"Traitor," Paige yelled over the sound of my laughter. "And that's a buck in the swear jar, you little potty mouth."
"It's not swearing if I'm repeating something you said."
"Ooh, get her with logic," I whispered. "I approve."
He grinned. "Is that a yes?"
I rubbed his back. "I'll tell you what, you give me thirty minutes of girl time—no interruptions—and then I'll help you."
"Deal!" He ran off, feet pounding up the stairs toward his room.
Paige leaned her shoulder against the wall by the kitchen and gave me a small smile. Her red hair was braided over her shoulder, and as usual, she looked so beautiful, it was hard to stare for too long. That was the problem with having a former supermodel for your surrogate mom. "How's my girl?"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
She held open her arms, and I walked into them without further encouragement. Paige sighed, running her hands down my hair. "Tell me what you need from me because sometimes I take my violent, angry support too far, and I'm told by parties that shall not be named that it's not always the most helpful thing I can do."
I smiled, burying my face in her shoulder. "Logan said that?"
"He's such a killjoy." She leaned back and cupped the side of my face. "You look sadder than I thought you would after talking to you. I mean, I know you're sad. You loved your job. But your heart." She swept a thumb over my cheekbone, and it came away wet from the tear that escaped. "It hurts, doesn't it?"
The canny observation—one that could only be made by someone who really, truly knew me—had me sinking into her arms again. I sniffed noisily. "I saw Noah in the parking lot, a-and," I sobbed, "he said he missed me, and I miss him too, but what does that mean, right? He's such an idiot. He hasn't said one word to me in weeks. Weeks! And then he's asking me why it's so hard to see me, and why it's so hard to talk to me. Ugh. Why do I have to answer those things for him, you know?" I hiccupped as Paige turned us, her armed wrapped tight around my shoulder so she could steer me toward the couch in the living room. "It's not like I'm sitting around waiting for Noah Griffin to explain things to me now that we've had sex. Like, figure it out on your own, you moron."
"Ohhhhkay, my husband left out a few things when he texted me," Paige said under her breath. Once I was tucked into the corner of the couch, I tugged my favorite pillow into my lap and toed off my Chucks.
Once the plush weight was clutched to my chest, I watched her over the silky edge. "Logan didn't tell you about the whole I slept with Noah and that's what got me fired thing?"
Her eyebrows lifted so slowly, so high on her forehead that I worried for a moment that they'd get stuck. "No, no, he did not."
"Erm, yeah. That was, well, that was why I said maybe we shouldn't resort to pyrotechnics against Beatrice. I kinda earned my spot in the ranks of the unemployed."
Paige let out a slow breath, her thoughts stamped loudly over her face. Concern was first and foremost, and the thing I saw most clearly. Very deliberately, she spun on the couch, crossed her legs, folded her hands primly between them, and faced me fully. "What shall we tackle first? The job or the sex?"
When she put it that way, maybe I'd been a little close-lipped with my family since I got back from my weekend away. I frowned. It wasn't like me to keep stuff from them, not big things like this, but I'd been in survival mode, convincing myself that I was fine with what happened in South Dakota stayed in South Dakota.
I’d worked overtime to keep a lid on the part of myself that missed him, missed talking with him, laughing with him, and teasing him until he allowed a crack in his reserve. It had been easier not to talk about him at all than to face the reality that it had only been one weekend, despite what it had meant to me.
Paige shifted restlessly when I didn't answer immediately.
"Please, give me guidance, because my mind is about to explode if I don't get clarification"—her voice rose in pitch and volume—"on the fact that you slept with the boy who used to live next door, and I didn't know about it, and it cost you your job. I don't know what to say about any of it, Molly, and you not telling me is freaking me out," she cried.
I smiled, leaning forward to grab one of her hands. "Deep breaths, okay?"
It was similar enough to what she had told me earlier when I called from my office that we both laughed. "Sorry," she said. "It's just ... you're throwin' a lot at me, kiddo. What do we deal with first?"
My swallow was rough, hard to get down, but it was Paige, so I had to be honest. "This may not be the empowered female answer where I say that nothing matters except my career and he's just a guy, and I don't need a guy to feel complete or happy or to love myself."
"There is a time and place for all of those things," she interjected. "But there's no one size fits all for what makes people happy, okay? If there was, we'd have a black and white checklist to follow."
I nodded.
"We will talk about Beatrice, and your job, and what you'll do next," she promised. "But if Noah—whatever happened with him—is the thing weighing on you the most right now, then let's start there."
The words came easily, like I needed her permission to unload them into the safe space that our couch represented. All four of us girls had cried there through middle school, high school, and college. If Logan ever got rid of that couch, there would be a mutiny within the Ward family. The cushions sank a little where I was sitting because it was everyone's favorite spot, but that couch was the next best thing to being in a therapist's office.
Paige listened without interruption as I told her everything. She smiled about the yoga, sighed when I got to our first kiss, blushed like only a mom would when I got to South Dakota, and her eyes got suspiciously glassy when I told her about my decision to pull back from him, how I lied to Beatrice, and up to what had happened that afternoon in the parking lot.
