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“I told you this wasn’t going to end well.”

I tip back the rest of my bourbon as Nick paces. “You don’t need to play the I told you so card so many damn times. And for the record, a League investigation started . That doesn’t mean it’s the end for him. And for god’s sake, it won’t be the end of me .”

Nick stands still. “Here’s the thing, Fitzy. I’ve got millions of dollars of endorsement deals lined up for you. When the press realizes Foller’s being investigated by the League , none of those will move forward. Because you went ahead and went to bat for him. You tied yourself to him.”

“I tied myself to the fucking President of the United States as well.”

That obviously was not the right way to segue out of the Foller topic because Nick throws his arms up.

“I didn’t tell you to do that either!” Nick exclaims. “The only thing going for you with that people are googly eyed over watching the two of you play around with some kids. I’m less worried about your personal life at the moment.”

“Because it doesn’t make you any money,” I retort.

“No, Fitzy. Because when you retire in a few years, I want your reputation to be intact and untarnished.”

I hang my head. “What do you want me to do?”

“Divorce Foller.”

I put my now-empty glass on the counter. “Divorce a football coach?”

He nods. “Yeah. You make yourself like every other guy on your team who says jack shit. Practice, training, prep, games, that’s it. If you’re asked about him, it’s no comment . Not no comment and I think he’s a great guy . Because he’s not. Blinders are never higher than when it comes to family, Fitzy. If that’s what Foller is to you, you’ve got to ask yourself if he’d throw himself under the bus for you if the situations were reversed.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“What I want you to get is dismissing any kind of abuse off the bat just because you can’t imagine it isn’t the vibe. I can’t sell that shit. Not to Nike or Gatorade. And you’re beloved right now. But don’t think people can’t turn against you in a flash, because they can. And they will. You are the company you keep.”

The irony isn’t lost on me that that’s what Foller said about Parker back in high school.

* * *

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I’d love to know what a two thousand-piece puzzle is worth, especially when you’re missing one damn piece.

When I told Parker I wouldn’t work on it while she was gone, I meant it. But that was before this shitstorm. Now, I’m checking the couch for the eighth time phone rings. Given Parker usually calls around this time—and because I had another bourbon after Nick left—I swipe to open the call without even looking at the screen.

“I know you’re going to be pissed,” I say, “but promise you won’t hate me.”

It’s quiet on the line. I yank the phone from my ear, and fuck me , it’s Coach.

“You know I’m going to be pissed? Huh. I think it’s too late for that. A little birdy told me you met with Heath today.”

I sink down onto cushions I’ve rehomed to the floor. “I just popped in after working out. I do that every now and then.”

I focus on my empty glass across from me on the coffee table, willing for either it to be full or my phone to lose service.

“What did you talk about?”

I press my lips together. “About the wedding. You wouldn’t believe how many football guys have so many opinions,” I tell him. “Josh?—”

“I don’t care about Josh, Fitz. Or this fucking circus of a wedding. Enough with the bullshit.”

Instinctively, I straighten, as if Coach is standing in the room with me. I’m putting a lot of faith in Heath and hoping he didn’t throw me under the bus. “We talked about Parker.”

The deafening silence is sobering. That was a bad play.

“Parker,” Coach says after a beat. “What business does Heath have talking to you about Parker?”

Some might say that Heath has as much business talking to me about Parker as Coach does.

“He wanted to give me advice,” I spit out.

God, I hate awkward silence over the phone.

“I see,” Coach finally says. “Well, with your engagement party around the corner…I suppose with Parker, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

Of all the bits of silence, this has to be the worst—this is angry silence, from me and from Coach.

“I wanted to talk with you today before you left. The Boston Journal reached out to me. They’re doing a profile on the team before?—”

“On the team?” I interject. “Or on you?”

Coach clears his throat. “Well, there would be a sit-down with us. You and me. Football’s dream team.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Of course he has to bring this to my attention just after my meeting with Heath. Ignorance would’ve been bliss in this situation.

“I’ll have to check with Parker.”

“With Parker ?”

God, I hate that I’m making her take the fall for this. “The White House is filtering my media until the election,” I lie. “You know, just to make sure I don’t do anything that will make them look bad.”

Coach cackles. “Since when do you care about politics, Fitzy?”

“I care about the woman I’m about to marry . ” It helps I was smart enough to not confide in Coach about any of this because, at this point, I’d tell Candice and Walter to jump off a cliff if it didn’t make things more difficult for Parker. “I’m about to head to bed. I’ll stop by after my workout tomorrow. You can give me the details.”

I hang up, fuming silently for no reason since I’m alone in our apartment. I have no reason to keep my thoughts to myself, but I do anyway. And why? Because I feel bad saying this kind of stuff about Coach out loud.

Fuck him , I say to myself. Fuck him for never once caring about anything in my life other than football .

“And fuck me too,” I add, this time out loud.

My phone rings from where I’ve tossed it, and this time, I do take the time to actually look at who’s calling before I answer.

“Hey.” I clear my throat. “I was just talking—uh, thinking—about you.”

“I hope you’re talking and thinking good things about me,” Parker says smoothly.

“I’m always thinking good things about you these days,” I tell her.

“Hm,” Parker begins. “Be careful, Fitzy. I wouldn’t want you to fall in love with me.”

