Page 10

I keep staring at my phone, as if I’m going to will it to have service thirty thousand feet up in the air.

“Since when are you a nervous flier?”

I swipe my screen to close the messages from last night I’ve been re-reading. “I’m not,” I tell Coach, and that’s the truth, but I can get why he reads me that way. I’m tight. I’m tense. I’m chomping at the bit to get to Parker because things have already gone off course with the Montgomerys insisting Parker stay at the White House instead of the hotel for her visit. She’s obviously as uncomfortable as I am with the situation given the amount of texts we exchanged in the middle of the night when we thought the other was sleeping.

I unlock my phone, peeking at one when Coach looks away.

Parker

Do you remember when we used to take the couch cushions and slide down the stairs? There’s a sick set here. We could really go wild.

It’s late. Why aren’t you in bed?

(Also, I do remember. We crashed into Madeline one time and she broke her collarbone).

Parker

I don’t really sleep well here.

I don’t get why they’re keeping you.

Parker

Story of my life, Fitz.

“Your leg is shaking like that time we were down by three against Roxbury in the red zone and I asked you to run it,” he reminds me.

I lock my phone again and stop bouncing my knee. The memory of my second starting game in high school makes me laugh. I did almost shit myself. “Never stopped running the ball after that.”

I turn my attention to the window.

“Fitz.” Coach sighs.

My leg is bouncing again. Fuck .

“Is there something bothering you?” he presses.

Sure, I wish I could begin. I’ve got my soon to be fake fiancée held captive in the White House and I can’t sleep because of that and every time I close my eyes I see her mauled back.

Now I’m clenching my fist. My nervous system feels like it might blow a fuse.

Coach folds his newspaper. “This about Todd?”

Fuck , I think, that too . We’re one man short on this flight. Todd refused to come.

I clear my throat. “I mean, he should be here.”

“Todd will get over it when that Super Bowl bonus goes through.”

I drum my fingers against my leg.

“For Christ’s sake,” Coach laments. “We can’t have you bouncing around at the White House. Did you even sleep last night? You look a little tired. Seemed that way last week at captain’s practice too. You were dragging your feet.”

Captain’s practice is for captains to run during the offseason for guys who are around the facility, but Coach never has his eyes off his guys—off me —all that much. He likes to find out early where the weak spots are. And never in my career have we started this early.

“Having trouble sleeping,” I tell him, feeling better that it isn’t a lie.

“Train harder.”

I swing my head to the side. “At three AM?”

“If you train harder, you’ll sleep harder. Watch a little film if you can’t sleep. Problem with all you knuckleheads like Todd is you forget football is won when you prepare.”

Lifting my head, I glance at my team—my Super Bowl winning team. “They were prepared enough to win a championship.”

“Defense gave up score after score.”

Yeah, because you sat our number one corner back to prove a point .

“You threw two picks.”

I don’t need the reminder, but I guess I know Coach well enough that he’ll continue to serve it for as long as he remembers to. I frown but don’t say anything. Rubbing a hand over my face, I look over at the paper, reading the headline.

MONTGOMERY CALLED TOO PRESIDENTIAL TO BE ELECTED AS THE PEOPLE’S PRESIDENT FOR SECOND TERM.

“You know, Walt Montgomery is a big Rebels fan.” Coach tilts his head at me and smirks. “Let’s make sure to get a photo, just the three Manhasset boys.”

If I remember correctly, Coach Foller isn’t from Manhasset. He’s from Connecticut. But I guess that’s fair. He worked as a guidance counselor at Thacher far longer than he ever coached at the school.

“We’ll be collecting those kinds of photos, you and me,” Coach says. “ Many of them. Too bad it never worked out at Thacher for his younger daughter.” There’s nothing empathetic about Coach’s tone. “But it worked out better for you. And I’m sure wherever she is, she turned out alright.”

* * *

I’ve never had a focus issue when it comes to work. Not on the field or off it. If a relationship took my attention away from training or the game, I ended the relationship. If a brand deal wouldn’t be flexible with my intense schedule, even during the offseason, I didn’t work with them. And now? Now, at one of the highest celebrations of my professional accomplishments, while Walter Montgomery babbles on about patriotism and dedication, about how the Rebels exemplify the same spirit of its early-American namesake, I don’t give two shits about the fact that I’m not thinking about football at all.

I go between boring a hole into the back of his salt-and-pepper-covered head, dreaming about wringing his neck, and letting my gaze drift over to Candice, hoping she’ll burn in hell. But mixed into the crowd of the First Lady and her group of staffers with wide eyes and bright smiles is a pair of honey-brown eyes homed in on me.

Parker’s stare is strong, nearly palpable, and I expect to see a glint of excitedness there considering we’re nearly at go time. Instead, I press my lips into a tight line when I find that she looks exhausted.

