Chapter 41
Josephine
I never expected to spend a Thursday afternoon surrounded by a sea of red and white in the middle of an athletic shoe store, but here we are.
When Decker asked me to accompany him to this event, I didn’t hesitate. He’s been a surprisingly compliant patient over the last few days.
He talked to his coach on Tuesday, and he’ll have to pass a series of tests to work through the NCAA’s concussion protocol starting tomorrow. He still has more than a week to fully recover since the Crusaders don’t have a game this weekend.
Since it’s a bye week, the guys have more NIL obligations than usual. Decker is the only one required to attend this one. It’s some sort of exclusive VIP experience aimed at preteens who are eager to talk to him and have him sign everything from footballs to T-shirts to shoes.
Misty is here, flitting around with a clipboard and scolding kids who hold up the line with too many pictures. I guess that’s part of her job, but she could stand to be a bit kinder to the kids whose parents no doubt shelled out big bucks to meet Decker Crusade.
Decker is on in a way he usually reserves for the field.
He’s charming and warm, taking time to ask each person’s name.
He always asks the kids what they like to do for fun.
Not what sports they participate in or what position they play.
There’s blatant disregard for how into football a kid might be.
If anything, he seems to give more attention to the shy, reserved kids who approach his table.
He’s so good with all of them. It’s surprising and legitimately heartwarming to watch.
I’m leaning against a display of toe shoes—so creepy—trying to fade into the background as I take it all in.
The store is a madhouse, with a checkout line half as long as the queue to meet the man of the hour.
Despite the chaotic energy and sheer volume of hundreds of parents and kids waiting for their turn, my attention is drawn back to Decker over and over again.
He’s enigmatically good looking. It should be a crime to be that talented, wealthy, and naturally handsome.
I’d almost describe him as pretty, if not for the hard set of his jaw.
I could watch him for hours. His movements are fluid, and his smile, something it took weeks for me to get a glimpse of, now comes so easily.
He’s quick to laugh when interacting with the kids and totally at ease as he jokes around and slings a huge arm over their shoulders for the photo op.
I watch him for far longer than I should, captivated by the same magic that’s put every other person here under his spell.
But as time goes on, he deflates. It’s subtle at first. Just a hint of tension in his shoulders. Between groups, he stretches his neck from side to side. Eventually, his jaw ticks in an erratic rhythm, almost as if he can’t control it.
It’s loud in here. Loud and exceptionally bright thanks to the ring lights set up for the photo op. Concerned, I scan the store and take stock. The line is still out the door. But Decker looks like he could use a break.
Of course, Misty doesn’t notice the change in his demeanor. As long as he’s still sitting upright and forcing a smile, she likely doesn’t care about how he feels.
Kylian was set to come with him today but got pulled into a coaching meeting this afternoon that went on for more than three hours. It may be a bye week for the players, but the coaches and support staff are in full-on planning mode.
Decker and I came to the same conclusion without discussion. Kylian was exhausted when he got home, and he needed time to unwind. Especially since there are even more parties and events to attend as Shore Week approaches.
I suggested Kylian stay behind. Decker asked me to tag along. We never discussed how this would go or what my role would actually be.
Decker doesn’t need saving.
But that doesn’t stop me from feeling compelled to help.
He’s saying goodbye to an adorable freckle-faced kid missing his four front teeth when I slip around the back of the table and brush my hand along his shoulders.
Bending low, I whisper, “It looks like you could use a break. Want to go find somewhere dark and quiet to recharge for a bit?”
He turns, and onyx eyes meet mine. He gives me a skeptical frown, which I’m learning is his default reaction in most situations.
From here, he looks even more wiped. The skin around his eyes is pulled tight, and his cheeks droop just a little.
Eventually, he nods, exhaling in what I think is relief, before he turns back to assess the crowd.
“The line…” he mumbles, jutting his chin toward the dozens of families still waiting.
“Believe me, Cap. You look pained at this point. You won’t like what you see in the pictures if you keep pushing it. They won’t mind waiting a bit longer.”
“Yeah, okay,” he relents, rising to his feet and stretching his arms behind his back.
He waves, and Misty click-clacks across the store and comes to stand close enough that her arm brushes against his.
Taking a step back, he gives her a pointed look. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll be back in twenty.”
Panic flares behind her eyes. “You can’t just walk out!” Her head snaps in my direction, and she hits me with a look full of accusation. She holds up a file and turns back to Decker. “We didn’t negotiate breaks in the contract, and this is a sold-out event. What am I supposed to tell everyone?”
“Isn’t that your job to figure out?” I quip. Honestly. It’s not like he’s asking her to cancel or leave early.
Decker nods once. “I’m not ditching out. I just need a break. You can handle this, Misty.”
He looks toward the next family in line, who heard the entire exchange. With a pained smile, he holds up one finger. “I’ll be back. I promise. Just need a little break.”
They grin at him and nod like bobbleheads, obviously unbothered by having to wait a little while longer.
