Chapter Fifteen
Emily
September slipped away like a fever dream.
There were times in my life I thought I was busy — like when I was balancing college with being on the dance team and having a part-time job bartending, or when I decided to backpack through ten countries in one month, or the very stupid time I thought it would be fun to train for a marathon amidst attempting to launch a candle company.
But I’d never been busy like this.
The season was in full swing after that first game.
If I wasn’t performing at a game, I was learning a new routine for the next one or posing for photos at a community event.
There were early morning workouts to maintain our physique, evening rehearsals that stretched for hours under fluorescent lights, and game day call times that started before sunrise and didn’t end until long after the stadium had emptied.
Appearances blurred together — charity events, sponsor shoots, calendar signings — all of it wrapped in glitter and a permanent smile.
When I wasn’t required to be at the stadium for practice or games, I was working on routines in the apartment I shared with Darcy; she, Marcus and I doing our best to nail a routine perfectly only to perform it maybe two times before it was on to learning the next one.
I couldn’t imagine doing it all and balancing another job like so many of the dancers did. God knew our dancer salary alone wouldn’t cut it in a city as expensive as Seattle.
It was times like this I was thankful for my parents. Not that I wasn’t always, but the fact that I could focus on the team and the dance routines I had to learn because they supported me financially meant more to me than I could express in words.
In fact, I really couldn’t express in words. I knew I should pick up the phone and call them. I should invite them out to a game. I should do something to bridge the gap that had grown into a massive canyon between us.
But any time I tried, my hands would shake, my heart pounding in my throat, and in the end, a text was all I could manage.
Thanks for loving me through my finding myself era, I’d say. Or It’s pretty cool to have groceries. Thank you. I’d even occasionally send I love you, though those words made my chest ache every time.
Their response was always the same — a string of emojis, Mom telling me how proud they were of me, Dad saying they loved me and couldn’t wait to see me. Neither of us ever made any official plans, but the intention was there.
Even if it was half-assed.
I knew the truth none of us could say. I’d shot off to Braden that I didn’t care what anyone thought of me, but the one exception to that rule was my parents. And I was embarrassed when it came to them.
I didn’t want them to see that the one thing that brought me joy and gave me purpose was dancing around in a sequin skirt with pompoms. I didn’t want to see their faces when they tried to pretend it was enough for them, that they saw value in my career choice just as much as they did in their own.
I knew I’d have to witness the Huxley Pause, that they’d be thinking things like surely she knows she won’t be young forever and this isn’t sustainable, it isn’t stable and oh, our sweet little Emily, always going to be a little bird floating on the wind.
And they avoided making concrete plans for the same reason.
They didn’t want to have to pretend. They didn’t want to witness the chaotic lifestyle they were funding in real life.
This was better for all of us — the sporadic texts, the empty promises, the sweet words of well wishes from afar.
Dysfunctional or not, it kept the peace. And lately, that felt like the closest thing we’d ever have to being a “normal” family.
As dizzying as the first month of the regular season had been, I felt like I’d found a routine as October greeted Seattle with a kiss of crisp, wet air. And on a quiet Tuesday morning, I listened to the sound of my sneakers against the concrete floor of the stadium as I headed for Claire’s office.
I knocked, smiling when Claire waved me in.
“Get it all fixed up?”
I nodded, holding up my brand-new pair of navy blue bedazzled dance leggings. “Good as new. With a reinforced seam,” I joked, pulling at the stitching over the ass of the pants to illustrate.
Claire smirked, shaking her head before she was typing away at something on her computer. “Only you would split your leggings in a drop split with that perfect ass of yours.”
“Are you hitting on me, Claire? A bit unprofessional, but hey, I’m into it.”
She tried so hard not to laugh, but couldn’t refrain. “Let’s not even joke. HR would have a field day. That may be the only thing worse than one of you hooking up with a football player.”
I swallowed, a nervous smile finding my lips as I held up the pants again. “Then I’ll do my best to keep my perfect ass contained this time.”
“A blessing to us all.” She snapped, holding up her finger.
“Oh, before you go. We had a podcast reach out to us asking for dancers who may be available for interviews. They’re a pod focused on women’s sports and want to dive into the world of women in the NFL.
Would you be interested in speaking with them? ”
My jaw unhinged. “I… yes, oh my God, yes. I’d love to.” I pointed my thumb into my chest, looking over both shoulders just to be sure. “You are asking me, right? Emily Huxley? Rookie and resident thorn in your side?”
“Yes,” Claire answered with a knowing grin. “Contrary to what you like to put off to everyone else, I see past your self-deprecating jokes and know how smart you are. I think you’d be perfect for this.”
