SWNOVELS Caught on Camera: Chapter 19
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TONIGHT?” I ask Lacey. I prop my phone between my shoulder and ear and uncap a dry erase marker with my teeth. “Are you busy?”
“No plans,” she says. I hear a sink turn on, and the rip of a paper towel. She must be in her office. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”
“I rented out an ice rink so the team can decompress after the loss the other day. They’re all bringing their families, too. Maggie, Aiden and Maven are coming. I wanted to invite you.”
“You rented out a rink?” she asks. “How rich are you?”
“I didn’t just rent out the rink. I rented out a whole farm.” I chuckle. “But to answer your question, I’m rich.”
“Like, how many millions?”
“Turning into a gold digger, Daniels?”
“No,” she huffs, and I swear she’s rolling her eyes. “It’s something your fake girlfriend would know, right?”
“You’ve never looked up how much I make?” I ask, genuinely curious.
All the information about my contracts—both when I was a player and now as a coach—are online and out in the world for anyone to find. I always assume more people know my net worth than my middle name; it’s a common occurrence for athletes to talk in contract numbers rather than personal information.
“No. Why would I?” she says. “If you wanted to tell me, you would. I don’t really care how much you make, but since you’re out here renting out entire farms, I think I underestimated you. Are we talking about Louis Vuitton or Kate Spade level of money?”
“Sweetheart, I could buy you all the Louis Vuitton you want and have plenty of money left over.”
“Oh, Christ,” she mumbles, and she blows out a breath. “Is it uncomfortable for you to tell me?”
“Not at all. Does it make you uncomfortable to hear it?”
“No. You know I don’t care about that, right?”
I grin and draw a couple of exes and ohs on the whiteboard. “Right. Well, when I played, I was on a ten year, ninety-eight-million-dollar contract,” I say.
“What the fuck?” she exclaims. “Are you shitting me? That is… that is a ridiculous amount of money.”
“The NFL is the most profitable league in the country. They bring in thirteen billion dollars a year, and they pay their players well.”
“Thirteen billion? Hang on, I need to sit down. You’re blowing my mind here, Shawn.”
“Want me to tell you about the coaching contract?”
Lacey sighs like hearing these numbers is a chore, and it makes me grin even wider. She truly does not give a shit about how much I’m worth, and I love that about her. “You might as well.”
“Eight years, eighty million,” I say. “It’s on the low end, but it’s my first contract as a head coach.” I shrug even though she can’t see me. “We’ll see what I get when it’s time to talk about extensions.”
“Holy mother of God. You could buy an island.”
“I could, but I donate a lot of it instead. Seems better for the environment. Besides, what would I do with a thousand acres all to myself? You wouldn’t be there, and I’d miss your pumpkin pies.”
A laugh tumbles out of her, and I heave a sigh of relief.
I hate having conversations about money, especially with people I care about. I’m lucky to be surrounded by family and friends who don’t give a shit about my paychecks. They’ve never asked me to pay off their mortgage or to buy them a car, but it’s a slippery slope. Money can be messy, and the last thing I want is for Lacey to think I’m different because of how many zeroes I have in my bank account.
I know her heart, though.
It wouldn’t matter if I had ten dollars or ten million dollars to my name. She’d still give me shit, and that makes her one of the good ones. Someone I always want in my corner.
“Okay, so renting a farm is like chump change for you,” she says. “Got it.”
“It’s a small place outside the city. A local business. I’m supporting the economy,” I explain. “I promise I’m not showboating.”
“Ah, I see. The Good Samaritan strikes again. Really, though. That’s thoughtful of you, Shawn. What a great way to kick off the holiday season,” she says.
“I know firsthand how hard it can be to be away from people you love during this time of year. Sometimes I feel guilty for taking away from the players’ free time, and I want to remind them I know they’re human.”
“They know what they signed up for,” Lacey says, and her voice is soft and soothing. A balm to an ache in my chest I didn’t know was there. “But it sounds like it’s going to be a great time. I’m sure they could use a little fun before the last games heading into the new year.”
“Yeah. Everyone tends to get more stressed out the later into December we get. I don’t know. I just want them to have clear minds and a few hours where they don’t have to be the tough guys they’re known to be on the field,” I say. I stare at my white board and erase the play I just drew out. “Anyway. What do you think?”
“I’ll be there. I haven’t been ice skating since last Christmas, so I’m going to be a little rusty. It’s nothing a couple of falls and a warm cup of hot chocolate can’t fix, though,” she says. “Am I supposed to dress up? Should I wear a reindeer costume or make myself look like a Christmas tree? Oh. I can be that guy from Die Hard. Talk about holiday spirit.”
“Please don’t tell me you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie.”
“Shawn, it literally takes place on Christmas Eve. How is it not a Christmas movie?”
“Because the day it happens has no relevance to the plot. In fact—” I shake my head. “No. We’re not arguing about this. I’m about to head into a meeting, and I don’t want to be all fired up.”
She laughs again, and fuck, I love that sound. Even through the phone it makes me smile.
“Fine,” she says. “We’ll argue more about it tonight.”
“Looking forward to it, Daniels.”
“You’re such a nerd. See you later, Shawn Yawn.”
“Bye, Lace Face.”
MY CHEEKS HURT from smiling so much.
The entire team—every player, every coach, and all of their family members—have descended on Mulberry Farms. They’re spread out from the gingerbread hut to the hot chocolate buffet, surveying the row of glass jars full of marshmallows, candy canes, and nutmeg to add to their drinks.
Some carry trees out to their cars, tying the Douglas firs down with twine and bungee cords. Others decorate sugar cookies, and a food fight breaks out when Dallas swipes a thumb full of frosting across Maven’s cheek. I’m sitting on a little wooden bench on the outside of the skating rink, happily watching the madness unfold.
