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Hanging up, I drop my hands to my knees and breathe deeply. One kernel of anxiety about this situation has been put to rest, at least halfway. My phone immediately rings again, and Kara’s picture displays on the screen.

“Kara! Talk me off the ledge. Or over the ledge. Should I be talked off the ledge or over the ledge in this scenario?” I ask, frantic.

“Off the ledge for sure,” Kara says. “This is not end-your-relationship level bad, okay?”

I cover my eyes with one hand but don’t answer.

“Acknowledge, Danae,” Kara says, louder. “You are not ending things with Griffin because of a little media attention.”

“A little media attention?!” I whisper yell. “There was an entire crowd of reporters outside of my house . Asking questions about Jason. I’m not prepared to deal with that kind of thing! You’re my best friend—you know me!”

“Yes, I am your best friend, and that’s how I know that you are panic-spiraling about this right now. But if you abruptly make the decision to end things with Griffin in response to this situation, I also know that you will regret it forever. Because you love that man.”

I still at her words. You love that man.

“Am I right, or am I right?” Kara asks. “I already know I’m right, but you can still give me the satisfaction of saying that I’m right.”

“You might be right,” I quietly admit.

Kara sighs. “Close enough. What was it that Jason’s therapist told you about the animals?

Calm down your dog brain and get your owl brain back, Danae.

This is not real danger. I’ve got your back.

All of us at school will have your and Jason’s backs.

Reporters won’t get within five miles of the school building.

I’m sure Griffin will figure out how to deal with this.

Don’t do anything dumb because you’re afraid, okay? ”

“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Thanks for talking me off the ledge.”

“You promise you’re off? I don’t need to call back in a few minutes for a second round of pep talks?” Kara asks.

Smiling at how well she knows me, I pause to thank my lucky stars that Kara and I wound up teaching at the same school. “I promise I’m off. I will calm down. ”

Despite the assurances to Kara, my heart is in my throat, in my stomach, and pounding out of my chest all at once for the duration of the nine innings.

Griffin is very obviously off his game—evidence that Samantha was able to get in touch with him.

On the one hand, guilt over him playing badly due to my phone call gnaws at my stomach.

On the other hand, panic and the utter loss of knowing what to do eat away at my mind, and it only seems fair that he would be plunged into the same turmoil.

By some unknown mercy, no mention of the photo or news about our relationship is made by the announcers of the game.

The Crowns end spring training with 4–2 loss, due in part to an error made by Griffin.

As the game ends and smiling players from the winning team are interviewed, the gnawing guilt starts to win out over the panic.

I should have waited until after the game to tell him.

I shouldn’t have ruined his game. What kind of girlfriend am I?

Will Griffin even want to be with me after today?

Is this the wake-up call for him that being in a relationship with me is only going to hinder his career?

Surely, he’ll realize that it was a mistake to think that a guy like him could be with a girl like me.

With all my baggage, I am not an easy person to be with.

What was I thinking, believing that we could do this?

How could I think I could handle this kind of attention?

This was a ridiculous mistake. I never should have let myself get close to him when I knew that something like this could happen.

I’m seconds away from a trip to the bathroom to revisit the Biscoff cookies I ate on the plane when Griffin’s face suddenly fills the TV screen, standing next to the sideline reporter.

“Griffin, can you tell us anything about why today’s game was such a struggle?” the reporter asks.

“Not every game is going to go our way, and it’s normal for players to have off days.

But I’d like to address some media attention that broke this morning regarding my personal life,” he says.

He shifts his eyes from talking to the reporter to speaking directly to the screen. My lungs freeze in place.

“News outlets have been spreading a photo of me and my girlfriend watching the Baltimore game yesterday, where I was supporting my college buddy, Lawrence Rogers,” Griff says.

“While I will confirm that I am in a serious relationship, I’d like to ask for privacy at this time.

This is especially an appeal to all the Crowns fans in Kansas City—the greatest fan base in the country—to please respect our privacy until we choose to share more openly about our relationship.

While I’ve chosen this public life as a professional athlete, Danae is a private citizen with a need for confidentiality regarding her personal life right now.

She means a lot to me, and I won’t stand for her getting dragged into a media circus.

Please show her respect by not invading her privacy or disrupting her daily life. ”

The reporter asks a couple of follow-up questions, but my ears tune everything out as Griffin’s statement loops through my thoughts.

My girlfriend.

Serious relationship.

She means a lot to me.

Show her respect.

Standing abruptly, I turn off the TV and pace the room. I clench my phone as though I’ll miss the call I’m sure is coming if I lose physical contact with the device. When a video call request pops up, tears immediately fill my eyes as I answer it.

