“What did you do?”
“I found a place for a friend to stay and made sure it was affordable for her. That’s all I did.”
There’s a part of my brain yelling at me to stop asking questions and just accept the very nice offer that’s currently in front of me on a silver fucking platter.
There’s a knock at the front door just before it opens and a man with jet-black hair and glasses walks in, holding a packet of paper as he smiles at Liam and then me.
“Hi, I’m glad you were able to look around. I’m the leasing director, Marcus.”
“Hey, Marcus. Thanks for letting me show her around a bit. I think she likes it,” Liam replies, giving me a quick wink. He’s not wrong, though. I love it. Dammit.
“If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them.” Marcus steps closer to me, placing the paperwork on the counter in front of him. He smells like baked goods, and it has me craving a nice warm chocolate chip cookie.
“I have to run to a meeting, but glad you like it, Dem. And again, thanks, Marcus, for all your help.” Liam’s hand grazes the small of my back when he passes by and the hair on the back of my neck immediately stands up.
I watch as Liam leaves the apartment, practically memorizing his steps. I know he made some kind of arrangement for me to be able to move in here, and as annoyed as I want to be by that, I’m tired of looking for a place, tired of living where I’m living, and ready to be somewhere new. I want a fresh start. I need it.
I think of the promise I made to myself after my divorce. This new chapter I’m starting is aboutme. Doing what I need to do forme. I need to live on my own—I’ve never done that. I need to live somewhere out of my comfort zone—never done that either. Both admissions feel pathetic at thirty-five, but that’s what happened when I went from living at home, to college roommates, to getting married.
I tagged along with Brandon for years as we moved where we needed to, based on where he was playing. And now I finally have the chance to make my own decisions about my life—every single part of it. And I want to say yes to this apartment. I’ll talk with Liam about whatever he pulled for the rent another time, but for now I’m going to be selfish.
“This place is great, Marcus. I’d love to sign a lease.”
My alarm sounds on my phone, but I’ve been up for an hour now. Tomorrow I’m officially moving into my new apartment, and I can’t wait to have a fresh slate. A place that’s just mine. Furniture that’s mine. No other profiles on my streaming apps. Food I like in the fridge. God, there are a million other things, and I’m excited just thinking about it.
I’ve spent the last thirty minutes browsing Liam’s social media page. After many clicks, I somehow landed here and my attention has been fixated on his posts since.
Shirtless. Football games. Events. His boat. A cat. Alotof a cat, actually. In every picture he’s smiling so big. Like he’s actually the happiest man on the planet, but I’m not sure I actually believe it. And I linger on that thought for a second.
The only pictures of Liam’s family are the ones he’s posted with his brother, Landyn. Nothing with his parents at all.
As reporters, we’re generally made aware of any topics that are off-limits when we’re speaking with an athlete or someone within an organization. It’s pretty common knowledge to respect personal matters, especially if it’s something that isn’t directly related to their athletic career.
But I get why Liam’s never told anyone he doesn’t like speaking about his father. Once he says it, the questions come. The whispers and the people who are just downright nosy, wanting to know why he isn’t a huge fan of his Super Bowl-winning father. So he keeps it politically correct. He gives the standard answer people expect without giving his father too much praise.
It’s smart, honestly.
I swipe off his profile before locking my phone and tossing it on the bed beside me. Time to get up and get ready for family day. It’s usually one of the busiest days at training camp, but also one of the most fun. A lot of the players have kids who get to come out to the field and play games, see their dads, and of course watch a practice take place. Everyone seems to love it.
“Oh, who have we got here?”
As I’m finishing a quick on-field interview with Mason Baker, four kids approach the back of the chair he’s sitting on.
Two girls and two boys come running up, all wearing his jersey, and he pulls two of the smaller children onto his lap.
“This is the team,” he says proudly, kissing the tops of their heads.
Mason’s wife stands off to the side, just outside of the tent we’re under, and smiles as he waves her over.
We chat for a moment before he’s needed on the field, and I get a small window for a break.
The practice field that is normally wide open space is now filled with vendors, picnic tables, and strollers. The Knights mascot is running around too, taking pictures with the kids and having fun with the media crew.
As I’m making my way over to the far end of the field by the street where the food trucks are located, I notice a large group of kids and families in a grassy area near one of the sidelines. A familiar laugh causes me to stop in my tracks and focus on where it’s coming from.
“So close, try again!” I hear Liam shout to a young boy about twenty yards from him.
The quarterback throwing net is out and Liam seems to be working with the kids on their throws. I watch as he jogs over to the boy, taking the ball from his hands and showing him how to properly hold it with the laces for a spiral.
