Page 50

In all actuality, preseason games have little to do with the game and everything to do with morale. Do we want a win? Hell yes, we want a win. But do we want to see how far we’re willing to go for each other more? Yes.

If I had to grade our team morale following our win against Tampa, I’d give it a solid two out of ten. I’m not mad I didn’t get so many reps. Not in the least, actually. I’m happy I rode the bench, and not just because I didn’t have to worry as much about getting hurt. No. Riding the bench let me take a look at the sidelines for nearly the entirety of the game.

And what I found? What I counted ? Forty-three times Coach got in someone’s face. Six of those were after touchdowns . But I realized in the third quarter, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Down the sideline stood Heath. And he wasn’t watching the game. He was watching Foller too.

“I bet you good money we get an interim head coach by the middle of the season,” Josh says, tapping his fingers against his helmet he holds.

He hasn’t played at all—not one down. He also doesn’t seem surprised by it. Because this is what Foller does—he messes with you, even in preseason. Josh might be emotional, but he doesn’t fall for the trap by showing those emotions today. He cheers from the bench. He makes pointers to our second-string center. He leads by example and with heart, and that’s all I think about as I hurry to hose myself off in the locker room so we can get back on the bus and fly home.

Well, I think about that and my wife waiting for me.

“Where is the Mrs.?” Nick asks, as I come out of the locker room freshly showered.

I toss my bag into one of the gear bins that will be loaded onto the plane. “She was busy.”

I look at my phone, trying not to panic when I find no messages from Parker. But I note the time. She’s probably still meeting with Cam and Abby.

“Come here, will you? Before you head out to the bus.” Nick puts a hand on my shoulder and guides me into the tunnel so we’re more out of sight. “Listen, I heard some things through the grapevine.”

“What’s that?”

“The League’s investigation of Foller was inconclusive .”

I don’t know why, but I feel oddly disappointed, considering I thought the investigation wasn’t necessary in the first place. But I don’t show that to Nick.

“I wasn’t really expecting it to show anything the team’s investigation didn’t already look into. But what does that mean?” I ask. “Everything goes back to how it was?”

Nick sighs. “Well, the League has basically said We wash our hands of this and that the Rebels have the right to proceed however they want.”

I run my tongue against the inside of my lip. “So they could fire him?”

“They probably won’t is my guess, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground. You never know what could pop up, but even then, abuse like this”—Nick shakes his head—“it’s hard to prove. You either believe it or you don’t.”

For the first time, I realize maybe I believed it all along. Maybe I just didn’t want to see it.

Nick claps my shoulder to wrap things up. “Either way, my message to you is the same. Don’t go out of your way for this guy. Not even a word out of your way.”

I press my lips together. “I’m supposed to sit down tomorrow with Foller and a reporter from The Boston Journal .”

Before he even takes his next breath, Nick is reaching for his inhaler. “I must’ve heard you wrong, right?”

“No.”

“Fitz!”

“You don’t need to whisper -yell at me!” I whisper-yell back.

Nick huffs. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“So I can call your wife, and she can talk you out of this!”

I shake my head. “Parker told me to do what I have to do.”

“Ugh,” Nick groans. “She’s back on my shit list. Fitzy, cancel it, man. Don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?” Coach asks.

We both swing our heads toward the tunnel entry leading to the hallway.

Coach gazes between us, and he tips his head, waiting for an answer.

“Leave my wife at home again,” I say, pushing past him. “And I won’t.”

* * *

I told myself not to panic before the plane took off and there was no message from Parker, still excusing it considering everything she had on her plate tonight. But when we land and I do get a message from someone not in my contacts, I worry.

617-555-3542

Hi Fitz. Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to see if you got a hold of Parker because I haven’t for the past few hours.

I freeze and then scroll up, realizing there’s an earlier message in the thread about Bernard. It’s Abby. Abby, who should either still be in my apartment or have left not all that long ago.

Weren’t you just with her?

I wait impatiently for the three dots to disappear and her message to come through.

617-555-3542

I was, but her parents showed up. She’s not answering.

Parker doesn’t pick up when I call either.

I’m on my way home now. I’ll have someone check on her.

But the person I call—Agent Samuels—doesn’t pick up either. And that has me on my feet and waiting at the door of the plane before we’ve even fully stopped on the tarmac. It has me taking the stairs by two until I get on the ground, where I all-out sprint to my truck, ignoring my name as it’s called by teammates. I only stop myself from flooring it out of the parking lot when my phone chimes with another message. I assume it’s Parker.

Coach

Tomorrow morning 9am at the Hilton. I’ll send you the room number.

I toss my phone to the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel with an ironclad hold. As I zoom out of the lot and finally merge onto the highway, I wonder if I saw someone I remotely care about acting like a raging lunatic, practically jumping out of a plane before it’s even come to a full stop, would I start that text differently?

Maybe a good starting point would be Is everything okay?

