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“I thought you liked snow.”
“I like it better when I’m not trying to throw the football.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to go there?”
“It’s too soon to say. We have to see what they’re offering and what they want.”
“How will you decide?” We’ve talked a lot about what he wants from a new team, but not what he’ll accept.
He shrugs. “Hopefully it’ll be easy and I’ll be able to take the best offer.”
Once I began paying attention, I learned that professional sports is a business. Whoever can pay the most has a clear advantage. However, a lot of things that will sway Slater aren’t related to dollars. He wants to be the starting quarterback. But he also wants to play for a winning team. The two aren’t necessarily connected.
“Either way, in about a week I’ll have a better idea where I stand.” He heads out of the bathroom without looking back. Even though he hasn’t admitted it, he must be nervous.
His future is a stake.
Mechanically, I towel dry my hair. Then I run a brush through it and stare at my reflection. The woman in the mirror is the only one who knows how devastated I’m going to be when he signs his new deal. Heartbreak lurks. I knew it was going to end this way, but knowing doesn’t help. With a single blink, I tuck the pain away. There is zero chance I’m letting him see it.
I pick up the towel he dropped on the floor of the bedroom. I’ve had absolutely no luck getting him to be tidier in his own home. I hang it next to mine on the rack, lining them up so they’re perfectly symmetrical. Then I fold the clothes I was wearing when I arrived.
The simple tasks calm me, but they don’t take away the sadness.
TWENTY-THREE
SLATER
It’s Saturday night. I’m leaving tomorrow.
If everything goes as planned, I won’t be back until after next season. For the first time in my life, I’m thinking about what I’m leaving behind.
The last month has been nice. More than nice.
Ellie and I have fallen into a rhythm. Our lives fit together perfectly.
Except they don’t. Because I’m leaving. And she’s starting a new job.
I can’t ask her to go with me. I don’t even know where I’m going. And even if I did, I know football should be the only thing on my mind when I get there.
Ellie and I don’t talk about it being our last night together. Nor do we talk about what happens after I’m gone. It’s easier this way. I think. I hope.
Instead of telling her I’m going to miss her, I take her out to dinner. One real date. Our final hurrah. The restaurant is elegant and quiet. We settle into a booth. Even though the bar stools opposite us are full and there aren’t any empty tables, the soft instrumental music and the steady hum of conversation gives the illusion of privacy.
As we order our meals, I’m relaxed and on edge.
I don’t want to say goodbye. But there aren’t any other options.
“Excuse me, sir?” A thin fellow with shockingly bright orange hair hovers over Ellie’s shoulder. Our entrees were just delivered to our table. Steamed fish with vegetables for me. Mushroom risotto for her.
I’m forced to pause, fork midway to my mouth as I raise my brows.
“I am Franz Dunz, the manager of this restaurant. It has come to our attention that there are some photographers lingering outside.” He hesitates, allowing his words to settle. “They appear to be here for you.”
Shit and double shit. A well-lit restaurant is always a risk.
“They can’t come inside. However…”
I set down my fork. “You don’t want them outside.” The poor fella probably doesn’t normally deal with paparazzi. The most famous people in DC are politicians, and while restaurants like this likely deal well with increased security, they probably don’t see too many celebrities of my notoriety.
