Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
AUDREY
I blink.
Then blink again.
I can feel the heat in my cheeks rising from the look in Noah’s eyes.
I thought I was in control of this situation, that the lines were clearly black and white, but Noah is playing by his own rules.
I stayed on the straight and narrow when he modeled his god-like body after cooking a delicious meal.
I steeled my resolve against his warm-up routine that was essentially softcore porn.
It wasn’t easy, but that’s just the physical stuff.
I could write it off as lust, but there’s more.
On top of all those trials and tribulations, he’s proven to me that there’s a good man behind all that muscle.
Nothing he does is for show, it’s all just him right at the surface.
I push him away and he stays. I put other things above him, and he waits.
A prideful man would have felt the sting of rejection and taken off to lick his alpha-male wounds while listening to an Andrew Tate podcast. Noah is not a prideful man. He’s thoughtful, loyal, and persistent.
As he walks toward me, waving politely at the media standing around the room, I realize that I’m fighting feelings as hard as I am fighting lust. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hold out.
My right hand’s full of obligations, my left hand’s full of fear, and I realize that I have nothing left to hold onto Noah with.
He strolls right up to me, like that little show wasn’t for my benefit. “Do you want a tour?”
I nod, barely able to focus on anything else but him. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
He places his hand on my lower back and guides me out of the media room. Part of me is afraid that a photo of his hand on me will be splattered all over social media, but when I glance back, the entire room is focused on the front table where Colin now sits.
We leave the room and turn right. Noah walks so fast, his stride at least twice that of mine. I have to hustle a little to keep up, but as soon as he notices, he slows his pace. He wipes his hand over his mouth. “Sorry I’m used to being shuffled from meeting to meeting here.”
He flips around and walks backward in front of me like a tour guide.
“If you look to your right and left you will see several conference rooms. These are meeting rooms for the different positions. All of the offensive line meets together with their coach to watch film and do team building. There’s a room for every set of positions.
Wide receivers on your left, quarterbacks on your right.
This hallway is pretty boring.” He keeps walking backward.
We enter a huge opening with big glass doors to the left, and to the right a painted brick wall with the Hurricanes logo on it. Over the hurricane image, Full Throttle, No Limits is written in white letters with a navy outline.
“This is the front entrance to the practice facilities. Basically, everyone comes through here every day. If you look up, you’ll see the century chandelier.
One-hundred years of teams are up there.
The name of every man etched into the glass.
” I look up at where Noah is pointing. One-hundred, multicolored glass poles hang from the ceiling.
They’re red, clear, and blue. The light flows in from the huge doors, casting the color of the glass to and fro.
“White means a winning season, navy means a losing season, and red is a Super Bowl.” There’s only one red rod, and it seems to be toward the beginning.
“Are you going to be up there?”
“I already am, I’ve been here three years.” I look up at the three blue rods, the bottom of them labeled by the years. All losing seasons.
That must be so hard to see every day. You come in to work, looking for success, and literally hanging over your head are all the previous failures.
“Everything splits off from here. You saw the east side, let’s go to the other side.
” He crosses the room in big, backward strides as I follow, taking everything in.
This is what makes up Noah’s days. I gaze at the shiny floors and the high ceilings and think about all the social media photo opportunities here.
On the west side of the practice facility, Noah takes me to a huge set of double doors painted navy.
“This is the locker room. Probably the coolest part of the whole place.” He opens the door and holds a hand up to me.
Simultaneously, he puts his head through the door and yells “HELLO?” When no one answers, he gives a satisfied nod and pushes the door all the way open.
“Had to make sure everyone was out for the day before bringing a hen into the roost.”
I’m amazed by how nice the locker room is.
Each player has their own cubby, probably four-feet wide.
The top of them has their name emblazoned.
Below that is a shelf that holds Hurricanes’ helmets and brand-new cleats.
Then a longer space that has hooks at the back.
Everything is customized with the player’s number.
Some of the guys have family photos taped to the sides of their cubby, like when you decorated your locker in high school.
I walk a slow circle around the room, looking at everyone’s photos.
Some have boxes with fan mail piled high.
