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Hendrix

W e’re on the couch in my home theater, watching Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan talking on the telephone while they watch an old black-and-white movie.

“They make it look so easy,” I muse. Raven is beside me, and our baby girl is snoozing peacefully on my chest like always. “I’ve never talked like that on the phone with anybody.”

“It was different then.” Raven takes a bite of soup. “Now we can text around the clock.”

“I guess.” I don’t know anybody I text that much, besides my brothers.

When I got back from the stadium, I gave her the official tour of my bachelor pad, which is actually a pretty massive place. Raven declared it ridiculous for one person.

I showed her the wine cellar, and she grabbed a few bottles to carry upstairs; the game room, complete with a nerf basketball goal, a ping pong table, and a foosball table—which led to threats of her kicking my ass at foosball, as if that would ever happen .

I showed her my personal gym, which she waved away, saying she prefers outdoor exercise. If outside wasn’t crawling with photographers, I’d take her on a hike.

From there we went to the library where I lost her for about an hour as she perused every single one of my shelves, pulling out books, reading the first few pages, then putting them back.

She declared the place desperately lacking in the romance department, so I told her to stock it.

I showed her my very small art collection. I only have a few pieces, but I really like them. Two by Edward Hopper and a drawing made of colorful shapes by Frank Lloyd Wright that matches the house.

For dinner, we ordered pizza from a local restaurant that also makes the best Italian wedding soup in town, and now we’re watching When Harry Met Sally at Raven’s request. Anything for my girls.

“I think women and men can be friends,” she continues. “Guys have put me in the friend zone many times.”

I reach for the tray, grabbing a slice of pizza. “I don’t believe it.”

She gives me a nudge. “We’re friends.”

My eyes narrow, and I glance over at her and down at our sleeping daughter. “I think we’re more than that.”

She hesitates, putting her bowl of soup on the tray. “What are we? When I’m asked, what do I say?”

“You’re my wife.” Satisfaction warms my chest.

I’ve tried out saying the word to her around the house, and every time it gets easier.

“I know, but do we want to put it out there? You were worried about your family finding out. To be honest, I’m a little worried about that, too.”

“They’re an intimidating bunch.” I put my slice on the tray, my hunger waning.

“They mean well.” Raven gives me a weak smile. “They love you a lot. ”

“I love them.” Looking down, I study Haddy’s cute little nose, her rosebud lips, her expression so relaxed in my arms.

I keep turning over the idea of our dreams being on opposite sides of the continent, and what it would take to make them stay.

“Let’s just see what happens.”

“What are you doing?” I stretch out on the hotel bed in the luxury suite in Wisconsin.

By Thursday, we were back to our normal routine—with the addition of Tack Lancaster, the personal bodyguard I hired to stay with the girls.

He came highly recommended by the athletic staff, and his signature is never letting them know he’s there, which is what I want.

I don’t want them to live in fear, and I don’t want this big guy hanging around reminding them to be anxious. Hell, I don’t think anything bad would happen, or I’d never let them out of my sight. Tack is merely an insurance policy against overzealous photographers.

I do not call them journalists , especially not after what I saw them do to Logan and Dylan and what they tried to do to Garrett and Liv. Nobody’s writing shit about my baby or my wife.

“Lying in your bed,” she answers.

Hello, dick perking up. My tone lowers to suggestive. “What are you wearing?”

“Black leggings and your cotton jersey.” Her tone is decidedly not sexy. “Haddy’s been fussy all evening, and I can’t calm her down. I don’t know what’s going on. She’s whiney and pushes everything away—she wouldn’t eat.”

“She’s not sick again, is she?” Sitting higher in the bed, I wonder if it’s possible to get to LA and back by 2 p.m. kickoff.

I’ve felt like shit ever since they were sick and I called Sally. She did a great job, but I sat outside their door, listening the whole time and feeling like an asshole.

Even if Raven backed me up on prioritizing the team, I’m not letting it happen again. I’m Haddy’s dad. I should face down illness the same way Rusty did when his kids were sick.

My knotted stomach tells me it’s more than that. It’s for Raven, too. I want to hold her hair and put a cool cloth on her cheek. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her until she’s well. The team needs me, but I’m starting to need them.

“I think she’s missing you.” Raven’s voice is thoughtful. “I brought her in here to test my theory, because your scent is on all the pillows and sheets.”

“And?” I’m over here on a cliff.

“She’s curled up at my side, sound asleep.”

“Damn,” I exhale, relieved. “Send me a picture of my baby girl.” Seconds later, my phone buzzes with a photo of the two of them. Raven is looking down at her in profile, and Haddy is curled up beside her with her little arm raised. “She looks content. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Raven’s voice is softer. “We’ll sleep here tonight.”

“I wish I was there.” I think of holding them both in my arms in my bed, sleeping with them safely at my side. “Want to watch a movie?”

“We should watch Casablanca since we’re on the phone. Like Harry and Sally.”

My nose curls. “It’s black and white.”

“It’s an iconic Hollywood romance.”

“It’s black and white.”

“Filming in black and white is a stylistic choice. The shadows and light enhance the mood and create drama.”

“Is that why Casablanca is black and white?”

“No, I think it was their only option at the time, but give it a chance. It’s really, really good, I promise.”

