollie took a sip of the whisky. “But having that love unreturned feels a bit like crashing and burning.”

“That too.”

Mollie blew out a breath. “I don’t think I can face him. Not after I basically threw my heart at him and he just let it fall to the ground at his feet.”

“You don’t have to,” Riley said, setting a hand on her arm. “Not today, certainly. Not tomorrow. If the man’s too stupid to see what’s right in front of him, maybe it’s better that he slinks off back to Texas. We’ll find you another guy. A better guy.”

Mollie’s eyes watered again. “There is no better guy.”

Riley nudged the tissues toward her with a sigh. “I figured it might be something like that. He’s the one, huh? The only one?”

Mollie nodded and blew her nose.

“Sweetie, I don’t know Jackson. Or you, for that matter. But the man I saw last night, the way he looked at you…I don’t think this is easy for him. I’m sure he wants his old life back, but he wants you too. I really believe that.”

“I know,” Mollie whispered. “It’s just…I wanted him to want me
more
. More than he wanted Texas, or football.”
Or Madison,
she added silently.

Not that she believed he was moving back with the intention of reconciling with his ex. But intention might be irrelevant. When Madison wanted something, she got it, whether or not the other person intended to cooperate.

“So what do we do?” Riley asked.

Mollie took another drink, the motion mechanical. It was as though she could feel herself turning cold inside, even as the whisky burned hot in her throat.

“I need my own place?” Mollie said wearily.

“Sure. I know a great broker if you need a rec. But sweetie, are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

Mollie snorted. “What choice do I have?”

Riley bit her lip and looked hesitant. “You could fight for him.”

“I could. But could I ever be truly happy with someone who won’t fight for
me
?”

Riley squeezed her arm gently. She didn’t respond to Mollie’s question, but then, she didn’t have to. Mollie already knew what she had to do.

She had to let Jackson go.

For his happiness
and
her own.

Jackson had ended his call with his old coach five minutes ago, but he still held his cell phone, staring blindly down at it.

It was happening. Not immediately, obviously. He needed to give
Oxford
at least two weeks’ notice. And then he’d have to figure out what to do with this damn penthouse. Figure out where to live once he got back to Texas. He’d need a new truck.

But within a month, he’d be
back
.

Not as a player. Never as a player. But he’d be back on the field. Be back with the team. Back to where there was decent barbecue. And beer. And actual backyards. He’d be back with his friends. With his favorite local restaurants, which let him sit in a back booth where nobody could bother him.

And hell, once this
Oxford
magazine article came out, he might even get some of his dignity back. Not that everyone would read it, and those who read it might not believe him, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

It had occurred to him that now that he had his team back, courtesy of Madison coming clean with Coach, he didn’t even have to do the article. The only reason he’d agreed in the first place was the stipulation that he clean up his image before he’d even be considered for the position.

But Jackson surprised himself by wanting to do it. He was tired of the weight of the lies and the assumptions and the complete bullshit.

He might be going back to his old life, but he wanted a clean slate too. A clean slate with no scandal, no New York, no stupid suits…

No Mollie.

Mollie
.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she’d walked out of his apartment. Out of his life.

They’d been the longest hours of his life. He’d spent all of yesterday a zombie. At one point he’d found himself staring at the front door as though he could will her to come back through it with all that bright energy and goodness.

And love.

He wanted her love back even though he didn’t deserve it even a little bit.

But she hadn’t come.

He’d gone to bed early in hopes of finding some relief from the pain, but that hadn’t worked either. He’d lain in bed for hours before giving up and going to her bed. Her bed, which still smelled like her. In her room, which still had all of her belongings.

He’d gazed at the ceiling, wondering if he should give her the apartment. Wondering if that would make her hate him less, even as he knew it wouldn’t make him hate himself less. At dawn Jackson had given up on sleep.

Now he leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to get back to Texas. Trying to imagine how it would feel when he stepped off that plane. How it would feel when he stepped onto the field.

How it would feel when he could come home after a long day, and…

His eyes opened.

