Home Field Advantage

by Liz Lincoln

  Natalie couldn’t help grinning in return. “Of course not.”

  “So it should be a good time. The band we’ve got playing is very good. You already know it’s at the Art Museum, which is such a gorgeous location.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  The three women fell into silence, a subtle tension humming in the air between them. Natalie had a sense there was something else Celia wanted to say but since she had no idea what it was, Natalie didn’t know what question to ask to bring it out. She glanced at Bree, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged subtly.

  Nice to know Natalie wasn’t the only one who sensed the awkwardness.

  “How’s Matt doing?” Celia blurted, catching Natalie off guard. Of all the things for the woman to ask, she hadn’t expected that.

  To indicate that any more personal conversation would be off the record, Natalie turned off her recording before answering. If Ellen ever found out she’d deliberately not recorded whatever conversation was about to happen, she’d be furious with Natalie. It would inevitably provide juicy gossip that could actually draw a few new viewers to their site.

  But Natalie refused to have her name become synonymous with gossip and being untrustworthy. It was no one’s damn business what was happening in Matt Baxter’s personal life, celebrity player or not.

  “Matt’s pretty good.” It had undoubtedly taken a lot of guts to ask the question, so Natalie gave the other women the truth. “He puts on a good front, but he misses you. Misses your daughters.”

  Pain creased Celia’s pretty, delicate features. She nodded stiffly. “I know. And, I mean, I see him. But we don’t talk, you know?”

  Natalie did know. She felt the same way about Quinn and her. On a different scale, of course. Dating eight years ago was vastly different from being married with kids. But the same basic ballpark.

  “I know you were shadowing him for that article,” Celia said. “He asked if it would be OK for you to talk a little about Zoe’s cerebral palsy.”

  “He said you were fine with that. Is that still true? I don’t have to put in anything about it if you’ve changed your mind.” Their daughters were their business and Natalie had decided way back in school that she would never write about a player’s children without their blessing.

  “No, it’s fine. It’s part of his life. It should be in there. Neither of us wants to hide Zoe.”

  “She’s a beautiful girl,” Natalie said. She didn’t think she wanted kids, but she liked other people’s. “But so far, the part about them is just a few sentences. And he asked me not to put in anything about the two of you. So it’s not in there at all.”

  Celia’s face softened. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I…I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

  “Your boss isn’t making you include that?” Bree asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

  Understandable, given what Natalie had just said about the wedding article. “She’s very into the dating and romance stuff. I don’t really understand it. But she hasn’t said anything about including this, so I’m not going to. Not unless she makes it a specific order. And I’ll fight her on it if she does.” Again, frustration tugged at Natalie’s chest. This was not how she envisioned working for a female boss in a male-dominated world. She’d thought they would be trailblazers together.

  She’d written that article about Quinn specifically so she could land the job working for Ellen. Turned out she’d done it so she could write about players’ honeymoons in Hawaii and take pictures of engagement rings.

  Guilt joined the frustration, creating a hollow discomfort inside her. She owed Quinn better. More important, she owed herself better.

  She had to get that promotion. Then she’d have more freedom to write the stories she wanted.

  “Anyway, the profile about Matt will go live in two weeks. Right before they go to London for their game.” Now, that was a perk she was looking forward to. She’d never been overseas, but SLNT was funding her trip to London with the team. She wouldn’t have much time for sightseeing, but somehow she’d find a way to at least take in a few things. She had to.

  Too bad she didn’t get to fly on the team’s charter plane for that. They got all first-class-type accommodations. She would be flying coach on a commercial jet. Still, an all-expenses-paid trip to London was nothing to balk at.

  “I am so jealous about that game,” Bree said. “I’ve never been to Europe. If there’s one away game I wish I could go to, it is definitely that one. I mean, I’m fine not going to Cleveland or Vegas. But London would be amazing.”

  “Not gonna lie, I’m pretty excited. I’m gonna have to figure out a way to go sightseeing and write about it, just so I get to.” Natalie grinned. Then she rolled her eyes. “Maybe one of the players will meet their true love there and I can write about that.”

  All three women laughed.

  “I think Carrie Chamberlain is going. And Seth’s daughter too,” Celia said. “I’m sure the two of them will do some sightseeing. You could somehow turn that into a piece, what Carrie and Maddie do while the men practice.”

  Natalie jotted down the idea. It wasn’t bad. Ellen would inevitably like something about the linebacker’s teen daughter and her stepmom taking in the sights. First a honeymoon in Hawaii, then a team trip to London. Natalie would turn Carrie Chamberlain into a documented world traveler.

  “Anyway, sorry to bust in on your conversation.” Celia stood and patted Natalie on her shoulder. “I should get back to work. There’s so much to do before Monday.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Celia’s shoes clicked swiftly across the lab floor, fading as she disappeared down the hall.

  Bree watched her boss leave with a sad expression on her face. She shook her head slowly. “I cannot figure that one out.”

