And being the superstitious man that I am, I’m convinced that being a good husband is the key that unlocked this next level of play.
Since I never told anyone about my curse, I shouldn’t feel the need to broadcast the reason for the change in my luck, but it’s feeling more and more wrong to keep Frankie a secret. Especially when her father makes pointed comments about how keeping my personal life clean is helping.
It’s not fucking helping.
And having to keep our relationship a secret gets more complicated when she texts me in the middle of a team meeting, a time she is usually head down at work at the hospital.
Frankie
not working today, I was in a little fender bender this morning
Logan
What?
Frankie
I’m fine!
Logan
Where are you?
Frankie
I’m at home
I’m on my feet, not caring that Wilson is shooting daggers my way.
“Sorry, emergency,” I mutter to one of the assistant coaches as I head into the hallway, stabbing my thumb against the call button.
“I’m fine,” she repeats as soon as she answers. “Please don’t worry.”
“Did someone hit you with their car?”
“Not exactly.”
“How not exactly?”
“I jumped out of the way. But they mangled my bike.”
“You—” I count backwards from ten, my pulse racing. “Francesca.”
“Yes?” She sounds pleased that I’m concerned.
“Please be safe.”
“I’m going to get a replacement bike this afternoon. I’m going to get some knee and elbow pads, too.”
Knee pads.
Fucking hell, that’s not the kind of protective gear she needs. “I’m going to arrange for a car for you.”
“I don’t need?—”
“Unless you want me to buy you a house right next to the hospital so you can run back and forth and never have to risk crossing a road again, yes you do need a car.”
“Please don’t over react.”
