It’s what we always do after an away game: We find the designated VIP area and wait for Roman to emerge from the locker room on his way to the team bus. We always give him a big hug and tell him good game. Or better luck next time, after that one loss. And then, we head home ourselves and, in my case, wait for Roman to stride through the front door of our house and rip off my clothes.
“Do you really think Roman will want to see us this time?” I ask. This is uncharted territory for me. Yes, Roman lost that one other time this season. But not like this. Not to mention, he didn’t act weird and distant the entire week before that game, either.
“We always go down to see him and hug him, win or lose,” Ava says confidently. “Come on. He’ll be glad to see us.”
I nod meekly. When it comes to Roman and football, I always defer to his parents. They’ve been doing this a whole lot longer than I have, after all. And not only with Roman. With Luca and Levi, too. Earlier today, in fact, they split up to attend Luca’s and Levi’s games, since those games happened to be within train rides of this one.
“I wouldn’t say much to him, though,” Edward advises. Clearly, he’s addressing me with this comment. “Just give him a hug and tell him you love him, and leave the pep talks for another time, okay?”
My stomach twists. “Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.” Something in Edward’s body language has me on edge, like he’s giving me the one-shot dismantling code for a nuclear bomb.
We find the VIP area and show the security guard our badges, and about twenty minutes later, Roman emerges from a cement corridor, his body language tight and his face somber and gray. If I didn’t know the context of this moment, I’d swear Romanjust got the news of a loved one’s violent death. He looksthatdevastated.
Roman heads to his mother first. Which makes sense, considering she’s been comforting him after losses since his peewee football days. But even if it makes sense, it nonetheless stings a bit to watch Roman seeking comfort in his mother’s arms rather than in mine. Even after that one hard-fought loss earlier this season, Roman came to me first.
I wring my hands while waiting for Roman and fight the urge to cry. And when Roman disengages from his mother, he immediately moves on to his father, who wraps his son in a bear hug for a very long time.
When Roman finally disentangles from Edward, he comes to me, slowly. Begrudgingly, it seems—like he’s a political prisoner dragging his ass in front of firing squad. Although, admittedly, I might simply be paranoid, insecure, and out of my depths in this moment.
When Roman reaches me, I open my arms, and he falls into them and silently holds me tight. It’s a relief to feel his body pressed, without hesitation, against mine. To smell is familiar shampoo and aftershave. To feel the beating of his heart against mine.
“I love you so, so much,” I whisper. When he says nothing, I add, “I’m so sorry things didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped, but I have zero doubts you’ll use this game as motivation to bounce back, better than ever, next week.”
Roman’s body stiffens in my arms.
He pulls back, his facial expression tight and annoyed.
Shit.That was obviously the wrong thing to say to him.
It’s too soon.
He doesn’t want to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. But Edward shoots me a warning look that makes me press my lips together, swallow hard, and stuff backmy tears. Why’d I say that? Edward explicitly told me not to give Roman a pep talk!
“Thanks for coming,” Roman says tightly. Not “I love you, too.” Not “I’ll see you back home, my love.”
“Of course,” I say lamely, wiping my eyes. I’ve seen Roman thank people for coming to his game many times, in many situations. But I’m the one who shares his bed every night. Not someone to politely thank for coming.
After shooting our trio a half-hearted, clipped wave, Roman turns and strides toward the waiting team bus that’s parked, its engine running, about twenty yards away.
And that’s that.
Roman doesn’t turn and wave before disappearing through the bus door, like usual. He simply vanishes without looking back, leaving me feeling like I’ve majorly fucked up.
As I hang my head and cry, Edward slides his arm around me and squeezes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. He’s not upset with you. He’s mad at himself. Give him a few days to work through his emotions, and I promise he’ll be good as new.”
Chapter 37
Iris
I change positionson our couch, trying, and failing, to get comfortable.
I’m watching a dishy, trashy, addicting show that’s right up my alley—and yet, my eyes are glazed over. My concentration nonexistent. I’m restless. Jittery.Lonely.
It’s been four days since the Crusaders debacle in Baltimore, and Roman is not, in fact, “good as new,” as his father promised he’d be by now. On the contrary, whenever my boyfriend comes home every night from the Thunderbolts’ training facility, always much later than usual, he’s simply not himself. He’s quiet. Distant. So intense, it’s stress-inducing to be around him. I don’t even know why he comes home, frankly, since all he does when he’s here, besides sleeping, is watch game footage.
With Maverick still in Vancouver with Vanessa, I’ve kept myself busy at the ranch and with friends. Also, by bingeing shows like this one. But I can’t continue like this. All I want to do is support Roman and make him feel better, any way I can—but even so, I can’t allow him to ignore meforever. Sorry, that’s not the relationship I signed on for. We haven’t even had sex since the loss! Granted, that’s probably mostly due to Roman’s crazy schedule this week. I’m almost always asleep by the time he gets home. But is it crazy to think he might have woken me up for sex at least once this week? He’s done that before, even after that other loss, so he has to know I’d happily choose sex with him over sleep.