My throat was dry when we were finally caught up, but so were my eyes because there was some strange power in the telling of what led to my current predicament. I wasn't angry with Beatrice. I was frustrated with myself. I wasn't mad at Noah for being clueless because the man's longest relationship was with an inanimate object covered in brown leather with white laces and that was just sad AF, in all honesty. I asked for space, and he’d given it to me. It wasn’t fair to hold it against him when all he’d done was respect my wishes.
I felt heavy from all those things combined. Weighed down with the various components of what lost me my job but had me falling in love with a man who had the emotional availability of a rock.
"Damn, girl," Paige said when I finished. She was slumped against the cushions of the couch.
"I know." I held my breath as I watched her process everything. Trust me, I knew it was a lot. I'd had weeks, and I still found myself a little confused. "Was I stupid for pulling back?"
"Oh geez, Mol, it's not that simple." She blew out a quick puff of air. "I don't think you were stupid, no. But I happen to think you and your sisters are four of the six greatest human beings to walk this earth, so I'm prone to believe whatever you decide is correct and will thereby defend it to the death."
"Yeah, right." I snorted. "Where was that logic when we were in high school?"
She smiled. "I know, I know. Easier for me to say now that it's not my responsibility to decide how to weigh the consequences of your actions. Now, my child, that burden is yours. Yours to live with, and yours to work through."
"I'm so glad I came to you because this is making me feel much better."
Paige laughed. "Listen, what I will say is this, being in a relationship with an athlete is no piece of cake. But I don't need to tell you that because it's been a part of your life longer than it's been a part of mine. I get it, he's driven, and he's talented, and he's at the top of his game. He's never put anything ahead of football and that makes him a scary bet. That wasn't the case for me and your brother." She smiled. "He had you guys, and nothing, not even football, was more important than the four of you."
"I sense a but ..."
"But," she said slowly, "it's not up to you to make that decision for him when he had an incomplete picture, Molly. And that's what you did. He respected you enough not to push you on it, and that was before he had any clue that you could lose your job for what you did. What would he have done if he'd known you were falling for him? What would have happened if you talked to Beatrice and told her it was a serious relationship? There's no way of knowing, not now. Maybe he would've panicked, but maybe not. Maybe Beatrice would've fired you earlier, but maybe not." She shrugged.
It was like trying to untangle of knot of multi-colored yarn in my lap, one the size of my head. I couldn't tell where it started, where it ended, or just how long I'd been looping and looping and looping in the wrong direction. It was hard to say whether the first wrong turn had been as far back as the elevator when I saw Noah for the first time. Or thinking I could be friends with him, kiss him, sleep with him without involving my heart. That I could prove something to Beatrice that she'd never fully believe in the first place.
All those things equaled one massive coiled, complicated mess.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" she asked. "Just ... blurt it out. First thing you wish you could understand."
"Noah in the parking lot." I blinked at how quickly the words came out. "I was surprised at how awkward he was. His confusion that the awkwardness was there between us at all."
Emmett came around the corner, and Paige held up her hand. "Ten more minutes, kid. Back away."
"But—"
"Ten minutes, unless you want my help with the math instead of Molly's."
He disappeared in a flash of mahogany-colored hair, and I laughed.
"Honestly," Paige said, "that's a piece of cake. Men are incredibly clueless sometimes. And if you take a man like that, who lives by the x's and o's of a playbook, who is in complete control of just about every piece of his life except his opponent, they get really good at reading the competition. You took that away from him by removing yourself from the equation. Not only that, but you are also a woman, and from the sounds of it, Noah has had little-to-no experience with that area for the past few years. His choice, but still. You rocked his world, Molly." She grinned, and I hid my face behind the pillow with a groan. "And then you disappeared. The fact that he's still puzzling out how he feels about that means he's got it just as bad as you do."
I slumped back, keeping a tight grip on that pillow. "Why does it sound so easy when you explain it?"
"Because I'm old and smart and happily married to an incredibly stubborn man. It's the trifecta of good relationship advice."
Curling into my side, I grinned at her. "You're humble too. Don't forget that."
"It's a terrible burden to bear," Paige announced gravely. She clapped her hands. "Okay. So now that we understand the man, what do we do about it?"
Unfortunately, I knew the answer to this. "We don't rush into anything."
Her face fell. "We don't?"
I shook my head. "I've gone headfirst into so many situations without paying attention to anything other than my feelings. Noah is a perfect example. Twice now, when it comes to him, I've let my feelings override common sense. I agree with you, I think Noah does care for me, and I think we could have something amazing." I swallowed. "But it's not my responsibility to make him understand that. Or to prove to him that I'm worth a spot in his life. I know that I'm worth it. I know he's worth more than what he does on the field. But I think"—I breathed unsteadily—"I need him to climb through my window this time. Do something that feels risky and crazy for me. I deserve that."
Paige surged forward on the couch and flung her arms around me. I was engulfed by almost six feet of gorgeous, overwhelming, maternal-influence love.
"You deserve that times a million," she gushed.
I patted her back with a laugh.