And what? Pop open a can of beer, watch a game?
Was that enough?
Would it matter if he had all of the things he wanted but nobody to share it with?

Jackson cursed and tossed his phone aside before leaning forward and burying his head in his hands. How the fuck had this happened? How had one girl turned his entire life upside down in just a few weeks?

Although that wasn’t entirely accurate, he realized. This thing with Mollie had been building for
years
. Not romantically, of course, but she’d always been important. And then he’d seen her in that damn little red dress, and she’d gone from important to…

Everything.

Mollie was everything.

So what the hell are you doing, man?

Jackson’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, and his heart leaped in hopes that it might be her. He swallowed his disappointment when he realized it was only the doorman of his building.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Burke, I have Cole Sharpe and Penelope Pope here to see you.”

Jackson frowned. What the hell were Sharpe and Pen doing at his place on a Sunday?

“Sure. Send ’em up,” he said.

A few moments later, he opened his door to a duo of very grim-looking colleagues.

No, not just colleagues. Friends. Cole and Penelope were his friends.
Good
friends, although they looked good and pissed at him now.

“You’re an idiot,” Cole said as he shoved past Jackson and made his way to Jackson’s fridge. “I’m having one of your beers. Pen?”

“Nah, I’m good,” she said. She touched Jackson’s forearm briefly as he shut the front door. “You okay?”

He glanced down at her big brown eyes, which were almost always smiling. But not now.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you let a girl you’re obviously crazy about walk away?”

He froze. “How the hell—”

Cole shook his head as he popped the cap off the beer. “Don’t even question it, man. You’re one of us now. No more secrets.”

One of us.
Jackson felt a surge of happiness, until he remembered that Cole was dead wrong. He wasn’t one of them. He was a Redhawk. He was…

Fuck.
He didn’t know what he was.

“Mollie called Riley,” Penelope explained. “And Riley called—”

“Everyone,” Cole finished.

Penelope shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Are you shitting me, Burke? You’re leaving us?” Cole said.

Jackson met the other man’s eyes. He was braced to see anger, but instead saw confused disappointment, and that was worse. So much worse.

“I want my life back,” Jackson said.

“Right,” Cole said. “And what is it that you’ve been doing for the past few months? Just a vacation?”

“No, it’s just…I don’t belong here,” he said a little desperately. “Surely you guys must see that?”

Penelope pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not really.”

Jackson’s eyes dropped to the enormous duffle bag on her shoulder. “Moving in?”

She gave the bag a pat. “More like helping Mollie move out.”

His heart twisted. “How is she?”

She gave him a look as though to say,
How do you think she is?
before pointing down the hall. “Her room’s this way?”

He wanted to rip the bag off Penelope’s shoulder and throw it out the window. Instead he forced himself to nod. “Last door on the right.”

Penelope started to head that way.

“Where is she staying?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Is she okay?”

“Riley and Sam have her in their guest room,” Penelope said without looking back. “I’m just picking up some of her essentials until she can find a time to come by and pack up.”

“But is she okay?” Jackson repeated quietly, mostly to himself, when Penelope didn’t answer that part of his question.

“Burke, of course she’s not okay,” Cole said. “She found out that you were moving to Texas from her sister.”

Jackson winced. “Wow, so when you said you guys know everything, you really know everything.”

Cole made himself at home in Jackson’s living room, sprawling on the couch and gesturing with his beer to a chair. “Sit.”

Jackson ignored him as he went to the fridge for a beer of his own. It was as good a day to day drink as any.

“Sit,” Cole barked, more emphatically this time.

Jackson glared but found himself complying. “Are we going to talk about my report card, Dad?”

“You’d better hope not, because you’re failing across the board, Burke.”

Jackson’s temper spiked. “What the hell, dude? You’re the biggest sports fan there is. Surely you can understand why I need to—”

“Is this about your ex-wife?”

Jackson stared. “What?”

“This move back to Texas. You looking to get back with Madeline?”

Jackson didn’t even correct Cole on Madison’s name. Didn’t care enough.

