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A baby names list categorized and rated by the “power” component of each one.
Schools sorted by geographical location and then by Yelp rating and educational aptitude—whatever the fuck that means.
“Sloan?”
She blinks twice, as if she’s never heard her own name before. “What?” It’s not a what-do-you-wantwhat. It’s an I-didn’t-hear-you-because-I’ve-spent-the-night-frying-my-brainwhat.
“I have to go out for a little bit. But…” I look around again, suddenly dubious. “I’m afraid maybe you shouldn’t be left here alone.”
“Oh.” She finally blinks again and shakes off her malaise. “I mean, I’m fine. Just planning.”
“Sweetheart…” I walk closer and take her by the shoulders, then lead her out of the room. “I have to go to a meeting and then practice. You should take a nap before you fall over.”
She whirls around in my arms as we approach the bed. “Beck, you might have preschool worked out, but there are a thousand other things we have to decide on. Did you know that the bars for a crib should be wider than a soda can? And we are going to need baby gates. And safety latches. We need to block the balcony. Weld those doors shut. If there’s any sharp corners on the furniture, we have to…”
She’s still talking when I coax her onto the bed and tuck her feet beneath the covers. I press a soft kiss against her mouth and she finally quiets.
“Take a nap, Sloan, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She nods and snuggles into my pillow, sighing softly. “Your pillow smells like you.”
It only takes a second for her breathing to level out and her eyes to close.
I love that she cares so much. It’s endearing and sweet, and I don’t need more reasons to like her. To be falling for her. But Idon’t have time to digest how much I love her right now. My first priority is keeping her safe. Loving her comes second.
I make my way to the security office en route to the arena. When I walk in, a secretary looks blank-faced at me.
“I’m here to see Matt or Jerry,” I announce.
These guys take their own security seriously. Anyone who doesn’t use the appropriate code name never makes it past the front desk.
She stands and nods. “Right this way.” She leads me down a hallway to an iron door fit for a bank vault. When she punches in a code, the door hisses open and she motions me inside.
The spook is waiting for me inside. His desk is completely blank, as are the walls. I wonder idly for a second what the hell he was doing in here before I arrived—watching paint dry?—before I wipe my brain clean and focus on the task at hand.
He glances up as I approach. The door closes behind me. “Mr. Daniels. What can I do for you today?”
“I’m more concerned about what someone on your team did for me yesterday, actually.”
I quickly lay out what I’ve seen. The unmarked cars, the paparazzi with suspiciously good timing, all of it.
When I finish, he nods, purses his lips, and looks down. “Mr. Daniels, my people are vetted. I’m not saying that no one on my team did this, but if that is indeed the case, I’m going to find out who it is and deal with the situation.”
“I expect you’ll keep me informed?” It’s not really a question.
We have a road trip of five games coming up and I need to be able to trust that my… thatSloanwill be safe, whether she’s with me or at home.
I haven’t really spoken to her about whether or not she’s going to continue to travel with the team. I’m going to lobby—and bylobby, I meaninsist—for her to accompany me. Especially until I know that the fucker who leaked my itinerary is “handled.”
“You’ll have an answer by the end of the week. I assure you, Mr. Daniel: this problem of ours will be resolved. By any means necessary.”
The dude’s blank eyes send a chill down my spine, but if there were ever a time to have a violent psychopath on my team, it’s now.
Satisfied, I leave the weirdly empty office and drive to the arena. Before Sloan, I might’ve stopped somewhere for a drink or a smoke or whatever other ridiculous vice I could feed, but now, all I want to do is get through practice and get home.
I’ve changed and it’s because of her. I’m not sure I’m sold on the “new” me yet, but there’s no denying that I’m not the Beck I once was.
There’s also no denying that life is way, way better without hangovers.
