“We’re doing many things today.”
“No hints?” I shook my head. “How will I know what to wear?”
I straightened the pendant on her chest. “I’ll take care of that for you.”
“What if I had plans for the day? Have you considered that?”
“I don’t think you’d believe how thoroughly I’ve considered that.” I pushed up to brush my lips over hers. “You can decide if we’re trying out the shower this morning or the bathtub.”
She glowered at me for a second, but I ran my palm up her torso, the cool metal of my wedding band leaving a trail of goose bumps as I went. “Shower,” she said. “There’s a bench and a bunch of showerheads.”
I gathered her close and swung my legs over the bed. “Fuck yes, let’s go.”
We flewto the bottom of the Grand Canyon for a picnic lunch, soaked in volcanic mud imported from Colombia before being massaged to a pulp, and then alternated between floating in a private pool and napping on a king-sized lounge chair. It was heaven. I never wanted to leave.
Since everyone was in town for tomorrow night’s awards event and Hersberler had finally signed his contract, we reserved the back room at one of the best steakhouses in town to celebrate. Everyone was there, just about the whole team plus a bunch of significant others. The O-line was in a phenomenal mood, everyone busting Hersberler’s balls over him milking free agency for all it was worth and fawning over Emme like they always did.
It turned into the kind of night that reminded me of all the things I loved about this game—the tenacious optimism that roared to life in the preseason, the bone-deep trust that grew from sweating and bleeding together week after week, the sense of family—of brotherhood—that propelled us to keep fighting for every inch of turf.
We told stories that prompted us to confirm on multiple occasions that no one had a phone out and was recording anything. We ate like we wouldn’t be back on egg whites and kale protein smoothies by the start of training camp. We orderedbottles of wine and whiskey and bourbon that cost more than most used cars, and we let Emme pose us for a series of ridiculous photos, but we were having too much fun to care.
It was late when we left the restaurant, but time had no meaning in Vegas. Wilcox, McKerry, and Crawson headed to the blackjack tables while Hersberler wandered with me and Emme down the Strip. He was in one of his morose moods despite getting the exact contract terms he’d wanted, though every time someone stopped us to say hi or ask for a photo, his spirits lifted. Nothing if not vain, that one.
“And I thought this guy was a moody motherfucker,” Emme said to him as she tipped her head toward me. “Take it one day at a time, okay? And if that’s too much, just remember you’re the legendary Pumpkin Dick. No one else will ever live up to that.”
“They stopped making that formula,” he said, dismal as ever as he shot me a frown. “This might be the year it falls apart for me.”
“That’s no way to go into a preseason,” Emme said. “Listen, dude. You’re one of the few tight ends who are weapons of mass destruction in both receiving and blocking. You’re fast as fuck. You put up outrageous numbers, you know how to work in tight traffic, and you catch everything that comes anywhere near you. You have the most reliable hands in the League, my friend. You’re my guy’s safety valve and I need you to fortify yourself and be there for him this season.” She patted my arm, and even though she was running down Hersberler’s stats, her words had me smiling brighter than anything else in this city. “My biggest problem with you as a player is that I can’t have you on pass protection and plucking the ball out of the air at the same time.”
“Since when do you follow football?” I teased.
“I don’t,” she replied, fake horror all over her face.
I grabbed her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It gave me a chance to admire the rings on her finger. “Sure sounds like you do.”
“Can you please be quiet? I’m very busy nurturing your tight end because the team’s management dicked around on his deal and he doesn’t feel special anymore.”
Still frowning like someone just stole his ice cream cone, Hersberler stared at his shoes as we stepped through the front doors of our hotel. “I don’t need to feelspecial,” he grumbled.
I shared an amused glance with my wife as we headed toward the elevators. “Okay, sweetie,” she said. “Whatever you say.”
“I’m going to try jerking off with a different self-tanner,” he said just as I heard a woman shout, “Emme! Ralston! Are you staying here too?”
And then I found myself staring at Charles Ahlborg and his wife Danielle, the woman he left Emme’s mom for.
“Oh, fuck me,” Hersberler said as he ran a hand down his face.
I took half a step forward, putting myself slightly in front of Emme as I reached for her hand. She grabbed hold, squeezing hard. Charles stared at his daughter, his lips parted and his brow wrinkled, and though it seemed completely out of character for him, it appeared he had no idea what to say.
His wife noticed this too, and she jumped in with, “Congratulations! Oh my god, sweetheart, you’remarried! I loved the photos so much.” She clasped her hands under her chin and wiggled a bit where she stood. “They were the sweetest. You were stunning, my darling. Absolutely gorgeous.” She reached out and skimmed a finger over Emme’s cheek before glancing back at her husband. “Wasn’t she beautiful, honey? Didn’t you say that this morning?”
Charles cleared his throat. “You looked lovely. I-I’m happy for you.” He shot a glance at me and I tipped my chin up inchallenge. I didn’t care who the fuck he was. He’d need to go through me if he wanted to get to Emme. “Could we sit down somewhere private? For a few minutes?” He waved to the people streaming through the lobby. We drew a fair amount of attention to ourselves. “To celebrate your news?”
“I am late for my, um, my”—Hersberler tapped his watch no less than fifteen times—“my hour of meditation. Yes. That’s what I need to do. Tonight. Right now, actually. I’ll be going. To meditate and balance my…quadrants. Great seeing all of you. Really great. Princess, Ralston. The pleasure’s been all mine.” He bowed his head toward us before glancing at Emme’s father. “Sir. Ma’am. Until we meet again.”
“Don’t forget the self-tanner,” Danielle called as he sprinted away.
I felt the shocked huff of Emme’s laugh over my shoulder, and if I hadn’t been so busy making sure Charles didn’t step out of line, I would’ve appreciated the fuck out of that comment. But my job right now was putting up an impenetrable defense around my girl and nothing was getting in my way.
