Page 46

It’s when I run upstairs for my socks I realize that between readjusting to the early season schedule and married life, I need to prioritize our living situation a bit. I’ve been sleeping downstairs with Parker, but apart from my toothbrush and deodorant, the rest of my shit is still upstairs.

I’m grabbing a pair from the dresser when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it!” Parker calls out.

I glance at the time as I drop to the bed, unpairing the socks to slip them on. “It’s probably Josh and Lo. We’ll ride together.”

Standing, I do one more sweep around the room, because I refuse to come back up here again when I freeze.

“We were just on our way out,” I hear Parker say.

I creep closer to the door.

“To your little dance ?” Coach pairs his question with a chuckle.

Fuck .

I jog down the stairs. “Hey,” I say to Coach, but my eyes find Parker’s. “Babe, you have any idea where that shirt is? The red and blue one?”

“Yeah. I’ll go grab it.” Walking past me, Parker lets her fingers graze mine. She understands. I want her upstairs and as far from this conversation as possible. I know it won’t make that much of a difference considering how open this apartment is, but the farther, the better.

Coach’s eyes beam around the apartment, as if he’s waiting to be let in.

“We were just on our way out.”

He nods. “Right.”

“This is our last free weekend,” I remind him.

“Fitz,” Coach says firmly. “Save it. I’m done stressing about your commitment to this team.”

“You came into the city from the suburbs to tell me to save it ?” I have to laugh.

“No, Fitz. I dragged my ass all the way here because, apparently, my quarterback is scheming to have me fired .”

“Fired?” I exclaim. “In what world do I even have the authority to do that? I work for you .”

Coach purses his lips. “Would you play for me, Fitz?”

I think back to the day in Heath’s office.

“They work for him but play for you .”

Even when he wasn’t my coach, I played to makes James Foller proud—proud he developed my talent, proud that he pushed me, even if that means he drove me deep into the ground.

“What are youtalking about? Of course I do.”

Coach nods. “Then you’re going to tell the world that at the interview.” When I look confused, he clarifies, “I’m not an idiot, Fitz. I’ve got a sit-down with the League commissioner and his friends on the ethics panel first thing Monday morning.”

I cock my tongue against my cheek.

“I know the League is investigating me. And I’d bet good money that Heath or one of the higher-ups let you in on that little fact and that’s why you’ve been dodging my messages about the interview after our preseason game.”

“I haven’t been dodging anything. I’ve had a full plate since camp. And I’m taking my one weekend off for the next six months to spend with my wife.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. “Parker, hm? Got married and handed her your balls?”

My eyes flick up to the second-floor landing, where I find the door closed.

“I told you,” Coach continues. “That girl? She’ll?—”

I stop him before he has a chance to continue, taking two steps so I’m as in his face as I’d ever allow myself. “Let’s get something straight, Coach. That girl? She’s my wife. I play for you. But this is going to be the last time I ever remind you I ride or die for her. You might not like that, but you’re going to have to respect it. Because I’ll say this. There sure are a hell of a lot of things you do that I don’t like. But because of who you are to me, I respect them.”

Coach’s face hardens. I don’t think I’ve ever come at him for anything apart from one shitty play during a tough game in college. And man, did my legs pay for that the day after when he made me run the bleachers until I threw up. Have I wanted to other times when I felt he was being too harsh on me? Sure. They just never seemed worth the trouble. But Parker? She’s worth all kinds of trouble.

“And to prove my point,” I conclude, “I’ll do the damn interview, alright? If anyone has any issue with that, they can deal with me. But right now? I’m done talking.”

I march over to the door and open it. Without looking at him, I wait for Coach to make his way into the hall.

“I’ll see you Monday at the facility,” I tell him as he crosses through and passes Agent Samuels at the side of our door. “Good luck with your panel. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

I follow Coach out and pull the door closed behind me, watching as he walks down the hallway and waits for the elevator.

The moment he’s on his way down, I turn to Agent Samuels. “We’ve got friends coming. Make sure they get in. And that guy”—I point down the hall—“doesn’t get up to this floor again, understand? Make sure whoever you have downstairs knows that.”

Agent Samuels nods. “Understood, sir.”

I slam the door behind me and bang my head against it before shutting my eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it now.” I hear Parker’s footsteps and straighten my head, opening my eyes. “God, especially not when you look that beautiful.” I hate I was in such a tizzy before and didn’t even notice.

Parker smiles sadly, lifting and dropping bare arms that now flank the little white dress she wears.

“Did I make a problem for you?” she asks.

“What?” I push off the door. “No.”

She tucks a long lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. “I mean, the sign was supposed to be fun and?—”

“This has nothing to do with the sign.” I take a deep breath along with her hand, looking at it as I run my finger along her ring. “This has to do with me not saying how high when he tells me to jump.”

“You mean when he yells at you to jump.”

My eyes dart up to hers. “Football coaches have two voice levels. Normal and yelling.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not just about yelling, Fitz. It’s about that he thinks he has the right to talk to you that way when he doesn’t.”

