His fingers simply lace with mine as if this is what we’ve always done in daylight.
The flashbulbs explode as questions fly.
“How long have you been married?”
“Why hide it?”
“Is this affecting the team?”
We don’t answer. We don’t even acknowledge them. We walk.
The car door shuts, and the noise disappears as abruptly as it arrived. The silence inside feels dense and almost sacred after the chaos.
Ollie leans his head back against the seat and lets out a long breath. “Jesus.”
“You handled it,” I tell him.
“I walked to a car.”
“You didn’t flinch.”
He gives me a sideways look. “You’re grading my handholding now?”
“I’m grading your composure.”
Vinny’s rented SUV pulls out behind us as I start driving. I told him I wanted to take the wheel myself today. I needed the illusion of control. Needed to feel like I was steering something.
For a few blocks, we just move through the city in quiet.
“So,” Ollie says eventually, voice lighter, “first public outing as married men.”
“Not exactly the launch we imagined.”
“Understatement of the year.”
We stop at a light. I glance at him and see that he’s watching the city differently today, as if recalibrating where he stands in it.
“How was training?” I ask.
“Good. Strange. A few guys pulled me aside. Mostly support. Some awkward jokes. A couple of rookies were more interested in whether you’re actually as tall as you look onstage.”
I snort. “They want tickets.”
“They absolutely want tickets.”
“And?”
“And I told them I’d see what I could do.”
“Traitor.”
His smile widens, but it fades quickly. “Coach was solid. GM too. They said nothing changes.”
“It better not.”
We drive in silence for a moment, the weight of that settling between us.
“I’ll head back to San Francisco after tomorrow’s game,” I say. “Stay there a week. Then I’ll come back here.”
