by Jillian Dodd
Danny
After the game is over, I consider texting Jennifer from the locker room and asking if she’d like to come down. I know the guys would love to meet her. I imagine wrapping my arm around her and proudly introducing her to everyone. But, as usual, there are reporters in here as well. And none of them know that I’m about to announce my divorce. In less than forty-eight hours, I will be able to take Jennifer out in public. I can shower her with attention anywhere and everywhere.
If she wants it.
Most of the time, it seems like she does.
And I was shocked at how devastated I felt when she said she was leaving. That girl has no idea how hard it is for me to keep her at arm’s length. I thought having her here, hanging out with her, and getting to know her would maybe make me like her less. That, over the years, I put her so far up on a pedestal in my mind that she could never live up to it.
But she’s added scaffolding and built that pedestal even higher than I could have imagined. She’s my dream and so much more. Not only is she very real, she’s funny and freaking adorable.
I go through the motions of my postgame routine. Speak to reporters, sign autographs, do the press conference, congratulate the team. I know that Jadyn and Phillip have already gone home in order to try to get the kids to bed since it’s a school night. It was a big deal that Chase and Damon were allowed to come.
I walk out to my car to find the girl who’s been on my mind all day leaning against my old truck.
“I was looking for your Ferrari. I thought all top athletes drove their hottest cars on game day.”
“Not me,” I say. “I’ve never driven it to the stadium. I drive this instead.”
“And why’s that?” she asks.
“Tradition, maybe.”
“Oh, boy. Are you one of those guys who won’t change his socks all season?”
“Sometimes.” I laugh. “But this isn’t like that. I drove this Tahoe in college. Drove it to the stadium the first time I visited after I signed. I’ve driven it to every game since. It’s not a superstition though. It’s more about remembering how far I’ve come. The guy who took off for college in this truck had big dreams. The guy who got drafted to a professional team had even bigger ones.”
“And the guy who drives it now still has an empty wall to fill,” she says, completely understanding me.
I take a step closer to her, feeling awestruck. My wife chastised me for keeping my old truck. She bitched when I put a new motor in it to keep it running. She didn’t get why it was important. Jennifer understood after only a few sentences.
In that moment, I don’t give a shit who might see. I lower my lips to hers.
“This kiss,” she murmurs, “it reminds me of that night. It wasn’t deep, yet it wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t long, yet it felt like it lasted forever. It’s exactly the same as it was on the beach—profoundly fierce yet achingly, heartbreakingly soft.”
“That’s how I felt. Like my heart was literally breaking, knowing I couldn’t do what felt so right. What still feels so right.” I lead her around to the passenger side and open the door for her.
When we get home, I walk her up the stairs and to her door.
“Want to come in for a nightcap?” she asks.
I know the last thing either of us wants is a drink. I also know, based on the ugly bruises forming on my ribs and shoulder from the sacks I took, I’m going to be sore as heck tomorrow.
I pick her up, carry her over the threshold, through Jadyn’s office, and straight to her bedroom. She’s got her arms around my neck, holding me tight, and our lips move in a fervent kiss as I lie on top of her on the bed.
She pulls off my suit jacket as I’m tugging off her shirt and undoing her bra, knowing nothing is going to stop us. Our naked chests touch, igniting a passion in me I thought I’d grown out of. An uncontrollable lust-filled need. I’m devouring her lush lips, roughly running my hands across her beautiful breasts, slipping my hand down her pants—
Ring, ring.
I barely register the noise. The feel of her trembling under my touch has set my body aflame. I can see the goal line. The finish. The big score.
Ring, ring.
“Danny,” she says, pulling her lips away from mine, “don’t you think you should answer it? It might be the kids.”
I kiss her again, trying to wish away the noise.
Ring, ring.
I sigh loudly and get off the bed, my body aching the second our skin stops touching. I pick my jacket off the floor and pat it down, looking for my phone, as it rings again.
“Dad!” Devaney says when I answer, sounding like she’s crying. “I was worried sick about you! Why didn’t you answer?”
“I, uh—” I say, my mind coming up blank, mostly because my eyes are focused on Jennifer, topless, lying across the bed.
“Whatever. You should be home by now.”
“Are you crying?” I ask, trying to assess the seriousness of her situation versus the seriousness of mine.
“Yes, I am. Because Mom just called from Bermuda and lost it. She found out about the party from one of the cheer moms. I don’t think she knows everything, but she’s very angry.”
“Well, Dani, what you did—”
“Yeah, no. She’s not just mad at me. She said some really hateful things about you. That’s why I’m crying. How come you aren’t home yet? I need you to be home.”
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her, ending the call.
I close my eyes and let out a sigh.
Topless Jennifer sits up, quickly pulling on her shirt. “Is she okay?”