“Shit, man, you think I’m going back for her? Is that what Mollie thinks?”

Cole leaned forward. “I almost wish you were, Burke. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the woman sounds like a shrew, but at least then you’d be going back for a person.”

Jackson took a sip of beer and stayed silent.

Cole shook his head. “You’re right about me being the biggest sports fan there is, but even I know that football is just a game.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Jackson said. “Football is everything.”

Cole sat back again. “That’s the most messed-up thing I’ve ever heard. Pardon the cliché, but does football keep you warm at night? Does football suck—” He glanced down the hall in the direction Penelope had gone and wisely decided not to finish that sentence. He ran a hand over his face. “I know you had a pretty sweet-ass thing going on for a long time, man. Being a pro quarterback with a handful of Super Bowl rings is every little boy’s fantasy. But you can’t get that back.”

Jackson remained stubbornly silent.

“Cassidy’s dropping your story,” Cole said after a few tense moments.

Jackson’s beer froze on its way to his lips. “What?”

“The story Pen and I were going to do on you. He’s pulling it.”

“What the hell?” Jackson said, stunned. “All this because he’s pissed?”

Cole glared. “Give the man some credit. It’s not personal.”

“The hell it’s not! Up until he found out I was moving, he was hot for that story!”

“That was before your story was shit!” Cole said, raising his voice. “Yeah, sure, the story was an exclusive about what really happened with that car accident and the women, but the real story was about what you were doing about all of that.”

“Ah, Jesus, don’t make it weird,” Jackson said, setting his beer on the coffee table and plunging his hands into his hair.

“Cole’s right,” Penelope said as she came back into the living room. “The story wasn’t the scandal or your injury. It was what you were doing to come back.”

He lifted his head and glared at her.

She shrugged, not looking particularly apologetic. “I idolized you once, Jackson. Hell, I defended you to Cole here even before I met you. But the story I wanted to tell was about you becoming a
new
man. Not a shadow of the man you
used
to be.”

Penelope’s quietly uttered words rocked through him.
A shadow of the man you used to be.
Was that what she thought he was doing? Was that what they
all
thought? That he was settling for being some washed-up has-been?

An even more alarming thought was quick to follow: were they right?

Cole set his beer aside and stood, going to take the packed duffle back from Penelope and slinging it over his shoulder. “How the heck is a bag this full so light?”

Penelope shrugged. “It’s mostly Mollie’s bras and panties.”

Cole winced. “Didn’t need to know.”

Jackson barely heard any of this. He was too busy trying to figure out how he felt about the fact that
Oxford
was dropping him as its cover story.

He shouldn’t care. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure he wanted to do that story in the first place. And there would be dozens of other media sources that would be salivating over getting an exclusive.

But Penelope’s words were on repeat in his head.
The story I wanted to tell was about you becoming a new man. Not a shadow of the man you used to be.

Penelope and Cole headed to the door, and Jackson frowned as he stood. “You’re leaving?”

“No offense, man, but you’re shit for company,” Cole said.

“Maybe because you came storming over uninvited and started lecturing me on how to live my life.”

Cole shrugged. “Yeah, that could be it.” He reached for the doorknob, then turned back and looked at Jackson. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not pissed, but once I get over that—”

“That’ll take about an hour,” Penelope interrupted.

He smiled and kissed her head. “Once I’m over it, call me if you want to talk. Or drink. Or just sit in manly silence and brood.”

Jackson swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “Thanks, man.”

Cole nodded once in response and stepped out into the hall as Penelope rolled her eyes. “Men. But yes, seriously. Do let us know if you need anything. Just because Mollie’s staying with Riley doesn’t make you any less our friend. It’s like Cole said. You’re one of us now.”

Jackson couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to that, so he just stood there as Penelope gave a friendly wave and followed Cole into the hallway.

Just before the door closed, she stuck her head back in. “Oh, and Jackson?”

“Yeah.”

She grinned. “You’re gonna miss us when you’re gone.”