Page 37 of Between Commitment and Betrayal

“What are you doing?” she grumbled.

I didn’t answer, just veered off the first exit and pulled up to a small drive-thru coffee stand. “What do you want to eat?”

“Nothing,” she pouted. Like I was inconveniencing her.

Great. So I ordered just about everything on the menu.

“Are you that hungry?” she questioned, her brows furrowed. “Don’t you eat at home?”

“I do.” I nodded and pulled around to collect the food and pay.

“Oh, Mr. Hardy! We thought it was you in the camera.” A young guy stared in the window and a few others peeked around him. “No need to pay. I watched the Super Bowl last year. Huge fan. How’s your wrist been? Can’t believe they didn’t fine more of those guys—”

“Great.” I wiggled it in front of him. “Good as new.”

Someone snapped a photo. “Can I have an autograph?”

I tried to suppress the sigh. I took her pen and signed a book she had on her. Then, someone shoved their phone. “Just sign the back please.”

I signed five more things before I pointed toward the gym. “Have to get to work.”

They all waved goodbye as I pulled away quickly.

“Here.” I handed her the bag of food.

“For me?” she whispered, and when I glanced over, there was a frown on her face.

“You work out hard. Enjoy some food before you do.”

“Is it like that most places you go?” she asked as she looked in the bag.

“Most places that aren’t HEAT owned.”

She hummed without giving much away, like she was digesting what I said. “I think today I finally want to know… What happened to your wrist?”

“Happened during the sport you don’t watch,” I mumbled, not caring to talk about it.

“Want to share?” She pried a bit more as she took a crescent roll out of the bag.

I should have asked her what happened to the past staying in the past. Yet, I didn’t want to. I was going to pry one day, step over the boundaries and break the rules where I could with her. I already knew it.

I admitted what I pretty much allowed anyone to admit around me. We didn’t talk about my wrist within the HEAT brand. It was something everyone knew I wouldn’t dwell on and they shouldn’t either. “Got hit wrong in a preseason game.”

“By more than one guy?”

I nodded and ground my teeth together without giving further details.

“You should rehab it.” She took a bite and moaned. “I could help.”

“I’m done playing ball, Everly. And I was able to play the rest of the season once it was healed.”

“So, you didn’t give it much time to heal then?” she challenged.

“I have ninety percent of function back and don’t want surgery.”

“I could get you to one hundred percent with stretching,” she said with brighter eyes than she’d had a second ago.

“That crescent roll going to your head and giving you energy already?”