Bay poured us both a glass of juice and set it on the table. “Do you need some help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Setting out the spread on the table, I took the seat beside her, not across from her. The table always felt too small for this apartment, but right now it was the perfect size as her leg brushed against mine.
“I haven’t had a home cooked meal since the last time I was at my mom’s.” She crossed her legs in the dining room chair and pulled the plate of breakfast meat toward her.
“You don’t cook at home?” Maybe she had a chef back at her place. I imagined a chrome-and-glass beachfront property where she’d stand out on the balcony letting the wind whip at her hair, or a technology-filled house where Holden and Emily returned to their charging stations along with their tablets every night.
“Where’s home?” she snort-chuckled, pouring a ridiculous amount of maple syrup over everything on her plate.
“You don’t have a house? An apartment somewhere?”
“I haven’t been in the same city for more than a few weeks at a time over the past six years.” She tapped her fork against her lip.
“There hasn’t been anywhere to call home?”
“Not a place I’d want to plunk down a boatload of cash for and shell out for security to babysit while I was gone. It’s easier to live in hotels. Sometimes we’ll rent out a house. You said to me back during training camp ‘it’s hard to know who actually gives a shit and who just wants your shit.’ So the less stuff I have, the less there’s to exploit. That’s been my life.”
The aching loneliness was palpable. The stinging sourness carried through the air.
“I barely have a phone anymore. The one I have, I rarely use. The wrong people always find it and make my life hell. It’s easier this way. I have to send a new number to my mom every few months once the last one leaks.”
Her shyness last night, like a kid running out to play with new kids, made more sense. Instead of having a great time riding bikes until sundown, she spent most interactions hoping none of them would record her every move and sell it to the highest bidder. She was alone.
“You’re cut off from everyone.”
She made a face, scrunching up her nose. “Poor little famous rich girl. Most people would punch me in the face for complaining about all I have. All I’ve done. I’ve gotten to travel the world, sing in front of stadiums of people, meet celebrities and royalty. It’s been a life beyond what I could ever have imagined.”
“Does it ever get to you? All the travel? All the pomp?” It wore on me sometimes, but mine was only for half the year, not every week and if I travelled outside of football cities or internationally, I was only the big guy taking up too much space on the sidewalk. Still, the travel, planes, and buses became monotonous after a while. One hotel room looked like the next, and room service food lost its luster within the first season. Lukewarm fries and soggy buns just didn’t hold much appeal.
“It does sometimes. But I have a lot of people depending on me. Not just Holden and Emily, but Maddy who went to the mat for me on my first deal. So many artists get screwed when they start out, but she used the Without Grey leverage to get me a contract that’s unheard of. Then there are all the backup dancers and singers. The road and audio crews. There are two hundred people involved in every show.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.” Like my season. A whole stadium of people who worked if we made it to the playoffs, and bonuses that went around if we won again.
“It’s what I always wanted.” The words didn’t spell dreamy excitement. They spelled resignation. She shoved a forkful of French toast into her mouth.
“Do you think you’ll take a break sometime soon?”
“Will you?” Her words were pointed.
I shook my head. It was the truth. Football would leave me long before I left it. All it would take was one lost season with me on the bench and I’d probably be out. “No. Not showing up at the stadium during the season…I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
“I feel the same way about my music. When I’m scribbling down songs in my notebook or in the studio—when they finally come alive I feel this release, like the story’s been told and that piece of me can rest for a little while until another song starts echoing in the back of my mind.” She stared off, closing her eyes like just thinking about it transported her to somewhere else.
I was glad it meant so much to her, and that she had the chance to recapture that love of music and share it with the world. I hated the four years I’d stolen that from her.
“When you talk about your music that way, it sounds like it’s haunting you.”
She turned to me with a quirk of a smile. “Sometimes I feel like it is. The songs used to be easy to ignore. First, writing them down was enough, then getting the melody right and playing them was enough. Now, they want to be heard.”
“They picked the right person to bring them to life.”
“It’s the only life I know now.”
“Maybe I’ll call in a favor to get front row tickets to watch one of your shows.”
She licked her syrup covered lips. “You have a connection.”
“I might be able to scrounge up an old phone number.”
She laughed. “That phone was retired a long time ago. But I can give you the new one.” Darting from the table, she came back with her phone and slid it across the table to me.
Her contacts only had six numbers: her mom, Holden, Emily, Piper, Felicia and Spencer. It was a handful of people for someone millions could identify on sight. And now me. I was one of so few she’d let into her life over the past six years. I held onto the reins of my emotions to keep from overwhelming myself and her.
I added myself and held it out to her.
“I’m on a short list.”
She licked a bit of syrup off her thumb.
My gaze zeroed in on her lips wrapped around it. A jolt shot through my gut.
“Comes with the territory. Not many people make it into the inner circle.”
“Then I’m glad to have made it into yours.”
She tilted her head and ran her fingers over the back of my hand. She traced the lines of my veins from my wrist to my knuckles. “You never left.”
I felt like we were both walking on the newly formed ice of whatever this was, slipping and sliding, unsure of what it was and how long it would last.
I tried to lighten the mood, relieved we were in the same boat rowing toward destinations unknown. “I’d say there was a solid four years you’d rather have lit me on fire than have breakfast with me.”
Her fingers stilled and she laughed, nodding. “There’s certainly been a rough patch or two in the story we’ve written together over the past decade.”
So much lost time to make up for. I wanted to give her whatever she wanted for the day. Anything in my power was hers. I pulled her out of her chair and onto my lap. Wrapping my arms around her, she settled her knees on either side of my hips. “What do you want to do today?”
Her gaze darted to the hallway leading to my bedroom.
“What’s something you haven’t done in a long time? Something you’ve always wanted to do?”