Page 137 of What About Us

“I know.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You’re nothing but professional when we’re working together, but I see it. Obviously I wouldn’t ask you to not be with him, but I would ask you to refrain from any other relationships with our players.”

I snort at that. “Xander would kill us all. I wouldn’t do that.”

He waits quietly, watching me.

“I think I need to think about this. I’m honored that you offered me the position.”

“We would sit down and talk about salary and benefits, your schedule, and everything else if you’re interested in the job.”

“Of course.” I take a breath and nod. “Thank you.”

“You have my number. Just let me know.”

He nods and walks away, and holy fucking shit.

Do I want to leave Montana? Do I want to quit my job?

It would give me the opportunity to be with Xander all the time. No long distance relationship for us.

But what if it falls apart and I’m stuck working for his team?

Stop thinking about it falling apart.

“Hey, Red,” Xander says as he strolls out of the locker room. “Ready?”

“Of course.”

I know I’m spiraling.

I feel it, and I can’t stop it. Because I’m terrified.

I haven’t had anxiety like this in a while. Since Xander and I have been together, which seems like it started the moment I walked into his house, he’s been able to calm me without even trying. He soothes me just by being close to me. I didn’t freak out when my mom was at her worst or when the bar burned down.

I took all that in stride, really. Of course, on the outside, I never show how badly I’m freaking. That wasn’t an option growing up with my mother. She wasn’t exactly the reassuring type. So when the bullying got to be too much in high school, or just everything Brenda did sent me into a spiral, I kept a smile firmly on my face.

And died a little inside.

No one ever noticed. Maybe because I didn’t have close friends, or because no one cared enough about me to pay attention.

Despite doing so well over the past months, I’m not okay now. All I can think about is Xander getting hurt and forgetting me. It started when he mentioned that he had to come to Denver for work, and as this trip got closer, and then after that shift at the hospital the other day with the dementia patient, it’s all I can think about.

I’m driving myself nuts. I know I’m being irrational.

But I can’t stop it.

Thanks, anxiety.

And now I’m at Brit and Cooper’s place, sitting with about ten other wives and girlfriends, eating amazing Tex-Mex, and drinking the best margarita I’ve ever had.

But I’ll stop after one because I always stop after one.

“Jack hurt his shoulder today,” one of the wives—Seline?—says. “I swear, it’s always something.”

“Oh, for sure. Trevor just got over a groin strain,” another replies, and soon the whole room is full of nothing but injury talk, and shit.

“Mike got a freaking concussion three months ago,” someone says. “And he still gets headaches.”

I should rethink the whole one-drink rule.