It’s as much of a blessing for the project and as big of a commitment as she can make for now. I’ll take what I can get.
“I hope you mean that, because I’m going to knock this proposal out of the park.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t that the wrong sports analogy for what we’re working with?”
“Who knows? Maybe football is only the tip of the iceberg.” And maybe this book is only the start of something major for us and Team Stitches.
“ARE YOU SURE?” I ASK the gate attendant for the third time.
“Yes, ma’am,” the young man with perfectly sleeked back hair and a neatly fitted uniform says. “That’s what it says right here.”
“But I’m supposed to be in coach . . .”
“I’m just telling you what it says here.” His perma-smile stays in place, though I imagine he’d like to smack me for questioning something other people would probably cheer about without question.
“But . . .”
“Would you like to give your first class ticket up to someone else?”
“No. Not that.” I stare down at the ticket stub on the counter. I’ve never flown first class before. I’ve never even been given extra leg room. Yet now I’m suddenly upgraded. “I’m just curious how it happened.”
The attendant shrugs. “Sometimes this happens on oversold flights. Or maybe someone paid for an upgrade.”
“That’s not likely.” The only person who would conceivably do that is Brook. Much as my husband loves me, I don’t think first class tickets are exactly in our budget plan. Particularly not if he’s putting away money for our yet-to-be-conceived, or frankly yet-to-be-fully decided, future offspring. He’s just responsible enough to do something like that.
“Well . . .” The attendant slides the ticket closer to me. “I’d say today is your lucky day.”
Taking it, I return to my chair a few yards away. I’ll admit, when the gate agent called my name over the intercom, I’d been expecting something worse. Like maybe I was being bumped from this flight and would be stranded in Denver overnight. Or maybe there was some sort of family emergency, and they were inexplicably contacting me at the airport instead of on my own phone. For a moment, I even wondered if Christopher was second-guessing the trade we made over breakfast before Amelia picked me up. I considered a number of outcomes, but none of them included me being upgraded to first class.
First class. I feel like Beyoncé. Except she flies private. So does Jennifer Lawrence, I bet, and probably most other big deal celebrities. Still, I feel like a pretty big, basic cable TV star celebrity right now. Maybe it’s a sign that everything is starting to look up after my wonky little week back home.
I’m called up to board along with the rest of the first class passengers, and I keep waiting for someone to pop out and say I’m going to be featured on a prank show. It doesn’t happen. Instead, I’m guided to a seat in the front of the plane. It’s hard not to gape at the spacious seating and leg room, but I do my best to give the illusion that I do this all the time and it isn’t a huge deal.
A flight attendant helps me place my luggage in the overhead bin and offers to bring me a glass of wine and a bottle of water while I wait for the rest of the plane to load. It’s getting harder and harder not to gloat, but come on. First class! Free wine! More leg room! And all for a huge cost I’m apparently never going to be billed.
More to keep me looking busy than out of curiosity, I open the fantasy app on my phone. I wince when I see that both of my teams are in serious trouble this week. We haven’t even made it to Sunday, and already I’m projected to lose in both leagues because of player injuries. The most difficult to swallow is Todd Northwood. I practically built Team MacLaughlin around him and the case of turf toe he developed during last week’s game could pose a problem for the rest of my season.
After everything we’ve been through together, it’s hard to believe Todd would do me like that now when I need him most to come back for redemption after my forced loss.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a deep voice calls from the aisle. “I believe I have the window seat.”
Startled from my reading, I glance up at the tall looming figure and I freeze. Oh. My. God. Either this glass of wine and first class treatment has gone straight to my head or I’m staring into the face of the king himself, one of the best quarterbacks of all time: Todd Northwood.
“Ma’am?” His brow wrinkles in concern, the way I’ve seen it happen hundreds of times on TV.
No. I’m not drunk on booze or luxury. I’m about to share a flight with the Todd Northwood, and oh my God, how am I possibly going to keep my act together so I don’t embarrass myself?
Chapter Eighteen
I’M TOTALLY FREAKING out here. I mean, it’s Todd Northwood. If he hadn’t accidentally stepped on my toes and dropped a playbook on his way to the window seat, I’d think I was hallucinating.
All while our plane finished loading then taxied on the runway preparing for takeoff, I pretended to be interested in my phone, which was frankly a stretch after I put it on airplane mode. I couldn’t help casting sideways glances at the man sitting next to me. In the flesh. It’s like the star of my fantasy football career just magically appeared. No, it’s not like that—it is exactly what happened.
There are a million things I want to say to him—so much I want to ask, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Much as I want to fangirl all over him right now, even more than that, I’d like to keep my dignity. Don’t I?
When the plane hits cruising altitude, he catches me ogling him and smiles. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
I nod sheepishly. “I do.”
“You’re trying really hard not to ask me what I’m doing here instead of rehabbing at home. Aren’t you?”
I always knew North and I had a special relationship. I just hadn’t realized it ran this deep. He so gets me.
“Do I get any points for not asking?”
