I send him a stern look. “Language, Owen.” His cursing hasn’t stopped. If anything, I think it’s gotten worse. I’ve tried to control myself. In fact, I’m rather proud of how much I refrain from cursing. I’m trying to be a grownup.
But it’s hard. Really hard, especially when things piss me off or upset me. Like right now, missing my husband so bad my chest aches. I’d love to throw out a few “fucks” and “shits” and gripe like crazy. I could go to Jen. I should give her a call. She’s my best support system, behind Drew and Owen.
“Give me a break, whatever.” He rolls his eyes, still laughing, and I reach out and slap his arm, making him yelp. “What the hell was that for?”
“For being a jerk.” I lean back against the couch, staring sullenly at the TV. I’m watching Sports Center on ESPN, hoping for a glimpse of Drew, a mention, a quick report. They might say something negative, though, since his team lost their game last Sunday and they were expected to win. Speculation is their new quarterback isn’t doing as well as they’d hoped.
Doubters. Bastards, every one of them.
“Are you grumpy because they’re bagging on Drew?” At the hard look I send him Owen waves a hand at me, slumping deeper into the soft leather couch Drew and I picked out when we first moved into the house. Our place is brand new and huge, part of an upscale subdivision on the outskirts of the town I grew up in, an area where I’d never imagined living.
I don’t answer him. Instead I decide to change the channel because I’m just torturing myself, watching this. “Yes, of course we’re still on. Drew got us three tickets, so if you want to bring Wade, you can invite him.” That boy might drive me crazy, but he’s Owen’s closest friend and I adore Wade.
The grin that breaks out on Owen’s face is infectious and I can’t help but smile in return. “You mean it? That would be fucking awesome.”
“Owen, please.” I should yell at him but I don’t bother. What’s the point? He’s happy. I don’t need to ruin the moment. “I definitely mean it. Go call him. And let me know if I need to talk to his mom. We won’t come home until late, so it’s going to be a long day. I don’t want her to worry.”
“She won’t worry. She’d rather know we’re with you than out running around on our own.” The sheepish look that crosses Owen’s face tells me he has secrets, which doesn’t surprise me. What teenage boy doesn’t? But still. I know half the time he’s out with his friends he’s up to no good.
Back in my day, I used to be up to no good, too. Drinking and smoking cigarettes, one after another, getting drunk, my mind hazy. Flirting with boys, eventually doing things with them that earned me a terrible reputation. I’m lucky I graduated high school. Mom sure as hell didn’t push me and I didn’t have an older sibling keeping track of me at all times. Talk about going wild.
I was the epitome of wild. And Drew was the epitome of good—with the exception of his deep, dark secret. A few years have passed and I still get an icy shiver down my spine when I think of her. God, I hate that bitch. I hate what she did to Drew.
Thank goodness he found me.
My cell chimes and I grab it, checking my messages. It’s from Drew and I smile.
What are you doing? Giving Owen a hard time?
My smile grows as I respond.
How did you know?
Because he texted me and said so.
I shoot Owen a glare, and he laughs as he gets up from the couch and saunters toward the kitchen. Cocky little brat.
I told him he could bring Wade with us to the game. He’s excited and cursing and I gave him grief over it. What else is new?
There’s a long pause after I send the message and I chew my lip waiting for him to respond. I wish I were with him. I don’t regret staying with my brother because he needs me more than ever, but I need Drew. And my husband needs me.
I wish you didn’t have to go back home after the game. I wish you could stay the night with me.
How did I know he’d say that? Oh, maybe because I feel the same way.
They have school on Monday and practice. They can’t afford to miss it. I’m sorry. I wish I could stay with you, too. I miss you.
I know. I miss you, too. Next home game you come to, maybe you could come alone. And we could spend more time together.
That sounds perfect but I can’t leave all the time, no matter how much I want to. I need to be here for Owen and I don’t feel right constantly dumping him on Wade’s mom. She’s so supportive—she has been for years—and we’re sort of friends, though Kathy is old enough to be my mom.
