The One I Want

The One I Want The Rolling Hills Series Chelle Sloan Copyright © 2023 by Chelle Sloan All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious events in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Design: Kari March Designs Cover model: Cole Forsgren Cover photographer: Katie Cadwallader Photography Editing: Kiezha Smith Ferrell, Librum Artis Editorial Services Proofreading: Michele Ficht and Chloe Kill-Trivelpiece Created with Vellum To Amanda. There is no other person I’d want to be on this book journey with (or throw an impromptu Super Bowl party with). Thank you for everything (especially the DoorDash). Contents 1. Wes 2. Betsy 3. Wes 4. Betsy 5. Wes 6. Betsy 7. Wes 8. Wes 9. Betsy 10. Wes 11. Betsy 12. Betsy 13. Wes 14. Betsy 15. Wes 16. Betsy 17. Wes 18. Betsy 19. Wes 20. Betsy 21. Betsy 22. Wes 23. Wes 24. Betsy 25. Wes 26. Betsy 27. Wes 28. Betsy 29. Wes 30. Betsy 31. Wes 32. Betsy 33. Wes 34. Betsy 35. Wes 36. Betsy 37. Wes 38. Betsy 39. Wes 40. Betsy 41. Wes 42. Betsy Epilogue Also by Chelle Sloan Acknowledgments About the Author Chapter 1 Wes Suitcases. I blink a few times because I don’t know why I’m walking into my house to see suitcases in the hallway. Especially today. I don’t know what I expected to walk into. I didn’t expect a party. I didn’t even really think that Cara would pull the kids out of school to celebrate with me. But, I figured at least I’d come home to a warm welcome from my wife. I mean, it’s not every day your husband announces to the world he’s retiring from professional football at the end of the season, ending a twelve-year career. “Cara?” I yell as I drop my duffel bag inside the doorway. I know she hates that, but frankly, I don’t care. There are more pressing matters. Like why she didn’t come to the press conference when she said she would. Why didn’t she even send me a “good luck” text, knowing what I was about to do. Why there are multiple suitcases in our foyer. “Cara!” I yell again. She doesn’t say anything. Instead I hear her coming down the stairs, her high heels clicking and clacking on the hardwood floor. “There you are,” I say. “What is all this?” She’s still quiet as she makes her way down the stairs. I take a look at her and instantly know something is off. She’s carrying her large purse—the exorbitantly expensive one she insisted she needed but only uses when we travel. She’s wearing a designer tracksuit. Or as I like to call it, her airport fashion. “You’re home.” I blink a few times, not understanding why this is the first response out of her mouth. “Yes, I’m home. I asked you a question. What is all of this? Where are you going?” “I didn’t want to do it like this,” she says, handing me an envelope as she walks past me. “What’s this?” I ask, ripping open the envelope. Though in my head, I already know. “Divorce papers?” She doesn’t say anything, instead tapping something into her phone. “Were you seriously just going to leave these for me on the table with a note and a see you later?” She finally looks up from her phone. “That was the plan.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell, which wasn’t my intent. But I think I’m justified. I’m just glad the kids aren’t home yet. They’ve heard us fight enough. And I feel like this is about to be a doozy. “This can’t be a surprise,” she says. “Can you honestly say that we’ve been in a happy marriage?” “We’ve had fights. Never once have you said the word divorce,” I say, because she’s right. We’ve been fighting for a while now. But divorce? I didn’t realize we were that far gone. “This morning you were telling me that you were going to meet me at the facility for the press conference. And now you’re leaving? So that was a lie? Because these papers didn’t magically appear out of thin air.” “I’m sorry,” she says, though I don’t hear an ounce of sincerity in her voice. “I don’t know why I told you that. I had these drawn up last week. Today seemed as good a time as any, since your decision to retire led to this.” I’m stunned. It’s not like I sprung this retirement thing on Cara. It’s been in the works for two years. Yes, I knew she was opposed to me retiring. She went into great detail about how she had become accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and that lifestyle wouldn’t be able to be maintained without my contract. I, in turn, told her that if she paid attention, she’d know that I had money put away knowing retirement was coming. That seemed to have calmed her down. Or so I thought. Though now that I think about it, as I kept talking about retirement, she rarely weighed in. This was the last year of my contract. I knew if I signed another, it would be short term. Honestly, going into this season, I was still on the fence. Then I battled through training camp during the hottest summer months on record in Nashville. That was followed by an injury in last week’s season opener that has put me out for three games.