by Julia Blake
In her heart of hearts, Rachel hoped she was right because right now she needed something—anything—to distract from the gnawing pain of loss and the ache of wounded pride.
NICK STRAIGHTENED his tie for the third time since sitting down in the director’s chair. The empty one that Kevin would (hopefully) sit down in any minute from now stared back at him. Yet again everything was riding on this interview, but instead of his job on the line it was his happiness. His future with Rachel. His chance to really and truly apologize in a way she’d understand. He wanted to get it right, but first he needed his interview subject to show up.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and gave it a shake. “It’s going to be great, man,” said Andrew, Mindy’s friend from Behind the Highlights. They were sitting in the website’s tiny studio.
“It will be,” he said more to reassure himself than anything else. It had been a week since he’d been laid off. Two weeks since he’d last seen Rachel. Whatever time he didn’t spend sleeping he’d spent prepping for this interview. Erica and Mindy were both quietly helping him, risking their jobs in the process. They all knew the stakes of the interview. A young man’s career. An apology. A chance at happiness.
“All we need is the football player,” said Andrew with a nod at the empty chair.
He cleared his throat and tried to keep the worry from his voice. “That’s right.”
The door swung open and, as though his words had summoned him, there Kevin was. He wore a suit this time, sober and serious, but in every other way he looked unchanged. Behind him followed his mother and his father.
Nick stood, setting his notebook aside. He crossed the short distance to the door, weaving around the lights to get to them, and extended his hand. “Kevin, Mr. Loder, Mrs. Loder. Thank you so much for agreeing to do this.”
Kevin clasped his hand and gave it a pump. “No problem.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the media blowup after the other story—”
“But you’re not sorry about showing my son on TV looking like he did?” shot Mrs. Loder.
Kevin settled a hand on his mother’s forearm. “We talked about this, Mom.”
“I just don’t know why anyone would do something like that.”
Before Nick could say anything, Kevin said, “He did it because it’s his job. Just like outrunning cornerbacks is going to be my job soon.” The young man grinned. “It’s not personal.”
“I promise you, it never was,” said Nick. “And for what it’s worth, sometimes we have to report on things we really don’t want to. I can’t hope for your forgiveness, Mrs. Loder, but if I can, I’d like to take one little step toward making things right. If I’ve learned anything from your son, it’s that you should never discount his tenacity.”
Catherine Loder’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she inclined her head just a little bit. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was a start.
“Okay.” Andrew clapped his hands together. “Should we get started?”
Kevin pointed to the chairs. “Right here?”
“That’s right,” said Nick, moving around a light to return to his seat.
He watched the athlete settle his tall frame into the little collapsible chair. Then Kevin took the mic from a waiting producer and slipped it under his shirt to clip it on his collar.
“I told you you’d get good at that,” said Nick with a smile.
“I’ve been getting a lot of practice. I’ve been on all the morning shows. Do you know how early you’ve got to wake up for those? Four a.m. I didn’t even know what four looked like before a couple weeks ago.”
Nick tapped his pen on his pad, the nagging guilt pulling at him again. “Look, before we start—”
“You already apologized. That’s enough for me,” said Kevin with a shrug. “Besides, it feels good to finally stop hiding my anxiety stuff.”
“And how’s—” He stopped. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t use this as a chance to mine details about Rachel. If she was hurting, she should have her privacy. If she was already dating again . . . He should be a bigger man, but the thought made him feel like a hundred-pound weight was pressing on his chest.
“You want to know how Ms. Pollard’s doing?” Kevin asked, his eyes sympathetic.
Nick looked down at his pad of paper, staring blankly at the lines. “Yes, I do.”
“She’s Ms. Pollard. She’s tougher than either of us will ever be.”
Nick nodded. He was happy to hear that—really, he was. He didn’t want to think about her hurt and angry. She deserved better than that.
“Okay,” he said, drawing in a breath. “I’m glad she’s doing okay.”
Kevin laughed. “She’s not okay. She’s mad and disappointed and hurt. She does a good job of hiding it, but I think she misses you.”
Hope swelled in his chest. Even if she missed him the tiniest bit, that meant that there was a chance—a slim, slim chance—that she might listen to him. If only he could get a second chance at apologizing, to show her that he never meant to hurt her.
“That’s good to hear. Okay”—he straightened in his chair and touched the knot of his tie to make sure it was centered—“let’s do this.”
Chapter 23
Rachel’s phone alarm blared at five thirty in the morning. This was sleeping in considering the early wake ups she’d had to keep for Kevin’s interview schedule in the last two weeks, but five thirty still sucked the way that five thirty always sucked.
Still, routine helped keep her mind busy and off Nick, so she rolled over, shut the damn alarm off, and sleepily sat up. Check her emails. Change into workout clothes. Hit her building’s gym. Shower. Get to work. It was the same thing she did every morning. It was her way of knowing that she’d push through this day just like she’d pushed through the one before that and the one before that.