Inhaling slowly, I relent. “I won’t promise I’ll stay awake.”

“You might. ”

We navigate to the same streaming service, and on the count of three we press play. Fanfare and trumpets begin, some guy starts talking as a line traces from Paris to north Africa.

“It’s like Raiders of the Lost Ark .”

“Spielberg was highly influenced by classic Hollywood. Casablanca is on the Library of Congress’s list of the best movies of all time.”

“How do you know all of this?” Skepticism is in my tone.

“I told you, watching movies is my hobby.”

We settle into a comfortable silence as the actors all go to this fancy restaurant with live music. A pianist plays jazz, and a small man with an accent is shot dead.

“Wow, they shot him right there in the restaurant.” I’m lying in bed with the phone on my shoulder, under the covers. “People could’ve been killed, and Rick didn’t even help him.”

“He sticks his neck out for nobody.”

“Tough guy.”

“Until she walks in…”

I don’t say I know how he feels. The beautiful female lead appears, and then it gets really crazy. Drinking, shooting, gambling, sneaking out past curfew… It looks more and more like Raiders, and in the end, we watch the two lovers say goodbye.

“I can’t believe he did that. He made her get on the plane.”

“It’s one of the most iconic movie moments of all time.”

“It sucks.” I frown, not liking the tightness in my chest.

“I wonder if they ever tried to find each other when the war was over.”

“No.” My tone is annoyed. “He sent her off with that guy.”

“That guy was her husband.” I don’t know why she sounds amused. “He was a famous war hero. He was fighting the Nazis.”

“Whatever.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“It was fine.”

“Okay.” She says it in a funny voice, and I can practically feel her grinning at me. “Haddy and I’ll be watching you play tomorrow. We’ll be in front of the TV in our jerseys cheering for you.”

That melts my annoyance. “Send me a picture. I’ll wave to you from the field.”

“Dylan said Logan used to do a hand gesture for her from the field.”

“He did?” I’m frowning again, thinking I can’t let that guy show me up. “What did he do?”

“That little thumb and index finger twist that means I love you .”

“Like the K-pop singers?” I sit back, thinking of how to top that. “I could hold up my ring finger. It doesn’t mean I love you, but it means I’m thinking about my wife.”

“Okay.” Her voice is soft and a little high.

“It’s just the first thing I thought of on the spot.” I feel bad, like maybe I disappointed her. “I can think about it some more and text you something different tomorrow.”

“No, I like it,” she answers quickly. “It’s good.”

I hang on the phone a moment, listening to her breathe, thinking about her and Haddy there in my bed. “I guess I should let you sleep.”

“Yeah, you, too.” She sounds content, and calm eases my chest. “Sweet dreams.”

We hang up, and I stare at the picture of them both in my messages.

Sweet dreams .

According to the sports announcers, after a few early losses, our winning streak has begun. I can’t have a phone on the field, but before I leave the locker room, I get a photo of my girls. Both are in blue jerseys, and the little pom poms on Haddy’s head are yellow this time .

With a laugh, I send back a selfie of me doing the last-minute hand gesture I made up for us. I’ll have to give this one a little more thought. She gives the picture a heart, so I guess she’s okay with it.

“Come on, bruh,” Tyler slaps my shoulder. “Time to win.”

I put the phone away, but their image is in the front of my mind. I think of them being two thousand miles away watching the game, being there when I get home, and I’m happy.

I’m ready to get out there and clean up.

Wisconsin has a good team, and it’s clear they’ve been studying us from the start. They’re not about to let us walk away with the game, and they come at us hard.

The trash talk on the line is fierce. Tyler is sacked twice, and Coach is all in the faces of our offensive line. Hell, I’ve got a linebacker staying on me like white on rice. He brings me down more than once, forcing Tyler to find another receiver.

We’re not walking away with any brilliant plays, and I don’t expect to be the talk of sports coverage this week. Right at the end, I manage to give my guy the slip and get down the field. Looking back, I lock eyes with Tyler, but he’s in trouble.

He barely gets the pass off before he goes down, and it’s too high. I’m afraid it’s over my head, but I dig in, pushing off with all my strength and reaching hard. All my focus is on the ball, and my fingers curl just scooping it out of the air and into my arms.

The stadium goes wild, but coming down, Sam is right there on me. I break the tackle, jerking out of his grasp. Then I use the strongarm on Will to regain my balance, and I can’t believe I see a path to the endzone.

My vision tunnels, and I run with everything I’ve got, crossing the line as the whistles blow.

The guys surround me, slapping my back and shoulders, and I hold up my hand, pushing my thumb against the third finger of my left hand and laughing my ass off. That’s for you, Pink .

That was some sweet shit.

We actually lose this one, but we played well. We’re pretty beat up as the reporters run out with their mics, ready to get their sound bites.

Tyler is at my back talking to CBS. I’ve got one of the ESPN gals on me. She asks about that catch, and I confess, sometimes it all comes together.

But she’s not letting me off the hook. “Answer the burning question for us, Hen, who was that mystery lady in your box?”

My throat tightens, and I look down. “She’s… She’s my…” I feel the weight of six pairs of Bradford eyes on me, and I straighten my shoulders, staring directly into the camera as I say it.

“She’s my wife.”