Julie quickly punched off the TV and cleared the couch of her depression debris. Charlotte produced a shiny iPad. “I’ve cued up the video.”
“You came all this way to show me a video?”
“Well, we needed to ensure you saw it. Emails and texts can be deleted, unseen. A lot of human resources is checking boxes and filling out paperwork.”
Instead of taking the iPad, Julie merely eyed it. And not solely because it didn’t have a protective case. “You know that I don’t work for the Mustangs, right?”
Charlotte laughed, her professional façade cracking the tiniest bit. “I’m at least that good at my job. But there are a lot of moving pieces behind the scenes in the NFL. One of the things I love most about working for the Mustangs since Lance took over is how much we focus on every player on our team, from the guys on the roster to the people working in the front offices. And I’m sure you’ve watched enough football to have realized the QB is more than the person who throws the ball. He’s our glue.”
“So this is about Gavin, then.”
Charlotte placed the iPad in Julie’s hands, pausing to give one of them an encouraging squeeze. “Press play, and you’ll find out.”
With a shaky finger, Julie tapped the sideways triangle. In spite of her attempt to steel herself, she was far from steady when Gavin’s face appeared on the screen.
“Hey, Jules. Please don’t turn off the video—Charlotte can’t leave until you’ve seen the entire thing, and she’d be super sad if she had to miss the big game.”
“He’s not wrong,” Charlotte added, and when Kylo Ren jumped onto her lap, she smiled at him and introduced herself.
Onscreen, Gavin continued…whatever this was. “I know I’ve never been the most forthcoming with my emotions. It’s not easy for me to say how I feel, or to show you how important you are to me. So I enlisted some help. I might never hear the end of it, but if this works—even if it’s just agreeing to speak to me again—it’ll be worth the embarrassment.” Sure enough, his skin flushed, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting.
The screen went dark for a moment, and then DeAndre Smitts beamed at her. “Hey, Julie,” he said in a deep voice that vibrated through her palms and up her arms. If it could have that big of an impact via video, she could only imagine the in-person effect. “You should know that our boy Gavin never shuts up about you. It’s Julie this and Julie that, and no matter how much shit we give him about it, he smiles and keeps on yammering on and on. Take it from me, he’s wild about you.”
Next up was one of the tight ends, Anthony Flores. “Hey, Julie. Did you know that after you call up Gavin, he sits there smiling like a goon for an hour or so? Once I asked him what he wanted to eat, and he told me a story about your cat—something about it knocking over a whole box of food, eating it, and then hacking it up on the floor.”
Julie huffed a laugh. Most cats ate until they were full, but sometimes Kylo ate himself sick and then complained about his empty food dish.
“I think he told that story five times that night at dinner. And trust me, we all begged him to stop.”
That made her laugh a little harder, and the tightness that’d claimed her lungs nearly two weeks ago eased, oxygen no longer so hard to come by.
Christian Hopkins flashed the camera the million-dollar smile he was famous for, and Julie’s insides went all melty. The star running back was the first openly gay player in the NFL, and he and his equally handsome partner set the internet on fire every time they posted pictures together. “As soon as I met you when Gavin brought you to tour the stadium, I could tell you two had a love that couldn’t be dimmed by distance or fame or whatever else life threw your way.”
A tight band formed around her chest and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed. She’d thought that as well, but then life gave her the reality check she’d never asked for. Then again, she still loved the frustrating man—that didn’t go away, and she knew it never would, which was why her life felt so empty without Gavin in it.
“The second he answers your call, we don’t even ask who he’s talking to,” Christian continued. “We already know by the way his smile and voice change. That’s probably why we crowd around to say hi. It’s too tempting to soak in some of that happiness, and it always reminds me to tell Dave how much I love and appreciate him when I get home. Now even he’s like ‘let me guess. Gavin talked to Julie today.’”
A cautious sort of hope attempted to bubble, and Julie couldn’t decide whether or not to let it. If she’d made any progress on healing her broken heart, it’d be one thing, but it still felt as shattered as it did on Christmas Day when she’d stormed out into the cold.
Shuffling noises sounded as the camera was passed, and she caught a flash of Gavin. He glanced to his right, gave a reluctant sigh, and then all she could see was ceiling.
Then Jason Holt’s face took up the entire screen. From a slightly up-the-nose angle, too. As he extended his arms, putting more of himself on display, the picture sharpened. “Hey, Julie. I’m sure you recognize my handsome mug. I’m afraid I have some bad news…”
Julie’s breath hitched, her concerns over Gavin poking through and robbing her of what little oxygen she had left. Then she told herself it was silly to worry something had happened to him in the handful of seconds since he’d handed off the iPad.
“I can’t flirt with you anymore,” Jason said, his voice suggesting he was doing his best to soften the blow…to her, if she wasn’t mistaken. “See, it’s not that I don’t think you’re smart and pretty, and honestly, those dimples slay me. Under other circumstances, I’d tell you all about how I’ve dreamed of lick—”
“Dude,” Gavin growled. “Fine line.”
Jason Holt chuckled, clearly getting a kick out of pushing Gavin’s buttons. He swung the camera away as Gavin lunged for it or him, and Julie experienced a swirl of carsickness before the image onscreen righted itself. “As I was saying, I can’t flirt with you anymore. I’ve suspected for a while that Frost had a thing for you. Not only is he overly protective, you should see the way he lights up every time you call. It’s like someone jammed a candle up his ass.”
The showboat put a hand on the center of his chest. “Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Do you remember how you scolded me for celebrating a few steps from the goal line? You said something about how grouchy Gavin gets when he loses, but until this week, I hadn’t seen much of that side of him. Then he lost you, and me and the rest of the guys, we can hardly stand him.”
Jason lifted the camera closer, until his face took up the entire screen. “So, I’m asking you—hell, I’ll get down on my knees and beg if I have to—to forgive him. Gavin Frost might be an asshole sometimes, but he’s our asshole.” A crooked smile spread across his face. “Ours and yours.”