  “Celia?” Natalie asked. She didn’t know the woman well, had only met her at a few events. Mostly last season when she was pregnant. She’d always struck Natalie as very focused and driven, but friendly. Today she definitely seemed deflated and a little more detached than previous encounters.

  “Yeah. She and Matt were so happy together. Or I thought so. And neither of them talks about why they split. Matt is really close with Marcus and he hasn’t said a thing. We can’t figure it out. It was out of the blue.”

  From the outside, Natalie had the same impression. Then again, people had said the same thing after she broke up with Quinn. Because they hadn’t seen what happened on the inside. They didn’t understand how much his drinking had dug into the darkest memories she had. After they broke up, it hadn’t seemed like anyone else’s business.

  “Sometimes there are things that were there all along, and you ignore them but they creep and creep until you can’t anymore. They’re things you never shared with anyone else, so it seems like a surprise to everyone else.” Yes, she was talking as much about her and Quinn as she was Matt and Celia.

  But there were always things couples didn’t share. Like she wasn’t sharing her kisses with Quinn, except the barest details with Annie. But even then, she wasn’t sharing how it had felt so good. How being in his arms felt more right than with any man she’d been with in the intervening years. How she came alive when he touched her. How if he hadn’t stopped things, she would have let him have all of her.

  How sometimes she fell asleep wishing not only for his kiss, not only for his body. But for him. All of him. His heart.

  How somewhere deep inside, some part of her would always love some part of him.

  * * *

  —

  “I kissed her. Natalie. I kissed Natalie. It was dumb and I loved it and I want to do it again.” Quinn blurted the words out the second he sat down in the chair across from his therapist.

  Meg Cohen adjusted her glasses and watched him quietly. “OK. What’s stopping you from doing it again? Did she end it or did
you?”

  Quinn scrubbed a hand over his face. His stubble scratched his palm. He needed to shave. “I did.”

  “How come?”

  It was a simple question. And an impossible one. “I got scared.” The words felt raw, like barbed wire being dragged out of his throat. He took hits from NFL cornerbacks with the impact of a 30-mph car crash—that felt like more than 100g—without blinking, got back to the line and asked for another.

  But making out with Natalie terrified him.

  Because he’d loved it. Because he felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years. Only football came close to giving him the feeling he got whenever he touched Natalie. But football couldn’t last forever.

  Part of him was starting to believe Natalie could. And that was dangerous.

  Meg made a note on her pad, then looked him straight in the eye. “And what are you afraid of?”

  The way he felt when he woke up that lonely Sunday morning eight years ago and she wasn’t there. And then he read the email telling him nothing and everything.

  The way he felt again a few years later when he read that article. Detailing every fuck-up of his life. His biggest regrets and insecurities laid out for everyone.

  The way his body ached and his chest felt hollow and he wanted to cry but all he could hear was his dad’s voice mocking him that men didn’t cry so he just got blind drunk instead. The way all he really wanted was to beg her to come back; part of him just wanted Natalie back. The part of him that sometimes, in his weakest, most vulnerable moments he could almost admit was still in love with her. It was only a small part. A part he kept buried so deep it would never resurface.

  But it had come close last week. Too close. And without booze to drown it or pills to crush it, he didn’t know how to handle it.

  “I’m afraid she’ll betray me again,” he admitted softly.

  “I didn’t hear you, I’m sorry.”

  He repeated it, louder. Giving the words more weight. More power.

  “We’ve talked a lot about that article, and I understand why that felt like such a betrayal of your trust, even after so much time apart. But let’s talk about the first time. You’ve never really told me anything except that she broke up with you. What happened to make that seem like a betrayal and not just a breakup? Did she cheat on you?” As always, Meg made her voice and her words compassionate, but her face gave nothing away.

  “No, she didn’t cheat. Natalie would never do that.” Somehow, even after all she’d done, he believed that. She probably didn’t even intend to hurt him.

  So he explained as simply as possible how Natalie had left in the middle of the night. And he told Meg that it had been her explaining after so long why she did it that had led to them kissing.

  “So you’ve been holding this grudge for quite some time.” Meg made it more a statement than a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Does knowing why she left change things?”

  There was the million-dollar question. Or at least two-hundred-dollar-an-hour question.

  “She still wrote the article.” Quinn wasn’t sure if he was convincing Meg or himself. He’d done whatever was necessary to claw his way back to the NFL. Why was it so hard to believe Natalie was willing to do the same for the job she wanted?

  He hadn’t needed to betray an old friend to get back, but if he had, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done it. He knew shit about players and coaches from his previous two teams; if dishing on them had been a requirement to get where he was now, he probably would have and not thought twice.

  How could he hold Natalie to a standard higher than he held himself?

  Then again, it didn’t mean he had to like what she’d done, or even forgive it. It certainly didn’t mean he should hook up with her.

  No matter how many times he imagined doing just that. In a mere six days, he’d pictured at least two dozen times what might have happened if he hadn’t had that moment of angry clarity and stopped things. It didn’t mean it was a good idea to hook up with her, but maybe it wasn’t as awful an idea as he’d thought.