I text back to him.
I like that idea. I love you.
I love you, too.
We try our best to be together on his days off, but it’s hard. He never truly gets any days off; he’s constantly working and practicing. But we knew this going in. We’re just going to have to deal with it.
Drew
I’m waiting just outside the locker room for Fable to show up, my thoughts anxious, my mind still going over every single play of the game we just finished. Thank Christ we won it. I’ve been raked over the coals the last few weeks after our two-game losing streak. What’s worse? We lost last week to the lowest-ranked team in the entire NFL.
Yeah. I caught a lot of shit for that one, even from a few teammates. I know some of them hate all the media attention I get and I wish they understood just how much I hate it, too. I can’t stand all the cameras flashing in my face and the constant questions, speculation, and reports on me. I’ve always been a private person, especially during my late teens and early twenties, when my head was a fucked-up mess and I didn’t want to deal with anyone.
It’s harder now because I don’t have Fable constantly by my side. I’d grown used to that. She comes to as many games as she can, but it’s not the same. She always leaves afterward. She came a week ago with Owen and his friend Wade and that was great and all, but then they left. I didn’t even get to kiss her or hold her much.
That sucked.
Today is different. We played a Sunday night game and she came for it. Just her. She’s staying the next two nights. I got us a hotel suite in downtown San Francisco and I don’t think I’m going to let her out of it. I’ll keep her naked and in bed the entire time.
Sounds like freaking heaven to me.
A team representative is escorting her to the locker room and she should arrive any minute. Then we’re hopping in our car and I’m tearing ass out of here. I did my time. The game had been just about perfect, and I even did a short live-broadcast interview. The team publicists have been coaching me on how not to sound like a dumbass. Hopefully it’s working.
Here’s the craziest thing of it all: the media are in love with Fable. They’re fascinated with her. Half of it has to do with her name, I think. I mean, who the hell else is named Fable? The other half is the fact that she’s so goddamned beautiful, but I might be prejudiced in saying that.
Or maybe it’s because she avoids having anything to do with them. She does that for me. Keeps walking, never talking, throws a hand up in front of her face to stop them from getting a good picture. The publicists are telling me they want her more involved. They want her out there, talking to the media. For whatever reason, the public is fascinated with our story and they want to know more. Specifically why we live apart during the regular season.
I’m supposed to talk about it with Fable while we’re together for the next few days. I promised the publicist team. They’re eager for her to do a few interviews—nothing too probing, they promise.
Truthfully? I’m afraid my wife might want to kill me for even suggesting this.
Glancing up, I see her as if I’d conjured her up with my thoughts. She’s walking toward me, the team rep towering behind her since she’s such a little thing. She has on a black 49ers sweatshirt and jeans, her long blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and she’s about the prettiest, freshest thing I’ve seen in a long-ass time.
The last few steps she gives in and
runs to me, heads straight into my arms, and I hold her close, burying my face in her hair as the team rep walks on by and straight into the locker room. Fable slides her arms around me and presses her cheek against my chest.
“You were amazing,” she says against my coat, and I give her a squeeze.
“Thank God we won,” I mutter, because even though we played so well today, as though we’ve been playing together for years, I was still worried it could all fall apart at any moment. My confidence level isn’t 100 percent there yet and I know it’s killing me.
But I can’t force it, no matter how badly the coaches want me to. I have to gain the trust of my fellow teammates, just like I have to really trust them. We’re all still wary of each other. I hate it.
“You didn’t think you were going to win?” She pulls away from me slightly to gaze up at my face, her forehead wrinkled with worry, her lush mouth turned down in a frown. Reaching out, I draw my index finger across her crinkled brows, trying to ease her mood.
“I wasn’t sure,” I confess. “We lost the last two. I feel like my team’s losing faith in me.”
