“My schedule, my life, doesn’t really leave time for getting to know people.”
I watch him. It sounds like an excuse, but I hold off calling bullshit just yet.
He leans forward, resting his arms on his legs.
I hit a raw nerve.
He sighs as if he’s surrendering. “Everyone has an expectation. They see my name and instantly expect me to be. . . ” He shakes his head, focused on the floor now. “I don’t know. . .just like my dad. Great. Larger-than-life but easy-going. They expect me to win and bring in money, fans, and sponsors.” He pauses. “They demand greatness all the time. People don’t want me. They want him or whoever they think I am.”
It’s the most real and honest answer I didn’t anticipate.
Cole Matthews is sensitive and exhausted. He’s tired of living in a shadow and trying to measure up—of never being seen.
I read articles and watched highlights of his dad’s career. The man was truly a football legend. I learned he died a few years ago from a debilitating disease known for affecting athletes with repeated head trauma. After a few hours of reading, it was clear that expectations were placed on Cole’s shoulders long before he was old enough to carry them.
Watching him play today, I wondered if that load ever gets too heavy. If he’s ever had a chance to stand on his own—to be Cole without football and the weight of everyone’s dreams pressing down on him.
Given that it only took an hour for pictures of us to start circulating through the rumor mill, I’d guess the answer is no.
So, I get it, I think. He’s never had the chance to be anyone other than his father’s son.
Those blue, blue eyes land on mine. “Women don’t want me. They want to hang out, post pictures, and sleep with the guy in the jersey with my name stitched across the back. They want who they think that guy is and what my name signifies, not the real deal. All too quickly, they’re sorely disappointed.”
I let that simmer for a moment as he eases back into the couch. I might understand that all a little too well. Totally and completely different, but underneath, it’s all the same.
I break the silence, keeping my voice soft so he knows I heard him. “Letting people see who we really are, trusting them with that. . .it’s the most risky and terrifying thing we’ll ever do.”
His eyes strike mine, searching, and it’s my turn to look away, fearful of what he might see.
I tuck my knees in a little tighter.
The air in the room suddenly feels heavy, and Cole must sense it, too, because he turns the game back on.
“According to sources, I guess I have a girlfriend now.” There’s a smirk riding across his lips, our little moment dissolving back to this—our newfound surface-level rhythm.
“Ha. I’m just here to keep you from getting your ass lit up. If that’s what you define as a girlfriend, well then. . . ”
His head falls back, and laughter tumbles out, causing my nerves to stand down. “TJ isn’t real excited about this being your job. I’m worried abouthimlighting my ass up.”
“What?” It’s my turn to shift toward him.
All trace of his smile vanishes. “TJ. Isn’t he your boyfriend?”
“TJ?” The idea is so absurd I want to laugh, but I’m too shocked by him thinking such a thing. “TJ isnotmy boyfriend.”
“Really?” He rubs his jaw. “Huh.”
I lean closer, needing to understand what that “huh” meant. “Why would you think that?”
He peeks at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Matthews, let me remind you that I’m here with orders to protect you from the cowardly. That doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass.”
Both eyebrows shoot up along with the corner of his mouth. “That’s not necessary. He told me that if anything happened to you, I’d answer to him.”
I’m going to kill him.
“Did he now?”
