The reporter opens her mouth to form a rebuttal, but I’m not done.
“And for the record, if anyone in this organization made a decision about my contract based on who I’m in a relationship with rather than what I did on that field this year, that says a great deal more about them than it does about me or Penelope.”
Complete silence blankets the room.
Foster pats me on the back, and I look over to see a wide grin on his lips.
Then everyone is talking at once.
“Is it serious?” someone calls.
“Yes.” I don’t elaborate.
“Are you in contract discussions with other teams?”
“That’s a question for my agent.”
The questions shift. Someone asks Foster about the season. Someone asks Hayes about the defense going into next year. The media scrum moves on as it usually does.
When it wraps, I stand and shake the hands I’m supposed to shake and nod at the cameras I’m supposed to nod at, then Ripley’s hand finds my shoulder.
Not grabbing me. Not stopping me. Just his hand on my shoulder the way it’s been since I was a kid standing on the field, not knowing what to do with myself.
I turn.
“My office,” he says. “These guys can wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
I follow him to his office. When we get inside, he sits behind his desk, and I sit across from it the way I have a hundred times.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
I’m not even scared.
“How long?” He leans back in his chair.
“Since the VIP dinner.” I pause. “We’ve been working up to it longer than that.”
Something moves across his face. “I know.”
“I should have come to you first. Before the press conference. Before any of it. That was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
He leans back in his chair and blows out a breath. “You going to New York?” His mouth is a thin line.
“I don’t know yet.”
His nostrils flare. “I have ears, Decker.”
“I don’t know,” I say again. “I want to stay here. I want to figure out a way to stay. But if I go—” I stop. “Pen said they’d come with me.”
His eyebrows lift. Telling your boss that you’ve not only been dating his daughter behind his back, but now you’re taking her and his granddaughter thousands of miles away isn’t easy. And I might not have the guts if I didn’t have an inkling that it wasn’t only Hazel playing matchmaker this season.
“It’s her decision to make,” I say. “Not mine. I’m not asking her to upend anything. But she said it, and I’m telling you because you should know.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “She’s been through a lot. Things you don’t know about and things I can’t tell you. What I can tell you is that she hasn’t let anyone in for a long time and the last person she let in didn’t deserve her.”
