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Chapter 15

Lily

H ave you ever done something that in hindsight you can’t decide if it was the best decision you’ve ever made or the worst? That’s how I feel about showing up to Tyler’s team event.

I wasn’t going to go, but then something fundamentally happened to me when I saw how excited and proud he was of my books. I had this burst of confidence, one I haven’t had in a long time, and in the moment, I didn’t care about what anyone else thought. He validated something inside me that I didn’t know I needed validated, and he could have asked me to travel to the moon with him, and I would have.

While I had been hoping there wouldn’t be pictures of me online at the barbecue, there are. I knew this was a possibility, but when we left last night, I had felt optimistic as I didn’t pose for any or feel any cameras aimed my way. None of the players or their significant others were taking pictures, just the Tarpons PR staff, but when they posted the event yesterday morning to their social media accounts, unfortunately for me, even though there are like forty pictures, I’m in two of them. There’s one of me laughing with Camille and Sophie, with the guys all standing behind us, and there’s one of me where I’m talking to Bryan and Lexi.

Me. Talking to another team’s quarterback.

The expression “broke the internet” is how I feel. People are all up in arms that I’ve somehow betrayed not only Dean but also the Destroyers. All day, it was like watching a car crash coverage. People came out of the woodwork to discuss my presence and what this might mean.

Of course Morgan was thrilled that I went. She’s been on me to get back out there and live my life, but it’s hard. Did I need to make my grand reappearance at a Tarpons event? No. But the boldness I felt post–author confession said, “Just do it.” I’m certain Dean tried to text me, but given that I blocked him, I’m grateful not to have to hear him complain about how this is making him look. Camille, Lexi, and Sophie sent a group text checking in, and Lance shot me a text asking if I was good, in which I replied, “Yes,” but I dropped a pot roast in the crock pot for Tyler for dinner and then hid the rest of the night in my room.

Do I feel bad about this? Maybe. After all, I’m certain I’m not the only one dodging scrutiny left and right. Who knows what was said to him at practice today? There were enough people there who saw us together, and the cat will certainly be out of the bag soon. I just didn’t want to face it yet.

Yet.

But I am getting there.

It also doesn’t hurt that I’m making new friends. Friends who seem genuine, and that means more than anything. I saved that picture to my phone. I love how we’re laughing, but I also love that Tyler is in the background. He’s wearing a fitted white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, a nice pair of navy shorts, and another pair of white sneakers. His hair is styled, he’s holding a bottle of water and watching me while Jonah stands next to him, watching Sophie. Dean never took notice of me. At the time, I didn’t mind. It seemed normal, but the expression on Tyler’s face here says he knows exactly where I am at all times, and I love it. Butterflies danced in my stomach.

I don’t even have to guess what Dean is thinking about this photo. I know because he hated the picture I kept of Lance, Tyler, and myself at their college graduation framed in my office. He saw it once and said he didn’t understand why I chose that photo. But I did.

It’s not the first photo taken of us, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. Over the years, there have been several that come to mind—one of the three of us when I first went to visit Miami, one of the two of us dancing together at Lance’s wedding, and one of us in the hospital after my nephew was born. Tyler is standing behind me as I’m holding the baby, and both of us are emotional as we’re staring down at that sweet little face. I bet there are more out there too. I’m just not sure what they are.

This morning, Tyler beat me to coffee. He made the pot, poured my cup as I wandered out of my room and into the kitchen, and he stared at me over the rim of his as he sipped it until it cooled. Once or twice, I felt my cheeks heat, but he didn’t ask any questions and neither did I. Instead, he brushed past me as he went to the living room, sat in his chair, and turned on SportsCenter . Eventually, I joined him, but on my place on the couch.

“I was thinking I could take you out on the boat today,” he says, breaking the silence but not looking at me. He’s staring at the stats they have listed on the television, which I find boring and irrelevant, as games haven’t even started yet, and no one knows anything.

“Really?” I ask. I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does, and my heart gives a tiny delighted shimmy in my chest.

At my question, his head turns so he can look at me. “Why not? Now that the season has started, my ability to hop on and head out whenever I want has come to an end, and I miss it. It’s Tuesday, my day off, and I find myself free. There’s something about being on the water, with the wind in your hair that’s therapeutic, and well, no offense, but you look like you need a little therapy.”