Easing her glasses on, she opened up her email. About fifty messages had dinged through in the six hours she’d been asleep. A pretty normal night. What wasn’t normal was a subjectless email from Kevin sent around two in the morning.
All the email said was: Have you seen this? with a link to a website. She clicked the link, and a Behind the Highlights’ article popped up. A bold headline read “Loder: All I Want to Do Is Play Football.”
Her heart started pounding as she clicked on the video player. She hadn’t approved an interview for Behind the Highlights. A title slate flashed up with Behind the Highlights’ logo. Then the slate dropped and showed Kevin shot over the shoulder of a man with sandy-blond hair. “Is that . . . ?” she murmured as Kevin began to speak.
“I didn’t really know how bad it looked until I saw the video of myself on that sidewalk. When you have panic attacks, you know how scary they are from the inside, but you don’t know what it looks like to other people. I thought, ‘People must think I’m having a heart attack. No wonder all the scouts are freaking out.’ ”
She gripped her phone tighter. “What the hell is going on?”
The camera cut and suddenly an isolation shot of Nick filled her screen. “I want you to take me back to that day we talked. Tell me what happened.”
Her eyes widened and she stared. Nick wasn’t with Behind the Highlights. And what the hell was her client doing talking to him?
And yet as the interview went on her dread began to ease. This wasn’t Nick going back for blood. This was different. He was showing Kevin for exactly what he was—a great kid who had a monster talent. Instead of kneeling on the pavement gasping for breath, Kevin was completely at ease. He laughed as the interview touched on his high school coaches, his relationship with his parents, his desire to play football. He was charming, engaging. He came across as a nice guy, totally without artifice. A guy you wanted to root for.
The interview was long, but Rachel watched, sitting cross-legged in bed, unable to look away. Around the
six-minute mark, the camera cut back to Nick. He looked down at his notes and then up at Kevin. “You have an agent named Rachel Pollard.”
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t you tell me about Rachel?” Nick prompted.
Kevin grinned. “She’s like the aunt I never had. She’s always there making sure I’m doing the right thing at the right time. She’s been fighting for me behind the scenes, taking all of the heat during this whole mess. She protects me.”
“But she doesn’t know you’re doing this interview right now.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why is that?” Nick asked.
“She wouldn’t let me do it if she knew.”
“That’s my fault, isn’t it?” said Nick.
Kevin laughed. “Damn right it is. Can I say damn on here?”
“It’s online. I think you’re good.” He looked past the camera. “Although your mother might have something to say about that.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Kevin muttered.
“Anyway, the story I did for New York Sports Network blew up the whole conversation about your anxiety. Your agent wasn’t too happy about that.”
“No, she was not.”
“One of the reasons I wanted to sit down and talk to you for this interview was that I felt like we didn’t give you a chance tell the whole story. So what is it you want to say?”
Kevin looked straight on at the camera. “This is who I am. I don’t want to be on a team that’s not going to take me for who I am. I feel better than I have in a long time now that all of this is out in the open. I want to talk about it. I want to be an advocate for people.” Kevin looked back at Nick again. “That’s not just a PR stunt. I really do. Too many people have been reaching out and telling me they don’t think they can talk about this stuff, but it helps knowing that someone else goes through this.”
The interview wrapped shortly after that. When it was over, Rachel let her hand holding her phone fall to the covers. That was either the most brilliant or the stupidest thing she’d ever seen a client do—and she was leaning toward brilliant. It’d be impossible not to sympathize with Kevin after seeing that interview. It might move the needle a little bit and make a team more willing to take a chance on him out of sheer strength of character and raw talent.
And then there was the fact that Nick was the interviewer. She wasn’t going to kid herself. It hit her square in the chest when she’d seen him on-screen. She didn’t know why he did it, but—whether it was guilt, obligation, or regret—he’d done it.
Not that it changed anything. Not really.
Enough with Nick. She picked up her phone again and dialed Kevin’s number. He answered on the fourth ring, groggy and not too happy it. “Why do you wake up so early?”
“You did an interview with Nick Ruben?”
“You got the email,” he said.
“And I watched the video.”
“How mad are you right now?” He sounded a little more awake now.
Rachel drew in a deep breath. “Not so mad that I can’t tell you that you did a fantastic job.”
“My agent did a pretty good job at prepping me for interviews.”
She smiled. “Nice try. Did you really mean everything you said about feeling better now that everything’s out in the open?”
He answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “I didn’t realize it was eating you up as much as it was.”
“I don’t like lying.”
“I know.”
“So what now?” he asked.
She pushed a hand through her hair, thinking of the long day ahead of her. “Now you go to the gym with Coach T, and I keep hitting the phones. I’m going to contact my guy at the LA Breakers. He seemed sympathetic beforehand. I’m sure this won’t hurt.”
“Do what you do, Ms. Pollard.”
“Kevin?”
