I'd be able to do both of those things while succeeding at football because my dad hadn't been able to.
But in the end, whether through circumstances out of my control or the sheer force of my genetic makeup—probably a little bit of both—I was my father's son, through and through.
What mattered was my performance.
What mattered was that I did things the right way.
What mattered was that I was the best.
Everything else got shut behind a door that I’d prefer stayed closed.
Somehow, though, that door got cracked open, and I couldn’t ignore what was behind it as easily as before.
All I could do was hope that doing this documentary would show that the man I was when the helmet and pads came off was just as driven and focused. I didn't know how many teammates were home alone on a weeknight during offseason, working out more than the four hours of practice I'd done. More than the three hours of workouts I'd completed at the facilities. But I was doing those things.
My dad said something, and I adjusted my earbuds in my ears. "Sorry, I missed that," I told him.
"Wasn't important,” he said easily. “Just asking about your new place."
"It's got a bed and a kitchen. That's about all I need for the time being." I glanced around. My agent had found it for me as soon as he got the call from Washington, a sublet from another player he represented. It wasn't my taste, the lines of the furniture sleek and modern and impersonal. I liked dark wood and leather couches, dim lamps and bookshelves and deep chairs that I could actually fit in. The views were amazing, though, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Seattle, even if I didn't have my telescope yet.
Watching the stars was my only real hobby outside of football.
"Well," he said, "that's good. Anything else?"
Because I knew it would be exactly a week, down to the minute, before we spoke again, I tried to think of anything he might actually care about. When I came up empty, I shrugged. "No, I can let you go."
"Talk to you next week."
He disconnected the call almost immediately, like he was relieved that we were done catching up. My dad was that way with everything. If his quiet, simple life bothered him, you’d never know it because he didn’t dwell on it. The door holding all of that for him had never even been unlocked, let alone opened. I braced my hands on the floor behind me and looked around. Wasn’t I similar, though? This was my exciting football player life, and I never stopped to worry about how little it contained.
Working out more than I already had because I was bored, and my weekly phone call with my father.
Amazon would tire of me before the week was out.
With a furrowed brow of my own, I stood and stretched my arms over my head. It was easy enough to recognize the direction my thoughts were going in. I'd agree to do this.
Therefore, I'd do it better than anyone else. If they wanted to follow a player trying to fit in to a new team, I'd show them what the prototype should be.
All the lights were off in my apartment except a small one in the kitchen, and I wandered over to the wall of glass. The oblong shape of the Space Needle gleamed in the distance, and I wished that I'd brought my telescope so that I could look at it more closely.
The skies beyond the city were dark, but I knew with the right equipment, like I had back in Miami, I'd be able to see so much more than met the naked eye. My former assistant was waiting to send me my furniture until I found a place to live, someplace that felt like me, but as I stood there, I found myself wishing I had just a few items to make me feel more at home.
A thought occurred to me, and before I could think better of it, or wonder what in the hell I was doing by contributing to this craziness, I pulled my phone out and found the number I'd saved in it earlier.
Me: Do you think they'd be interested in "Noah goes house hunting"?
Not even a heartbeat past before the gray bouncing dots appeared on the screen.
Molly Ward: YES! That's a great idea. I'll add it to the agenda for tomorrow.
Me: The sooner the better.
Molly Ward: Got it. Don't you have a place to stay now?
I sighed, leaning my shoulder against the glass.
Me: Yeah, but it's not my style. The chairs were made for someone half my size.
Molly Ward: I'm not laughing at you, I swear.
Molly Ward: If he says yes, and I can't imagine he wouldn't, send me a list of what you're looking for. I can help narrow the search.
That pulled my face down into a frown.
Me: Is it your job to help me search for a place to live?
Molly Ward: It's my job to make this process easier. If you want to send me some search filters, I'll compile a list and you can pick your favorites. I'll reach out to the listing agents.
Something about it made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to feel like Molly was at my beck and call. I didn't want to be working with her in the first place, but when I'd shaken her small hand, fingers so much colder than mine, I meant the gesture for what it was. A truce.
Me: Needs-3 bed/3 bath, outside of downtown preferred, large yard w/ privacy, space for home gym, pool is a plus but not a requirement. I’d like to stay under 1.5M
Molly Ward: You got it.
I took a deep breath and sent another one.
Me: Thank you. I appreciate your help.
Molly Ward: Careful, Noah, I'll mistake that for being friendly...
I shook my head slowly, but as I tucked my phone away and stared at the stars again, I had to force away the smile that threatened.
Chapter Nine
Molly
"You are a badass, and you can do this," I whispered fiercely. Her lips were petal pink. Her hair was pulled back into a braided ponytail, and the white shirt made her eyes pop. She was me, and she was about to slay her first production planning meeting with Amazon and the big, scary football player who hated her.
I groaned. Not the kind of thought I wanted in my subconscious before I channeled my inner boss bitch.
Honestly, it was time to revise that statement anyway. The text thread on my phone proved that maybe Noah didn't hate me after all. Spending a couple of hours of my night at home searching for a house for him was bizarro but also nice … in a twisted way.
The search history on my laptop, now inundated with three-bedroom, three-bathroom houses, had kept him at the forefront of my mind.
When my alarm went off, a gentle chiming of bells, I woke from my dream with a start, searching the bed for the warmth of someone else's body because it had been so vivid in my mind that he'd been lying next to me in bed.
Not doing anything, mind you. Just ... there.
Big and warm and solid. If I closed my eyes hard enough, making my own reflection disappear, I'd still be able to feel what I felt.
The complete absence of him in a tangible way.
My forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. Dreams about warm, sleepy Noah were not what I needed in my life, but at least it had been on the platonic side. Like I could have been sharing a bed with a golden retriever and achieved the same thing, if I thought about it critically.
Perfect. I nodded resolutely. Noah was a golden retriever, and he needed a home, and I was helping him because for the time being, my ship was tied to his.
Then I burst out laughing.
Noah as a cuddly, shaggy, sweet dog was just about the worst comparison in the entire universe of comparisons.
There was nothing unassuming or average about him.
The thing I noticed most, as he towered in the corner of Beatrice's office and as he moved through practice earlier, was that he never relaxed. Never allowed the tension to leave that massive body. His eyes were alert and searching, picking apart weaknesses in his opponents, whether that opponent was a teammate he was lining up against or little ole me.
An alert went off on my phone, the reminder I'd set for our meeting, and I took a deep breath.