In the Grasp, page 8
It feels like an eternity before I hear footsteps nearing the room. My heart is racing, and I can feel my breath coming heavy. My uniform feels suffocating, and I grip the front of my jersey to pull it from my neck in an effort to stop the feeling that I’m choking. Max rounds the corner, his face looking cautious and worried. I glance behind him but see only an empty hall.
“Where is she?”
He shrugs. “I’m so sorry, man. I ran to that section, but I didn’t see anyone matching her description. I even shouted her name, but it looks like she left.”
My shoulders sag in defeat. Fuck. I can’t believe I’ve lost her again.
Seventeen
I splash some water on my face and try to take deep, calming breaths in a lame attempt at steadying my heart, which is still beating erratically in my chest.
The second Jack exited the field, I flew out of my seat and headed straight for the restrooms. I needed a minute to myself. Now that I’ve been hiding in this bathroom for the past twenty minutes, I realize that I’m even more affected by Jack than I thought I would be. I need to pull myself together. I’m not here to revert back to that silly girl who was convinced her first love would be the love of her life. I’m here to do a job. Looking in the mirror, I give myself a mini pep talk and then head back to the stands.
When I arrive at my seat, I can see that Jack has been cleared to play for the second half of the game after the medics gave him an exam during halftime. Since he’s back playing, I’m assuming they didn’t see any signs of a concussion, but they still seem to be keeping an eye on him as he finishes the game. Every time he comes to the sidelines, a medic is there to check in with him.
The Wolves win by a touchdown, and the stadium is buzzing with the excitement and energy that comes with a home game victory. I follow the crowds as people leave their seats, and I make my way toward the locker rooms, where they’ll be holding the postgame press conference.
I show my press credentials to the security guard and then proceed down the hall that leads to the locker room. There’s a small crowd of reporters waiting outside the doors. It’s standard policy that the players have fifteen to twenty minutes after the game before the press can invade.
I’ve always wondered how they feel about having cameras in their business while some of them are only wrapped in towels. Most tend to throw on a T-shirt in exchange for their jersey and pads and wait to shower until after the media departs. Or at least that’s what our sportswriter in San Francisco used to tell me.
A media consultant ushers us all into a room right across from the locker rooms for the formal postgame interviews with the coach and one player—in this case, Jack. I tuck myself in the back, hoping I can take some time to just observe him and find my composure before I have to ask him any questions.
I thought I was prepared, but my breath catches in my throat when Jack enters behind his coach. That old pain works its way into my chest until the ache feels so real, I press a hand above my heart hoping the pressure will ease it. Cameras flash all around me as he makes his way to the table set up at the front of the room. His ass has barely touched the chair when voices start shouting questions. He throws them a panty-dropping smirk. “Alright, everyone. We’ve got lots of time. You’ll all get a chance to ask your questions, but why don’t we start one at a time, okay?”
Several reporters laugh and then one shouts out, “Jack, it looked like you were struggling at the start of the second half after that bad hit you took. Were you evaluated for a concussion?”
Jack gets a weird look on his face that I can’t quite name, almost like he’s disappointed. “I was evaluated and cleared, which is why I was playing the second half. I think we were playing a really strong team and they made us work for our win. I can respect that, but I wouldn’t necessarily say we struggled. We won, after all,” he says with a grin.
Another reporter shouts out, “Any chance you’ll get back together with Bella Linn?”
My attention shoots to that reporter, then back to Jack just in time to catch his face completely shutter. Gone is the charismatic grin that he had on his face only moments ago.
I’m still stuck on the idea that he dated Bella Linn, the Victoria’s Secret model. How did I miss that news?
Several more reporters start shouting similarly personal questions. I watch Jack closely and notice the subtle stiffness that seems to overcome his whole body. I’m not even sure he’s breathing at this point; he looks so still. He slowly leans toward the mic.
“I will answer any questions you have about football,” he emphasizes, “but my private life is private. One more question like that and this press conference will be over. Now, are there any questions about the game?”
There’s a moment of silence while the reporters all try to keep from asking the invasive questions they clearly all planned to ask and attempt to come up with something focused on the game. Jack looks ready to get up and leave.
“There’s talk that you’ll be named the NFL’s MVP of the Year. How do you feel about that?” I hear myself ask.
I can feel the weight of the stares from the other reporters, but my eyes are laser-focused on Jack. The second his gaze meets mine, his jaw drops, and his eyes go wide. We simply stare at each other for a moment, as if there’s no one else around us. Finally, Jack seems to remember where he is. He takes a deep breath and then responds to my question.
“Well, that’s usually an honor that goes to a player on the team that wins the Super Bowl. I’d love to make it to the Super Bowl this year, and I think we’re on track to do just that.”