I opened my mouth, shut it again, and found myself surprised when my eyes watered a bit as I managed a smile. “Thank you,” I said. I didn’t trust myself to say anything else.
Claire nodded. “I’ll give you the details for recording when I have them. Until then, try to stay out of trouble?”
“Someone once told me I’m trouble with a capital T.”
“Let’s try not to prove them right.”
With a wave, I excused myself from her office. My heart was a tittering bird in my chest. I pressed a hand to my ribcage, smoothing the mixture of excitement and anxiety there.
Of all the dancers, she wanted me to do the podcast?
Not Darcy, who picked up choreography like she’d been born with counts in her bloodstream. Not one of the veterans who knew how to answer questions with polished smiles and media-trained sound bites. Me.
The girl who cracked jokes when she was nervous. Who hid behind sarcasm and sharp edges to keep anyone from looking too closely. The one who had never quite shaken the feeling that she’d slipped through the cracks and landed here by accident.
My grip tightened on the leggings in my hand.
Claire didn’t just ask me. She said she saw me.
That realization lodged somewhere deep in my chest, pressing against ribs that already felt too tight. Because it wasn’t just about a podcast. It was about being chosen. About someone looking past the mess I presented to the world and deciding there was something underneath it worth listening to.
Worth trusting.
I vowed not to make her regret it.
It was quiet at the stadium. Tuesdays were typically the players’ day off. Sure, some of them still showed up — the masochists, I guessed. But for the most part, it was staff only, a day for cleaning and resetting.
Which was why I was a bit surprised to find a cute, curly-haired woman tapping away on her phone as she whisked toward me.
She was wearing the most adorable and bizarre outfit, a gold and brown plaid skirt over black sheer tights and a mustard yellow cardigan with a white-collared dress shirt beneath it.
Her brown loafers moved swiftly, like she was a woman on a mission, and she glanced up at me with a warm smile and hello before she was looking at her phone again.
The moment she passed me, she swung to a stop so fast it made her spin in place.
“Hey, are you Emily?”
I blinked. “Yes?”
I wasn’t sure why it came out like a question. Maybe because I had no idea who this woman was, and had never seen her before in my life, and she was calling me out by name.
Her smile widened, phone dropping to her side. “Of course you are.”
She mused the words as her eyes took me in — not in a creepy way, but in the kind of appreciative way that made me love women so hard. It was like she was about to compliment me on my outfit or my hair or the way I’d done my makeup that day.
Pure reference and awe.
“And you are?” I prompted.
She shook her head on a laugh, tucking her phone into her brown satchel purse. “Oh, goodness, sorry. I’m Giana Johnson.” She extended her hand for mine. “I’m an agent for some of the players here in Seattle.”
“Badass,” I said as I shook her hand.
“Says the woman who dazzles a stadium full of thousands of people every week.”
“Plenty of badassery to go around.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Do you live here in Seattle, then?”
“Oh, no. I live in Denver, actually. For now, anyway. Guess we’ll see where the League takes us next.” She waved her hand in the air with a laugh. “Married to a football player.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. Definitely didn’t see myself ending up here when I agreed to be his fake girlfriend to make my crush notice me.”
She laughed again, and my eyebrows shot up. “Uh… I feel like I need more details.”
“It’s a long story. Anyway, I was just here visiting some of my clients. Do you know Kyle Robbins and Braden Lock?”
My heart skipped in my chest. “I know Braden a little. As much as I can know him, being that we aren’t supposed to fraternize with the players.”
“Oh. Right. That.” Giana watched me for a moment, a mischievous gleam in her eyes like she knew something I didn’t.
“Well, Kyle is a silly brute who’s kept me on my toes ever since I signed him.
Really since before then. We were friends in college.
Braden, too. But he’s the easy one. Just so responsible and good, you know? ”
I nodded, unable to contain the disappointment in my sigh. “As responsible as they come.”
Giana tilted her head. “Ah, but he’s in a bad way today.
Taking that loss on Sunday to heart.” She paused, biting her lower lip as she looked around like she wanted to make sure we were alone.
“You should stop by and see him, see if you can cheer him up. He’s in the gym.
Sulking. Brooding. Being very tragic about it. ”
She shrugged, already turning to leave.
“It might be nice to have a friend right now.”
“We’re not friends,” I said to her back.
“Maybe you could start to be.”
“It’s kind of against the rules.”
She did a little spin into a backward walk, her skirt flaring. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Giana winked, then vanished down the hall, leaving me with a loaded gun and temptation curling tight around the trigger.