“Hey.” Lacey plops down next to me and nudges my shoulder. “There you are.”
“Are you having fun?” I ask, bending over to lace up my left skate.
“So much fun. I think I ate too many cookies, though. My stomach is killing me.” She works her fingers through her hair, braiding the long strands and tying them off with a hair tie. “Want to hit the ice?”
“I’m not very good,” I admit. “I might need your help.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be the best teacher,” she says, “but I’ll do my best.” She stands up and wiggles her hand. I smile and take it, laughing as she tries to pull me to my feet but almost topples backward in the process. “You’re not light.”
“I’m over two hundred pounds,” I say. I rise to my feet and keep our hands locked together. “Have you been deadlifting?”
“Deadlifting my wine glass to my mouth,” she answers, and I laugh again.
We shuffle toward the rink, and Lacey checks both ways before dragging us onto the ice. Her free hand grips my forearm, and we wobble on our feet.
“Easy,” she says. She moves in front of me and skates backward, her eyes on mine. “Pretend like you’re gliding.”
“Believe it or not, they don’t teach us how to glide on the football field,” I say. “It’s more about tackling and leveling a guy onto his ass.” I lean my shoulders forward and try to make myself smaller. “How am I doing?”
“I’m not sure you’ll be competing in the Olympics anytime soon, but it’s not the worst beginner skating I’ve ever seen,” she says. She holds both of my hands, and she swings our arms back and forth. “Relax. I’m not going to let you fall.”
“Says the girl who claimed she was rusty.”
“It’s like riding a bike.” She lets go to do a spin then faces me with a grin on her lips and a few pieces of hair in her face. “See? No injuries here.”
I reach for her palms again, and she intertwines our fingers. I like when she touches me. She’s warm and soft, and her thumb runs over the knuckles of my left hand. We settle into a rhythm, with her pulling me around the oval and me only flailing mildly. Her laugh makes me smile, and when I come close to face-planting on the ice, she grabs under my arms and keeps me stable.
“My guardian angel,” I say after we’ve done six laps.
Her cheeks are pink. A small bead of sweat rolls down her neck and catches in the hollow of her throat. It’s obnoxiously sexy and I purposely don’t look at it, averting my gaze and focusing on my jeans instead.
“You’re doing great,” she says. “I’m going to grab some water and take a break. Do you want something to drink?”
“I’m good for now. Thanks, buttercup.”
She rolls her eyes and flicks my ear. “Try again. And don’t go too far away. I don’t want to find you on your back in the middle of the rink going into cardiac arrest.”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Old enough to not think Die Hard is a Christmas movie,” she answers, and she darts away.
I tip my head back and laugh. I hold onto the boards as my team skates by, and I duck when someone throws a clump of ice at my head.
“You’re having fun,” Aiden says. He drapes his arms over the side of the rink and grins, staying on solid ground. “Is there a reason you’re pretending to not know how to skate when I distinctly remember you winning the junior hockey league MVP when we were eight?”
My ears turn red, and I dip my chin. “Because I like watching Lacey pretend to know what she’s talking about.”
“Ah.” Aiden hums and leans forward on his elbows. “Right. Because otherwise she wouldn’t hold your hand. Got it.”
I throw up my middle fingers. “Because it’s fun.”
“And if she started to fall?”
“I’d catch her,” I answer automatically. I look up to meet his gaze, and I see he’s smirking. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just interesting.”
“Oh, here we go. What’s interesting?”
“There’s no press around. Your family isn’t here, and neither is our boss. You don’t have a reason to pretend like you two are dating, and yet you can’t stop looking at her. It’s okay to like her, Shawn.”
“I don’t—we’re having fun. As friends,” I add, and his smirk doesn’t go away. “We don’t like each other.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure. Yeah, we’ve been spending more time together, but hanging out doesn’t mean we’re falling in love. She’s… it’s nice to be around someone so down to earth, you know? Someone who calls me out on my shit and isn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with me. It’s refreshing, honestly. Did you know she doesn’t know how much money I make? I blew her mind with that one.” I run my hand through my damp hair. Sweat clings to the strands from a half an hour of exertion. “Can’t you let us be?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to meddle or make a mountain out of a molehill.” He holds up his hands in apology, and I nod my forgiveness. “It’s good to see you happy. That’s all.”
“I’m always happy,” I answer, and Aiden levels me with a knowing look.
“Not like this, you aren’t,” he says, and he clasps my shoulder. “You lost your first game of the season, but you haven’t stopped smiling. When you played in the league, you moped around for a week before you let that shit go.”
“I’ve grown up. I have to show the team that it doesn’t bother me, otherwise the guys will hold on to the loss, too. We won’t be able to move forward.”
“Right. Yeah. And it has nothing to do with the five-foot-six brunette who’s waving at you from across the way?”
My gaze travels to the other side of the farm. Lacey is leaning against the wooden bar with Maggie, a smile on her face and a hand on her hip. She is waving, and I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s waving at me. I lift my hand and wave back, and a grin creeps onto my lips.
Now she’s holding up a chalice, a drink that looks suspiciously different from the water she said she was going to get. She pretends to chug it, and I laugh.
“No,” I say. “Not just because of her. Because of other things, too.”
“Got it. Well, the good news is you shouldn’t have a hard time selling your relationship to your parents or Director Hannaford,” Aiden says. “I just hope you two remember this is fake. I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”
“Of course we remember it’s fake. There’s only twenty-five days to go until we can give up this ruse,” I say, and I kick the blade on my skate into the ice. “The next few weeks are going to fly by.”