He smirks at me, his eyes lighting up as they take me in. He subtly shakes his head like he can’t believe I’m actually standing here and then answers a few more questions before wrapping up the interview. He exits, and the reporters follow, several going into the locker room to do smaller interviews with other players from the team.
I’m one of the last to exit the room and am barely out the door when a hand grips my elbow. I turn back, ready to chew someone out when my voice catches in my throat.
Jack stands before me, his eyes roaming from my head to my toes and then back up. I can’t stop my own gaze from doing a similar perusal. God, why does he have to look so fucking good? His thick biceps are covered by a short-sleeved T-shirt with the Wolves logo on it. His hair is a disheveled mess, and his face is still flushed from the physical activity he just completed. I’m annoyed and frustrated with my body’s complete betrayal at wishing his physical activities were more of the horizontal variety.
Ugh. I told myself during my bathroom pep talk that I wasn’t going to let him affect me, and yet, here I am, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings and a tingling starting at the apex of my thighs.
Damn him.
“I can’t believe you’re really standing in front of me right now,” he whispers. “I almost thought I had imagined you sitting in the stands earlier.”
“Nope. I’m really here.” We both stare at each other for a moment, words seemingly difficult for both of us. “It’s been a long time,” I whisper.
He nods. “It has. Too damn long.”
I can’t hide the surprise in my expression at his statement. What is that supposed to mean? How am I supposed to take that?
I cross my arms and compose my face to a more neutral expression—one I’ve perfected over the years when interviewing people. It has always helped me focus on the task at hand. But even with my body language screaming at him to keep a distance, my stupid heart is still pounding away at a breakneck pace in my chest.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do an interview for an old friend,” I ask, trying to add some small playfulness to my tone that I don’t feel.
His typically vibrant blue eyes dim, his brows furrow, and his mouth sags at the corners. When he speaks, his voice is not as confident as it was before. “A friend, huh? I remember you being a hell of a lot more than that.”
I divert my gaze to look at our feet. “That was a long time ago. We’re both very different people now.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, when I can no longer take the silence, I look back up to his face and am surprised to see misery in his gaze.
What does he have to feel miserable about? He’s the one who ruined us to begin with. He’s the one who came to visit me after months apart—months that were some of the hardest of my life because of how much I missed him—and then kissed me goodbye at the airport and sent me a text when he got back home saying that he couldn’t do the distance anymore. He’s the one who broke his promise to fight for us. He’s the one who broke my fucking heart into smithereens.
Fuck him and his misery. He doesn’t get to feel miserable. He made us this way.
I need to wrap this up. This is too much. I should’ve followed my initial instinct that I wasn’t ready for this. Seeing him, being this close to him, is torture. It’s bringing up too many feelings that I’ve long kept buried. I’ll come back again and do my job once I get my head straight and my emotions under control.
“I should really get going.” I take a step backward, fighting against my body’s pull toward Jack.
“Wait!” He extends his arm like he wants to grab me, but then clearly thinks better of it and drops it to his side. “We should catch up. Maybe grab some dinner or something.”
He looks desperate for me to say yes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this look on him before. But I can’t. While my body may be trying desperately to remind me how wonderful we were together, my self-preservation instincts are fully kicking in. The reporter in me is screaming that this is the perfect opening, but that damn seventeen-year-old girl that I’ve hidden away is clawing her way to the surface. I know myself well enough to know I need to step back from him if I have any hope of firming up my defenses before he barrels right through them.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Take care, Jack.”
I turn around, quickly exiting the hallway and ignoring his voice calling my name.
Eighteen
The grooves of the brown leather offer a familiar comfort as my hand grips the football, my gaze staring at nothing while my thoughts wander to Paige. She’s all I’ve been able to think about over the past week. The roar of the plane as we descend back into LA after our recent away game does nothing to pull me from my thoughts.
“Earth to Jack.”
I turn to see Max staring at me. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Dude, where is your head at? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately.”
I avert my gaze, knowing my eyes will give me away. “I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be a beautiful brunette, would it?”
I roll my head around, trying to stretch out the tension in my neck and shoulders. “I need to figure out a way to see her again.”
“You sure that’s a good idea? You said she was reserved and distant with you. That doesn’t exactly sound like a woman who’s eager to spend time with you.”
He’s not wrong. The Paige who showed up to my game last week was nothing like the girl I remember. I used to know every facial expression, every smile, every thought written clear as day for me on her gorgeous face.
But the woman I encountered last week was a stranger.
I hate that.
I want to know her again, know how she’s changed, how she’s grown, what her interests are now.
She may have been distant with me, but that pull that always drew us together was still there. I felt it, and I refuse to believe I’m the only one.
