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But Chris was more than just a guy I was dating.
My heart hammered in my chest so violently I pressed a hand to my sternum to ease the ache. Chris hadn’t wanted to wait so long to break the news to my dad. What if this messed up what we had been building?
I shook my head. No. It couldn’t. I wouldn’t let it. He mattered too much to me.
He was the person I wanted to talk to first when I had a story to tell, and his arms were the ones I craved when I needed a hug. When I wanted to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. When I was snuggled in bed. He stole my breath and made me laugh, especially when he pretended he was nothing but a grump. The man who knew exactly what I needed without having to ask. He understood me on a level that no one else could.
He wasn’t just my boyfriend or my best friend; he was my person. My other half. Dad would have to understand that. I needed Christian Damiano in my life in a way that I’d never needed anything before.
I snagged my keys off the counter and stepped into a pair of shoes I’d left by the door. There was only one place I could be right now, and it wasn’t at home.
The whole way to the stadium, I reminded myself to relax. That Chris and I were fine. There was nothing my dad could do to mess that up.
Except…What if he traded Chris? He wasn’t that serious about his rule against me dating a player, was he? I didn’t work for the Revs, so our relationship couldn’t be considered fraternization, but what if Beckett Langfield had more defined policies that I hadn’t asked about? What if one of them had to go? Chris or my dad. I’d never thought beyond my dad’s rule to what the repercussions could be.
My heart pounded and I blinked hard, holding back tears as I parked. Barely holding it together, I rushed into the stadium. I flashed the badge my dad had given me, then rushed past security and down the concrete tunnels to the team room, where I hoped Chris would be.
I rounded a corner of a somewhat full hallway just in time to see Chris heading out of Dad’s office.
“Chris,” I cried, launching myself at him.
He caught me and pulled me into a fierce hug. “Avery, what are you doing here?” Holding me at arm’s length, he scanned my face. “What’s wrong?”
How could he ask that?
My heart cracked open, and tears escaped, despite my best efforts. “If they trade you to Minnesota, I’m coming too. I want to be wherever you are.” I burrowed into the crook of his neck. “We’re meant to be together,” I cried, my words muffled. “You are my person, and I love you more than even my birds.”
For one beat, his body went rigid, but then he tightened his hold on me.
“I love you too, Blondie.” He kissed the top of my head. Grasping my arm, he held it between us, pressed to his chest. He tapped my wrist twice as he whispered in my ear. “Blon-die.” He repeated the word, tapping in time with the syllables.
I reared back so I could study him, though I didn’t pull away.
“When I’m upset, angry, or even feeling out of control, your name and the reminder of the first time we connected settles me. Reminds me to work to be the person you need me to be.”
My heart skipped, and a rush of love washed through me. In the last year, I’d seen him do that so many times. And all along, he was thinking about me?
“We’ve got this,” he said. “I’ll protect our relationship. Don’t doubt that.”
“Damiano,” my father growled behind us. “I swear we just had this conversation.”
Chris let out a low sigh, his shoulders sagging.
I spun out of his arms. “We tried to tell you but?—”
“My office,” he snapped, waving us both in.
I reached for Chris’s hand, and he gave mine a squeeze. That connection alone eased my fears. And when I looked into his eyes, relief swept over me. This man loved me, and I loved him. That was all that mattered. And we could handle whatever came next.
Inside Dad’s office, Cortney was leaning against a wall and Beckett sat on the sofa with one ankle crossed over a knee. Both men were dressed in suits and wearing serious expressions.
The instant the door was shut, I said, “If you trade him, I’m going with him.”
My father frowned like he was confused rather than angry.
“I’m not trading him.” Beckett scoffed. “You know how many people can throw a 105 mile-an-hour fastball accurately?”
“Uh?” I looked from one man to the next while my mind tried to catch up.