“Sure. I’m feeling generous.” He offers his hand. “You already know me, but who are you?”
Your biggest fan. Your most faithful fantasy football team manager. A girl about one breath away from having a massive gushing attack. “I’m Harper.”
“Pleased to meet you, Harper. What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m nobody.”
“That’s pretty subjective. We’re all nobody and somebody depending on who you ask.”
I’m not entirely sure that’s accurate coming from a two-time Super Bowl MVP. But I suppose if you threw out his name to someone who doesn’t follow sports it might not mean what it does to me.
“Let’s try that again.” North shakes my hand. “I’m Todd Northwood. I pass footballs and sometimes people catch them. I’m on the injury list this week—in case you want to file that away for your fantasy lineup—and I’m flying to Seattle to support my team.”
“You didn’t fly out with them yesterday?”
“No, ma’am. I wanted to get an extra session in with my physical therapist and—” He shakes his head. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m a little chattier than usual thanks to the pain pills the doc gave me. Now it’s your turn.”
“Well, I’m Harper. My husband is an assistant coach at Seattle State, actually, and I’m on my way back after visiting our family in Nebraska.”
“Who’s your husband?”
“Brook MacLaughlin.”
“MacLaughlin . . . Sorry, I’m not sure I know him. How long has he been there?”
“It’s his first season. He coached at a high school up until this year.”
“Offense or defense?”
“Offense.”
“So he works with Griggs?”
“Yes.” My heart does a little flutter. Even though I find Griggs creepy, it’s still a thrill to think that Todd Northwood knows him. Brook is only one degree away from North. That makes me two degrees away from him. We’re practically family. Maybe I should get his address for our Christmas card list.
“Hmm. H
ow does he like it so far?”
“It’s been an adjustment.” I should probably pretend it is all sunshine and rainbows, but I can’t lie to North. “It’s essentially the same game, but the way you coach it—the way you play it—the stakes are all different.”
“That’s true enough. Now,” he folds his arms across his chest, “I’m a little curious about something.”
“Okay . . .”
“I asked what you do—twice—and the first time you said you were no one—”
“Nobody, actually.” Oh my God. I just corrected Todd Northwood. Excuse me while I melt into my seat and disappear.
Nonplussed by my interruption, he continues. “The second time you told me about your husband. Why is that?”
“I guess that’s usually what people are more interested in hearing about. My life isn’t terribly exciting on its own.”
“That’s another one of those subjective deals. But even if you believe that, it doesn’t make what you do any less important.”
Okay, I get that Todd Northwood is one of the most brilliant football minds of all time, but does he also dabble in philosophy or psychology, or whatever it is that’s happening here? Because he’s spot on. This is my life, and I should own it proudly. At least, that’s where I think he’s going with this. He’s on painkillers and I’m on my second glass of wine. There are bound to be a few crossed wires in communication.
“Okay, how’s this? Right now I do administrative work in the recruitment office. It’s basically a ceremonial position created just for me because of my husband. That’s not self-deprecation, Todd—I mean, Mr. Northwood. It was seriously part of his hiring package.”
His lip twitches. “Call me Todd and keep going.”
“Well . . . I spend half of my days tinkering with spreadsheets that are already fine and the other half working on my side business.”
“You have a business? You’ve been holding out on me.”
I launch into an explanation of what Team Stitches is and what we do. I show him photos on my phone and tell him about the upcoming book pitch. He inspects the scarf I hand him and he looks halfway impressed.
“That’s pretty cool. My wife loves this sort of thing.”
Somehow this prompts me to tell him about what’s going on with Amelia and her switch from apathy to anxiety and back and forth again. That, in turn, leads me to spilling my own fears about starting a family while I’m building a business and dealing with this new life as a college football coach’s wife. Then I get into J.J.’s issues. I don’t say his name on the off chance North has heard of him. I might be spilling my guts to a famous stranger, but that doesn’t mean I have to air my friend’s laundry. That’s the only restraint I seem to have. It is seriously way too easy for me to talk to North.
“That is a lot for one person.” He taps his chin thoughtfully, which reminds me of Brook. “Here’s another question: What makes you think you can’t do it all?”
“I guess it just seems improbable—the whole concept of having it all. It’s a nice idea, but it doesn’t seem to work out.”
At a certain point, something has to give. Unless you’re a superhero. And unless I’ve somehow developed the power of flight or mind reading, I’m regular old me.
“I’m not going to say that isn’t true. I’m probably not one to talk. I have a lot of support and resources at my disposal,” he admits. “It still isn’t easy, but it’s manageable. Here’s a question, though. If you didn’t have any of these obstacles standing in your way, what would you want to do? Would you want a family?”
“Of course.” It’s strange, but until it became a legitimate topic, I thought about it a lot. “It was something I figured would happen someday. I just didn’t realize someday would eventually become today.”
“So you want to have kids?”