“Yes?”
“Maybe you can call me Rachel now.”
He laughed. “Maybe I will.”
When they hung up, she stared at her phone for a second. Then she opened her inbox and clicked over to the folder she’d programmed to catch all of Nick’s emails. Her thumb hesitated over the top one, but then she selected a new message instead. She typed his name in but left the subject line blank. All she wrote in the body of the email was two words: Thank you.
NICK COULDN’T sleep. Not with this much riding on an interview.
It had turned out well. Better than that. The interview was one of the best of his career. It was open and honest, but most important, it had that extra something that really made it. Teams would have to be stupid not to see what an asset they’d be getting in Kevin Loder.
The interview had gone up on the site early, as Andrew had said it would. That way, the editor had reasoned, it’d give the TV and radio producers a chance to prep it for morning-show segments, not to mention the bloggers who would wake up and be scrambling to get it into their morning newsletters, posts, and tweets.
It also meant that Rachel would see it first thing. Nick had learned her routine fast. Right about now she should be reading through her emails and setting up her day. If she hadn’t already seen it, she would soon.
His phone rang, buzzing against his nightstand. The caller ID read Kevin Loder. He snatched it up and without a greeting said, “Did she watch it?”
“Yeah,” said Kevin, yawning long and loud.
“And?”
“She thought it was great. I don’t know if she’s any less mad at you, but she thinks it’ll play well in the press, so that made her happy.”
Nick smiled. That sounded like Rachel through and through. “Good.”
“You people get up too early in the morning for me,” said Kevin, stifling another yawn. “I’m headed back to bed.”
“Get some sleep, and thank you,” he said.
“Hey, can I ask you one thing?”
“Shoot.”
“Why didn’t you do some big gesture apology or something in the middle of the interview?”
He’d thought about it. Reporters were used to being the center of attention, so it wouldn’t have bothered him one bit to humiliate himself publicly with an apology that had the potential to go viral, but that wasn’t Rachel. Helping her client was going to go a lot further than anything else he could have done. In her world, no one should have to notice her if she was doing her job right. Except for Nick. Nick would never be able to do anything but focus directly on her. For him, there was no one else.
“I think she got the message,” he finally said.
“Well,” said Kevin, “I hope it works.”
“Thanks, man.”
He hung up and checked his texts. Nothing from Rachel, but when he refreshed his email something did pop up. Excitement surged in him as he opened her message. All it said was: Thank you.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
If she would open all of his other emails, she’d know how every day he’d written her a letter of contrition. He’d tried his best to pour everything into those emails, but he knew that they came up short. For all that he wrote for a living, he’d never be able to express the depths of his regret that he’d let her walk away without a fight. That he hadn’t told her he loved her.
Forgive me, he typed back. Then he set his phone down. She wouldn’t respond. Not yet. He’d give her the space she needed, but he was going to be right here, waiting for her in hopes that she’d change her mind and give him another shot. And when she did—if she did—he’d be ready to make things right.
Chapter 24
Rachel paced in the Loders’ living room. The family sat on the couch, huddled together for comfort. An ESPN field producer typed on his phone as a photographer and audio engineer gossiped in hushed tones behind the remote camera feeding to ESPN
’s draft headquarters. It was the fourth round, and no one knew what to expect.
Rachel had drummed up some interest in Kevin exactly as Dan had predicted. The Behind the Highlights interview had helped too. At least she thought that she had. There was no telling what was going on in each team’s war room right now. Kevin’s draft status could be wildly fluctuating. Her only way of knowing anything at all was the little hints she kept getting by way of phone calls and texts, asking about offers, keeping her vaguely up to date.
But her phone had been unusually quiet for the last five minutes, and that scared her a little. She sent up a silent prayer to the draft gods. If something, anything, could go through, it’d be a victory. A fourth-round pick would be just fine with her. It wasn’t the money they’d hoped for, but it was a career. That was what was important now.
“Rachel?” Kevin asked in a quiet voice.
She shook her head. “Nothing yet.”
“With the one hundred twenty-fifth pick of the 2016 NFL draft, Buffalo selects Prince Zeitz, center, University of Florida,” the announcer said.
The air in the room felt a little flatter.
Rachel ducked her head and fired off another text to Dan, anxious to know where the LA Breakers stood. She never wanted to be on camera, that wasn’t her role, but today more than anything she tried to hide her face with her long hair when she could. She did it because she knew Nick might be watching, and the thought of him—it was almost too painful.
The TV boomed, “With the one hundred twenty-sixth pick in the 2016 NFL draft, Chicago selects Victor Blum, safety, Ohio State.”
“Keep on standing by,” said the producer.
Standing by. It was what she felt she’d been doing for weeks now. Standing by and waiting for something to happen to her. For Nick to rush back into her life. For him to decide he couldn’t live without her. For her to see him in the tabloids with another woman. Anything to stop the questions.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. A text from Dan: