Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (30 page)

Because I have no idea how to help her.

Courtney

The next morning, I wake up hungry.

I ate more last night than I have nearly all week—how is it possible that I’m hungry?

“Morning,” Adam says, hitting snooze on his alarm before rolling over and wrapping his arms around me.

“Hey,” I say, as our fight last night rushes to me. He was on the couch when I got out of the shower last night and we didn’t speak. I went directly to his bed. I don’t even know when he got in bed. To be honest, I’m a little surprised he didn’t just stay out on the couch.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks softly.

“Adam,” I say, changing the subject. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“It’s okay,” he says, as if it really is. “We can talk about it more after the game.”

“Okay,” I say. Suddenly, I realize that in addition to being hungry, my head hurts. “Anyway, how’d you sleep?”

“Really well. I always sleep better when you’re here. And more soundly when it rains.”

I don’t have to look out the window to know that the rain has kept up all night, and to reinforce what we’re saying, a clap of thunder rings out across the sky.

“Good thing you play in an enclosed stadium these days, huh?” I ask.

“Seriously,” Adam says. “Playing in the rain sucks.”

“Though it makes for an interesting game.”

A second alarm goes off and Adam groans.

“Which one is that?” I ask.

“The Get-Out-of-Bed-Even-Though-You-Don’t-Want-To alarm.”

“So, not the You’re-Now-Late alarm.”

He chuckles low and the feel of it rumbles against my skin. “I can’t be late. I’ll be fined if I’m late.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised, though I shouldn’t be. “So you need to get up.”

“Sadly, yes,” he says, kissing me softly on the lips. “Though I’d much rather stay here with you.”

“Please,” I say. “After you finally realized you couldn’t sleep anymore, you’d be bored and itching to play and you know it.”

He makes a noncommittal noise and I pat him on the ass. “C’mon. Get up.”

“Fine,” he says, sitting up slowly. I head into the bathroom to get dressed as he changes in the room, and when I come back out, he’s dressed in the team’s tracksuit and a Saints hat.

“So the only vehicle I have is the Jeep,” he says. “Ride with me to the stadium. We can pick up breakfast on the way and then you can bring the Jeep back here for the rest of the morning.”

“Oh,” I say. I had been planning to ignore my hunger pains until after my morning run, when I’d drop by a grocery store and pick up some yogurt. But after everything that happened yesterday when Adam basically force-fed me all day, I know better than to refuse a meal. “Okay.  Sure, that sounds good.

When we’re in the car, I ask, “Is there a breakfast place that isn’t McDonalds on the way?”

“Not really,” he says.

I sigh, but know there’s no way out of it. He needs to eat and he’s not going to let me get away with not eating in front of him. This, I’ve already figured out. And I get it. I’ve been really extreme lately. I know that being this strict with my diet isn’t sustainable and I meant it when I told Sophie that I’d be reintroducing foods back into my diet next week.

We pull into McDonald’s and Adam orders nearly the entire breakfast menu. Then he looks at me. “Sausage McMuffin?” he asks, citing my usual order.

“Yogurt parfait, a black coffee, and ice water.”

He holds my gaze for a second, then nods and repeats my order into the speaker. When we’re pulling around to the window I ask if he needs some cash and the look he gives me could burn a hole in the sun.

Adam hands me the drinks, and I put both our coffees in the drink holders, then down my ice water, giving my stomach something to metabolize.

“Can you hand me, just, something?” Adam asks, and I reach into the bag and pull out a breakfast sandwich. He eats it in three bites and I hand him the second one with trepidation, afraid he’ll bite my hand thinking its food.

We pull into the Saints parking lot near the field house, where the lot is filling up with players’ more-flashy-than-not vehicles, but Adam doesn’t make a move to get out yet. He grabs a hash brown out of the bag and eats it before downing his coffee.

“Does that much grease really not make you sick before games?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Maybe in a few years it will. But until it does, I’m going to partake in the greasy goodness.”

I nod, then grab my yogurt and open it, adding the granola before stirring it all together and taking a bite. The taste is shockingly sweet compared to the Greek yogurt I’ve been eating lately and it takes me a moment to get over it.