Coach Foller is speaking now, and he seems to make a joke because everyone laughs—everyone except me and Parker.

“I’d like to present you with this jersey and hope it finds its home in the White House for longer than just this year. Once a rebel, as we say, always a rebel,” Coach Foller concludes.

The stoicism on Parker’s face breaks when she winks at me, but I don’t relax. I force myself to un-ball my fists, lifting and bringing my palms together repeatedly when Josh bumps my shoulder.

“What’s going on with you?” he whispers as he claps along with everyone. “Cameras—and the president—are straight ahead.”

I stare out at the sea of cameras.

“It only matters how it looks,” I hear Parker say as she walked me down to my car from her apartment that night in Atlanta. “If we look like America’s sweethearts, we’ve sold it. But we can’t make it look like we’re trying too hard.”

I argued that we didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for practice, but I know that won’t be too hard for me. I’m seconds away from living out my longest-standing dream. But what’s more important is I’m seconds away from getting her out from her family’s thumb.

“I’m great,” I tell Josh in between beats of my palms before I drop my hand and feel for the ring in my pocket. “This might be the best day of my life.”

When the line begins to move and Josh steps closer to the president, I duck back, placing a hand on Micah’s shoulder and pushing him ahead of me as I shuffle to the side.

The slightest bit of curiosity flashes across Candice Montgomery’s face as I approach. It appears and disappears so quickly that if I had blinked, I might have missed it. I’ve got to hand it to her. Her husband might be president, but she’s got a face as outwardly unfazed as any politician I’ve ever seen.

“Sir—”

I hold out a hand to the Secret Service agent, and I raise my voice so everyone in the vicinity hears me. “I’d like to enjoy this moment with my fiancée if you don’t mind.”

I guess I broke the wall a little bit. Candice’s eyes widen and stay that way as I sweep my hand away from the agent and beckon to Parker.

“Come on, babe. It’s not every day the president gets to celebrate his future son-in-law winning the Super Bowl.”

I only have to wait half a very-racing heartbeat for Parker to come. As soon as our fingers are linked, I wink at the agent who tried to stop me.

Now that Parker is between me and the cameras, I take her left hand, pulling it between us. My other arm wraps around her waist, and I dip down into her hair. “Put this on,” I hiss, passing her the ring.

The softest gasp escapes her mouth. “Fitz?—”

“You make sure when we’re married that Secret Service stays in its lane. I won’t have anyone telling me I can’t ever get close to my wife.” I pull back, taking a breath of the fresh scent of her hair with me. “Now smile and look like you love me, baby. America’s watching.”

* * *

I need you to keep your cool.

That’s what Parker says to me with her eyes. I’m sure she sees how hard I grip the arm of the chair in the Oval Office as I sit across from the people I once knew as my neighbors, who are now my future in-laws.

I look at Parker standing beside me, taking in her tight posture and rigidness and cock my tongue against my cheek.

These people are also my worst enemy.

“It would’ve been nice to have a heads up,” Candice says. She’s pushing a tight smile, but I know she’s anything but happy.

Unlatching my fingers that clutch the chair, I take Parker’s hand. I won’t lie, despite feeling so tense I wondered if I was seconds away from a stroke, seeing the ring on Parker’s finger has this calming effect on me, like a weighted, warm blanket.

“I’m not the kind of man who doesn’t ask for the love of my life’s father’s permission to marry her,” I say, looking at Walt. “But I’m sure you know Parker isn’t one to ask for permission.”

Candice folds her hands in her lap. “She’s always been strong willed.”

“And I love that about her.” I sweep my gaze back to Parker, watching her take a deep breath. “So much.”

“How did you manage to keep this a secret?”

Josh rips me away from a memory created only moments before, after Parker and I were herded to the Oval Office where we sealed our fate. I imagine in the fifteen minutes since we’ve joined the reception, they’ve already posted the photo.

Candice stands. “We’ll issue a congratulatory statement, but there are still things to talk about. Many things.”

My eyes flit up to Parker’s as man with a heavy camera walks through the door.

“A photo would be a nice touch,” Candice says. “One of you two, and one with the four of us. It’s a shame your mother isn’t here.”

I figure by the amount of vibrating happening in my pocket, my mom has gotten word about what’s going on.

“How about we take it in the Rose Garden?” Candice suggests to the photographer.

Walter stands and I sense Parker is about to move from my side, so I strengthen the grip on her hand, tugging her.

“Here is good,” I say as Parker lands with a small gasp in my lap, her legs now hanging over the dark wood arm of the chair. I smile at her. “Don’t you think?”

Parker’s heart-shaped mouth smooths into a grin and before Candice or Walter can say otherwise, I hear the clicking of the camera.

