22. Life Lines & White Lies
Chapter twenty-two
Life Lines & White Lies
Grant
Present day
It’s the first home match since the new player arrived, and for once, all three of us—me, Xavier, and Will—are in the same place at the same time like over-invested uncles.
Normally, we’d split duties or tune in remotely, but ever since Marlow joined the front office, we’ve all been hovering closer.
Protective. Proud. Quietly making sure she doesn’t drown in the deep end.
She’s good at what she does, but she’s still new. Still figuring out how to hold her own in a world that demands twice as much from women and still gives them half the credit. And even though she’d probably smack me for saying this out loud, she somehow feels like all of our responsibility.
“Another drink?” Will asks, holding up the decanter like we’re still twenty-five and immune to consequences.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “My doctor says I need to cut back.”
“Guess the old man is finally changing his ways,” Xavier chimes in.
I roll my eyes but don’t bother correcting him. I’ve been seeing Dr. Shoup—getting my labs checked, cutting back on the bad habits, making sure this body doesn’t betray me anytime soon. Not because I’m planning to run a marathon or reinvent myself. I just want to stick around. Be sharp. Be present.
For my daughter.
And maybe…for someone else, too.
Because I haven’t actually given up hope. Not on her. Not on us.
“This old man will still kick your ass,” I shoot back.
The room erupts—Will’s drink nearly sloshes out of his glass, and Xavier’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing. We all know Xavier grew up on the mean streets of New Orleans and he’d have me face-down in a second. But the mental image of me trying is apparently comedy gold.
We’re watching the game from Xavier’s office because he’s been so invested in Declan Agassi. I’ll give it to him though, the kid was a solid move for the team. Strong foot, fast instincts. Exactly what we needed.
All the usual banter’s flying—rookie stats, jersey sales, someone’s hot take on midfield rotations—when I feel the buzz in my jacket pocket.
Everything stops when I see the text message flash across my screen.
Dr. Shoup: Marlow collapsed. You need to come to her office now.
The blood drains from my face.
Collapsed?
I’m already on my feet, heart thudding like war drums in my chest. Will notices instantly, his brow furrowing. “What happened?” he asks.
“I—I don’t know. Marlow. She…Dr. Shoup says she collapsed.”
My voice is hollow. Distant. But my feet are moving.
Will and Xavier don’t ask any more questions. They just follow behind me as we rush down the hall.
They know what’s likely going through my mind. The panic. Because I’ve been here before. Not this exact moment, not this stadium, but this feeling.
The fear. The helplessness. The disbelief that someone who was just laughing a moment ago could suddenly be not okay.
It’s too familiar.
It happened once before. Years ago. The morning Maddy collapsed. The morning everything in me cracked open. The morning I found out I was losing my wife.
And now the memory claws its way back, sharp and vicious, like it never left. Like it’s been hiding just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment like this to break me all over again.
My chest beats fast. My legs move faster.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Xavier says, softly. But I can’t breathe.
I need to see her. Need to know she’s breathing, talking, upright—anything.
God, Marlow. Please be okay.
When I get to Marlow’s office, my heart nearly launches out of my chest.
Marlow’s there—on the sofa in her office, surrounded by a few staff members. She’s upright. Breathing. Talking.
She’s okay.
“Munchkin,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“Oh God,” Marlow groans when she sees me. “I told them not to call you.”
“You should know better than that,” Will says with a shrug, like it’s obvious. And it is. This staff knows damn well to think twice before keeping anything from me—especially when it involves her.
Xavier glances down at his phone, then starts casually inching toward the exit. “Well, looks like everything is under control,” he announces, already halfway out the door. “I need to take this call from my wife.”
“Thanks, X,” I say, giving him a nod.
I drop to one knee beside Marlow on the sofa, heart racing even though she’s upright and talking. “What happened, honey? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”
“A ball to the head, perhaps?” Will throws in, grinning, not missing a single beat.
He’s still giving me a hard time after I stupidly told him about Eslin taking a soccer ball to the face during one of our community outreach events at Biddy Mason—and how I kissed her goodbye later that night.
Will hasn’t let up, mostly because he genuinely believes I might’ve stumbled into something real.
Something worth holding onto. I keep brushing him off, telling him he only thinks that way because he’s deep in the fog of newlywed bliss—head over heels and drunk on domestic peace.
But every time Eslin’s name comes up and Will’s nearby, he just gives me that look.
The one that says he sees right through the excuses.
The one that tells me I’m not fooling anyone.
He keeps pushing, insisting I should give Marlow the truth.
That I should give her the chance to accept what’s between Eslin and me.
But he doesn’t know my Low. He didn’t see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes every time I entertained one of those too-young, too-eager women I used to date.
He didn’t catch the quiet, almost imperceptible relief on her face when she realized I’d stepped back from “the woman in Vegas”—for her. That I’d chosen her.
Marlow gives Dr. Shoup a pointed look. “See what you’ve done? Now he’s all frantic.”
Dr. Shoup just shrugs. “I have a daughter. I’d want to know, too.”
Panic hasn’t let go yet. “Want to know what?” I snap, stepping in fast, eyes locked on Marlow.
She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from her face like I’m being dramatic. “Nothing, Daddy. I’m fine.”
“She got a little lightheaded,” Dr. Shoup adds, rising to his feet with a grunt. “She should get some fluids. Lay down. Rest.”
