Page 108

“What’s going on?” Sammy asks, her eyes out the window when she’s supposed to be working on a response paragraph using the format I just reviewed with the class.

I turn to see what she’s looking at, and sure enough, there’s at least three photographers standing on the sidewalk just outside my window. The window in the classroom we’re using faces the teacher’s parking lot, so at least the students won’t be affected by this, thankfully.

Still.

I immediately break out into a nervous sweat.

They’re not taking pictures inside our classroom—that would be illegal, I’d imagine—but they’re most likely waiting for me to exit the building with Harper. And that probably means the sentencing is over.

The sentencing is over. I should have been there.

I should know the outcome.

Instead I only know it’s over because there are photographers outside waiting to get my reaction.

God, I hate this. I’m still not sure this is the life I want. Every day I’m regretting what we did more and more, and the way he keeps pushing me away tells me he’s regretting it, too.

I glance over at Harper, and she looks embarrassed as her eyes move back down to the paper in front of her where she doodles dinocorns.

It’s for her , I remind myself.

You hear about those marriages where the couple stays together for the kids. You don’t hear as often about the couple who got married because of the kid.

I love that little girl like she’s my own, and I will do whatever it takes to protect her.

I keep trying to justify in my own mind what’s going on between Travis and me. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.

He’s got the season coming up and he’s just getting focused. I’ve never known him in season, and maybe this is just him and I need to support him in whatever way I can.

He’s been worried about the sentencing. Maybe he didn’t want me there because he didn’t want Harper there and he knew I was the best person to be by her side outside of the courtroom.

But we’ve hardly seen each other over the last couple weeks let alone had the chance to talk. He’s not sharing those types of things with me. Instead I’m left to wonder and guess…which is dangerous.

He’s been busy with working out and I’ve been busy with summer school. Maybe we’re just on two opposite schedules and the distance between us is all in my mind.

We’re coming up on our one-month anniversary in just two days. We’ve been married nearly a month.

Fireworks will explode overhead as we celebrate the Fourth, but will we be celebrating our marriage, too? Will fireworks explode in our bedroom, or will we even be bothered to hold hands as we watch the fireworks?

I have no idea.

“I’m not sure,” I finally say to Sammy, though I know exactly what’s going on.

The photographers on the sidewalk were only the first three. By the time the day’s over at noon and the students file out to head home, they’ve multiplied. There are probably ten out there now, and before I head outside, I call Travis.

“Hey,” he answers.

“Hi. How’d it go?”

“A fine and probation. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Congratulations,” I murmur. What else do you say to someone who was just sentenced? I’ve never been in this position before.

“Thanks.”

“There’s about ten photographers outside waiting for us to leave,” I say. “What should I do?”

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Shield Harper as best you can and ignore them. Don’t answer any questions.”

“Okay. I’m scared.”

“They won’t hurt you,” he says gently.

Maybe not physically. They won’t do anything to get themselves into trouble.

But their words might hurt. The photographs they take and sell might.

I try to remind myself it won’t always be like this. Travis is a headline right now, and someone else will do something to take the heat off him soon enough.

That doesn’t make me feel any better right now, though. I do my best to shield Harper from them as we walk toward the car. We both wear sunglasses and ignore the questions.

“Why weren’t you at court today?”

“Do you know what your husband’s sentence was?”

“Has the commissioner mentioned what his punishment will be?”

“How many games will he be suspended?”

“When are you having more kids?”

God these assholes are relentless, and I should really stop parking at the back of the damn lot. My dad taught me this, though. Always pull through spots when you can. Avoid backing up whenever possible. Reversing is one of the most dangerous moves a driver can make and my dad claims over twenty-five percent of accidents are caused when in reverse.

And so I always pull through a spot when I can.

It’s safer.

But is it really any safer than being pursued and bombarded by the paparazzi?

I’m not sure there are any actual statistics on that, but as I get Harper in the backseat and slide into the front, I’m pretty damn glad I don’t have to back out. It’d be a real shame if I ran one of these dickheads over.

We make it home safely, although more paparazzi are waiting out in front of Travis’s house. I pull into the garage and shut it before we get out of the car, and Harper looks a little shellshocked at what just went down.

It won’t be the last time, I’m afraid.

The thought plagues me that she didn’t ask for any of this, either, but she doesn’t have a choice.

I do.

I can leave if I want. I’m not convinced I want to—especially not as we find Travis in the kitchen waiting for us. He holds out his arms to Harper first, and once her turn is over, he holds his arms out for me. I slip into him as I always do, and he clutches me for a few extra beats. He buries his face in my neck, and he breathes in.

I cling to him, too, relief filtering through me that this part is over, at least. He’ll still get a punishment from the NFL, but the legal process is done. No jail time. Thank God.

We sink into each other as we both feel that relief, and in this moment, I feel like maybe we’re going to be okay.

I wish with everything inside me that I could make that feeling of hope last forever, but as it turns out, I can’t.