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I grinned. Leaning into her, I nibbled at her ear. “I was very good to you this morning, if I recall our shower?—”
She smacked me on the shoulder and playfully shoved me away. “Go! You’re going to miss your flight!”
I laughed, grabbing my bag. But as soon as I got close to the door, Violet started to fuss. When I opened it, she let out a full-on wail.
The sight when I turned around broke my heart in the best kind of way.
Violet was in Olivia’s arms, but it was me she was reaching out to. She wiggled and squirmed, trying to get to me in spite of Olivia holding her tight to her chest.
“She’ll miss you,” Olivia said. Then she bit her lip shyly and added, “We both will.”
That’s what I left behind. If I could get away with it, I would just tell Coach to shove it. Sorry, I can’t play this game. But what excuse would I have? Make up some fake illness? Cough up the truth? Either one would be a nasty uppercut to my career prospects.
But what if the career isn’t even worth it anymore?
I bang my head against the plane window, groaning in frustration.
“Hey, man. You trying to give yourself a concussion before the dudes on the Torque can?” Dante plops beside me. He’s one of those psychos that actually likes the aisle seat.
I roll my eyes. “Maybe.”
“You don’t look excited to be here.”
“I’m not.”
A beat of silence skips, and when I look to Dante, he’s giving me a confused look.
“What?” I ask.
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” He narrows his eyes at me, suspicious. “You got something going on. I can tell.”
“I do not.”
“Dude, I’ve known you, like, way long. I know when something’s going on. Not the first time, neither. You been all spacey since that day at the club?—”
“Drop it, Dante.” My voice is harsh, heavy with irritation.
Dante scoffs. Flopping to face the front, he shoves on his headphones and gives me the silent treatment.
I sigh. It’s not Dante’s fault I’m preoccupied. I know that I should tell him—and Marcus, too—about what’s going on. They’ve known me so long; they wouldn’t judge me. Hell, they stuck with me through benders, through girl after girl, through highs and lows and all the shit in between.
But there’s always the chance of it getting out. Even if they’re not the ones that tell. People have their ways for digging up dirt.
After the season ends, I tell myself. You just need to keep all your shit together until then. For now… focus on the game.
* * *
By the time we have liftoff, Dante seems to have forgotten his frustration with me. He talks animatedly with one of the flight attendants, flirting for some champagne and something hot to snack on. If he stays in a good mood, I can probably smooth things over with him later without a fuss.
Two hours pass like a rocket. When we touch down, there’s the usual fanfare. Paparazzi everywhere, fans going nuts. Cameras flash and there’s a hundred questions shouted a second.
“Hey, Dalton, look this way for The Times!”
“Reese, can you confirm if you’re seeing anyone right now? The ladies want to know!”
“Reese, how do you feel about the speculation that you’re on thin ice with the team? Is it true that you have a secret wife holed up in your basement?”
Every question earns an eye roll. I usually charm my way through the reporters. Give them a smile, maybe answer one question with something flippant.