“I can’t really blame her for being guarded with me. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” A heavy sigh escapes me as I voice the truth that I’ve only admitted in my most shameful thoughts. “I was a coward, and we both know it.”
The small bump of the plane wheels touching the ground pulls my gaze out the window of the plane.
“I need to make things right. At the very least, she deserves to know the truth.”
“And what’s that?” Max asks.
Turning back to my friend, I admit to him what I’m sure he’s already guessed over the years. “That she was the love of my damn life. That I regret not being strong enough to tough out the distance.” Looking down at the football in my grasp, I whisper, “That I’ll always love her, even if she can never forgive me.”
Silence reigns between us, and it isn’t until we’ve exited the plane and nearly made it to the car picking us up when Max speaks up.
“You said she asked for an interview.”
“Yeah.”
“So, what if we use that to get you another chance to clear the air with her?”
I glance at him, convinced he’s not actually suggesting I give a personal interview. He must see the disbelief in my eyes because before I’m able to voice my concerns, he speaks up again.
“Hear me out. You don’t have to actually give her an interview. It would be more of a carrot that you dangle for her to come to you. It would give you another chance to see her face-to-face.”
“I don’t know man. I think that’d piss her off even more once she realizes I’m not going to give her the interview she wants.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose in an attempt to stop the pulsing that will most likely turn into a headache. “Let’s drop it for now, okay? I’ll figure out some way to see her again.”
He hesitates, and I can tell he’s not ready to drop it, but he does. “Fine. I’ll drop it for now. Just don’t let this distract you from the career you’ve worked so hard for.”
We exchange a look of understanding. He’s right. I wasn’t at my best during our away game, but Paige was not the cause of that. Seeing her has forced me to recognize and accept responsibility for how poorly I handled everything when we were younger. I’m also trying to see it from her point of view—something I wasn’t able to do back then because I was too lost in my own head.
But we’re back in the same city again, and more than ever, I’m determined to make it right.
My long strides stop abruptly as soon as I walk into the empty locker room and see Max pacing.
He glances up at me, his gaze nervous and maybe a little worried. “Don’t be mad.”
My stomach drops as I take a few steps closer to him. “What’d you do?”
“You said you needed to see her again, so I made it happen, even though this wasn’t the way you wanted to see her.” He rambles so quickly it takes a second for his words to register.
I take another step closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous rumble as I slowly ask again, “What did you do?”
Before he can answer, the door of the locker room opens behind me, and his gaze darts nervously over my shoulder. I turn around to see Paige standing there—looking more beautiful than ever—with a notebook and a small recorder clutched in one hand.
Fuck me. I glare behind me at my best friend who is on dangerously thin ice with me. He knew I didn’t want to deceive her this way, and he did it anyway.
He steps closer and lowers his voice so it doesn’t carry to where Paige stands near the entrance of the room.
“You told me what you needed, and I made it happen, like I always do. Don’t be mad. This was the only way I could convince her to come. You sure have your work cut out for you.”
“I’m sure it’s even worse now that she’s not going to get what she came here for,” I growl under my breath, anger and frustration rolling over me in waves.
Max slaps my back and mutters, “Well, there’s a limit to the miracles I can work, so now the rest is on you. Best of luck, my friend.”
I try to find some composure as Max walks out the door. The last thing I need is Paige thinking I’m mad that she’s here when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
The click of the latch echoes into the silence of the room as Paige and I stand there staring at each other.
“Hi,” I say as I grip the back of my neck with one hand and squeeze in an effort to release some of the tension in my body. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know Max had reached out to you.”
“You’d think your personal assistant would inform you if he was going to break your stance on exclusive interviews.”
“I’m sure he would if he thought I’d actually give one.”
Her already guarded gaze gets icier and her mouth forms a straight line. “So, what? You’re just wasting my time then?”
I take a step forward and fight the urge to reach out to her. I can see her pulling away even more, and I have no idea how to stop it.
“No. I would like to talk to you, but I was hoping it could be off the record.”
She stares at me silently, the expression on her face giving none of her feelings away. She looks down at the floor and the instant she breaks the connection, my whole body feels cold.
It’s a feeling I’ve been all too familiar with during the last nine years without her.
“What do you say? Dinner? Tomorrow night?”
Nineteen
I honestly don’t know what to say. My head is screaming no way in hell, but the reporter in me is also wondering when I’m going to get this chance again. Dinner is an opportunity to get him alone, to maybe somehow convince him to share something on the record that I can use for my article. I’ve already turned him down once. What are the odds I’ll get another chance after this? He’s just given me the perfect opportunity to get what I want from him, so why am I hesitating?
Because he also makes me feel things I haven’t felt since we were together, and that scares me shitless.
But at the end of the day, I have a job to do. That’s all that matters.
That’s all I can let matter.