When I get to Noah’s, the family portrait catches my eye.
I see a younger Noah standing beside his parents.
He has his arm thrown over his mom’s shoulders.
As I scan, I feel Noah step closer to me. “That was my senior year of college on our last family vacation before I went pro.”
“You look happy.”
“I was.” He pauses as if considering whether to say more. “I had finally done what my dad had always wanted me to do, but when I got to the league I was overwhelmed with the pressure and all the changes that come with leaving college.”
“I’m sure that was hard.”
“All that ever mattered to my dad was that I go pro, like him. That was always at the front of my mind. Reaching it was everything to me, and when I finally did, I was so stressed about the responsibility and expectations. It sounds so stupid because there’s millions of guys who would kill to be in my position and I was anxious and insecure about it. ”
“Your dad was pro too? I can only imagine how hard that would be. The change between college and adulthood is huge. It was hard for me too. Suddenly, you’re out in the world. Before I started working for myself, I felt listless.”
“I had a hard time handling it until I started seeing a therapist. She helped me get a sense of accomplishment for even making it this far, and gave me the coping skills I needed to be at this level.”
“I’m glad you were able to see someone. A lot of dudes don’t believe in that.”
“My mom deserves the credit for that. She’s a huge advocate of therapy for everyone.”
“I love that.”
He looks at me for a second and I can tell he’s debating what he wants to say next. He wants to know something, but doesn’t want to push it. “It seems to me like you’ve been trying to live up to your parents’ expectations too.”
I turn my gaze back toward the lockers, away from him. “My parents didn’t understand why I ended my engagement. They thought my ex was a perfectly nice guy. To this day they mention him and ask if I know what he’s up to.”
“Ouch,” he says, and I stare at the picture of Noah looking so happy with his parents.
I remember at my engagement party, the same night I ended things, all the aunts were around squawking about breaking bows while I unwrapped gifts.
The old wives’ tale of however many bows you break is how many future children you would have.
I made damn sure I didn’t break a single one, carefully opening each beautiful package.
“What’s your sister like?”
“She’s the baby, and she has a baby. That also makes her a favorite.”
“And what does that make you?”
“The eldest daughter.” We’re quiet.
I don’t want to see the distance in his eyes anymore. I want to see the brightness they usually contain. And I don’t want to talk about my family anymore. “Let’s continue the tour.”
We’re on the north side of the facilities.
“This,” he explains as we walk, “is where the training room is. Everyone gets stretched and taped up before hitting the field, which is directly out the back doors.”
My mind sticks on what he just said. I realize that he was already good to go when he came out today. His performative softcore porn had a purpose.
That show was for me?
I’m speechless as he continues. After the training room is the weight room. He opens the door for me to peek in. “Two-thousand square feet of lifting equipment.” I recognize a bench press, but most of the other machines are as over my head as aerial yoga.
I laugh. “I’m sure this is both impressive and expensive, but I have no idea what I’m looking at here.”
One side of his mouth tilts up. “Let’s go see the field.”
When we walk out the double doors we’re hit with the muggy heat of late August. Houston will get nice weather eventually, but it’s probably still a month away.
The hottest month of the year is almost over.
Then we’ll just get fewer hot days. You’d be surprised how nice eighty feels after months of high nineties.
A network of concrete walkways spread out in front is us leading who knows where. I follow Noah to the left one and he leads us toward the practice field.
“Didn’t I see all of this today before the game?”
“Yeah, but from the field it’s completely different.”
It’s huge. Not just a football field, but large sideline space too.
The stands for the fans take up a massive amount of space.
It’s mostly empty now, the day having ended an hour ago.
A few maintenance men making sure the white lines are solid and undisturbed.
A couple of equipment managers are packing up the rest of the cones.
Noah turns to someone wrangling extra balls into a big mesh bag.
“Brandon, toss me one.” He holds up his hands.
Brandon pauses and looks at Noah. He sighs.
“I promise we will bring it back in when we’re done.
You don’t have to wait.” I startle as Noah catches the ball Brandon sends hurtling toward us.
Noah turns to look at me, his dark eyes full of mischief. “So, do you know how to throw a spiral?”