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Kayla was shaking her head and trying to smother her mouth in her hand.
Emma, who’d I’d not spoken directly to yet, leaned forward across the table. “Brett wasn’t going to come to dinner. Stone asked him more than a couple times, and all the guys have tried befriending him. Olvander’s the only one who had success, but that’s because they played together in Kansas City. Brett’s a good guy and the rest of the guys want to keep him here. They don’t want him leaving, but it’s not just about the game. They want to get to know him too, and he has a wall up. Even now, he’s got it up.” Her eyes flicked behind me.
I twisted around. Brett was standing next to Ole, both holding a beer, and both talking. Stone Reeves and Jake Bilson were also there, but they were talking to each other. They weren’t talking with Brett. I kept watching, seeing how Jake and Stone both would talk with Olvander. Their eyes touched on Brett, but he had shifted backwards. He wasn’t totally in the group. He was putting himself in that position.
A pang went through my chest, and I reached up, touching the back of my chair. My fingers curled around it. No one should not have friends, even if it’s by their own design. I’d know. That was a kind of loneliness that no one should know.
Feeling my gaze, Brett looked over. Our eyes caught and held, and I saw the unspoken question from him. He was asking if I was okay. My cheeks pinked again, and I gave him a little smile before nodding. He gave me the slightest bit of a nod back and lifted his beer for a sip. Olvander said something to him and Brett’s attention returned to his teammate.
I turned back around, lost in thought.
Dusty cleared her throat. “We just want him to know we care. That’s all.” There was another note in her eyes.
“What?” I asked.
She blinked, frowning slightly before saying, “We—” She glanced to the other women as if drawing strength from them. “We know, obviously, about your situation.” She rushed ahead, seeing me sitting straighter in my chair. “We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but…” Her eyes closed, and she lowered her head.
She lost her nerve to say whatever she was going to say.
Emma said it, “Are you okay?”
Dusty and Kayla shot her grateful looks.
Emma added, “I can’t imagine how people react when they recognize you, but we’re not like that. As a human being, we want to make sure you’re okay. Are you?”
The other two quieted, all waiting for my response.
An old conversation came back to me, one I had with Brett.
“People can get weird when they find out about me. You know about some of the more unhinged reactions, but there’s other reactions too.”
“Like what?”
“I once had a psychic who could feel him, and she ran away from me. Literally. She yelled over her shoulder that she couldn’t handle the feel of death that hung over me so prominently. Imagine hearing someone say that in the mall, the looks I got. I didn’t even know a psychic was there. That was the last time I went to a mall, no matter how much Howard likes their food court.”
Of all people that could understand the price of fame, and in some circles, I was famous, it was these people. I could tell them stories. They’d understand. They’d probably nod in understanding or sympathy, but I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to talk about myself. Tonight was meant as a reprieve from my normal life, where the roles were switched and I could be a nobody around these new and very cool and very beautiful people because their fame wasn’t like my fame. They’d earned theirs. They had adoring fans, people like me. They hadn’t gotten notoriety because a serial killer didn’t kill them when everyone else died around them.
It wasn’t fun.
Dusty leaned over, her hand touching my arm softly. “You don’t have to say anything, because in a weird way, we get it.”
I didn’t know what she saw to prompt her to say that, but a knot swelled up in my throat and I jerked my head in a nod. She gave me another smile before her hand dropped away. I caught it with mine, not thinking about what I was doing until her eyes lit up with surprise. I only squeezed her hand, the same softness that’d come from her before I let her hand drop.
I liked these women. A lot.
I wanted to be friends with them.
My voice cracked, but I still said, “I’m okay. Also, I don’t just know football stats. I know chicken stats too. You know, if you ever want to learn about chickens.” I pointed both of my thumbs toward my chest. “Consider me your hen lady.”
There was a brief moment of confusion.
I asked, “Do you know who Sylvia Rivera is?”
That’s when someone yelled out behind us, “We’re here.”
At the same time, all three around me stiffened with varied expressions of tension.
I took in their reactions.
