I nod, grateful that the sun has finally set and the shadows on the bus are enough to hide the worst of my emotions. Grateful that I have years of experience holding back tears.
My phone screen lights up against my thigh. Once. Twice. Four times in quick succession.
I don’t look. Jake threw a bat—of course the family thread is a disaster. It can wait twenty minutes until I’m in my room and can deal with it properly.
I turn it face down and close my eyes.
***
The bus doors open into noise and heat, and Lucas and I reluctantly unlace our hands. I stand first, as I’m closest to the aisle, and I slip to the front to see if Gabriela needs anything. And to make sure no one takes a photo of me and Lucas together.
From the front of the bus I spot dozens of fans behind barriers—enough that several tired players groan that they can’t go straight home.
But the rookies come alive, including Lucas. Coop does, too, which doesn’t surprise me. He gets off first, and the crowd goes so nuts, even I smile.
After that, the rest of the guys perk up, and they come down the bus stairs with a spring in their step.
When the last of them leaves, I follow?—
And almost get tackled coming out.
It’s not a fan, though. I’d recognize these arms anywhere.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask through my teeth.
“Just go with it,” he whispers before setting me down and coming in for a kiss.
I’m so shocked, I block him with a hand to his shoulder, pushing back with a laugh I only remember to fake too late. “You’re sweaty and smell like sunflower seeds. That’s a hard pass.”
I hear a few laughs, along with camera clicks. And I hear a reporter call out a question—“Trouble in paradise?”—but someone’s answering before Jake or I can.
“These two are in it for the long haul,” a man says.
I look past the crowd to see?—
Todd Finch. Jake’s agent.
Todd is standing maybe six feet from Lucas, who’s signing a kid’s jersey, his knuckles white around the Sharpie. Todd’s wearing a suit that costs more than most people’s rent, his hair lacquered into place, his pleasant expression designed to convince people to trust him.
He looks at me and winks.
The wink says:We’re counting on you. Do your job.
Jake shifts closer, like he’s going to put his arm around me, but I give him my professional smile and clutch my bag with both hands. “Can we talk?”
“Sure thing, Hot Stuff.”
“You look great, Scottie!” Todd calls after us, warm and easy, like we’re old friends at a reunion. A few people in the crowd laugh. I don’t look back.
I’m not sure what Todd is hoping for tonight, but I know what his text said on the bus:Rough day. Jake really needs you.
I manage to pull Jake behind a column that’s still in sight but far enough away that no one can hear us.
When I fold my arms, I know how risky this is, but I don’t care. My pulse is racing so fast, my watch gives me an“It looks like you’re working out. Want me to log this?”alert.
“What did you do?” I ask, the words sharp and short. I’m panting harder than I ever do during HIIT.
His bravado falls immediately, replaced with a look I’ve seen a thousand times on his face.