"Can we eat carbs now?" I asked.
Paige disentangled herself from me and held out a hand to help me up. "Yes. Let's go brainstorm your other issue over garlic bread."
I grinned. "Oh, I already have an idea for that. I won't be unemployed for long."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Noah
"This is not what I had in mind when you asked for my help, Griffin," Marty said. His head was resting on his arms, his whole body slumped in exhaustion. Or maybe it was irritation, I couldn't really tell. Didn't really care either because once the plan starting formulating in my head, I dialed in like a ravenous dog onto a medium rare chunk of prime rib.
I crossed my arms and pointed at the massive screen I had mounted above the fireplace of my family room. "Back it up about forty seconds and look." I swept an arm out. "We need to cut right there.” I rolled my eyes when Marty groaned. "If you watch carefully, you can see what I'm talking about right there."
"If you make me watch this clip one more time," he growled.
I glanced over my shoulder. "You'll what? Glare at me to death?" My hands snapped together in a sharp clap, and Marty jumped. "Do I need to mark it up on the diagram again?"
"No," Rick and Marty answered.
The diagram had been an immense source of joy for me over the past forty-eight hours. It laid on my dining room table, spiral bound with laminated pages so I could mark on it with dry erase markers. My own playbook because I could understand that structure for how to move forward.
Offensive Campaign: M Ward
The title needed work, but what was found inside the pages was nothing short of genius. I'd never fancied myself a filmmaker, but over the past two days, the three of us had honed, hacked, edited, tweaked, and cut my relationship with Molly down to a short film that was fucking Oscar-worthy, if you asked me.
Rick and Marty just didn't appreciate my approach at directing, which looked a bit more like my attempt to channel my inner Bill Belichick. I was ruthless, making them loop the same thirty-second scene over and over and over until we caught just the right cut of the moment that Molly tipped me over when we were doing yoga.
The only reason they hadn't tied me up and stuffed a gag in my mouth was because I'd agreed to let them film the entire thing once she was here. A camera guy from their office came over after Marty and I had our parking lot brainstorm, then cleared everything with Rick.
The parking lot brainstorm was full of excitement and optimism and hope.
Now, they were actively plotting my demise with every request I made to play back another chunk of the footage.
"Okay," I said, "let's move back to South Dakota. I think we can give that more impact."
"No," Rick mumbled.
My eyebrows lifted. "Sorry?"
"No, no, no." He stood from the couch and pressed two fists into his back as he stretched with a groan. "You are the Hitler of romantic gestures, and if she doesn't love this exactly as it is, then holy shit, Griffin, we can't help you."
Suppressing my irritation that they weren't taking this as seriously as I was, I crossed my arms over my chest and faced him with spread legs. "It has to be perfect, Rick."
My tersely spoken words hung in the air as they stared at me. Didn't they understand?
This was my chance. This was the way I could make her see.
Seeing Molly like that—when I was unprepared to speak to her, unprepared for the gut check of being around her, and seeing the way every emotion played out over her face—it flipped on every light that had been dark in her absence.
Maybe I hadn't seen it right away, that every second we spent together, every second she spent gently coaxing me out from behind the wall I'd built, had been us falling in love. But I saw it now.
I couldn't help but see it, in the hours and hours of film I had at my fingertips.
Watching the film was preparation.
Watching the film helped me understand myself and my opponent, and currently, the thing opposing me was the clock. Washington had a bye week, so the time for a big romantic gesture couldn't have been better.
But the time
ticked down all the same. Bright, shifting numbers that got closer and closer to some imaginary buzzer going off.
And I was fighting against myself.
Showing Molly that I was capable of allowing room in my life for something other than football—not just something, her—would need to be big.
Those were pages fifteen through eighteen of the playbook, which included sketches of string lights across my back deck, a movie projector, and a giant screen stretched through the branches of the trees in my backyard. And some vague idea of moving my mattress onto the grass and topping it with pillows and blankets so we could watch our movie under the stars. My telescope was out there somewhere too, since I'd mapped out precisely what would be visible in the night sky.
This was the way to do it. Everything lined up correctly, the best defense against my own cluelessness. My own ambition blinded me to all the other things that could matter just as much as my career did. If I could pull this off correctly, if I could do this right ...
My thoughts started stuttering in that same place every time. The if.
Rick must have sensed the change in direction in my head because I couldn't entertain the idea that maybe I'd read Molly wrong in all of this.
He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Noah, it's perfect."
I shook my head. "I can make it better. I just need a little more time."
Marty and Rick shared a look.
"Molly won't need perfect," Marty said quietly. "You know that girl. Even when you were a giant horse’s ass, she felt something for you. Because she knew the real you was underneath there somewhere."
Rick nodded. "All you need to do is show her that she wasn't wrong about you. That what she saw, what she put her trust in, even for that one weekend, was worth it."
"Worth her job?" I asked dryly.
"Worth taking a risk," he corrected. "She took a risk because you were worth it to her. This"—he gestured to our little command center—"is you taking a risk too. Because you could get through everything you have planned, and she still might not say yes."
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