A laugh bursts out of me at his bluntness, and one side of his mouth tips up. I shouldn’t be staring at his mouth, but I can’t help myself. He has that just-crawled-out-of-bed look, he hasn’t brushed his hair or shaved, and I feel insanely lucky to see him this way. My inner teenager sighs.

“Do you think anyone will see us?”

“Who cares if they do?” He shakes his head and shrugs at the same time. Such a simple gesture from him, but the consequences could be so much worse, I know.

“You will care, Mr. I Love My Privacy. The second someone sees me with you, your privacy will be gone. Look at what happened from just me going to the barbecue. It’s all any of those sports gossip people are talking about. They could focus on predictions, the current IR list, possible trades, all kinds of things, but no, they want to talk about me being present at another team’s function and that other player who dates the pop singer.”

“Stop looking at those sites and reading those articles. You would never ever know what they were talking about if you just forgot they existed. Your mental health would be so much better.”

“It’s not that easy. It’s like these people are starved. And I can’t go anywhere without someone recognizing me. I didn’t know it would be exactly like this, or maybe I did. I don’t know, but it hasn’t been fun over the years. I used to go out all the time, but the larger Dean became, the louder the noise became. I’m always judged by who I’m with, what I’m wearing, what my facial expressions and body language are, and I hate it. Like I really hate it so much.”

“Lily, your looks are the least interesting thing about you.”

His words cause me to pause, and my eyes burn as they well with tears. Dean was always pointing out things he liked or didn’t like from brands I wore to my shade of lipstick. He was, and well, still is, so worried about his image, he would spend hours looking at pictures and videos of himself and critiquing all of them. Unfortunately, that spilled over to those around him, mainly me.

“That’s very kind of you to say, but basically over the past decade, I’ve never been allowed to feel that way.”

His face tightens, and his lips flatten into a thin line. He doesn’t like this answer, but I have to believe he understands it.

“Did anyone ask you about me yesterday at practice?”

I hate asking this question, but I have to know. I hate feeling blind to what’s going on around me or what’s being said. So far, I like it here in Tampa, but living somewhere where I’ve been given a bad reputation or don’t feel welcome, emotionally safe, I just don’t know if I could stay. In fact, I know I wouldn’t.

Tyler shifts his weight so he’s facing me a little more. He leans back in his chair and crosses one foot over his knee. “A few people, but it wasn’t malicious, just questions wanting to know how we knew each other, if Dean was coming to the Tarpons, and how you are doing. I know you think the public has this perfect perception of him as the ‘all-American boy,’ but that’s the image the media has created for him. In the industry, we all know what a self-centered dick he is. No one at the Tarpons is looking at you in any way other than you are a friend of mine, and that they hope you’re happy.”

I look down and pull at the drawstring of my shorts. “Well, I guess that’s good to hear.”

“Should be great to hear, which is why we’re not going to sit in the house all day and mope. I let you do that yesterday. I gave you space, and now it’s over. Besides, it’s too beautiful outside, and I need to feed you the best grouper sandwich in the world.”

Not sit in the house? He wants to take me out?

“You want to go out to eat?”

“Sort of. There’s a place on one of the islands that has a dock for boat-up guests. We can eat there, but I’d like to grab our food to go and take you somewhere else instead. You can stay on the boat while I run up to the take-out window.”

A day on the boat does sound nice. I do realize that I spend a lot of time inside. I stepped out of my comfort zone going to the team barbecue, and now I feel like I’m paying for it. Did I have a nice time? Yes. Everyone was kind to me. Of course I got a few strange looks, but in general, people seemed mostly happy that I was no longer with Dean. I’m thinking Tyler is right about his industry image versus his media image. I didn’t realize how many people had started to dislike him. His personality is catching up with his reputation.

“Okay. I’ll go,” I tell him, and his face relaxes, showing he’s satisfied with my answer. Maybe he thought I was going to argue with him or put up a bigger argument about not being seen in public, but I do want to go out with him. He’s asking me to spend time with him. I would be a fool to say no.

“Good.” He stands up and stretches. His shirt rides up, showing off a strip of tanned skin just over the edge of his sweatpants, and my breath catches. This guy is so handsome, it’s not fair. Handsome and kind, it’s like a double whammy to the senses. “You know the drill. Go get ready, and I’ll meet you outside.”