Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (31 page)

“I’m glad you are, too. Goodbye, Brett.” His
name came out garbled as she choked on the words. A large, wet tear
slipped down her cheek.

“Goodbye, Estie.” Brett stood there, hands
shoved in pockets, as if there was so more he wanted to say, but he
didn’t say it. Instead he walked away, and with him he took an
irreplaceable chunk of her heart.

She sank to the floor and started to cry as
her kids gathered around in an attempt to comfort her, but this
time, their comfort didn’t ease the pain splintering her heart and
soul into pieces so shattered they’d never be repaired.

A woman didn’t lose a man like that and not
regret it with every beat of her heart.

* * * * *

Brett sat back in the chair and stared out
the window at the water on Elliot Bay. Usually the view calmed him,
but not so much today. In fact, not at all. It’d been three weeks
since he’d left Estie’s house and Estie behind. He walked through
life as if in a fog, and damn it, he needed to get out of that fog
now. She’d moved on, and so would he. He’d survived worse.

His agent droned on and on in his ear, and
Brett resisted the urge to lay the phone on the table and walk
off.

“So Brett, shall I tell Miami you’ll take
their offer?”

Brett frowned, the acceptance sat on the tip
of his tongue, but something held him back. “I was really impressed
with San Francisco’s new coach. I think he’s building something
good there.”

“Seriously, Brett? Miami has a team primed
to win next year, and they’re willing to pay you to be their
guy.”

“I’ve never been crazy about living on the
east coast.”

“You’ll do fine with all that sunshine.” His
agent sounded exasperated, and Brett couldn’t blame him.

“Maybe, but San Francisco’s weather is just
as good.” Brett insisted stubbornly. He didn’t know why he was
resisting Miami’s offer. He’d been trying to figure that out for
the past twenty-four hours. He’d finally come to the conclusion
that it wasn’t because he still harbored hope that Estie might
change her mind, though that was a consideration. He’d met with
both team’s staff, visited their facilities, talked to current
players, and his gut told him to choose San Francisco. He’d felt an
instant chemistry with the coaches and a few of the wide receivers
he’d met, and a weird sense of coming home. Like he fit there and
their program fit him.

“Brett, this is the chance of a lifetime.
Every free agent quarterback is salivating to get this job, and
they want you.”

Brett didn’t want them. Miami’s coaching
staff and owner didn’t give him a good feeling. Their head coach
was an arrogant ass with a rigid idea of how the game needed to be
played. Because of Brett’s lack of size, he preferred a more
creative coach. San Francisco’s coach had been the Jacks’ offensive
coordinator a couple years ago. Brett loved his coaching style and
believed in what the guy wanted to do with his team. Even better,
Brett could see himself being there for a while. He liked the city,
and he liked his teammates.

“I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow.”

“There shouldn’t be any question.”

“You’re right. There shouldn’t be, but there
is.”

Brett ended the call and texted Bruiser to
meet him at nearby neighborhood bar.

“So you sign yet?” Bruiser asked after they
each ordered beers.

“No, not yet. Tell me if I’m a crazy-assed
idiot.”

Bruiser’s slow smile said he knew. “You’re
going with San Fran.”

“You know me too well.” Brett leaned back in
the booth and laced his hands behind his head.

“Just make sure you aren’t being a dumbass
and doing this for her.”

“Estie? Hell, no, I haven’t talked to her in
three weeks. Last time I saw her was when I gave her my key to the
apartment.”

“I’m sorry that didn’t work out, man. I
swore you two were meant to be.”

“You’ve been hung up on that destiny crap
ever since you got together with Mac and have your little family.
I’m more pragmatic than that.” Brett tempered his words with a
smile. He was genuinely happy for Bruiser even though he was also
jealous as fucking hell.

“Yeah, I want for you what I have.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get it. But for
now, my future is all about football. My love life can come
later.”

“And that future tells you to go to
California.”

“Yeah, it does. Coach Jamison did a great
sell job.”

