His eyes lock on mine across the table, and he nods briefly. “Thank you.” His voice is soft and sincere and full of emotion.
“Don’t thank me until we have our answers.”
But I will get those answers.
Whatever it takes.
CHAPTER 13
I sit in the backyard with Pepper the next Monday morning. I stare at the empty treadmill that’s sadly not getting any use now that Luke is away at training camp.
The Aces rent out some vineyard in California for the first two weeks of camp before coming back home to have the rest of camp at their practice facility. Their first preseason game is mid-August, a few days after they return home from the vineyard.
It sounds like a vacation, but Luke has assured me that it’s not. Instead, his days are filled with workouts and practices and new formations and schemes and battles for position. Nights are filled with recovery, and early mornings are filled with cryotherapy and massages.
Still sounds like a vacation to me.
Josh is gone, too, and Nicki and I have already talked at length about how we’ll spend every waking moment together. Except I’m awake right now and Nicki’s not here, so I guess that promise was a bit of an exaggeration.
I post a picture of Luke and a story with a picture he sent me last night of the vineyard where he’s staying. I do some research on how players contribute to the community even when they’re in season.
And then, on a total whim, I take a quick glance at local public relations agencies. I need something to do. Handling one client isn’t enough to fill my days, especially now that our little charity event is over and he’s not even here to create thirst traps I can snap pictures of.
I have nothing on the horizon. In short, I’m bored.
I step onto the treadmill. I think about the hot guy who usually uses it. I click some buttons, but it’s useless. I can’t even get the damn thing to turn on. So instead, I take a walk around the yard. I toss the ball for Pepper, but she gets bored with me after a few runs across the yard.
This is just the first day of this new reality. I need to get out. I need to find a hobby. I need something.
The doorbell rings a little before eleven, and when I open it, I find Debbie standing on the other side with bags of groceries.
“Hey Debbie!” I say probably with way too much enthusiasm. “What are you doing here?” I take the bags from her and she follows me into the kitchen. I figured without Luke here, she’d take a couple weeks off.
“Oh, dear, you still need your nourishment. I’ll be making your favorites.” She winks at me. “Or, at least, the things Luke told me were your favorites.”
“You don’t have to do all this. You should take this time off while Luke’s away.” I don’t mind cooking, anyway. In fact, I sort of like it...plus it gives me something to pass the time.
“I don’t mind. It gives me something to do.” She smiles at me, and suddenly I feel a little bond with her. She may have lost her husband when he passed away, which is very different from what I’m feeling, but we’re both searching for a purpose. She found hers when she started cooking for Luke.
I have yet to find mine. Maybe I’ll look through those local agencies again.
Debbie and I chat while she gets started making the shredded chicken for the tacos—definitely one of my favorites—and it’s nearly four in the afternoon by the time she’s done and takes off. I text Nicki.
Me: What are you up to? I’m bored.
Nicki: Reorganizing my kitchen. Want to come help?
Not even a little bit.
Me: Sure. Be right over.
“Do you think the plates should go in this cabinet?” Nicki points to one. “Or this one?” She points to another one.
I don’t care.
I don’t say that, obviously. This is my best friend. But I don’t even like organizing my own kitchen, let alone someone else’s. When I moved into Luke’s place and it was already done, I was good to go. As Nicki should have been. She’s lived in this house for over a year. Who takes literally everything out of their cabinets only to change which one the plates are stored in after a year of habitually going to the same cabinet?
“That one,” I say, pointing to the first one. “It’s closest to the oven, which will be convenient for plating your food.” Like she ever cooks.
Okay, I’m being snarky. I need to work on that.
“So give me the real talk. What’s it like being married to a football player?” I ask, setting down the bowl in my hand to have a conversation with Nicki.
She sets down the wineglass she’s polishing and slides onto the stool next to me. “It’s wonderful and frustrating and awful and amazing all at once.”
“What’s a typical game week like?” I ask, setting my chin in my palm as I lean on the counter.
“If they win on Sunday, they get Monday off. Sort of. Coaches will email film for them to study but they don’t have to go in. If they lose on Sunday, they go in on Monday. Tuesday is their day off, so it’s the one day when they can connect with the community or do rehab if they need to, but it’s also the one day they get with you. Wednesday is technique practice and Thursday is strategy practice for the upcoming game. They go hard and intense. Friday is a travel day if it’s an away game, and they do light situational practice or strategy meetings when they get wherever they’re going. Saturday is a light practice at the stadium and Saturday night they stay in a hotel.”
“For away games, right?” I ask.
She shakes her head and picks up the wineglass. “Home or away.”
My brows dip. “They stay in a hotel the night before a game even if they’re playing at home?”
“Yep.” She stands and picks up another wineglass that apparently needs polishing. “They have a curfew to make sure they get enough sleep and are ready to play on Sunday regardless of which city they’re in. Every team is a little different, but the Aces do bed checks on Friday nights, too, if they’re out of town. I guess Fridays used to be crazy party nights whenever they’d travel somewhere away from home, but Coach Thompson put a stop to that.”
“That’s crazy. They don’t even get to go out?” I ask. “These are grown men.”
“Right. And they’re getting huge paychecks to play a game. The Aces just want to make sure their players are ready to do what they’re being paid to do.”
“Don’t some of the guys resent that?”
“Thompson is great about spinning it to make it come from a place of caring about each player rather than keeping tabs on them. The younger guys don’t always get it at first, but guys have been kicked off the team for repeatedly missing curfew. They take it pretty seriously when they know their job’s at stake.”
“Wow. Serious business.”
She nods. “The Aces are great in the way they take care of their guys. You’ll see.”
“Fingers crossed,” I murmur. I’m still more than a little worried about Luke’s future with the team given the owner’s feelings toward him.
I’m surrounded by plates and bowls when my phone dings with a new text. I grab it out of my pocket with the hope that whatever this message says will get me out of actually having to put all this shit away.