Page 22 of Falling Back to You

Ruby continued to rearrange us to her heart’s content, like we were her childhood dolls. Cal said very little after that—unusual for him since he’d always been the chatty one—and I spent the next hour torturing myself in his arms, smiling and laughing at all the right times. Following a script like I had most of my life: don’t step out of line, don’t get angry, fake the smile, never complain, hold it together.

It was just another performance.

Pretending to be in love with the man I’d never forgotten.

Chapter six

Cal

My hand stung as I threw another punch at the punching bag, sweat dripping into my eyes. Last month at Greyson and Paisley’s vow renewal, Ruby had cornered me, begging me with those puppy dog eyes to help her out with a strangers’ couple shoot. Because I was a softy for the Shepherd girls and Ruby had always been a little sister to me, I’d fallen for her act with the swiftness of an avalanche.

And look where it got me? Holding the woman of my dreams in my arms for an hour this afternoon, trying to remember how much she’d hurt me.

Hard to do when she smelled like a tropical vacation and fit against me perfectly.

Noelle had been stiff, but she’d relaxed eventually. Then the lines started to blur. We’d bantered. She’d laughed at my jokes. And I’d tried to scrounge up the anger that had consumed me back then, but it wasn’t easy. Instead, old memories of us played over and over in my mind, and something like relief spread through my chest.

Noelle wasn’t married like I’d always wondered. And she was home. To stay.

It was simultaneously the best day of my life and pure torture.

I’d had over a decade to work through my complicated feelings, and I had. But seeing her outside my dreams and memories, holding her . . . It did things to me.

Hence, the punching bag.

And she really didn’t look me up all these years? I’d enlisted Myles—the king of social media hating—to help me find her only a few months after she left.

I wasn’t self-centered, but Noelle not knowing about Izzy threw me. It’d been all over the news four years ago.

Cal Satterfield’s Wife Found Dead in Their Home of an Overdose.

Everyone had opinions. Everyone had questions.

I know I did.

Izzy’s postpartum depression had settled in fast after Khia was born, and I’d tried to get her the help she needed. She’d promised me she was doing better. She was connecting with other WAGs and spending time with her best friend. Later, I learned that was a cover for cheating on me with a teammate.

But even then, I hadn’t expected that.

I was reeling from the notoriety and the questions. The breaking pressure of being thrust into single fatherhood. Angry she’d endangered our child like that. Angry at myself for not noticing the signs.

Finally, I’d snapped. We were in Chicago playing against the Blackhawks, and Justin, the teammate my wife had been involved with, was railing against me. And I lost it.

He blamed me for her death. As if I didn’t blame myself. That fight turned into a suspension, and I was whisked down from Seattle to the minor leagues with a “this is for your own good” pat on the shoulder. They’d trussed the decision up in nice packaging about it being better for me to be out of the spotlight for a while so I could heal and raise my little girl. But I knew the truth—I messed up.

And I’d been here ever since.

“Daddy?” Khia’s soft voice called from the open door of the garage after I threw another punch.

Chest heaving, I dropped my stance and turned towards her, removing my gloves. “Yeah, Lovebug?”

She eyed my rumpled appearance, her nose scrunching. “You’re sweaty.”

“And you need a hug.” I charged towards her, and she shrieked, darting across the lawn towards the house.

I caught up to her in three strides and swung her up in my arms, tickling her and nudging my nose against her neck. Her pealing laughter echoed in the darkness.

Lugging her into the house, I set her on the kitchen island counter and crossed my arms. “And why aren’t you in bed?” We’d done our bedtime routine an hour before, and she usually went down like a champ, especially since she’d had a sleepover at my parents’ last night and spent the day with them. Nothing tired her out like a day with Meemaw and Pops.