Chapter 15 #2
Like we hadn’t spent weeks pretending to be something we were now trying to figure out for real.
The corporate scripts, the media timelines, and the protective walls had all been left inside.
Out here, with the warm breeze rustling the leaves of her balcony plants and the hum of early traffic echoing up from the streets, there was no performance left to give.
I watched her over the rim of my coffee cup, taking in the relaxed curve of her shoulders and the way she smiled when she caught me staring.
The world downstairs was still trying to piece together the narrative of the franchise quarterback and his mystery woman, but up here, the story belonged entirely to us.
For the moment, none of that mattered.
We were just two people on a balcony, sharing breakfast in the morning light.
And somehow that felt better than anything else.
I didn’t want to leave.
That realization hit me the moment we stepped back inside from the balcony.
Mars stood near the door while I grabbed my shoes, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around us again after the easy laughter we’d shared over breakfast.
The morning light had shifted now, brighter, pouring through the windows and catching in her hair.
She looked comfortable.
Calm.
Like the night and the morning after had settled something inside her.
And seeing that did something to me I couldn’t fully explain.
I stepped closer to her, not quite ready to walk out the door yet.
“I’ve got to head to practice,” I said, even though part of me wanted to pretend I didn’t.
She nodded.
“Okay.Her voice was soft, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
I lifted my hands and gently held her face between them, my fingers spreading along her jawline.
Her skin was warm beneath my palms, a soft contrast to the crisp morning air circulating on the patio.
For a second, I just looked at her, letting the silence settle between us until the frantic pace of the last few days felt a million miles away.
Then I leaned in and kissed her forehead.
Then her cheek.
Then the other cheek.
She laughed quietly, a breathless sound as she tried to pull back against my chest.
“Jalen…”
“I’m not done.”
I pressed another quick kiss near her temple, then the corner of her mouth, completely ignoring her half-hearted attempt to escape.
The defensive corporate walls she usually carried were entirely gone, replaced by a soft, radiant warmth that I never wanted to let go of.
The strategy session was officially over.
There were no more plays to call, no more media timelines to anticipate, and no more rehearsing.
Sitting out under the Houston sun, I didn't care what the blogs or the cameras had to say anymore.
I just wanted to stay right here, holding her face in my hands, figuring out the rest of our reality one unscripted moment at a time."
She shook her head, smiling now.
Truth was, I wished I could stay.
Skip practice.
Spend the rest of the day right there in her apartment, talking, laughing, learning all the little things about her that I hadn’t noticed yet.
But missing practice would cost me more than a lecture.
Coach would fine me without blinking.
And while part of me thought staying would absolutely be worth it, the responsible part of my brain knew better.
“I’ll see you later?” I said.
“I’ve got some work to catch up on,” she replied. “But yeah. We’ll talk later.”
I nodded, though I lingered another second before finally opening the door.
Walking down the hall toward the elevator, I realized something that made me shake my head slightly.
I felt good.
Really good.
Better than I had in a long time.
Like there was something waiting for me after the day ended.
Something real.
And the thought stayed with me all the way to the training facility.
Practice was already buzzing when I got there.
The guys were stretched out across the locker room, music playing low while everyone got ready to head out onto the fieldThe second I walked in, a couple of heads turned.
Then the comments started.
“Man,” one of the receivers said, shaking his head as he strapped on his shoulder pads.
“Your girl looked crazy good at the game.”
Another guy laughed from across the row of lockers.
“Yeah, bro.
You did not warn us.”
I grabbed my practice jersey, trying to ignore them.
I felt my shoulders tighten, a sudden, heavy pressure building in my chest.
Something about the way they talked about her didn’t sit right with me.
It wasn't because they were being openly disrespectful.
They weren’t, and they knew exactly where the line was with me.
But I didn’t like the idea of them noticing her like that.
I didn’t like the thought of anyone else looking at her the way I had the night before, or realizing how easily she could command a room without even trying.
“Alright, alright,” someone else said, cutting through the chatter as he tossed a roll of athletic tape into his locker.
“Relax. We get it. Let the man prep.”
Practice itself went fine.
Reps.
Drills.
Film talk.
The usual rhythm of the facility took over, giving my brain a temporary break from the chaotic shift in my personal life.
We ran through the upcoming defensive coverages, adjusted our route depths, and focused entirely on the playbook.
But every time the whistle blew and the field went quiet between periods, my eyes would drift toward the sidelines, my mind immediately snapping back to the penthouse balcony, the scent of vanilla, and the way her face had felt in my hands just a few hours earlier.
But near the end, Coach pulled me aside.
“Hey Jalen.”
“What’s up?”
He flipped through his tablet briefly.
“Don't forget you're segment with Darren Hill this week on last week’s game.”
The name hit my ears like a spark landing in gasoline.
Darren Hill.
For a second I just stared at him.
Normally I did those segments without thinking twice.
Postgame breakdowns, quick interviews, and easy publicity had become second nature after years in the spotlight.
I could usually flip the switch the moment a camera turned on, smile through anything, and say exactly what people expected to hear.
Tonight felt different. Every question felt heavier, every camera seemed a little too close, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure I could pretend everything was fine.
But now the name carried weight it hadn’t before.
Images from the balcony flashed through my mind.
Mars staring down into her glass.
The quiet way she said his name.
I felt my jaw tighten slightly.
“You good?” Coach asked“Yeah.”
But the answer came slower than usual.
I nodded once, adjusting the strap of my helmet before locking it into my locker.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Still, as practice wrapped up and the guys started filing back toward the showers, their cleats clacking loudly against the tile, one thought stayed completely stuck in my head.
I needed to tell Mars.
If management and the PR team wanted me on Darren Hill's show next week, she deserved to know first.
Hill was a vulture who built his entire media career on tearing apart athletes' personal lives, and I knew exactly what kind of intrusive, low-blow questions he would try to corner me with.
If she didn’t want me anywhere near that man or the circus his show created, I wouldn’t do it.
Simple as that.
I'd take the fine from the front office, or let my agent handle the fallout.
Because right now, the only thing I cared about more than football... was making sure she never had to feel unprotected again.
I wasn't going to let our reality become fuel for a daytime television rating.