“Well look at that,” the photographer says. “America’s sweethearts.”

I sip my lemonade. It’s not too sweet and crisp, but I could seriously use a drink. “Not everything has to be made a show.”

The irony isn’t lost on me that, after today, everything will be made a show.

“Look around,” I tell Josh. “Do you think this is an easy family to marry into?”

“I guess not. It’s... I feel like a shit friend,” he says.

“What?” I put down my glass. “Why?”

“Call me crazy, but this just feels like the kind of thing you tell your friends about, that’s all.”

It’s not every day you see a grown-ass man pushing three hundred pounds admit his feelings were hurt.

I grip Josh’s shoulder. “You know, after living in the limelight for so long, I kind of needed something that was just mine . I didn’t box you out to hurt you, man. Really, I didn’t. I didn’t want to have people saying this and that about my relationship if I played like shit after coming to a new team all hyped up. That wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“I get it. It’s”—Josh pauses—"incoming.”

I turn, half expecting to find Parker, but instead, it’s Coach.

The way he clenches his jaw lets me know he’s not all that happy. I find my mouth dry, my tongue swollen, blocking the words I’m trying to scramble up.

Despite his hard face, Coach extends his hand. “Congratulations.”

The tension in my body fades and my shoulders drop, relieved. I take his outstretched hand in my own, shaking it. But Coach’s face doesn’t change. What does, is the strength of his grip.

“Congratulations, Fitz,” he repeats. “On your dirty little secret.”

I quickly let go of his hand. “We should?—"

“I’m so sorry.” My body is met with a softer touch, that of Parker’s. “I need to steal my fiancé. Do you mind?”

I glance at Parker, finding Josh behind her and I thank myself that he isn’t just married, but he’s also a good guy, because he stares at her with stars in his eyes.

Coach, on the other hand, shoots darts from behind his glasses.

Parker leans against me. “Oh. Mr. Foller. I hardly recognized you. It’s nice to see you after all this time.”

I look down, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch the very evident flex of Coach’s jaw.

“Babe, can you come with me for a minute?”

Parker’s got an arm wrapped around my waist, but it still takes a second for me to realize who she’s talking to.

Well, god damn. It’s me. I’m the babe.

Every single pair of eyes follow us out of the room, no gaze stronger than Coach’s.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we leave the grand room hosting the reception.

“Where we can talk.”

I scan the lobby we walk through, the portraits on the walls whizzing by. “Is there any place here we can actually talk without people listening?” My eyes land on an agent standing at the far end of the room. “I guess not.”

Parker stops. “Excuse me.”

My eyebrows fuse together because I haven’t got a clue why Parker needs excusing from a man standing against a wall. That is, until he steps to the side and pushes it open and Parker drags me into a hallway where there’s another agent standing against a metal door. Immediately, he puts his fingers to the keypad, and it slides open.

“This way.”

The hallway is long and narrow. We bump into each other as we walk through, reaching another door and, of course, find another agent with access to another keypad. This hallway ends at a small sitting room where Parker drops my hand and turns the knob of a French door.

“Are you ever alone here?” I ask, catching up as Parker walks down a brick path.

She steps onto the perfectly manicured lawn flanked by shrubs. “This is as good as it gets. I don’t trust the Rose Garden. Or the Residences. I trust nothing here. I trust no one here.” Parker pauses, the mask she had been holding on to during the reception falls. “No one but you.”

Her voice is veiled in quiet relief.

“Are you alright?”

Parker nods, but I can tell it’s forced, like she’s trying to convince herself.

Maybe I jumped the gun saying yes and should’ve talked this out more, tried to convince her to stay away from her family.

I reach down and take her left hand. “Are you sure ?”

I hadn’t had the chance to look at the way the ring sits on her finger. Red nails, white and blue stones. Very on brand.

“The jeweler said they call this style toi et moi. ” I pause, gently touching the blue emerald-cut sapphire before moving over to the oval-shaped diamond it’s paired with. “It’s supposed to mean us against the world.”

Looking up from the ring, I find Parker staring.

“I didn’t realize Foller still coached you.”

My stomach sinks.

Parker sighs. “He hates me.”

We might’ve left high school, Coach might’ve been the guidance counselor, but he’s clearly holding on to the drama. “You’re worried about Foller? We’ve got an entire country to fool.”

She presses her lips together.

“What is it?”

“Can I still go back with you?”

“Yes,” I answer immediately, and then I realize what she was getting at. “Is that what you’re worried about? That Foller will say no? I don’t answer to Foller off the field.”

I mean, I do , a lot, but not when it comes to Parker. But not now. Not after today.

“I can’t stay here another night, Fitz,” she pushes out. There’s a worrisome panic to her voice. “I really can’t.”

I squeeze her hand I’m still holding. “I’m taking you home.”