“Courtney,” Adam says, his voice serious. “I really love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say, turning to look at him.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me, too. I’m excited to see you play in a home game.”

He smiles and puts an arm around me, pulling me toward him. “I’m sorry about everything I put you through this week.”

“Don’t even think about that,” I say as I lean forward for a kiss before he has to go prepare for the game. The kiss ends up being a little longer than I initially planned, but I’m not complaining about that.

“Okay,” he says. “I have to go inside. When you get here for the game, park in this lot and let Amanda know when you arrive. If she hasn’t already, she’ll give you the instructions on how to get past security and to the box.”

“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

He kisses me one more time and then gets out of the Jeep, jogging to the front door of the field house. I finish my yogurt before moving to the driver’s side, and then adjust the seat and mirrors and head back to Adam’s apartment, where I plan to go for a run and then hit his complex’s gym.

After a two-hour workout, I shower and rehydrate with a couple glasses of water before sitting down to check my email. I delete the junk and then see an email from Amanda. “First Clip is in!” is the subject and I nearly knock over the water as I click the link.

It’s in today’s local paper! Everything looks great and it seems that you two had a wonderful dinner with the Montgomerys last night.

She includes the link to the article as well as directions for me when I arrive at the stadium later. I click the link, praying that I don’t look horrible in the photos that were published.

But knowing my luck, I probably do.

When the page loads, I close my eyes for a second before scrolling to see the damage. But when I get to the photo, I’m shocked to see that I look good. I’m smiling and laughing, leaning in a little toward Melissa in one shot, and in the next Adam’s arm is around me and I’m looking over toward him with a smile on my face.

No double chin. No pimples. My hair somehow didn’t frizz in the humidity and the dress I wore last night really accentuates my waist, even when sitting.

I look
good
in these photos. It’s a Sunday miracle.

When my shock at my decent appearance in the photos abates, I read the article, which just reports that Adam and I are looking cozy and having dinner with the Montgomerys. There’s some stuff in there about Mariella, but it questions whether or not the rumors are true and that Adam and I look as happy as an engaged couple should.

Hallelujah.

I reply to Amanda, thanking her for this, and forward the article to my friends with approximately a billion exclamation points before hoisting myself off the couch and beginning the process of getting ready for the game.

When I get to the field house, I call Amanda to let her know that I’m here. When I meet her at the door she whistles and says, “Look at you, pulling off that tomboy bombshell look that I’ve never seen anyone else wear successfully.”

I look down at my dark skinny jeans, black low-heeled booties, and a women’s fit version of Adam’s jersey. I used an actual curling iron to create some loose waves in my hair, after video calling Kate and having her walk me through how to do it successfully, and I even put on makeup. Since I knew I was going to be on television, I figured I should put forth an effort.

“Thanks,” I say, stepping inside.

“Follow me to the box,” she says, and I fall into stride as we head through the field house and into the stadium.

“So, I should give you a heads-up about something,” Amanda says.

“Okay.”

“To completely quash the whole idea that Adam and Mariella might have been together, I’m working the Mariella and Grant Walker angle.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised that she’s bringing this up in front of me. “Didn’t Grant just get a divorce?”

“His divorce was recently finalized, but he and his ex have been separated for a couple years,” she says. “I spoke with him and asked about his intentions with Mariella, and he told me that the timing is weird because of the divorce finalization, but that he is serious about her. And Mariella said the same thing.”

“That’s great.”

“It is,” Amanda says. “But it also means that Mariella is here.”

I stop dead at this. I never considered that I would meet the woman with great thighs that Adam was purported to be sleeping with. Even though I know that he
didn’t
do those things, the thought of meeting her kind of freaks me out.

“Are you okay?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I just hadn’t ever entertained the possibility of meeting Mariella.”

Amanda nods and says, “I know it’s kind of strange. But if would be huge if you could, you know, introduce yourself to her. There will be a photographer in the box, and if we can get some good shots of you and Mariella being friendly, that would really help me out with the media.”