“As long as you’re choosing them for all the
right reasons.”

“You know I am. Money is not a factor. I’ll
make plenty of cash no matter where I go, but I like the idea of
building something from the ground up there.”

“You’ll definitely be doing that and more.
They only won three games last season.”

“They’ve got a good core group of players
and a great new coaching staff.”

“Hey, buddy, you don’t need to sell the team
to me, you need to figure it out for yourself. Just keep Estie out
of that equation. She’s out of your life.”

She was out of Brett’s life, but a day
didn’t go by that he didn’t spend the better part of it thinking of
her—her smile, her sparkling blue eyes, her tenderness toward
animals, and her soft skin against his.

And this decision had to be made for the
right reasons, and Estie was not a right reason.

Chapter 21

Brett signed on the dotted line and a month
later and moved into his new house in San Francisco accompanied by
his furry kids. The turn-of-the-century home needed some work, but
it was on two fenced acres. The large house was perched on a cliff
above the water with a breathtaking view.

His family pulled together, drove down from
Washington and helped him move. While he enjoyed every crazy moment
of it, he couldn’t wait until the last one of them pulled out of
his driveway.

He sank into his new plush leather couch and
glanced around the bright, sunny room bathed in peace and quiet. A
smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. Estie would’ve loved this
place. And just like that, his sadness floated in on a tide of
loneliness.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to
take him back to his little apartment near Seattle and Estie, her
naked body bathed in moonlight and her blue eyes bright with desire
as she straddled him and took him inside her, raising her hips up
and down until they were both smothered by a wild a frenzy neither
could control. God, oh God, he fucking missed her.

He must have dozed off because he woke with
a start to someone pounding on his front door. He leapt to his feet
before they broke the door down.

Adrenaline pumping and hands fisted, he ran
to the door, ready to do bodily harm to the asshole on the other
side. He wrenched the door open and the words stuck in his mouth in
surprise. Tyler Harris stood in his doorway with a cocky grin on
his face.

“I thought I got away from you when I left
Seattle,” Brett faked a scowl. He was actually happy to see the
guy.

“Yeah, whatever, Gun. Since when I am that
easy to get rid of?” Tyler pushed past him and into the
high-ceilinged living room with the wall of windows and French
doors opening onto the wide back porch. He paused at Bongo’s cage
to trade obscenities with the potty-mouthed parrot. Then the jerk
helped himself to Brett’s small liquor cabinet, poured himself a
whiskey, and strolled onto the porch, just like he owned the place.
Brett preferred water, and after pouring a glass, followed him out
to the back porch.

“Make yourself at home,” Brett said
sarcastically.

Tyler angled his head and studied him, as if
to say
fuck you
. “Nice view.”

“I like it, but you didn’t come here to
compliment me on my choice of houses.”

Harris snorted and took a long swig from his
glass. “I never pegged you for the cowardly type.” He leaned his
ass against the railing and studied Brett with those unnerving blue
eyes.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Harris had no right to call Brett a coward.

Harris looked him straight in the eyes, his
expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and disappointment.
“My sister.”

“I thought you’d be happy we split. You
didn’t approve of us in the first place.” Brett walked to the
railing and leaned over it, watching the waves crash against the
cliffs below. The sound didn’t calm him; it churned his own
internal waves of regret and frustration.

“Yeah, not at first, but I’ve had a change
of heart.” Harris rubbed his chin, as if assessing his opponent and
finding him lacking. Brett didn’t like to be lacking in
anything.

“She made her choice. She’s not interested
in a relationship.”

“Bullshit. She loves you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Why don’t you fight for her?”

“Why should I?” Brett’s stubborn pride
wouldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t be shot down again by her. Fool
him once—

“Because you love her, too, you asshole.”
Harris glared at him as if he were the biggest dumbass on the
planet.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. The lady
doesn’t agree.” Brett dropped down into a lounge chair, ignoring
Harris. As far as he was concerned, this conversation was over.
Estie made her choice, and it wasn’t him. He’d been stupid to
believe their mutual love of animals would be enough. Obviously it
wasn’t. And he was an idiot whose broken heart had fissures as deep
as those in an Alaska glacier.