  “I know that article hurt you deeply. Which is understandable. But can I ask you something? And I want you to be completely honest with yourself when you answer. There were other reporters who wrote similar articles, sharing the same details, some with even more devastating quotes from your teammates, even if they weren’t all compiled into one article. Do you hold these kinds of grudges against those reporters?”

  Something that felt an awful lot like guilt flushed through him. His cheeks grew uncomfortably warm. “They had jobs to do. They were just…” Shit. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to answer the question.

  “We’ve talked about how everything she wrote was public record. And she used several flattering quotes from teammates and coaches.”

  Quinn squirmed in his chair, an irrational flash of anger bursting in his chest. “So, what, you think I should just start sleeping with her or something? I should just forgive everything that’s happened and date her?”

  Meg leveled him a stern look, unintimidated by his small outburst. “Did I say that? I don’t know if you should hook up with her. But I do know you’re holding on to some very powerful resentment, and that’s not healthy. I’m trying to help you see some perspective on what she did. In previous sessions you’ve even seemed like you sometimes agree that you’ve been harder on her than she deserves for that article.”

  Quinn tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. It was white plaster with wooden beams and he’d done his fair share of visually tracing the pattern of lines in the beams. “I just don’t know what to think about her anymore. I’m glad I know why she broke up with me. But I guess I thought if I ever found out, it would feel more like I finally got closure on it all. Instead, I feel like everything is ripped even more wide open.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  They sat in silence. Quinn didn’t know what else to say, so he waited for her to prompt him.

  “The first thing you said after you told me you kissed her was”—she looked at her notepad—“it was wonderful and you loved it. Is there something wrong with letting yourself have something you enjoy?”

  “I don’t even know if she’d want to. After last week’s game, she made sure to tell me it was a mistake and shouldn’t happen again.” And he couldn’t forget how much he’d wanted to back her up against the nearest wall and kiss her again anyway. How much he wanted to believe she didn’t mean it.

  But as much of a grumpy asshole as he could be, he believed women when they said they weren’t interested.

  “I get the sense, and definitely tell me if I’m wrong, that isn’t what you wanted.”

  He let out a frustrated sound. “I mean, it is. But it’s not. I don’t know. She’s got me all twisted in crazy knots and I don’t know what to do next. But she said she doesn’t want it so how can I do anything else? I’m not gonna be some fucking stalker.”

  “Of course not. So I guess the thing we should be talking about is what kind of relationship you do want with Natalie. And how you see yourself going about it.”

  I want her to love me like she did before.

  Fuck. Fuck his stupid sappy glutton-for-punishment heart for still feeling this way. Meg was good, digging that thought up from wherever he’d buried it. But he couldn’t make himself admit it out loud, even to his therapist.

  So now he had to figure out all on his own what the hell he was going to do about Natalie.

  Chapter 12

  It was unseasonably warm for the first week of November, which worked out perfectly for the Baxter Center for Traumatic Brain Injury Research’s benefit dinner. Natalie stood on the Milwaukee Art Museum’s patio, sipping a glass of Cabernet and enjoying the breeze off Lake Michigan. Though her bare left shoulder was a little chilly, she didn’t m
ind staying outside a few more minutes. She needed a moment alone before she could go back in and deal with Quinn.

  Every time she looked at him, she wanted him more. She’d started thinking maybe it wouldn’t be such a horrible thing if they kissed again. Or even if they maybe hooked up once or twice. Just to clear the tension between them, so they could move on. Closure, or something.

  Because she’d dated plenty since they broke up and she’d never had sex as good as she had with Quinn. And dammit, she deserved some good sex. It wasn’t like she was going to fall in love with him again.

  Of course he’d given no indication he shared her feelings. Now that she was done shadowing Matt, she barely talked to Quinn. There’d been no more calls asking for help on a car.

  She’d pathetically considered pretending she needed help with something that was wrong with her truck, but she couldn’t bring herself to deliberately harm the vehicle she’d worked so hard on. Plus, the whole reason he’d called that night was because she was better with the older cars. If she asked for help on a 1951 car, he’d see right through her ruse.

  A strong gust lifted her loose hair, tossing it around her face. She shivered. Her amethyst-colored dress had a long sleeve on her right arm but was strapless on the left. She loved the way the asymmetrical style looked—flirty without being unprofessional—but it did leave her left side at the mercy of the elements.

  She took the last sip of her wine and went inside to find a place to leave the empty glass. Once that was done, she wandered along the tables lining one side of the room, displaying silent-auction items. She didn’t need game tickets and signed merchandise wasn’t her thing. The romantic weekend for two at the Kohler resort and spa sounded amazing, but she’d leave that for someone who had a significant other to take.

  A local spa had donated two massage sessions, so she had to bid on those. Her neck was in a perpetual state of rock-solidness. She found a few more items, gift certificates for restaurants, and a beautiful handmade earrings-and-necklace set made by one of the players’ wives that would be a perfect birthday present for Annie. She couldn’t afford to win all the items, but they were all such good prizes, it was likely she’d be outbid on all of them.