The bourbon in my bloodstream has me tempted to ask Parker if that would really be so bad. But I don’t. “Life is boring without you here. And no Secret Service outside. The doorman asked if we broke up.”

Parker laughs. “Well, that would be bad news. I’m calling with good news actually.”

I can scan the rug for the piece. “Great. Because I actually have bad news to share.”

“You first.”

“No. Good first, always.”

Parker hums. “Well, first , Fourth of July weekend in Vegas works. We’ll go to DC for the engagement party, stay the night, go to Texas for a fundraiser for my dad, and then fly back to Boston. We can leave for Vegas that night.”

“Sounds like a logistical nightmare,” I tell her, even though I’d fly to the moon and detour around Saturn to marry Parker. “I told Josh. He’s really upset.”

“Upset?” Parker gasps. “Over our wedding?”

“Upset that we’re eloping. The bigger guys are always the most sentimental.” I laugh. “He’ll come around.”

“I guess I’ll have to let you handle that. But I have something else. I kind of need you to fly out tomorrow and stay the night.”

I fist pump. If I were wearing socks, I’d be sliding across the floor like Tom Cruise in his Risky Business era.

“Dad has a fundraiser tomorrow in Palm Beach. Mom wants the whole family there,” Parker explains. “Next morning, you and I will go up to Jacksonville and visit another school. Ridiculous, right? Imagine you have time to rub elbows with billionaires over cocktails but don’t manage to find time to listen to teachers and students about what they need to learn better.” She sighs. “I’m sorry to ask last minute. They sprang this on me. But the coverage from last time was so positive they want to roll with it.”

“Do I have to wear a suit both days?”

“No. Just for the dinner tomorrow. The navy one with a white button-down. Pack the light blue tie. We’ll keep the school visit casual. Jeans and maybe that checkered button-down you have hanging in your closet. White sneakers. Fitz?” Parker asks when I grow quiet for a moment. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m here. I was just swooning.”

Parker giggles. “Swooning?”

I sigh happily. “You’re killing me with this wife behavior. Telling me where to be and what to wear? That’s dirty talk for a traditional guy like me.”

God, I miss her laugh.

“You’re ridiculous.” Parker pauses for a beat before she drops her voice and huskily whispers, “Wear the dress socks with the Rebels emblem on them.”

I let out an overenthusiastic groan. “I didn’t anticipate phone sex when I answered before, but?—”

“By the way.” Parker interrupts me. “Your mom RSVP’d to the engagement party.”

The next groan I let out is less enthusiastic. “Bringing up my mom right now is a good way to kill the mood. And I know she did. I already booked her tickets and hotel.”

Now it’s Parker who grows quiet.

“Oh.” I read her lack of response. “You’re nervous .”

I don’t know why. The idea of Parker nervous to see my mom has me all kinds of giddy, even though they’re not strangers. But maybe that’s the problem. The idea Parker has of my mother is that she viewed Parker as not fit to be my friend, so in what world would it be okay for her to be my wife ?

I shift side to side. My ass is falling asleep from sitting on the floor for so long. “Parker, your mother makes mine look like the Dalai Lama.”

A fit of hysterical laughter erupts over the call. “I know, it’s just?—”

“That was years ago,” I tell her, even though what I should tell her is that my mom really had nothing to do with me pulling away. “We were kids. I promise, it’s going to be okay. She won’t be nasty. Not to your face,” I tease before adding, “And I’ll be with you.”

The sigh of relief Parker lets out is so soft I nearly miss it.

“You didn’t tell me. What’s the bad news?”

I grimace, looking at the coffee table. “Oh. I was hoping you’d be so excited to see me you’d forget all of that.”

“Fitz. You’re making me more nervous.”

“Can we go back to you ordering me around?” I ask. “I think we both liked that better.” When she doesn’t answer, I continue, begrudgingly, “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not before we get married,” Parker jokes. “Come on, tell me.”

I shift my jaw back and forth. “I kind of lost a piece to the puzzle we started before you left.”

I don’t exactly expect Parker to get angry with me, only annoyed since I promised I wouldn’t work on it without her. But she’s got this ability to keep me on my toes.

“Open the camera.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So phone sex isn’t entirely off the table. I knew you’d be a great wife.”

“Just do it.” She lowers her voice. “But keep your eyes closed.”

Pulling the phone from my ear, I swipe up on the FaceTime notification and cover my eyes with my other hand, only peeking through just a smidge, but I can’t really see anything.

“Okay. You can look.”

I drop my hand from my face. It takes my brain a few minutes to register what I’m seeing.

“I take it back about you being a great wife. You’re an asshole.”

Parker lowers the puzzle piece she’s held up to the phone, and her face comes into full view, her mouth open. “I’m the asshole? You promised you wouldn’t work on it without me! You lied!”

“Who said I was working on it.” I jump up so she doesn’t see where I am.

“How did you realize you lost a piece then?”

I think for a moment. “I counted them.”

“All two thousand? Liar.”

“Okay, fine.” I rotate the camera, showing her the puzzle with the one small hole in it. “But I only did it because I really do miss you.”

I meant for it to be light and funny, but the serious way the words just left my mouth makes me worried I’ve just changed the mood of the call.

But it doesn’t seem to. Because when I look back at the screen, I see Parker lie down, her dark hair a stark contrast against the crisp white cover of the hotel pillow beneath her head. A soft smile grows on her face, and she turns the missing piece between her fingertips.

“I miss you too.”