“The headlines, though,” I whisper. “How did you handle it?”
“It stung pretty badly,” he says honestly. “But it wasn’t news to me. We’d been apart so long I made peace with it. The truth for me is, if I had stayed with Stella, married Stella knowing what I did, I would have been the one settling.”
I mull over his revelation, his truth flipping so many of my theories on their head. “So, after…when you met Mom—”
“I love your mother,” he cuts in sharply, “On an unparalleled level. No other love I have ever had compares to what I feel for her. I fell for her because she is beautiful, strong, independent, brave, ridiculously intelligent, loved football, and did not put up with my shit for one second. If you want the truth, she terrorized me from day one, swear to God.” He grins down at the foam on his beer. “I married Addie because we fit together in a way we would work long term, because I learned how vitally important that was. The rest of that love stems from the history we made spending so much of our lives together.” He turns to me. “So, I didn’t tell you about my history with Stella, because frankly, it was a history I’d outgrown, living out my future with the woman I was meant to marry—and it was none of your damned business.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I let out a harsh exhale. “To be fair, Dad, I knowingly committed every single crime you called me out for when we got back from Arizona.” Taking a large sip of beer, I settle in, intent on finally explaining myself.
“It started small, shocking but a minor enough offense. I read an email I wasn’t supposed to see. But it was that small shock that had me reading the second email, which led to the third. But when I realized my source was the one hurt in the love story I was becoming so invested in—and probably wouldn’t be forthcoming with the whole of it—I took my father’s advice and sought out another source, but in the wrong way.”
I look at him pointedly, allowing my admission to flow freely. “I was utterly fascinated by it because I’d never experienced those feelings for myself.” A lump begins to build in my throat. “I figured out soon after—with the help of my alternate source—that what I truly was, was envious. But in digging, I incriminated myself to the point I knew it would damage us badly…and I was terrified. At first, the solution was just a short walk to your office. An answer to a question, a brief communication between us to put all the mystery to rest.” Forcing my eyes to remain on his despite my guilt, I continue. “The next thing I knew, the tables were turned, and I was existing in a different world that you knew nothing about.”
We both sit for several minutes in silent contemplation of our reciprocal admissions before I speak up. “Now I’m in limbo between them.”
“You don’t have to be,” he rasps out hoarsely. “I can handle a lot, but knowing your absence is my fault… It’s my biggest regret as a father.” He turns to me, eyes misting, “Come home, and if you do, Natalie, I promise you I won’t ever abuse the paper or my relationship with you like that again.”
Dad left me at the bar that night with a standing invitation to return home, along with a promise to allow me space to live my life. That conversation left the door wide open for more reconciliation. The following week, I flew back to Austin and into my mother’s waiting arms, my future still uncertain but determined to restore some semblance of order.
Keeping that decision in mind this morning, I drew up a simple game plan for today—to wish Tye a good game, hide in the back of the owner’s box, away from the cameras and speculation, and remain undetected.
My escort takes another curve jerking me out of my thoughts as I yelp and grip the side of the cart.
“Sorry,” he chuckles. Though an older man, Donald seems to be having the time of his life, as he should be, because it is game day, and this is arguably the best sporting event in the world. My phone rattles in my hand again, and I open the text.
Dad: Where are you?
I’ll be up shortly.
Dad: Two beers in. Devil Emoji. Go Cowboys! Football Emoji
I can’t help my smile at his enthusiasm. Despite my hesitance to come, on the plus side, Dad is being treated like royalty at his first Super Bowl. Tye outdid himself, providing everything from plane tickets to transportation to the stadium. He’s deserving of a thank you at the very least. If Easton can sleep at a rock goddess’s house for three days, I’m allowed to accept an invitation to the Super Bowl. Case closed.
Even if it’s too late to back out, I’m already in the thick of it, so I might as well enjoy myself.
“There he is,” Donald chirps happily as Tye appears, all six-feet-four of him. His dark brown hair is mostly concealed by his NFC championship ball cap. Beneath the brim, dark blue eyes find mine. His stark white grin widens from where he stands in pinstriped ball pants, a starched towel hanging from his waist, and a matching NFC championship hoodie finishes off his pre-game look.
In and out, Natalie.
The game starts in less than ninety minutes, and due to the time wasted in getting to him, I’ve got just enough time to say a quick hello so he can rally and warm up with the rest of the team.
Donald stops the cart abruptly, and I bounce forward as Tye stalks toward us, chuckling through his scold. “Easy, man, that’s precious cargo.”
Donald reddens slightly. “Sorry about that, Tye.”
“All good.” Tye’s eyes rake me, obvious satisfaction in them over the way I’m dressed—or the way he dressed me.
“Come here, beautiful.” Tye pulls me from the seat flush to him, grinning down at me with his hundred-and-sixty-million-dollar smile. “You good?”
“Am I good?” I ask. Not at all. “You’re the one about to play the game of a lifetime, so you can turn that question around.”
He lifts a brow, the act making him boyishly adorable. Though he’s not outspoken in the media, he can be a bit of a bad boy with his delivery when taunted. I love that aspect about him, and it’s no mystery why. Our conversations are light and easy. Tye’s been hesitant to broach the subject of how he knew of me at the party. I saw the recognition on his face just before he placed me. My face has been splashed across the media since the news of our elopement broke. Hence, Tye dodges the subject we’ve both been careful to avoid.
“I thought I was feeling pretty good until I saw you, and I have to say, I’m feeling pretty damn lucky.” His eyes fixate on my jersey, a gift he had delivered to Speak with his invitation to the Super Bowl. Putting it to use, I’m dressed in the tightest pair of dark denim jeans and killer heels. I altered the pink jersey to mold to my frame by tying the material in a knot at my back. In turn, it now accentuates my hips over the form-fitting long-sleeved white tee that exposes a little midriff. From the look in Tye’s eyes, he approves. “Gotta say, I love the way my number looks on you,” he compliments with a pride-filled smirk.
“Head in the game, sir,” I playfully tug on the brim of his hat.
He keeps me close, his voice suggestive. “I’m all fucking over it.”
“Seriously,” I ask, putting some space between us to get a better look at him. “Are you feeling good?”
“Never better,” he assures confidently. “Slept well last night.”
“Oh? Good.”
One side of his mouth lifts. “Off-season starts tomorrow.”
“Going to kill it, Tye!” A man shouts, making me jump as he passes in the bustling hall. We haven’t exactly been alone since our convo started. There’s a ton going on behind the scenes, and everyone seems to be traveling at breakneck speed. Tye lifts his chin in acknowledgment to the supportive passersby before his eyes flit back to me, where I’m curled into his body protectively.
“Where was I?”
“Off-season,” I remind him, studying his square, clean-shaven jaw as he glances at a nearby digital clock hanging on the wall, eyes seeming to dim with regret.