“She’s upset. Lori found out about the party.” I glance at my phone and see the other two calls were from her. “Yelled at her. Apparently said some hateful things about me. I need to go calm her down.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“We’d probably better call it a night. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Danny. For whatever it’s worth, I had fun tonight. Thank you for inviting me to the game.”
“Thank you for not leaving,” I tell her.
“Are we still hanging out tomorrow?” she asks as she walks me out. “Phillip said you’d probably have to get therapy or something.”
“I will in the morning, but I’ll pick you up around eleven. We’ll have lunch and then shop.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she says, pulling me to her lips for a really wonderful good-night kiss.
October 31st
Jennifer
I wake up to more texts from Troy. I know I should block his number and forget about him, but I can’t pretend like he doesn’t exist.
Troy: If you come home, I’ll go to rehab.
Me: You need to go, no matter what I do. Rehab is for you.
Troy: No, I’d be doing it for you. You’re my light, remember?
Me: Have you seen the video footage of yourself at the brothel?
Troy: No.
Me: You should watch it. Then maybe you would understand why I don’t want to come home. And pay close attention to what you said when one of the girls asked you about your Eddy tattoo.
I get up and get myself ready. I want to look amazing for my day with Danny but still casual. I end up with a cute graphic tee, skinny jeans tucked into boots, and a blazer.
Troy: I watched it. I get that you’re mad. I would be, too. But it was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.
Me: That’s where you are wrong. If you can’t understand that, then I didn’t mean anything to you either.
I set my phone to vibrate and then go downstairs to wait for Danny.
“Hey, Angel,” I say as she kisses my hand in greeting and wags her tail. “How’s my new best friend today? Let’s go sit in our spot, shall we?”
I grab a cup of coffee, see a note from Jadyn that she’ll be at school parties most of the day, and head to the study. Angel follows me, choosing to lie in front of the windows in the sunshine.
I close my eyes and
try to decide what to do. I’m going back to LA tomorrow. I probably need to find myself somewhere to live. The question is, do I see Troy or not? Should I help him get to rehab? Make promises I have no intention of keeping for his own good? Or would that just be setting him up for failure?
Jason: You told him to watch the video?!
Me: Yeah, maybe if he sees what rock bottom looks like to the rest of us, he’ll want to go to rehab. That’s what you want, right?
Jason: He’s sobbing. On the floor, sobbing. I don’t know what to do with him.
Me: Neither do I. Maybe it’s time we stop being his crutch. Maybe he still hasn’t hit bottom yet. It’s his life. At some point, he’s going to have to decide what he wants to do with it.
Jason: I ordered a new car with my cut of Vegas.
Me: So, you don’t really care about him … or me. Don’t message me again, Jason.
I close my eyes, trying to shut out the world.
A short time later, the front door opens, and Danny hobbles in.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, this is what the day after a game looks like.” He pulls his shirt up and shows me a massive bruise over his ribs.
“Danny! That looks horrible.” I leap out of my chair and kneel in front of him, gently touching the contusion. “Are your ribs broken?”
“No, just bruised. Hurts like a bitch, but it will be fine in time for the next game.”
He stares down at me. I look up and realize, well, that I’m kneeling in front of him. In perfect position to unzip his jeans and give him a big sideline blow—or whatever that term was that made me laugh. I start to rise, but then a tattoo catches my eye. As I stand, I pull his shirt up a little further. Down his side are letters spelling out his last name, the font including a diamond shape. I allow my finger to trace over each and every letter.
“What else do you have?” I purr.
He starts to take off his shirt but then groans. “You’re going to have to help me. I should have worn a button-up today. Easier to get in and out of.”
I raise my hand. “If you need a volunteer, I’m happy to help you get undressed. You know, since you are injured and all.”
He laughs as I gently tug his shirt up over his head. I don’t see any on his front, so I shuffle behind him, trailing my finger across the top of his jeans along the way. On his shoulder is a bold red N.
I read the words inside it.
“That’s the end of the prayer the Nebraska players say before each game.” He recites the entire poem in his normal voice, but when he gets to the part that is tattooed, he starts speaking louder, chanting it out, “Can’t be beat! Won’t be beat!”
“I like it,” I say, taking the time to admire his back in all its chiseled glory. “Any more?”
He holds out his left arm, so I continue to circle him, thinking of a show I used to watch where witches would circle a man in order to cast an effective spell on him, usually one that involved his love and passionate desires. I sigh, wishing I had such talents.
His left bicep is tattooed with the word Champs in script as well as the Roman numerals of the year of his first win and the Lombardi Trophy encased in swirls. Toward the bottom is another banner indicating his second win.
“Do you have plans for more?”
He flips his wrist, showing me that my marker-written name is nearly gone. “Maybe I should make it permanent.”
My heart flutters at the thought of seeing my name tattooed on him. I go into the kitchen, grab a permanent marker from a drawer, and proceed to re-sign his arm.
“I love it,” he says, although the way he says it makes me feel like he just told me he was in love with me. “I suppose we’d better get going if we want to have lunch before our appointment.”