“More like you’re losing faith in yourself.” She shakes her head and pulls out of my arms completely, though she at least takes my hand. Like she doesn’t want to lose the connection, and I feel the same exact way. “I think I know what my mission is for the next few days.”
“What, rolling around naked in bed with your husband?” I raise my brows hopefully and she laughs, shaking her head, much to my disappointment.
“Well, that sounds like a perfect plan, but I was also meaning that I need to work on building up your confidence. I don’t like hearing you so down on yourself.” She smiles. “Do you need a rescue, Drew?”
Hell yeah, I do.
I say nothing, though, merely drag her with me down the long walkway until it opens up to the private parking lot that only the team and any people involved with us use. My brand-new truck is in the near distance, the dark blue color gleaming beneath the bright overhead light. We’ve indulged in a few things since I got the outrageous contract with the Niners. The house and everything inside it, my new truck, the heavy diamond band that’s around Fable’s finger …
But hell, I have no time to spend money these days. I’m too busy practicing or playing or traveling. Fable’s never had this kind of money before, so she’s scared to death to spend any of it for fear it’ll up and walk away from us one day. Irrational, but she knows it, and realizing is half the problem.
I take advantage of this sort of situation. I’m used to money. I’ve grown up with it. To actually make it on my own is another feeling entirely, one I could get real used to. I’m comfortable with it and Fable’s not. I sometimes think she believes her life is one big fairy-tale dream and at any moment she’s going to wake up and find out none of it is real.
“Callahan! Hey, wait up!” an unfamiliar voice calls from behind us.
My defenses up, I tug Fable close and turn with her behind me to find some reporter running toward us. A guy I recognize who works for one of the networks and who’s always trying to get me to talk to him.
“What do you want?” I ask wearily, reluctant to talk and eager to get the hell out of here.
“Is this your wife?” He tilts his head to the side and nods toward her. “Is this the infamous Fable?”
She steps out from behind me, her jaw hanging open. “Infamous? Are you serious?”
Hell. This is the last thing I want.
“Well, yeah.” The guy smiles easily—I think his name is Joe? John?—and takes a step toward Fable. I throw out an arm, shielding her from him, but she gently pushes it away with a little snort. As if I’m ridiculous wanting to protect her. “Everyone wants to know more about Drew Callahan’s new wife.”
“I find that hard to believe. Wouldn’t you rather talk to Drew? He’s the famous football player.” She waves a hand in my direction.
“And you’re the famous football player’s beautiful and soon-to-be-equally-famous wife. The public is looking for any hint, any little bit of information they can get about you.” He smiles, full of easygoing charm. It’s a façade, I’m sure. The guy is as sharp as can be and as hungry as a starving tiger looking for prey. He’s eyeing Fable like she’s his next meal. “You should give me an exclusive. I’d love to talk to you. Find out more about you, about Drew and your relationship.”
She glances at me and I send her a stern glare, hoping she can read into the look I’m giving her that I don’t want her to do this. I’m sure she doesn’t want to either.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
I can’t fucking believe she just said that. “Give us a minute,” I tell the reporter, grabbing her arm and steering her away from him so he can’t overhear us. “Are you crazy?” I ask the moment we’re far enough away from him.
“What?” She extracts her arm from my grip, looking at me like I’m nuts. “I don’t see the big deal in talking to him.”
“He’s just trying to dig up information.” I slam my lips together. There’s a lot of information I don’t want anyone to ever find out about me and she knows this. She has her own secrets to hide. Letting a reporter in is like an open invitation for him to dig and dig and dig until he finds the real juicy dirt.
We’ve got a ton of it, too. Our past could fill up an entire book. Maybe two.
“I know. So instead of us hiding from the media all the time, we’re going to tell them only what we want them to hear.” She smiles, so brilliantly I feel like I’ve just been momentarily blinded. “Right?”