Tyler swirled his whiskey around in the
glass, ice cubes clicking together. His gaze zeroed in on Brett,
just like he zeroed in on an opposing defense. “Pride gets you
nowhere, and loneliness sucks. A warm woman takes the chill out of
those dreary winter nights.”

“She made her choice,” he repeated.

“Fight to get her back,” Tyler said as it
were that easy. “Tell her you can love her like no one else.”

“I don’t know. I—”

“You’re a smart guy. Figure it out.” Tyler
turned and headed for the door.

“You’re leaving already.” Brett followed
him.

“Yeah, Lavender is waiting for me. We’re
spending the weekend in San Fran, getting some sun.”

An few hours later, Brett lay in his bed,
Blackjack cuddled next to his head, while Risky stretched out
against his back snoring and oblivious to the turmoil inside.
Humphrey, who’d be returned to his soldier daddy in a few weeks,
slept beside the bed.

If only he could live the life of one of his
pets, no worries other than when the next meal might be served and
when the next ball might be thrown. Yeah, that’d be the life.

Only he wasn’t a dog, cat, or foul-mouthed
parrot. He was just a man, a man striving to do the right thing and
be a better person today than he was yesterday.

Just a man who’d run out of reasons why he
shouldn’t go after the love of his life.

* * * * *

Estie wiped down the counters in Sylvia’s vet
clinic where she’d been working the past month. Sylvia followed
her.

Sylvia sighed, one of those sighs that
warned she was quickly losing all patience. “You need to go.”

“Are you firing me?” Estie felt like an
idiot. Her mind had been elsewhere for a month, ever since Brett
moved out of her apartment. Even working with sick and injured
animals didn’t seem to take her mind off of the man with those sad
pale blue eyes.

“No, I’m kicking your ass out of here. Go
find him.”

“I can’t.” Fear shot through Estie. Find
him? So he could slam the door in her face? Berate her for being an
idiot, a coward, and running?

“Of course, you can. He chose San
Francisco.”

“I told him I couldn’t handle his dark
places.”

“But you can. You’re a strong woman.”

“I can’t control what happens, how those
wounds affect him.” Estie’s leaned against the counter and twisted
the towel in her hands.

“You love him. He loves you. You don’t need
to control anything. You need to be there for him, and the rest
will work itself out.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother’s one smart woman, and so am I.
Now get the hell out of here.”

Could it really be that simple? Could she
let go of her need to control and live with the uncertainty of all
those dark places she knew nothing about? Could she do that for
Brett? For herself? For them?

“What if he says it’s too late?”

“You won’t know until you try.”

Estie hung her head, not knowing if she
could garner the courage to face possible rejection from the man
she loved. “Why haven’t you encouraged me to go after Brett before
now?”

“Because you needed time to figure it out,
to be ready to give your heart and soul to the one man who deserves
it, despite all the messiness that goes along with a
relationship.”

And just like that, Estie knew Sylvia was
right.

Truer words were never spoken.

Since the Super Bowl she’d realized she
could live without being in total control.

But she couldn’t live without Brett.

* * * * *

One more week passed, one more lonely,
torturous week in the life of Brett Gunnels.

Brett paced the living room floor, cell
phone gripped tightly in his hand, while his animals sat on their
haunches in a row watching him walk back and forth, their heads
swiveling like spectators at a tennis match.

Stopping in front of the window, he stared
at the phone. Estie’s number was displayed on the screen. He tapped
Send then a second later hit End and cut off the call before the
first ring. He paced some more. His animal audience still watched
his every move.

“Dumbshit. Dumbshit. Brett is a dumbshit,”
Bongo sang happily, ringing his bell then jumping from perch to
perch.

Brett paused before Bongo’s cage and almost
laughed. “You know what, buddy? You sacked this quarterback with
those words. You’re right.”