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Derek slips on a pair of athletic shorts after ending the call and joins me in the bathroom just in time to find me aggressively winding up the cord of my curling wand. We make eye contact through the mirror, our gazes a mash of emotions. I whirl around to face him, and the plug on the end of the cord bangs into my leg. “What is it? What happened? Are they okay?”
Derek nods but looks shaken—scared. I’ve never seen him like this before, and it bothers me. I want to fix whatever this is because suddenly I have the distinct feeling that Derek makes up my entire heart. I’ve never doubted that what I felt for Derek back in college was love. But now…I feellovelove. It’s different somehow. Inarticulate and elegant all at once. Soothing and aching. Before, my love for him lived on the outside of my skin, and now he’s wormed his way into my chest cavity and pumps through every chamber of my heart. When he’s hurting, I’m hurting.
“Price’s wife, Hope, went into labor several weeks early.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
He nods. “She’s all right and her doctor is confident that even though she’s a little early, she’s far enough along for the baby to be safely delivered. Price is mainly freaked out because it’s finally hitting him that he’s going to be a dad.”
“Oh,” I say with a relieved sigh, and then swat him in the chest. “I thought…by the look on your face…I thought something was wrong.”
“There is something wrong.” He pauses, a furrow gathering between his brows. “I need to ask you if we can cut our honeymoon short and go home early. I want to be there for him…but I don’t want to end this yet either.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something likeWe can always go on another honeymoon when everything settles down,but I stop myself. We haven’t precisely figured out our future yet. AndI’m too scared to ask him if I’m going to be in his. Old wounds rear their heads and tell me there’s a chance he’ll replace me. Someone easier will come along. Someone who’s not already mentally reorganizing the toiletry bag and cringing with every second that passes where our things are swirling together like a toddler’s fingerpainting project.
So instead, I step up to him and wrap my arms around his bare waist. “Turn that frown upside down, because I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I kiss the front of his shoulder. “Let’s go home. This is important for your friend, and you need to be there for him.”
Derek’s lips press to the top of my head and I hear him drag in a deep breath. His arms tighten around my waist, and maybe I’m projecting, but I feel so many unvoiced concerns in his hold. Neither of us says them. We’re both too scared, or worried, or afraid of pushing the other too far too fast. The communication that felt so open and free over the last few days suddenly seals up, airtight.
We’re in the air and it’s tense. Ever since I broke the news about coming back, we’ve been mirroring weird smiles at each other. The tight kind that have too many teeth in them to be honest. The pageant grins started after I broke the news about needing to come back early. But I don’t think that’s why Nora’s smile is painted on like Travel Barbie.
My mind likes to kick me in the shins, to tell me she’s regretting everything now that we’re getting back to the real world, and run off with my favorite backpack. It’s a little shit and it’s doing this on a loop. But we’ve shared so much over the last week. There’s no way she can be having second thoughts. Right? Because I’m not. Then again, I wasn’t the one who left the first time either.
Shit, just talk to her about it, Derek.
The closer we get to L.A., however, the more dread settles into my stomach. After wheels down, I pretty much have to hit the ground running. First up is the hospital to check on Price and Hope. And then I have a million and two things to do before training camp starts in a week. I have several intense bodywork sessions scheduledto make sure everything is limber and ready to go for the intense rigor of the NFL season. Because once it begins, my life becomes devoted to football again and my body won’t feel one hundred percent from then until next offseason (or until I get benched if I play like shit).
When we land at LAX, I get some good news in a text from Price:
Meet Jayla Price. 6 Lbs 2 oz. Healthy and strong like her mom.
An anchor lifts from my chest while reading that text. I don’t know a lot about babies or birth—so I had no idea what to expect. Especially after hearing Price’s shaky voice last night tell me Hope was in labor early. So this is good. (Understatement of the year.) It’s great. And I feel antsy to get off the damn plane, get a minute of privacy with Nora to ask her why we look like two ventriloquists talking through our teeth, and then to takemy wifewith me to the hospital to officially hang out with my friends.
Doubt creeps in.Maybe she doesn’t want you to think of her as your wife.
Why the hell didn’t we nail all this down in Cancún? I hate the uncertainty.
Once we’re off the plane, Nora and I wait in baggage claim surrounded by people tossing not-so-subtle glances my way every few seconds. Nora’s bright yellow suitcase comes around and I step up to haul it off the belt, but she beats me to it. Her movements are choppy and agitated, pulling her suitcase down like she’s practicing for a professional hay-baling competition. But when she looks up at me—bing,I’m treated to a megawatt fake smile again. This is weird as shit.
“Nora,” I say once our bags are in hand and we’re finally leaving the airport. “Can we talk about—” I cut off when we step through the sliding doors. The smoggy L.A. air pummels us, and my career grabs me by the neck.
“Shit,” I hiss after seeing the small mob of media waiting for usjust past the doors—most likely someone who saw us at the Cancún airport tipped them off to our departure back to L.A. I’m not ready for this. We’re not ready for this. I don’t even know if we’re actually aweat this point and I don’t like the idea of facing cameras and reporters with that uncertainty between us.
I glance at Nora, and she only appears caught off guard for a second before I watch her agent mode slip over her like a second skin. She smiles up at me, and my shoulders relax a little when it doesn’t look painted on. “I hope you put your makeup on today, Pender, because it looks like you’re about to get your picture taken. Stay behind me.”
I swear.This woman who has had zero security training being willing to walk in front of me to take the brunt of any potential trouble is the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
“I appreciate your sacrifice, but I’d rather have you beside me than as my bodyguard.” I hold out my hand to her. “Ready?”
Hesitation creases her forehead, but she eventually nods and links her fingers with mine. I feel them curl all the way around my heart. For a brief second, worry dissipates and it’s just me and Nora with our whole lives ahead of us.
I glance at the gathered media and recognize most of the journalists. They’re obnoxious but not a threat to our safety. Nora and I are both wearing hats (hers saysGo, Mac and Cheese!), tugged low over our eyes so the cameras don’t catch our expressions as we walk through the crowd.
We walk double time, suitcases bobbing over cracks and bumps in the pavement like a ski boat chopping through waves in the ocean. It feels wrong to not acknowledge other humans, and even worse to just plow through them without stopping, but that’s the nature of this business. If you stop, you get ambushed. If you get ambushed, you almost always say something you regret. And on the heels of aninjury that I haven’t publicly discussed yet and a marriage that started in Vegas while drunk—it feels way too probable.
We’re halfway through and my grip around Nora’s hand is lock tight. That’s when I start to register the questions.
“Derek! Derek! Over here! Is it true you married your agent?”