“Babe, please don’t end things. Please don’t leave me over this,” Griffin says, eyes full of anguish.

His hair is a mess, and his hand aggressively rubs over his beard as he stares at the screen.

“I’m so sorry, Danae. I wouldn’t have taken us to that game if I would have known this would happen.

It was dumb. I should have thought about the possibility and not pushed you to go.

We should have stayed in the privacy of the condo.

This is all my fault, but please, please don’t let this be the end. ”

Warmth trickles down my cheeks as the tears spill over, coating my lips with salt.

“Please spell out the thought factory for me. I’m dying over here,” Griffin says, leaning his forehead against his palm.

“I’d pay every cent I have, or ever will have, for someone to give me a teleportation device so I could be there wiping those tears away right now. Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

Wiping my cheeks with one hand, I lean against the wall and slowly slide down to sit on the floor.

Propping the hand holding the phone against one knee, I blow out a long exhale.

“We’re not over,” I say, and Griffin lets out a similar exhale.

“I mean, there were definitely some moments when the ‘this is over’ column had significantly more bullet points in it. But everything you said in your interview tipped the scale back the other way.”

Griffin’s entire body droops, his torso collapsing against the desk he’s been leaning on, as though relief has released all the panic ballooned inside him.

“Thank you,” he says, wiping a hand down his face as he sits back up.

“Thank you for not giving up on me. On this. On us. You would have every right to wash your hands of all this nonsense.”

“I can’t lie—I feel very unequipped to deal with the nonsense.

Twenty kindergarteners screaming and flailing and sometimes vomiting in a room filled with books—that nonsense I can deal with.

Media attention and people digging into Jason’s past because I’m dating a famous athlete?

Not the nonsense I’m prepared for,” I say, wiping the remainder of my tears away.

Griffin’s face hardens. “As soon as Sam told me what was going on, I was ready to hop on a plane. If I wouldn’t have been in breach of contract, I would have skipped the game and been there throwing those vultures off your front lawn.”

I huff a small laugh. “Well, it’s a townhouse, so I don’t exactly have a lawn.”

A smile slowly breaks across Griffin’s face. “Did you just make a joke? At a time like this? Here I was, suffocating the whole game thinking that you would be showing me the exit door from your life, and now you’re joking about the mob of reporters outside?”

“Like I said, the exit door column did have more selling points for a minute there, the mob being a rather large one,” I say, smiling to soften the statement.

I lean my head against my free hand. “But Jason’s social worker called and said nothing about this should inhibit the adoption moving forward. That was my biggest concern.”

Griffin’s head drops back slightly, and he takes a big inhale of relief. “Thank goodness,” he says on the exhale.

My voice falls to practically a whisper. “I’m sorry about the game. I should have waited until afterward to call you or Samantha. ”

“Absolutely not. A situation like that is not something you carry by yourself, not even for a minute.

You did the right thing calling to make sure I knew.

I couldn't care less about losing a game, not right now. All I care about is that you feel safe,” Griffin says, voice slowly warming with each word, like a pot of water set to boil.

We stare at each other through the screen, wordlessly watching each other’s faces.

He hums. “Did you know that your eyes turn fully green when you cry?” he asks.

Smiling, I shake my head. “It’s like every fleck of gold gets chased away by the saltwater.

They’re like a vibrant meadow green all of a sudden.

So beautiful.” His final statement is a whisper.

Blushing, I glance down, breaking eye contact. When I look back up, his smile is soft. “I really wish I could kiss you right now,” he says. “Hold you. Run my fingers through your hair. Sit next to you for hours.”

“Right after I get to watch you throw all the reporters off my imaginary lawn. I’d kinda like to see that,” I respond with a smirk.

He sits up, puffing out his chest. “Would that display of alpha male protection impress you?”

I burst out laughing, the reverberation chasing away the lingering worry still hiding in my nerves. “I can’t say it wouldn’t impress me.”

Griffin’s face turns serious. “Are they still out there?”

Blowing out a breath, I rise to my feet so I can peek through the blinds on the kitchen window. It’s quiet, empty. Normal. “They’re gone,” I say, surprise in my tone. “I guess word traveled fast about Griffin West not standing for media circuses on my doorstep.”

“You let me know the second anyone else bothers you,” Griffin says.

“Sam’s already contacted a lawyer about getting any article mentioning Jason’s personal information taken down.

I’m going to do everything I can to protect him.

Both of you. I’m sorry that it’s necessary.

That I’ve brought this mess into your life. ”

“I’m not sorry that you’re in my life,” I say, hearing his unspoken need for reassurance. “I’m only sorry that I can’t be there to kiss you right now.”