Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

“Are you ready?” Archer asks, holding the football up in one hand.

“Definitely not.”

His lips quirk into a grin that I can see from ten yards away. “I’m going to throw it right to you. You just have to catch it.”

“And not let it hit me in the face,” I mutter to myself.

“Here it comes,” Archer says.

Not at all feeling confident, I hold my hands up anyway. When the football sails my way, I send up a silent prayer that I can manage to keep it from breaking my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut as it approaches—probably not the best plan, but when it hits my palms, I instinctively curl my fingers around it.

Peeking out of one eye, I’m shocked to find myself holding the ball. I did it!

Archer’s smile has doubled in size. A giddy sensation zips through me.

“Now what?” I yell.

“Run it into the end zone.”

I take off, jogging more than running, until I hear Archer’s footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to tackle you.”

My heart rate picks up and a thrill rushes through me with him chasing me. I increase my speed. “I thought you were playing quarterback?”

“I’m multi-talented.”

I get one foot in the end zone before he wraps his arms around me. Slowly and much more gentle than any defender in the league, Archer pulls me to the ground on top of him.

“Did I score?”

His eyes twinkle with amusement. “You sure did.”

“Should I get up and show you my victory dance?”

“Later.” His mouth covers mine. I let the ball go to tangle my fingers in his thick hair.

In the background I can hear some of his other teammates on the field. They had the day off practice, but Archer had to come by for a quick meeting and asked me to come along.

I didn’t ask enough questions because apparently that meeting was teaching me how to play football.

When I pull back and roll over to the side, he smiles at me, brushing my hair away from my face.

“Am I as good as my brother?” I ask him.

“Definitely. And you look better on the field.”

Laughing, I kiss him again. The rush of scoring a touchdown has me jumping back up to my feet. “Can we do it again?”

Amusement plays over his face, but he gets up looking as eager as I feel.

He throws the ball to me a few more times. I show him my victory dance, a ballet jump where I do the splits in the air, that Archer says is both impressive and sexy as fuck. Then I mimic Brogan’s cocky dance and Archer’s more humble, quiet, one arm fist pump of victory.

“I don’t think I look like that,” he says.

“Oh no, you look way sexier when you do it,” I assure him. He does, in fact, look very good when he does it.

“Been awhile since I got to do a victory dance.” He tosses the ball and catches it in one hand. “Next time I get there I might be so glad that I do one of your little leaps to celebrate.”

“Promise?”

He huffs a laugh in response. His expression is clouded suddenly, and I scrunch up my face as I replay our conversation for what has him looking far less happy than he did just a few seconds ago.

“Are you worried about the game this weekend?”

“No, not really,” he says, but not all that convincingly.

I wait him out to see if he’ll add more. His jaw works back and forth before he finally does. “If I don’t step up and start contributing, I don’t think I’ll be a Maverick for much longer.”

“They could trade you?” My heart lurches at the thought. I hadn’t even considered that. Yes, I know players get traded all the time, but not Archer.

“I don’t have a no-trade clause, so yeah.”

“But you’re a great player. Brogan must have told me how talented you are a dozen times. And I saw an article that mentioned you as one of the top receivers to watch.”

He gives me a wobbly smile. “Reading up on me?”

“I seem to be drawn to mentions of you lately.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes, I’ve been reading up on you.” I roll my eyes playfully. “So I know what I’m talking about.”

“I appreciate it, but talent isn’t enough. The team needs someone who can get in the end zone.”

“You can. I know it.” I grab his shirt with both hands and shake him lightly. “You need to believe it.”

His gaze roams over my face, smiling ever so slightly.

“My boyfriend can’t get traded. I need you here.” I lean in and kiss him.

He hums against my lips. “In that case, I better get my shit together.”

I rest my arms over his shoulders. “I meant it. I believe in you. You’ll figure out how to get back in the end zone. And when you do, I’ll be in the stands cheering louder than anyone else.”

He presses his mouth to mine and lingers there almost as if he’s breathing me in instead of kissing me.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He rests his forehead against mine. “But I’m not letting you go now that I’ve got you.”

As if I’d try to go anywhere.

After we leave the stadium, Archer drives me to the studio. I peer in through the front windows, heart squeezing with pride and excitement at the transformed space.

