If It's Only Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 6)

“Would you have talked to me if I’d tried?” He swallows, his eyes scanning my face over and over. What’s he looking for? A sign that he didn’t screw things up with me? Proof that maybe we can still be friends after everything? He can keep looking, but he’s not going to find it.

“It doesn’t matter.” I close my laptop. “That was all a long time ago, and I’m not some moon-eyed girl anymore.”

“Have dinner with me,” he blurts.

Clearly, guilt over the past has made this man lose his mind. It’s bad enough that he’s moving back, but he can’t seriously expect me to want to spend time alone with him. “Why?”

He blinks. “Because I missed you? Because I want a chance to apologize properly?” He looks out the window over my shoulder and frowns. “I’m not wrong, am I? You’ve never told your family . . . about us?”

I shake my head and slide my laptop into my bag. “I don’t hate you, I don’t need to go to dinner to hear you apologize, and my family doesn’t need to know about our mistakes.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Was that all I was to you? A mistake?”

I’m too tired to deal with this today. Merely sitting beside him is more emotionally taxing than I was prepared for. “What else would you call it?”

“Bad timing?” He shakes his head. “I’m back here now. For real. We’re going to have to talk at some point. You can’t keep pushing me away.”

“Just because I’m not available to you doesn’t mean I’m giving you the silent treatment. And just because you’re moving home doesn’t mean I’m obligated to have dinner with you. You and I have said all we need to say.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and do my best to ignore the hurt in his eyes. Even after everything, I can’t stand the idea of causing him pain, so I attempt to soften my words. “Welcome back to Jackson Harbor. I’m sure your daughter will love it here.”

Easton

“The master looks right out to Lake Michigan.” At the top of the stairs, Ellie turns left and opens a set of double doors that lead into the master bedroom of what I hope will be my future home. She strides in, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

I turn to follow, and the view stops me in my tracks. The lake stretches for miles, and the rippling water glitters like diamonds in the sunset.

I would’ve thought I’d become accustomed to views like this. After thirteen years in the NFL, the best has become my new normal. Hell, I’ve owned my penthouse in Laguna Beach for ten years, and its view of the Pacific is hands-down more impressive than this. But I’m speechless nonetheless. Something about being back in Jackson Harbor makes the last thirteen years go away. Once again, I’m just the son of a single mom, scraping by on next to nothing. Once again, I’m a kid who’s grateful he has football and a best friend with the coolest family in the world.

Once, a house like this was only a dream, and now I’m a couple of signatures from grabbing it for myself—free and clear.

“Is it okay?” Ellie asks, misinterpreting my silence for disapproval.

Nodding, I cross the room to stand by the windows. I’ve been waiting for something like this to come on the market, and came to town just to see it before finalizing my offer. “No, it’s great.” I flash her a smile over my shoulder. “Thanks for catching it for me.”

She beams. “That’s my job.”

“There are other bedrooms on this floor?”

“Yes. It’s a split floor plan up here. The master’s on this side, and then there’s an office between you and the other bedrooms.” She nods toward the door. “Let me show you the one I think your daughter would love.”

I follow her down the hall, stopping along the way to admire the massive office with its wall of walnut built-ins. I love all the wood tones in this house, from the trim to the timber beams in the family room downstairs. Right before Scarlett finally moved out, she remodeled my Laguna home into a monochromatic wash of white and gray. It felt like a high-end hotel. This feels like home.

“Big closets,” Ellie says when I follow her into the room at the end of the hall. “And she might not care about that now, but there’s a good chance she will when she gets older.”

I grunt. Abigail might only be nine, but she already cares about clothes more than I ever have. The room is a good size, and I can already picture where I’ll put her bed, a desk, and a small TV area with her fuzzy pink beanbag chairs. It might not have the massive windows that the master has, but it does overlook the water.