We promised our love was forever. A decade later, two little blue lines might settle the score.
You've heard of those kids who peak in high school?
Meet my love life.
Garrett Bradford was mine from the moment we saw each other in ninth grade.
Even then, he was a six-foot-four mountain of muscles with bright blue eyes, a wide grin, and a way with his hands.
He was the high school football star, and I was the dance team captain.
We were the storybook clich ... until we weren't.
Now he's the most famous offensive lineman in the league, and I'm a buttoned-up, ultra-professional lawyer.
My dancing days are over, and my carefully controlled life is a mess.
Infertility killed my marriage, or that's what I told myself. Infertility and a cheating ex.
And my inability to get over Garrett Bradford.
One reckless night at his little sister's wedding is only supposed to be a reunion, a trip down memory lane to a time when life was happier.
Six weeks later, I'm staring at a positive pregnancy test wondering, How did this happen?
I figure I'm on my own until Garrett overhauls his life, moves back to our small town, and shows up every day to massage my feet and hold my hair when I barf and go with me to all my doctor's appointments.
Our situation has an end date, just like it did so many years ago.
Unless this little score changes the game and gives us the second chance I thought we'd lost.
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