An outsider would assume David was in his element. He wore an easy smile and answered all questions in a calm, even tone and laughed at a few jokes about the upcoming draft. But a glance at his white knuckles from a tight fist revealed anxiety. Red inched up his neck, hot and threatening.
“Be nice to him,” I told Adam.
He gave me a ‘you know better than to expect that’ look. “We’ll see if he deserves nice, and I’ll reassess from there.”
Before pushing away from the wall, I had to ask, “Do you know if Logan’s coming tonight?”
Guilt ate me alive as I crossed my fingers for ‘no.’ It was a disheartening space to be in, loving someone so much, yet not wanting to see them, because then everything buried threatenedto be unearthed. My headspace wasn’t strong enough to balance family, David, and the past all in one night.
“No, she has some paper she’s behind on writing,” Adam said with a shrug, none the wiser about my fear. “She’ll be in town next week if you want to drop by.”
I smiled and nodded. “Maybe.”
My smile vanished when I caught David’s eye again and saw a plea for help. I went to his side in an instant. I reached for his fist, massaging circles on the back of his palm until he released his fingers. They intertwined with mine, clasping hold like I was the only thing keeping him on solid ground.
“I want to show David the house,” I interrupted Aunt Clare’s recount of her time dating a quarterback in the nineties.
“Remember our doors open policy,” Dad reminded as I tugged David to the staircase. He chuckled, joking but not really. Adam was half-wrong; Dad had at least a bit of protective instinct.
“I’m aware,” I said. Never mind the fact that all his children were twenty-one and up. Their house, their rules.
It wasn’t until we’d cleared the staircase that David took a breath. I raised a brow, questioning this sudden bout of anxiety.
“Are you okay?” I wanted to make a joke, but he looked so far from okay, I thought it’d be downright cruel to tease him.
“Fine.” David unbuttoned his collar. He’d really tried to get dressed up for this dinner. His usually unruly hair was slicked back with a bit of product. And his slacks —though not perfectly tailored, and a little worn around the knees— hung nicely on his waist. He was handsome. And terrified.
“You’re red in the face.”
“It’s warm in here.” He swallowed and looked around the hall as if he were hunting for the source of heat.
I smiled and resisted the urge to rub his arm. “Have you ever done the ‘meet the parents’ thing?”
“Have you?” he responded quickly. An immediate flash of remorse crossed his face. “Sorry… maybe I’m... just a little overstimulated. Out of my element.”
My shoulders sagged with empathy. “My folks can be a lot. But I promise they’re harmless. And very accepting. They love you already if that’s any comfort.”
He chuckled. “Only because I can successfully catch a ball over and over again.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Still impressive. You’re on a team that has earned Westbrooke back a championship title. There’s pride in that.”
“Pride’s risky business.”
“So is being someone’s fake boyfriend, but you’re doing just fine so far.”
“So far.”
I grabbed his hand even though there was no one around. No audience to play to. I grabbed David’s hand because his face was still red, his breath still uneven, and touching him seemed to calm us both down.
He looked down at our fingers for a second. “Has this house gotten bigger?”
I laughed. “What?”
“It was big as a kid.” David looked around the long hallway, taking in the embellished gold-plated frames, statues Mom had purchased in a museum auction, and vases from elected officials who’d wanted endorsements or just Christmas party invites.
“But, it feels bigger,” he said.
“They did add a guest house.” I shrugged. “But it’s in the back, near the lake. You can’t see it from the house.”
