Page 83 of The Devoted Dastard

“Niall, honey.” She let the notebook she’d been fiddling with slip from her hands and came back to me, taking my hands. “I’m really proud of you for what you’ve done so far. And I don’t wanna say those things aren’t enough for us to test the waters, but I haven’t gotten a chance to do anything to … improve. I couldn’t even schedule an appointment, let alone get to all the other things I wanna do for you.”

“For me?” I repeated. She pulled back and narrowed her eyes at me for a brief second before rolling them.

“I told you I didn’t feel like I did enough for this relationship and you focused on what you could do for me?”

“No,” I lied.

“Well, I have plans for supporting you. Beyond getting a therapist.” She smacked my arm lightly and went back to her desk, this time actually packing up her things.

“Like what?”

“Well, I know it’s hard for you to ask for help.”

“I’m gonna work on it,” I said and she waved me away.

“So I was gonna watch your old interviews and games to see if I could figure out types of supportive actions. I asked the other partners, but they weren’t super helpful.”

“You’d watch my interviews?” I asked, my heart twisting.

“Well, yeah. I already watch your fan's thirst edits, so what’s an interview?”

“You watch what now?” I asked through a laugh. She looked up, planner halfway in her bag. First, her look was suspicious, narrowed eyes, wrinkled brows, like she thought I was joking. Then her face flushed.

“Okay, yeah. So maybe at some point I looked you up enough that my algorithm thought I was a fan and fed me … fan edits. Typically with you shirtless. And I’ve … enjoyed them. Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” But I was picturing it. All that time ago when we had phone sex, Leah, alone in her bed, wanting another round and finding a visual reference.

“Well, I’m planning to find non … thirst trap videos to watch. If I want a look at the goods, I can just call you now. Right?”

I didn’t know if she was looking for the assurance that I would always be willing to be objectified by her or that when I was out of the country I’d literally always pick up her calls. But I meant both when I answered. “Of course.”

“Cool. Do I need to get WhatsApp or something for us to talk?” she asked after shaking off the embarrassment.

“Not if you came with me,” I tried again, this time digging my fingernails into my palms to push myself to ask. “I really want you to come. For a lot of reasons, but your support at the game would mean a lot. I’m less worried, I feel more prepared, and these games aren’t—well, saying they're not as important feels flippant, but this isn’t my team. And after a loss, having my comfort person there would do a lot for my nerves. Plus, and Ricci pointed this out, this is the best time to travel during your pregnancy. And it’ll be our only chance for, maybe a solid eighteen years, to travel alone. We should take the opportunity while we have it. There’s nothing you need to worry about. Players bring their families all the time, especially to these tournaments around the holidays, so they're used to adding on different accommodations. And Ricci probably has an itinerary for us already.”

I was babbling, which was something I never did. But as I said everything, I realized that I didn’t just want her at this tournament, I needed her there. To the point where I was highly considering dropping out if she didn’t want to come. After all, what was a tournament compared to spending our first holidays together?

“Really? Like me coming is supportive and not a selfish wish to not spend my first Christmas alone in like ten years? ’Cause I’d actually really like to go but I thought that it’d be distracting or bad luck or whatever. I figured there’d be more opportunities to travel together after we’ve gotten into a good flow, so I didn’t bring it back up. But you’re right, it’d be stupid not to go.”