I step aside so he can gather his things, but I’m not taking my eyes off her.
“You sure she’s okay, Doc?” I ask, my voice lower now.
“Perfectly fine,” he says, and then he actually laughs, patting me on the back. “Women seem to keep collapsing or hitting their heads around you, eh, Mr. Mills?”
Fuck.
Nobody else knows I asked him to check on Eslin.
Nobody knows I was there. Kissing her.
I run a hand down my face, trying to keep it together. Please, God. Don’t let my daughter be the annoying, inquisitive thing she usually is?
I force a smile. “I seem to have that effect on women.”
“Wait. What does he mean, Daddy?” Marlow asks, narrowing her eyes at both of us.
This is when Will conveniently decides to announce his exit. “This seems like everything is going just great,” he says on the way out.
Thanks, a lot.
I open my mouth, scrambling for a lifeline. “The day I took a soccer ball to the head,” a voice cuts in, smooth and calm.
Eslin.
I didn’t even see her standing there. I’ve been so locked in on Marlow—so consumed by her presence and the chaos swirling around it—that I missed just about everyone else in the room. But thank God she’s here.
“Your father was nice enough to have Dr. Shoup check on me after the Nutmeg debacle,” Eslin says smoothly, stepping forward with the kind of calm confidence that makes it seem like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to step in and save me.
Marlow nods slowly, her eyes flicking between us, suspicion softening just enough to let the tension break. That seems to settle it. For now.
I glance at Eslin. She’s already looking at me.
I mouth, Thank you.
She doesn’t respond. Just gives me that small, knowing curve of her lips that somehow manages to both rescue me and gut me at the same time.
I owe her.
And I’d do anything to repay that debt. Anything she’d let me.
Marlow gets up and stretches, heading toward the private bathroom off the corner of her office. “You people are so dramatic, I swear,” she throws over her shoulder like nothing just happened.
I turn to Eslin the second the door shuts behind her. My voice low. “What happened? How did she collapse?”
She steps closer, and the moment her hand touches my chest—soft, steady, grounding—I forget how to breathe. The contact is small, but it feels like someone just lit a match in my bloodstream.
“I think you should talk to her,” she says, professionally. Too professional. “I was heading out to the field when it happened. She passed out right in front of me. Scared the hell out of me, too. But she’s okay. The doctor was clear.”
I nod, even though my brain is working overtime just to stay focused on her words. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But I do it anyway—I cover her hand with mine, press my palm to hers, locking us together for just one second longer than appropriate.
“Don’t get me wrong, Eslin,” I murmur, my voice rough with everything I shouldn’t be feeling, “I’m so fucking grateful you were here for her.”
Here for me, I don’t say.
I let out a tortured, humorless laugh. “But I hate that you’re here right now.”
Her brows pull together, lips parting slightly. “Why?”
I swallow hard. “Because—”
The door to Marlow’s bathroom swings open and in an instant, the moment shatters.
Our hands fall apart like they were never joined. We both take a step back, sharp and instinctive, like kids caught in the middle of something we knew we shouldn’t be doing.
Because that’s exactly what it was.
And still, when she’s near me, every line I’ve drawn starts to blur.
Every rule I’ve sworn to follow starts to feel like a dare.
Eslin doesn’t look at me. Not right away. She shifts, adjusting the tank top strap on her shoulder like the weight of what just passed between us needs somewhere to go.
And all I can do is try to remember how to act normal. How to breathe through the insanity she stirs in me with just a touch. A look. A breath too close to mine.
I shift, turning my attention back to Marlow. “You sure you good, Munch?”
“I won’t be if you keep calling me that!” she fires back, full of attitude and color again.
“Okay, okay,” I say, hands in the air like I’m under arrest.
“Well, since you’re fine, Low, I’ll leave you for the rest of the game. See you tomorrow?”
“Thanks, Daddy. See you tomorrow. I’m making eggplant parmesan.”
She perks up like a cartoon light bulb just flicked on above her head. “Oooh! Eslin! You should come! You keep saying you don’t have any family or friends here. Join us for dinner!”
“Oh no!” Eslin and I blurt it out in unison, and if we weren’t so caught off guard, we’d probably laugh at how perfectly synchronized it is.
“It’s just that I’m sure Eslin has other plans,” I add quickly, trying to steer the ship away from the iceberg.
Marlow tilts her head. “Daddy. I just said she doesn’t have any family or friends here.”
She turns to Eslin, who now looks like she’s the one about to faint, or kill me. “Eslin. Come to dinner! It’ll be fun. It’s the beginning of October and Daddy and I like to put out all the Fall and Halloween decor.”
Eslin tries her hardest to protest. “Marlow, I—”
“Come on! I know you’re not doing anything!” Marlow insists.
I know I taught my kid to be persistent, but this is a little aggressive. Even if I am silently hoping she says yes.
Eslin glances at me, wide-eyed, looking for a parachute. I just shrug like an idiot. No way out of this one.
“Sure,” she finally says. “Just a friendly dinner, right?” she asks, looking between me and Marlow.
“Just friends,” I say, then correct myself. “A friendly dinner.”
“Yay!” Marlow squeals. “Perfect!”
I smile, with my hands awkwardly in my pockets.
Perfect.
Friendly and perfect.