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“What about my dad?”
I press my lips together tightly. I don’t trust myself to speak right now. If I ruin things between James and his father on top of everything else, I won’t be able to forgive myself. “I need to go.”
I head for the door, but he steps in front of me. “Don’t.”
I risk a look up at him. He looks stricken, scared. As much as I want to bury myself in his embrace, I know the best thing to do right now is to go. I should have left the moment the game ended. All I do is get in the way, and even if he keeps saying that’s how he wants it, it’s not what he deserves. He deserves someone who can truly support him, someone who isn’t going to make him self-sabotage. Until I can figure out how to be that person, my presence is doing nothing but hurting him.
“I just need some space.” My lip wobbles, but I stick to my guns. “I’ll see you back in New York, okay?”
“No,” he whispers. “Don’t do this.”
I shake my head. “We need to think. I know we keep avoiding the conversation, but we’re heading in different directions. You’re going to be living somewhere else soon, and you can’t do things like this when it’s your job. I have the diner, and I can’t—I can’t watch you sabotage yourself like this for me. What happens the next time I’m upset, but you have to play? What if I have an emergency, but it’s the playoffs and you can’t get away?”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “Trust me, Bex, please.”
I want to, desperately, but I can’t, not now. I’m too mixed up to think clearly, especially where James is concerned. I shake my head, darting past him. I hear him call my name, but I escape before he can say anything to convince me to break my resolve. I know that if I hear him beg me to stay, I will, and that won’t do any good for either of us.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I’m letting go of the one person I can’t live without.
Chapter 42
James
“Last question, James,” the reporter says. She leans in a bit, a grimace on her face. “Again, sorry for the loss. I was wondering, have you spoken to your father yet? I’m sure he was here tonight.”
When I used to imagine my future, I only thought of football. I thought of the routine I’d have. The long practices. The Sunday games. The grind, day in and day out, in pursuit of a Super Bowl win. When I was twelve, just starting to realize how I could one day have what my father had, I snuck into his office where he kept his two—although soon it would be three—Super Bowl rings in a case on the desk. I took them out and put one on each hand, admiring the weight.
I loved football before then, but it wasn’t until that moment that I knew what I wanted for my career. Anything less than the NFL became unacceptable to me. I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps. We’ve always been in this together, working toward the same goal. When he saw me with those rings on my fingers, he understood.
I look to the back of the room, where my dad is standing. He came in during the press conference, and since the moment I noticed him, I haven’t been able to focus. I haven’t gotten into the situation with Darryl to the reporters; Coach Gomez’s official story about the loss is that we simply fell short at the last moment,but I know that my dad isn’t going to buy that. He knows me, he knows I should have made that throw. He’ll want answers.
But I want answers too. What the hell did he say to Bex? Before she left, she mentioned my father. He had something to do with her leaving, and I need to find out what, exactly, he said to her.
“Yes,” I say, looking at him instead of the reporter. “He came to the game.”
“Have you gotten a chance to talk about the loss?”
“Not yet.” I sit back, trying for a smile and failing. My lip hurts like hell, even with the ice pack I used on it before the press conference started. “I’m sure we’ll break it down, though. He talks about all my games with me, win or lose. It helps me improve.”
“I’m sure he’s still very proud of you,” the reporter says sincerely.
The press conference wraps up, and I’m free to go back to the hotel. I could call a cab and go back on my own, but I wait for my dad to come find me. We’re going to talk eventually, so it may as well be now.
When he finds me, he just nods. He wore a suit to the game, like usual, so he’s still in a tie and jacket, looking as unruffled as when he dropped by before the game to wish me good luck. “I have a car waiting.”
I follow him, duffel bag slung over my shoulder. “Where is everyone?”
“They went back earlier.” He glances over at me. “No point in staying.”
“Right.”
Out on a side street, a black SUV is waiting. I go in first, throwing the duffel into the back, and tense up as my father slides in beside me. I know how he looks when he’s pissed, and even in the dark of the car past midnight, the set of his jaw isn’t promising.
But when the car starts moving, he’s silent.
“Dad?” I expected him to have a lot to say, so the silence is nerve-wracking.
He looks over at me. The streetlamps outside make it so his face is bathed in yellow light. “Explain what happened.”
