I don’t answer him. Instead I decide to change the channel because I’m just torturing myself, watching this. “Yes, of course we’re still on. Drew got us three tickets, so if you want to bring Wade, you can invite him.” That boy might drive me crazy, but he’s Owen’s closest friend and I adore Wade.
The grin that breaks out on Owen’s face is infectious and I can’t help but smile in return. “You mean it? That would be f**king awesome.”
“Owen, please.” I should yell at him but I don’t bother. What’s the point? He’s happy. I don’t need to ruin the moment. “I definitely mean it. Go call him. And let me know if I need to talk to his mom. We won’t come home until late, so it’s going to be a long day. I don’t want her to worry.”
“She won’t worry. She’d rather know we’re with you than out running around on our own.” The sheepish look that crosses Owen’s face tells me he has secrets, which doesn’t surprise me. What teenage boy doesn’t? But still. I know half the time he’s out with his friends he’s up to no good.
Back in my day, I used to be up to no good, too. Drinking and smoking cigarettes, one after another, getting drunk, my mind hazy. Flirting with boys, eventually doing things with them that earned me a terrible reputation. I’m lucky I graduated high school. Mom sure as hell didn’t push me and I didn’t have an older sibling keeping track of me at all times. Talk about going wild.
I was the epitome of wild. And Drew was the epitome of good—with the exception of his deep, dark secret. A few years have passed and I still get an icy shiver down my spine when I think of her. God, I hate that bitch. I hate what she did to Drew.
Thank goodness he found me.
My cell chimes and I grab it, checking my messages. It’s from Drew and I smile.
What are you doing? Giving Owen a hard time?
My smile grows as I respond.
How did you know?
Because he texted me and said so.
I shoot Owen a glare, and he laughs as he gets up from the couch and saunters toward the kitchen. Cocky little brat.
I told him he could bring Wade with us to the game. He’s excited and cursing and I gave him grief over it. What else is new?
There’s a long pause after I send the message and I chew my lip waiting for him to respond. I wish I were with him. I don’t regret staying with my brother because he needs me more than ever, but I need Drew. And my husband needs me.
I wish you didn’t have to go back home after the game. I wish you could stay the night with me.
How did I know he’d say that? Oh, maybe because I feel the same way.
They have school on Monday and practice. They can’t afford to miss it. I’m sorry. I wish I could stay with you, too. I miss you.
I know. I miss you, too. Next home game you come to, maybe you could come alone. And we could spend more time together.
That sounds perfect but I can’t leave all the time, no matter how much I want to. I need to be here for Owen and I don’t feel right constantly dumping him on Wade’s mom. She’s so supportive—she has been for years—and we’re sort of friends, though Kathy is old enough to be my mom.
I text back to him.
I like that idea. I love you.
I love you, too.
We try our best to be together on his days off, but it’s hard. He never truly gets any days off; he’s constantly working and practicing. But we knew this going in. We’re just going to have to deal with it.
Drew
I’m waiting just outside the locker room for Fable to show up, my thoughts anxious, my mind still going over every single play of the game we just finished. Thank Christ we won it. I’ve been raked over the coals the last few weeks after our two-game losing streak. What’s worse? We lost last week to the lowest-ranked team in the entire NFL.
Yeah. I caught a lot of shit for that one, even from a few teammates. I know some of them hate all the media attention I get and I wish they understood just how much I hate it, too. I can’t stand all the cameras flashing in my face and the constant questions, speculation, and reports on me. I’ve always been a private person, especially during my late teens and early twenties, when my head was a f**ked-up mess and I didn’t want to deal with anyone.
It’s harder now because I don’t have Fable constantly by my side. I’d grown used to that. She comes to as many games as she can, but it’s not the same. She always leaves afterward. She came a week ago with Owen and his friend Wade and that was great and all, but then they left. I didn’t even get to kiss her or hold her much.
That sucked.
Today is different. We played a Sunday night game and she came for it. Just her. She’s staying the next two nights. I got us a hotel suite in downtown San Francisco and I don’t think I’m going to let her out of it. I’ll keep her naked and in bed the entire time.
Sounds like freaking heaven to me.
A team representative is escorting her to the locker room and she should arrive any minute. Then we’re hopping in our car and I’m tearing ass out of here. I did my time. The game had been just about perfect, and I even did a short live-broadcast interview. The team publicists have been coaching me on how not to sound like a dumbass. Hopefully it’s working.
Here’s the craziest thing of it all: the media are in love with Fable. They’re fascinated with her. Half of it has to do with her name, I think. I mean, who the hell else is named Fable? The other half is the fact that she’s so goddamned beautiful, but I might be prejudiced in saying that.