I have no idea what the song is when it starts playing but all three of them are on their feet in their fuzzy matching socks—they had a pair waiting for me when I arrived too.
“You need to dance it out.” Summer’s hand extends to me.
My brows crease as I stand, a smile creeping up on my face, and I finally just let my body go.
Last night’s performance is one that should be buried and scrubbed from the internet. I don’t need anyone replaying two interceptions and a shit passer rating.
I didn’t bother with the text from my dad when I opened my eyes this morning. We were on a late flight home, and by the time I stumbled into my bed, I didn’t even bother plugging in my phone. Hence the battery life sitting at 6 percent right now. A text from Kat, my agent, is the only one I read, and it simply says to call her when I can.
I’m certain it’s about my contract. By this time there should be conversations happening, at least I can only hope that’s the case. Deadlines are fast approaching.
“Hey, Kat,” I say, twisting the charging cord between two fingers as I’m now tethered to where my phone is plugged in.
“Good morning. How are you feeling?”
I know she means how am I feeling after that shit game last night, and I answer honestly.
“Like I wish I could take a redo on the last twenty-four hours, how about you?”
Her laugh always makes me laugh. It’s dry and always sounds so forced, even when I’ve seen it in person and know it isn’t.
“I’m good. I have some information I want to run by you. There have been some talks, and I’ve been holding firm at what you’re asking for, because I without a doubt think you’re worth it.”
“I’m not going to chase money, Kat. I just want to play football.”
“I know, I know. Heath sounds like they’re willing to make this extension for you. But my question is actually about your plans for after football.”
“Oh,” I say.
My post-football plan hasn’t changed since the day I came into the league.
I want to be part of the development for young players. At the high school and college level, if possible. A lot of kids grow up playing sports with their parent as their primary coach, and I know first-hand how fucking awful that can be. Some kids have it great, but I want to be there for the ones who don’t.
“The owner’s got wind of you wanting to be involved with the NFL’s development programs. Is that still where you are looking toward in the future?”
“Yes.” My back straightens as I perk up. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“Okay, I thought so but needed to make sure before I speak with the organization again. Like I said, it sounds like Heath is willing to make a deal with you for an extension. I don’tthink they are planning to franchise tag you, though. So if I got anything from another team…”
I pause, not getting franchise tagged means another team could potentially reach out.
“This is home,” I say before my mind drifts to Demi.
She’s here and I can’t picture my life without her in it—even if it’s not in the way I want.
“Say no more. I’ll circle back with anything more, Liam. Get some rest.”
“Thanks.” I toss my head back against the pillow propped up on my bed.
I’ve loved working in the same circle as Demi all these years. It’s how I met her, where I watched her, and ultimately the way I fell for her. But Demi’s job means everything to her. I’ve watched her soar over the last five years. Opportunities have come her way, different brand deals, hosting events, she launched a podcast a couple of years ago. She speaks at Nate’s foundation about her mental health struggles and pours every fucking ounce of her knowledge and love for this game right back into it for the future generations.
I can’t help but fear that she may not be here next season because I told her I loved her. But still, I don’t regret it. I’ve worked so fucking hard on myself over the years to be comfortable in my feelings and emotions. Saying it to her felt right. But just because I’m okay with saying it, doesn’t mean she was okay with hearing it. And the thought of her potentially leaving so she doesn’t risk her job is a small nugget of information stewing in the back of my mind.
Our time together wasn’t nothing. I know that. It’s whether or not she wants to ignore that fact—that’s the question.
I’ve been replaying our conversations in my head, seeing every second as a movie flashing in my mind. The twomonths I spent in her presence were unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
I’ve never opened up like that before. I’ve never given someone so much of my vulnerabilities—let someone see so far into my head and my heart. I can’t see past the real possibility that this wasn’t just some fling, something casual that can be tossed to the side.