There’s a note on the front door from Eleanor. I peel it off, reading her beautiful cursive penmanship.

Studio looks lovely.

Came by to chat. Give me a ring when you have a chance.

Eleanor

“Aww, I’m sad I missed her,” I say as I unlock the front door. The space is stuffy, and I prop the door open to let in some fresh air.

Archer walks over to the front desk and picks up one of the flyers for the studio.

“These are great,” he says, smiling.

“I know. London is amazing. As soon as those went up around town, I started getting emails and calls. The Saturday toddler class is completely full already.”

“That’s incredible.” His smile widens and the pride that beams off him is intoxicating.

“It is.” I let myself feel all the things—excitement, happiness, a little fear that I’m in over my head and going to screw it all up. I don’t really believe that last thing, but it lingers there, reminding me how much I want this to work.

“I’m going to get coffee and then you can put me to work however you need,” Archer says.

There isn’t much left to do, just a few final touches before we open next weekend. It’ll be a quiet opening since it’s just me working for now, but hopefully in a month or two I can afford to hire some other instructors and a part-time office manager.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m going to call Eleanor.”

It’s been a few weeks since we’ve chatted. Maybe I can convince her to come back later. I really want to show her every detail. Her approval means so much.

I pull out my cell and call her. Something tells me Eleanor isn’t big on texting.

She answers on the third ring in her bright, clear voice, “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Sabrina.”

“Oh, Sabrina darling. It’s so good to hear from you.”

I smile, picturing her on the other end. “Yeah, you too. I’m sorry I wasn’t at the studio when you stopped by.”

“From the looks of it, you earned a break. I hardly recognize the place.”

I wander around on the dance floor. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear the footsteps of children in ballet shoes. “You have to come back so I can give you a proper tour of the space.”

“I would love that, but it will have to be soon.”

My brows pinch together. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, great actually. I’m about to be a grandma.”

“Congratulations.”

“It’s about time. I was about to give up hope, but Will called earlier this week and said his wife is expecting twins.”

“Oh my gosh. Twins!”

“Can you believe it?”

“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head.

“They’re going to need help, so I’m moving to Sarasota.”

“That’s so nice of you.”

“It’s mostly selfish. I miss being around kids. They keep you young. You’ll find that out yourself when that studio is filled with little ones.”

I got caught up in the good news and forgot that it started with her implying she’d be leaving soon. “When are you leaving?”

“Next month.”

“So soon?”

“I want to find my own place and get settled before the babies come. Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve had a white Christmas.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m happy for you, but I’m sad you won’t be around to see your building filled with kids again.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There’s no easy way to say this.” She’s quiet, as if considering her words. “I’ve decided to sell the building.”

My stomach drops.

At my silence, she continues, “It’s just not feasible for me to be across the country and keep an eye on things.”

“Couldn’t you hire someone to manage the building for you? You said yourself that it was a great investment. I know you took a hit on the lease payments for me, but I can pay more once I have some steady payments coming in.”

“No, sweet child, I don’t want your money. I’m thrilled with how you’ve transformed the building. You have made an old woman very happy. I can leave this city knowing I handed the reins over to the best possible person. You have already made my wildest dreams come true seeing that old place ready for new life. I promise I will make sure the new owner guarantees the same rental agreements we have in place. I’m meeting with my lawyer tomorrow.”

I find myself nodding, unable to say much in response. Eleanor reassures me that it’s all going to be fine, but my stomach is in knots by the time I hang up.

That’s how Archer finds me. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing in one place, staring into space.

“What’s wrong?”

I snap out of my trance, blinking several times. Archer sets the coffees on the front counter and comes over to me.

I’m still holding my phone in one hand. I lift it slightly. “Eleanor is moving and she’s selling the building.”

“Aww, I’m sorry.” His lips pull into a flat smile.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Your lease is good for at least a year, right?”

“Yeah, and she promised to get all the legal documents transferred over to ensure the new owner can’t make big, sweeping changes, but it just feels…wrong.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He hugs me, cupping the back of my head to his chest.

My throat is too tight to speak.

After a few long moments where I soak up his presence, he pulls back. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

I let him pull me toward the door, but when he comes up short, I glance up confused.

“What—?” I start to ask, but the question is answered by the man in the door.

Walker Graham.