The answer is no, and for the thirty-five-minute drive back to my apartment, I run through every possible scenario that might make things not okay.

Parker was kidnapped.

Parker left.

Parker is hurt.

Parker needs me, and I’m not there.

I’m running so fast down the hall from the elevator that I don’t even notice my doorway is clear, vacant of agents, until I reach for the handle and find it locked. This might be the first time I’ve used the key myself since the Spring.

And this might be the first time I’ve entered the space and heard crying .

I hurry to her room, reaching for the knob. It doesn’t turn. The door doesn’t budge.

“Parker?”

Nothing.

I bang on the door with the side of my closed fist. “Parker! Open up, it’s me.”

But she doesn’t, no matter how loudly I call her name. The crying never stops.

I stand back, eyeing the door, deciding to break it. And just when I take a step back, there’s the sound of a click, the clanging of metal.

And there Parker is—puffy and red faced but there .

“I’m sorry, I was about to get in the shower.” She tugs at the collar of her robe—of my robe. “I didn’t hear you over the water.”

“What happened?” I say, trying to catch my breath. “I called you and?—”

“My phone might be on silent.”

That still isn’t an answer to my question. “What happened?” I force out through a tight jaw, and all Parker does is shake her head. “No, no, don’t do that again.”

She focuses on me. “Don’t do what?”

“Lock me out.” I look at her hand on the knob, but the last thing I’m talking about is the door. “You were crying.”

Parker nods. “I was, but…”

I can see her spinning the wheel of excuses in her mind. But we’re past that. “Don’t shut me out,” I beg. “Talk to me.”

Parker retreats into the room and I follow. “I just want to take a shower and go to bed, and we can talk in the morning,” she tells me.

I come to a complete stop when I see the duffle bag at the foot of the bed.

“You could still run. You did before.”

“It’s different this time.”

“How?”

“This time, you’re driving the getaway car.”

I swear my heart can’t handle how fast it races when I realize this time, the only difference is that Parker is leaving by choice.

“Don’t shut me out,” I say again. I’m trying to be soft and easy, but I’m a second away from losing it. “Not anymore. I’ve had enough.”

Surprise swallows Parker’s face. “ You’ve had enough?” she asks, shocked, ripping her hand from my grasp. Her ring scratches the skin of my palm. “What about me ? When is it enough for me?” She shoves against my chest.

“Stop,” I say, intercepting her hands when they come at me again. “Stop it, Parker. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m with you! I’m on your side!”

The way I have to yell, to pull her firmly against me tears at my soul, but I’m not getting through to her. I let go of her and reach out, grabbing her face, and that at least gets her to stop struggling.

“I’m with you,” I whisper, bending at my knees to get her focus. “Rebels only. I’m on your team.”

All the light in her eyes goes out, and how it’s possible for her face to crack more, I’ll never know, but I’ll also never forget it.

“But you play for him .”

* * *

I wake with a jolt in sheer panic. It doesn’t last long, thank god. Because Parker is nestled against my chest, the warmth of her body a stark contrast against the coolness of my t-shirt she lies on, barely dry from the abundance of her tears.

Light comes through the window, but it’s faint. The sun must be rising. I should be happy we made it. But nothing, not even Parker’s breath against me, her warm legs wound with mine, could wash the taste from my mouth.

“He told my parents to put me there.”

I feel nauseous, so I slide out from beneath her, making my way out of the door we slept with wide open. I stumble outside where the lights are still on in the living room, where Parker’s letters remain untouched on the dining table. I turn, about to head upstairs to use that shower instead of the one down here so I don’t wake her, but before I take my first step, I pause.

“There’s carpeting on the stairs and outside it. It makes it too hard to hear someone coming.”

Bringing my foot to the floor, I march over to the entry closet, reach up to the top shelf, and pull down the toolbox. With the hammer secure in one hand and a box cutter in the other, I return to the steps and drop to my knees.

Digging the claw of the hammer into the base of the first step, I begin to rip up the carpet. It’s a tough-ass job. It hurts, and I nearly whack myself in the face with the hammer. But slowly, I make my way up the stairs, releasing the runner from the hardwood.

By the time I reach the landing, I have to lean against the railing, feeling weak from the intensity of the night.

“W-what are you doing?” she asks, coming out of the room. She’s still in the robe, her hair going a hundred different ways.

I wouldn’t have her any other way. Never.

I rotate the handle of the hammer back and forth. “I’m getting rid of everything that makes hard days harder for you,” I say. “I hated this design anyway.”

“Fitz—”

“But if I do this, I need you to promise me one thing.”

Parker shakes her head, but it doesn’t toss the confusion from her face. “What?”

I put the hammer down beside the box cutter. “I need you to promise me to never think that you are second to anyone or anything in my life. I get I made you feel that way before. I made you feel you were second to football. I let… him make me think that was the only way. But it isn’t true.”

I stand, walking down the stairs.

