“Did you miss the van?”
I go still.
It’s Doug’s voice.
Did he hear?
Do I care?
He’s rolled the window down in his Tesla, and he’s leaning next to his son, who’s sitting in the front seat, although he hardly looks old enough to be up there.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, trying to regain feeling in my face so I can force a smile. “I needed some air. I’m just going to walk to the hotel.”
“Nonsense. You were outside all day. Hop in.”
“Doug, please don’t worry about me,” I say. “Enjoy the time with your son.”
“I don’t mind. Mason, hop into the back.”
Mason—the son—gives me a long look. “You’re Jake’s girlfriend, right? Think you could get me some signed merch? One-of-a-kind stuff?”
Doug’s eyes flutter closed as he pinches his temples. “Do not give him merchandise.” He drops his hand and looks at Mason.“Get in the back. And no more selling sports memorabilia to your classmates. Someone’s going to report me to the league office.”
Mason grumbles but exits the front seat and gets into the back. He leaves the door open for me, and considering I just stormed away in a pretty dramatic fashion, I’m worried that if I don’t climb in, Doug’s going to worry.
Part of my job is to keep Doug from worrying.
“Thanks, Doug.”
“My pleasure. The hotel’s on my way.”
When I buckle up, he doesn’t waste any time.
“So how are things?”
“Good,” I say confidently as he drives to the parking lot exit. “Lucas and Logan both played well. Diego and?—”
“Let me clarify. I meant, how are things with you? You have a lot on your plate, Ms. Quinn.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mean to pry, but I spotted you walking away from Jake.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t affect a thing.”
The streetlights pass over Doug’s face in slow bands of light and shadow, showing me he’s frowning.
“Thank you, but that wasn’t what I was asking. Areyouokay? Not Jake’s girlfriend, not the Fischer twins’ player coordinator. You. Scottie Quinn. Are you okay?”
His question stirs something deep inside that I cannot—for the life of me—let him see. He’s asking—really asking, like he wants to know a truth I will never give.
“I will be. I always am.”
“I hope so.” The hotel is only a mile from the stadium, so we’re almost there when he says, “I’m impressed with how well you’ve been handling so many different personalities already. Ifyou decide you want to do this on a bigger scale, I have a spot for you.”
“Really?” I ask, the feeling returning to me in a rush. “Thank you, Doug. I love working with the Fischer brothers.”
“Well, I couldn’t guarantee you’d be assigned to one of them. I don’t like drama, and you seem to have a knack for keeping the clubhouse quiet. I’d give you someone a little harder to handle.”