Ah. My girl is … so damn smart. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I know.” Her smile turns smug. “We give them a little bit of info and they’re happy. If we look like we’re hiding, then they’ll think we are. And then they’ll never leave us alone. We don’t want that, do we?”
“Hell no.” I grab her again and pull her into me, my arms tight around her waist as I kiss her soundly. So soundly she blinks up at me, her expression dazed when I finally pull my lips away from hers. “You’re sneaky. You know that?”
“I know. That’s why you married me.”
Chapter Six
Drew
A year later and my wife really is as famous as me. She’s been featured in magazines, the paparazzi stalk her, and it’s … it’s fucking ridiculous. Only during football season, though, when she’s more visible and attending the games. We tend to go into hiding during the off-season, go back home to spend time with Owen and our friends, spend time with each other. We go on vacations, short getaways. I never get enough alone time with her, though.
Is it selfish of me to admit I’m glad Owen’s in college now? He graduated high school last summer and despite Fable wishing he would apply to Stanford, he didn’t. The kid finally got on track, but he doesn’t follow everything his sister wants him to do. He’s completely focused, doing well both at football and in his classes, and he earned a football scholarship and is attending the same university that I did.
When I told him he didn’t need a scholarship and that I could pay for his schooling, he protested.
I want to do this on my own. I want to earn this. Let me.
No way could I protest that. More like I’d been proud. I felt like Fable and I actually did something right—and that something was raise Owen.
He’s much more independent; he has his own car, which I gave him as a graduation gift, and he’s still working at The District. Doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, though, and I told him that was a good thing. He doesn’t need a girl tying him down yet. He needs to focus on himself. Stay young. Be free.
Something I really didn’t do during my high school or college years. I had too much to hide, too much to be ashamed of. It shaded my entire high school experience. I was popular despite how withdrawn I was, but people only cared that I was some sort of football star. And the only thing I could really focus on and enjoy was football. It helped me forget.
Sometimes, it still does.
<
br /> With Owen’s newfound independence comes Fable’s ability to loosen the motherly strings she has tied around him. She’s moved into the house near Santa Clara during football season and comes to my games. Finally we’re together again, so we can have some much needed alone time. She’s even started traveling with the team a few times, to out-of-town games.
And always, always the media is trailing after us, wanting more photos, more interviews, more, more, more. She’s been on the cover of magazines, mostly the gossipy ones but occasionally others, including a fashion magazine. She was interviewed for a two-page spread in People and on TV. Barbara Walters actually chose the two of us as part of her ten most fascinating people last year.
Freaking unbelievable.
It’s because Fable’s so damn gorgeous yet mysterious. She says a bunch of stuff without ever really saying anything at all. I thought I was a private person, but she puts the P in private, she’s so close-lipped. I’ll give myself some credit, though, and put us on equal footing for being so—ha—fascinating, considering the Niners almost made it to the Super Bowl during my first year as their quarterback. Me, the rookie nobody had any real faith in, almost took the team all the way, but we lost in the final game before the Super Bowl. That sucked. More than anything, that fucking hurt.
I have another chance, though. In fact, I have lots of them, what with many seasons ahead of me considering my multiyear contract. We came out strong at the beginning of this season and we’re still going for it. We’re back and we mean business. The team is on my side now; last year’s season confirmed it.
Plus, fuck it, I’m a nice guy. I’m not an egotistical ass. First, Fable would never let me act like that. And second, I’m not stupid. I need my team. Football is a team sport, for Christ’s sake. I’d be an idiot to shit all over my teammates and then expect them to be devoted to me and play well.
I’m waiting for Fable now in our hotel room. While I went to practice, she went and explored Boston with one of the other players’ wives. That’s another thing—my wife is out making friends, getting to know the other wives, becoming more social. She’s really opened up. She’s more confident, easier to laugh, easier to talk to someone she doesn’t know. Again, she’s a private person, but she’s become adept at putting on a public persona. She shows the world what they want to see.