Decker steps out from behind the table and heads toward the back of the store. I follow, and once we’ve put some space between us and the crowd, he reaches back for my hand.
A thrill zings through me when he interlaces our fingers. I suck in a breath and remind myself that it doesn’t mean anything. He’s concussed and probably dizzy. He’s just using me to steady himself.
I quicken my pace to take the lead, pushing through the back entrance.
There are several doors along a narrow hallway, but the buzzing fluorescent lights are almost as intense here as they are out on the floor.
The first door reveals a stock room. The next is an office.
Then we come upon the equivalent of a janitor’s closet.
“In here.”
There are empty milk crates stacked against one wall. The distinct scent of lemon cleaner permeates the air. But at least it’s quiet. And dark.
I procure a water bottle I stashed in my bag before we left the house, and Decker groans appreciatively as he accepts it.
He heaves out a breath, then plops onto a short stack of crates. With his eyes closed, he rests his skull against the wall and holds the cool water to his forehead.
Now that he’s settled, I don’t know what to do with myself, and I awkwardly adjust my weight from hip to hip and scan the contents of the closet. Tight spaces don’t bother me, but there’s barely enough room for Decker among all the stuff crammed in here. I should give him some room.
“How long do you think you need? Fifteen or twenty minutes?” My hand is already resting on the door handle as I wait for him to respond.
It’s dark in here, but not so dark that I don’t see when he opens his eyes and looks from my face to the door handle.
He reaches out, but I shift, evading his touch. Even so, he snags my free hand and slowly, surely, interlaces our fingers.
“Stay.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. And a lump of uncertainty forms in the pit of my stomach. Confusion swirls with desire as I try to work out what this means.
He clears his throat, then repeats himself, as if he knows I’m doubting what I heard. “Stay with me, Josephine.”
My head is swimming. Anxiety churns in my gut, and my whole being is off-kilter. Literally.
One second, my hand is pressing down on the door handle, and in the next, I’m stumbling farther into the closet.
Decker catches me as I trip over my own feet, and he doesn’t let go.
Big hands smooth up my legs, grazing over my hips and connecting along my low back. He spreads his legs and pulls me in. I have no choice but to go where he guides me. My body is so close that my knees bump against the milk crates he’s sitting on.
I feel him—the heat of his fingers splayed on my low back, his forehead resting against my stomach. I smell him—sea salt and amber. His scent wafts over me, coming on just as strong as when I’m swathed in the hoodie I’ve been secretly sleeping in all week.
Pushing away all thought of the consequences, I lean in closer and drape my arms over his shoulders. Then I get to work massaging the back of his skull in the way I know he likes.
He groans, so I press harder.
I tell myself I’m trying to relieve his headache. I pointedly ignore the part of my brain that accuses me of wanting to run my fingers through his hair and scrape my nails against his skin.
We stand like that for several minutes. Him holding me. Me holding him.
In increments, the comfort of him against me transforms into heavy tension.
The care and concern of thirty seconds ago has suddenly morphed into need.
A pang of desire. An itch that burns with how desperately it wants to be scratched.
I run my hands through his hair mindlessly, letting my fingertips skim down his neck and trace his throat. In turn, he rubs up and down my back, his touch more pointed and exploratory as it crosses the invisible boundaries it maintained a moment ago.
The darkness makes us bold. We’re both guilty of lingering touches and brave caresses we’d never allow in the light. Every time I push the limits, he responds with a more brazen caress.
We’ve been stripped away of all excuses, reduced to nothing but sensation.
I skirt my hands up his chest, tracing up his neck until my fingertips find his lips. He covers my hand with his, flattening it to his mouth and exhaling before placing the softest kiss on my palm.
“Josephine.”
My name is a caress, warming my skin and sinking into the marrow of my bones.
It has to be the darkness. The sensory deprivation. No light. Nothing but silence. It heightens the intensity of every touch. I would stand to forget my own damn name in this moment if he hadn’t just whispered it in reverence.
The way he’s holding me against his body fills a need I didn’t know existed until now.
The way I’m desperate for him to never let go scares the shit out of me.
I startle when his breath ghosts over my lips. I wasn’t even aware I was bending down. It didn’t take much, given our height difference. Decker cranes his neck, his mouth so close to mine, the tip of his tongue teasing me as he licks his bottom lip.
The door flies open, and light floods in, blinding us. I jump back, then instantly regret it when light hits Decker right in the face.
He holds both hands up and winces on reflex. Shit. I’m sure that did wonders for his headache.
Misty stands in the doorway, hands planted on her hips. “There you are! They’re getting restless. And the next time you want to take a break in the middle of an engagement, we need to discuss it beforehand so I can…”
She drones on as she hurries down the hall, confident we’ll follow. I step fully into the light, peering over my shoulder to gauge Decker’s reaction to that near miss.
He’s still seated on the milk crate, half his face cast in shadow. The heated look he gives me with the single eye I can see is all the answer I need.
He doesn’t move. Neither do I. We face off for several seconds until a shrill voice rings out down the hall.
“Decker. Let’s go!” And with that, the spell is broken.