Her voice had that warning tone I’d learned to both dread and secretly like. I cracked one eye open. She was typing at the speed of light, headset already in. The rest of the guys were slumped across seats or half asleep, jerseys sticking out of duffel bags. The hum of the engine was the only thing keeping me awake.
She angled toward me. “It’s a full schedule today. Four stops, maybe five if Coach agrees to the radio segment. You’ll get breaks, but—”
“Snacks?”
She paused. “Yes, snacks. You’re welcome in advance.”
I smiled and let my head fall back against the seat. “You’re a saint.”
“Don’t push it.”
The rest of the day blurred like a reel stuck on repeat. Different logos, same questions, same stale coffee. Every hallway smelled like hotel carpet and overworked air freshener. Cameras flashed, recorders beeped, and somewhere between the third and fourth interview, I lost count of how many times I’d said the wordsgreat team effort.
Grayson handled it like he was born for it. He had that easy charm, full-on captain smile, lines delivered crisp and clean. Mason amazingly had jokes ready at the drop of a hat. Coach went full politician.
Me? I was just trying to string sentences together that made some kind of sense. Holly stayed close, managing the press, keeping our schedule alive. Every time I felt my brain short-circuit, she appeared with water or something to chew on. At one point, she slid a bran muffin into my hand mid-question, like she was feeding a zoo animal.
Hours passed. The world became lights, fake laughter, handshakes, and the constant buzz of “just one more photo.”
When we finally staggered out of the last interview of the day — a local TV spot in a beige conference room with fake plants — I was running on fumes. Holly looked about the same.
I stretched my arms, trying to wake them up, and recited the line I’d just delivered for what felt like the hundredth time: “It’s all abouttrusting the guys in front of you and staying calm under pressure.”
This time, I threw in a dramatic bow.
Holly broke first, laughter spilling out, raw and tired. “God, don’t. I can’t. I’ll start crying if I laugh any harder.”
I grinned, dragging a hand over my face. “I’ve said that line so many times today I think it’s tattooed inside my skull.”
“Well,” she said, fishing in her bag, “that was the last time for today. So, congratulations, you can officially take a breather.”
She handed me another protein bar. I took it and peeled the wrapper, chewing without thinking. “Yeah, right. And then we do it all tomorrow again.”
She chuckled. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”
I pointed at her bag. “You got anything in there with alcohol in it?”
She smirked. “No, but I plan on raiding the minibar back at the hotel.”
That earned a tired laugh out of me. I held up a hand. “Now you’re talking.”
She high-fived me, a small smack, both of us too worn out to put any kind of effort into it.
We reached the hotel just past midnight. The parking lot buzzed under yellow lights, bugs swirling lazy above them. Inside, the lobby was small, quiet. The guys weren’t around.
Holly frowned, scanning the empty space. “We were supposed to meet in the lobby, right?”
I nodded, adjusting my duffel. “Yeah. Guess they ditched us.”
“Great.” She set her bag down and sighed. “I’m surprised. Mason’s usually glued to you.”
“He’s probably already convincing Grayson to go find a bar or something…”
Her lips quirked. “And you’re not joining them?”
“The only party I want right now is the one happening in my dreams. With my head smashed firmly into a standard grade hotel room pillow.”
“Fair.”