“Yes. Definitely.” My heart hitches a little, because it’s scary to say that out loud. Fear has always been a strong emotion for me. I’ve come a long way in overcoming my fears, but they’re still part of my basic composition. I got over my fear of having my heart broken when I went ahead and fell for Brook. I got over my fear of failure with Team Stitches and went on to tackle this book deal with open arms. Maybe my fear of not living up to my own expectations of being a mom is what’s holding me back. And maybe it’s time I get over it. Especially if that’s the only thing holding me back from something I always wanted.
“I’m not telling you what to do, but having kids has been one of the best parts of my life.” North pulls out his own phone and turns to show me pictures of his children, who I’ve seen in the stands and in dozens of documentaries and news conferences. “You’d think winning a Super Bowl would be the best thing a guy like me would ever do in his life. Heck, for a while, even I thought that. But when you become a parent . . . I can’t even explain it right. It’s like winning ten Super Bowls and all on the same day.”
“Ten Super Bowls in one day. Even on the days when your kid is talking back or pooping through his diapers or—”
“Okay, those aren’t the greatest days. But when you land on a good day on the other side of the bad day, it’s just the best. And getting a Super Bowl ring isn’t always pretty either. Still, it’s worth it.”
I suppose the guy would know—he has four kids. It’s also the exact sort of thing I can imagine Brook saying.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” Actually, in a way, he’s given me one less thing to think about. I’m going to sleep on it, but . . . maybe I’m open to trying. Well, maybe not trying, trying, but I could go off my birth control and leave it up to nature. I just took the last of my pills yesterday, actually, and planned to start my new pack when I got home . . .
“As for the situation with your friend—the former football player—don’t be too hard on him.” Catching my outrage, he chuckles. “I’m not saying you should let him off easy either. He broke the law and he needs to pay the consequences. He also lied to you about it, which isn’t cool. But give him a chance to explain. Let him prove he deserves your trust again. No matter how well you think you know a person, you can never truly understand what they’re going through.”
“Mr. Northwood—Todd—I don’t say this lightly, but if you do retire after this season—” He cocks an eyebrow, but I ignore it. “You should really get your own podcast or advice column.”
He laughs again. “Well, I’ve had to work with a lot of people over the years. No two people are exactly alike, and the sooner you figure that out, the easier it is to find a way to coexist.”
Yeah, I would definitely tune in for his weekly podcast. In one flight, he’s managed to resolve more of my issues than I’ve been able to work out in months.
The plane bounces onto the tarmac, and for the first time, I realize just how much time has passed. I’ve been blabbering away this whole time, pouring out my soul to Todd freaking Northwood. We fall silent and pick up our respective places. I wait for the go-ahead to turn on my cell phone. It takes a few moments to find the network, but then the messages come rolling in. Two from Kristen. A couple from J.J., including one saying I’ll need to take an Uber home, because he’s at the Griggses’s house to watch the Sounds game. And there are a whole series from Brook.
Brook: Welcome home! (Flowers) (Champagne) (Raised Hands)
Curious to hear about your flight upgrade.
You're a high ballin’ big roller now.
Hope you enjoyed it, because if we keep losing and I get fired, we’ll barely be able to afford bus tickets to Spokane.
Poor Blitz will have to give up organic food. It’s always the children who suffer most. And the perfect, sweet, understanding wives.
Turning off my phone for game. Love you.
Then there’s a new Snapchat message from him. I press play and Brook’s face fills the screen. He taps his heart three times and points at the camera, at me. There’s a cat call and heckling in the background and he shoots an annoyed glare—and a middle finger—at whoever is gi
ving him grief before giving me a party wink.
I grin, and North gestures to the phone. “Is that your husband?”
“Yep.” I’m still too in awe by this whole experience—and too charmed by Brook—to be bothered that a stranger was looking at my message over my shoulder. I mean, it’s Todd Northwood. It’s not like it’s a real stranger danger situation.
“He seems like a good guy.”
“He is.” He’s nice, funny, adorable, and dorky. And I love him. So much. I can’t wait to have his babies. There’s a hitch in my heart, one of excitement rather than fear. Because it’s true. I can’t wait to start a family with Brook. It doesn’t really matter when or how or what it looks like. Whenever it happens—whether it’s this year or in ten years—it’ll be an exciting and fun experience, because I’ll be doing it with him. Maybe he’ll miss out on some diaper changings, and maybe it won’t always be pretty. Still, we’ll be on the same team. I know he won’t let me down. I’m as sure of that as I am that I’ll do my best to not let him down either.
We can do this. Why wait ten years? But first things first. I have to pitch the Team Stitches book on Tuesday, and then we can talk about babies. This might be the last time I get to do something completely in the order I want, and I’m going to do it my way.
“Aren’t you going to reply?”
I tear my eyes away from the now blank screen and turn to North. “Hmm?”
“Your husband. Aren’t you going to send him a Snap back?”
Dude, I’m in danger of freaking out again. I’m on friendly terms with Todd Northwood. He’s an honest-to-God real person who gave me advice and is now directing me on how to better manage my social platform. (Or at least my game where my husband is concerned.)
“I probably should.”
“Want a little help?”
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