He takes me to a busy restaurant outside of an upscale mall. We sit at the bar, order a drink and some food, and chat.
“I come here a lot,” he says. “They have the best crab cakes. When I sit at the bar, with my back toward the restaurant, usually, no one really notices me.”
“What happened last night? Did you call your wife?”
“No way. I got Dani calmed down and collapsed in bed. It was late; I wasn’t going to deal with Lori. She can tell me whatever was so important tomorrow when we sign the papers. Besides, I’m pretty sure she texted me everything she wanted to say.”
“Was she mad?”
“Of course, and the party was clearly all my fault,” he says with a laugh.
When our drinks are served, he toasts to orange roses, Halloween, and me.
I really don’t remember much of the rest of lunch other than the intensity in which he looked at me. The rest didn’t really matter.
After lunch, we drive a short distance to a kitchen design center.
While we’re waiting for our salesperson, I say, “Do you have to change your backsplash?”
“I guess not. Why?”
“I don’t know. It reminds me of the ocean, and I think it’s pretty.”
“Do you think I should leave the kitchen as is?” he asks.
“Well, I’d definitely get rid of the electric-blue color and all the peacock-ness.”
“Jadyn told me to look around and see if I fall in love with anything.” He stops in his tracks and gazes into my eyes. “I think I just found it,” he says, the corners of his mouth pulling into a little smirk. “Can I install you in my kitchen?”
“That sounds so old-fashioned,” I tease. “You want me barefoot and pregnant, too?”
The smirk turns to a full-on grin. “Not a bad idea.” He stops again and shakes his head. “This is all so backward.”
“What is?” I ask.
“Us,” he says.
The designer’s eyes get big when she sees me. “Um, Jennifer Edwards,” she says with a stutter, “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m in town, visiting Jadyn, and since she couldn’t come with Danny today, Halloween parties and all, she sent me.”
“Oh, I see. Um, have you seen anything that you like?”
“I saw one thing that I really liked,” Danny says. The second she turns her back, he flicks my hand, indicating that he meant me. Then he smiles.
The kind of adorable smile that makes me melt. Seriously, when did I turn all girlie?
Most of the guys I dated, it was because we became fast friends, had fun hanging out, and hooked up. Danny is the only guy who makes me feel all the things I’ve acted out in so many movies. The butterflies in my stomach, the goose bumps, heart beating faster, stars in my eyes, strung out on love, and feeling like I might literally die if I can’t be with him. The kind of stuff fairy tales are made of—the one true love, kiss her to wake her up, live happily ever after.
The girl leads us into a smaller room where she has a computer model of Danny’s kitchen now along with three different material design boards.
“Okay,” she says, her professionalism returning, “in this one, Jadyn suggested a medium-gray paint on the walls, leaving your cabinets and trim white. The wood floors would be darkened, as I think you are planning to do throughout the house.” She holds up a sample tile. “The backsplash has been changed to a soft gray marble to coordinate with a new gray marble countertop. Notice that the island has been painted a deep shade of gray. Industrial barstools and simple pendant lightning complete the look. What do you think?”
“I think we should see all the options before we decide,” he says.
She moves us down the table to another set of samples and switches her computer rendering. “For option two, the island is stained a shade darker than the floor, the white cabinets have been given a glaze to make them look more rustic, and reclaimed wood is added to the hood area to give it more of a Tuscan farmhouse feel.”
She doesn’t bother asking for his opinion this time, but right now, I’m sort of loving the farmhouse look.
“In the third option, the island has been painted what I’m told is the same blue-green as your study.” She ho
lds up a sample tile. In this version, the backsplash has been replaced with the most gorgeous tiles I think I’ve ever seen in my life, causing me to gasp.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. “Ribbons of mother of pearl are swirled into a pure white marble. In this mock-up, it runs all the way to the ceiling behind the hood, which has been replaced with an industrial wood and metal version.”
The result is glamorous, casual, and cozy. Is there such a thing as industrial glam?
“Which one do you like best?” I ask Danny, trying not to influence him.
But I know this; I will be begging Jadyn to help me design wherever I end up living. My heart skips a beat at the thought of this kitchen being our kitchen, of raising a family with him, and of giving up the lifestyle I have had. Part of me worries about giving something up for a man. Regardless of if I end up with Danny, someone else, or by myself, I’m ready to slow down. I’m ready to start a family.
Danny goes back to study each mock-up. Finally, he points to the last one and says, “I like certain elements of each design, but I love this one. Love that the tile is a little flashy but is toned down by the rustic industrial elements. And that island color is my favorite.” He turns to me. “What do you think?”
“Well, considering I gasped over that tile, you could probably tell which one I loved. Upon closer inspection, I also like how she used the same basic color palette for everything already redone on that floor—your study and the master suite. I feel like this will continue to tie it all together.”
“I guess we’ll take it,” Danny says.