“Because things might’ve been different, but maybe I would’ve been better with you beside me all these years. I need you to understand that I think you are the bravest, strongest person I know. And that’s saying something.” I reach out, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. “Most of my friends are close to three hundred pounds.”

I feel like I can finally breathe when Parker lets out a soft laugh.

“I need you to understand that I’d do anything for you. Rip up carpet”—I motion behind me—“take on a demonic mother-in-law. All of it. I’d do it for you. But I need you to do something for me , Parker.”

She tries to get a hold on her quivering lips but doesn’t succeed. “What?” she asks again.

I tilt up her chin. “Let me be beside you when you turn the world upside down. Even if I’m in the line of fire, I promise you, the country will never have seen a husband prouder of his wife.”

The quivering takes over her entire face as I kiss her.

Maybe it’s the thousandth kiss we’ve shared in a short period of time, but this one feels and tastes different. And what Parker says next after she wraps her arms around my neck lets me know why.

“I love you, Fitz.”

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“What?” I ask, pulling her to my side. “Walk without being followed? I’d love to keep doing it. Let’s take another lap.”

Parker taps my middle. “Fitz, if you need to take some and think?—”

“There’s been enough taking,” I tell her. “Foller took you from me. Your parents took your freedom. That place took Sarah’s life and god knows how many others’.”

Today, we’re taking back what we can.

After finishing up what I could of the stairs and a shower, I made two courtesy calls. The first was to Heath to tell him it might be in his best interest to find a new coach immediately because I was certain that by the time the news broke, there wouldn’t be any Rebels players willing to suit up for Foller.

And the second was to Nick, who, after I told him to meet me at our apartment later this afternoon for a crisis control situation, I apologized to and told him to figure out what I need to do to make sure the League’s ethics committee hears me when I tell them all the things I never really wanted to admit, whether Foller gets the ax or not.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as we approach the Hilton.

“We’re going to suite 950,” I tell her. “You ready?”

Parker nods.

She feels ready. There’s a peaceful confidence about her as we walk into the hotel and head to the elevator. And still, I worry.

“Parker, if you don’t want to do this, I’ll have a getaway car downstairs in two minutes.”

She shakes her head. “I have to. I know I won’t be able to end everything , but I can end it with them. All the pieces of this puzzle.” She narrows her eyes. “Including Foller. But when this is over, you owe me a honeymoon. You promised.”

I laugh. “After the season, I promise.” I bring up our locked hands, kissing the knuckle above her ring. “Just you and me, right?”

Parker smiles sadly. “But we’re doing it for others.”

Nodding, I hold my arm so she can exit the elevator first. “Do me a favor, though,” I say as we head down the hall. “Count to a hundred. I need a minute with him.”

Parker squeezes my hand and lets go, leaning against the wall as I head to suite 950.

The door opens almost instantly. “Fitz!” A woman holds out her hand. “Rebecca Morris from The Boston Journal .”

I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I can’t thank you—or Coach Foller—enough for taking the time to sit with me for this piece. I know it’s a very busy time for you.”

I offer a small smile. “I’m sure it will be a lot of work for you too.”

Confusion floats across her face.

“There’s my Fitzy.”

Foller gets up from the chair across the room. I can tell he’s coming in for a hug. But he stops short when he sees my face.

A look is all I need to give. He knows I’m done.

Foller twitches when there’s a knock on the door. Rebecca steps around me, hurrying to open it.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.” Rebecca clears her throat. “Hi Ms. Montgomery.”

Parker clears her throat. “I’d appreciate it if you get my name correct for the article. Parker Rhodes . I’m not a Montgomery anymore.”

That’s my girl .

Rebecca’s voice is laced with confusion. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you’d join us. Of course, you’re welcome to stay for the profile on Coach Foller.”

The more Coach’s jaw tenses, the deeper the smile on my face embeds itself.

“You’re going to pay,” I promise him. “For everything that happened to her.”

Foller’s eyes meet mine for only a second before he takes off toward the door. But I prove him right. He once said I had balls for a quarterback. It takes balls for one to pin their coach against the wall. “My wife has something to say,” I growl. “You’re going to sit and listen to every word of it. Do you hear me?”

I release Foller, but not totally. I drag him to a chair.

“I’m sorry.” Rebecca holds up her hands. “Can someone tell me what this is about?”

“I’d like to speak on record,” Parker says, coming up beside me and taking my hand. Foller’s eyes travel down to our locked fingers. I hope he sees it. I hope he knows this bond is unshakable, unbreakable, no matter what lengths he might go to make that otherwise.

Parker will always go further. After all, you can’t outrun the truth.

Rebecca steps over to the table, reaching for her phone. “On record?”

“Yes.” Parker squeezes my hand before moving in Rebecca’s direction. I cross my arms, leaning against the wall and eyeing Foller.

At the table, Parker takes a seat. “ I thought you might want to know a little bit more about the man who convinced my parents—the President and First Lady—to wrongfully institutionalize me when I was seventeen.”