“Owen, please.” I should yell at him but I don’t bother. What’s the point? He’s happy. I don’t need to ruin the moment. “I definitely mean it. Go call him. And let me know if I need to talk to his mom. We won’t come home until late, so it’s going to be a long day. I don’t want her to worry.”
“She won’t worry. She’d rather know we’re with you than out running around on our own.” The sheepish look that crosses Owen’s face tells me he has secrets, which doesn’t surprise me. What teenage boy doesn’t? But still. I know half the time he’s out with his friends he’s up to no good.
Back in my day, I used to be up to no good, too. Drinking and smoking cigarettes, one after another, getting drunk, my mind hazy. Flirting with boys, eventually doing things with them that earned me a terrible reputation. I’m lucky I graduated high school. Mom sure as hell didn’t push me and I didn’t have an older sibling keeping track of me at all times. Talk about going wild.
I was the epitome of wild. And Drew was the epitome of good—with the exception of his deep, dark secret. A few years have passed and I still get an icy shiver down my spine when I think of her. God, I hate that bitch. I hate what she did to Drew.
Thank goodness he found me.
My cell chimes and I grab it, checking my messages. It’s from Drew and I smile.
What are you doing? Giving Owen a hard time?
My smile grows as I respond.
How did you know?
Because he texted me and said so.
I shoot Owen a glare, and he laughs as he gets up from the couch and saunters toward the kitchen. Cocky little brat.
I told him he could bring Wade with us to the game. He’s excited and cursing and I gave him grief over it. What else is new?
There’s a long pause after I send the message and I chew my lip waiting for him to respond. I wish I were with him. I don’t regret staying with my brother because he needs me more than ever, but I need Drew. And my husband needs me.
I wish you didn’t have to go back home after the game. I wish you could stay the night with me.
How did I know he’d say that? Oh, maybe because I feel the same way.
They have school on Monday and practice. They can’t afford to miss it. I’m sorry. I wish I could stay with you, too. I miss you.
I know. I miss you, too. Next home game you come to, maybe you could come alone. And we could spend more time together.
That sounds perfect but I can’t leave all the time, no matter how much I want to. I need to be here for Owen and I don’t feel right constantly dumping him on Wade’s mom. She’s so supportive—she has been for years—and we’re sort of friends, though Kathy is old enough to be my mom.
I text back to him.
I like that idea. I love you.
I love you, too.
We try our best to be together on his days off, but it’s hard. He never truly gets any days off; he’s constantly working and practicing. But we knew this going in. We’re just going to have to deal with it.
Drew
I’m waiting just outside the locker room for Fable to show up, my thoughts anxious, my mind still going over every single play of the game we just finished. Thank Christ we won it. I’ve been raked over the coals the last few weeks after our two-game losing streak. What’s worse? We lost last week to the lowest-ranked team in the entire NFL.
Yeah. I caught a lot of shit for that one, even from a few teammates. I know some of them hate all the media attention I get and I wish they understood just how much I hate it, too. I can’t stand all the cameras flashing in my face and the constant questions, speculation, and reports on me. I’ve always been a private person, especially during my late teens and early twenties, when my head was a f**ked-up mess and I didn’t want to deal with anyone.
It’s harder now because I don’t have Fable constantly by my side. I’d grown used to that. She comes to as many games as she can, but it’s not the same. She always leaves afterward. She came a week ago with Owen and his friend Wade and that was great and all, but then they left. I didn’t even get to kiss her or hold her much.
That sucked.
Today is different. We played a Sunday night game and she came for it. Just her. She’s staying the next two nights. I got us a hotel suite in downtown San Francisco and I don’t think I’m going to let her out of it. I’ll keep her naked and in bed the entire time.
Sounds like freaking heaven to me.
A team representative is escorting her to the locker room and she should arrive any minute. Then we’re hopping in our car and I’m tearing ass out of here. I did my time. The game had been just about perfect, and I even did a short live-broadcast interview. The team publicists have been coaching me on how not to sound like a dumbass. Hopefully it’s working.
Here’s the craziest thing of it all: the media are in love with Fable. They’re fascinated with her. Half of it has to do with her name, I think. I mean, who the hell else is named Fable? The other half is the fact that she’s so goddamned beautiful, but I might be prejudiced in saying that.
Or maybe it’s because she avoids having anything to do with them. She does that for me. Keeps walking, never talking, throws a hand up in front of her face to stop them from getting a good picture. The publicists are telling me they want her more involved. They want her out there, talking to the media. For whatever reason, the public is fascinated with our story and they want to know more. Specifically why we live apart during the regular season.
I’m supposed to talk about it with Fable while we’re together for the next few days. I promised the publicist team. They’re eager for her to do a few interviews—nothing too probing, they promise.
Truthfully? I’m afraid my wife might want to kill me for even suggesting this.
Glancing up, I see her as if I’d conjured her up with my thoughts. She’s walking toward me, the team rep towering behind her since she’s such a little thing. She has on a black 49ers sweatshirt and jeans, her long blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and she’s about the prettiest, freshest thing I’ve seen in a long-ass time.
The last few steps she gives in and runs to me, heads straight into my arms, and I hold her close, burying my face in her hair as the team rep walks on by and straight into the locker room. Fable slides her arms around me and presses her cheek against my chest.
“You were amazing,” she says against my coat, and I give her a squeeze.
“Thank God we won,” I mutter, because even though we played so well today, as though we’ve been playing together for years, I was still worried it could all fall apart at any moment. My confidence level isn’t 100 percent there yet and I know it’s killing me.