I run a hand over my chin. “Can we table this discussion?” I ask, using her own words. “My wife just asked me to prom and I plan on enjoying every damn minute of it.”

“It’s not prom .” Parker lets out a little laugh. “But it’s the best I could do.”

* * *

Parker doesn’t realize that what she pulled off tonight is far better than prom for a few reasons. One, there’s free flowing alcohol, and two, no nosy teacher is charging out to the dance floor physically separating our bodies as we dance. And while I’ve had Parker in all sorts of ways over the last few weeks in private, there’s something to be said about being overly—borderline obnoxiously—affectionate in public that takes me to another level of delight.

“I can’t believe you did this,” I tell her for what might be the fiftieth time since we got here.

Music booms around us, but the club’s lights aren’t quite as dim or strobing as I imagine they might be on a normal night. They’re low, but still highlight the nostalgic décor—streamers, tightly bunched balloons, a backdrop for photos with the same patriotic logo we wear on the sleeves of our jerseys. But it’s the text below the year on the large, hung poster that really gets me.

NEW ENGLAND REBELS ONLY.

I’m not sure if anyone here—the guys or their plus ones—even notice. They’re too busy apparently dancing off to all the songs we probably are all too embarrassed to admit we loved so much in high school.

Parker smooths my hair back, raising her voice over the music, “You wanted to go to a school dance with me. This is the last free weekend before the season really kicks off.” She leans forward, finding my ear. “And I just want to make you happy.”

Smiling like an absolute, lovesick idiot, I wind my arms around her waist and squeeze. “God, you already do.”

“I would’ve tried to get this in a school gym,” she says. “But, you know, my days of sneaking booze onto school campuses are over and I figured these guys could use one last drink.”

It’s at this moment Micah starts doing the worm on the floor beside us.

“Yeah. Or five.” I spin Parker around, tucking her back into my front to clear her out of Micah’s path. That was a mistake. “If you keep moving like that, we’re leaving the dance early and all your hard work will be wasted.”

Parker stretches her arms up and tilts her head to me. “I’m tired anyway,” she says, smiling as one of her hand lands on my cheek and her ass presses harder against me. She opens her mouth, faking a yawn, but I close her mouth with my own.

And that’s how we dance for the next few minutes—all over and wrapped up in each other.

Until the music stops.

“Excuse me!”

I narrow my eyes at Parker before we both look toward the platform supporting the DJ booth, where Josh and Lo stand with a microphone. It takes a few booms of Josh’s loud voice to quiet everyone down before Lo speaks.

“I know this came together really quickly,” she says into the mic. “So first, thank you for coming and I really hope this was the perfect send off into this season’s full grind.”

Lo stops for applause.

“And,” Lo continues. “I’d like to especially thank all of you for keeping our little secret from your captain.”

I feel Parker’s eyes bore into mine before I look down at her. “Which captain?”

“Fitzy.”

My attention swings back to the small stage when Josh says my name.

“I got a lot of shit from the guys because they were pissed they weren’t invited to Vegas and missed me officiating your wedding.”

I break into laughter.

“But here’s the thing. I told them that was just the ceremony. Tonight is your reception.”

Now, it’s Parker’s smile I feel.

“And,” Josh carries on. “On brand with your relationship, we figured crowning you and your bride at this dance would be appropriate.”

Parker leans into me, pressing a hand to my chest.

Josh looks around for a minute and lowers the mic, whispering at Lo before raising it again. “Which one of you jackasses was supposed to bring out the crowns?”

Crowns?

Around us, the crowd thins, but Micah breaks through. In his hands? Hats that match the ones our mascot wears, replicas of the ones the rebels wore in the American Revolution.

I don’t even have a chance to respond because I’ve got a few inches on Micah and I have to dip so he can put the hat on my head.

When it’s on, I turn to Parker. She lifts a hand, trying to straighten hers and when she drops it, we hold each other’s stare, bursting into hysterics.

“Now,” Josh speaks again. “Fitz and Parker—Captain and Mrs. America—and tonight, king and queen of the Rebels, your first dance.”

A slow, jazzy song begins to flow through the speakers, and I turn to Parker, holding out a hand. “May I?”

“Always.”

Tugging her to me makes her hat tilt to the side, so I quickly adjust it before settling her against me.

“If you asked me to dance in high school, I would’ve said yes,” she says.

“You know, something tells me second chances can be even better than the first time.” I would’ve loved to dance with Parker back at Thacher’s gym. “But there’s no way it would’ve been like this. You wouldn’t have been caught dead in this hat. And it’s different now.”

Parker gently shakes her head. “How so?”

“Our story,” I say. “It’s bigger now.”

I want to tell her that my love for her is bigger now, but I hold off. Because something inside of me is terrified that she might say it back. And after sharing so much of our relationship, even though I love the guys in this room, I want that moment for myself. And another thing I don’t add is for some strange reason, us together feels more important.

Parker’s eyes twinkle in the light. “It’s so much bigger.”