1. Tess #3
The intensity of the climax hollowed her out, leaving only a deep, exhausted contentment.
The stadium adrenaline had finally burned out, and she was entirely anchored by the solid weight of him.
Wrapped around his waist in the cramped room, Tess felt bulletproof, entirely insulated from whatever corporate chaos the league was about to dump on them.
When the rush finally ebbed, the quiet of the locker room returned.
Exhausted, Camden collapsed against her chest and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Tess kept one arm around him, her other hand resting on the bench beside them. Somewhere in the building, water dripped at an uneven rhythm.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
The quiet was no longer tense with waiting.
It was just the steady sound of them breathing.
Camden lifted his head enough to look at her.
“Tess.”
“What?”
“You are my life.”
She studied him for a moment, searching for a joke and finding none.
The same man who had spent the evening pacing holes into the field now sat beside her without moving, his attention fixed nowhere else.
Tess touched his face.
“I know.”
Outside, Marcus still had a ballroom full of sponsors waiting. Cameras were still flashing. Somewhere, people were probably already arguing over hats, photographs, interviews, and contracts.
None of it reached them yet.
For that moment, there was nothing outside the room they needed.
Tess rested against Camden on the bench, her dress pulled back into place enough to cover her, while his shirt hung loose.
His thumb brushed along her jaw.
“That face means you’re about to ruin the quiet.”
Camden looked at her for another moment. “I need to ask you something.”
“Then ask.”
His hand stilled against her cheek.
“The press in this league is going to try to gut us.”
Tess waited.
“You saw tonight.” He glanced toward the closed locker-room door as if Marcus might somehow materialize through it.
“My dad turned a draft party into a product launch before anybody even called my name. Sponsors at the head table. Cameras waiting every time I turned around. People I’ve never met talking about my market before I even have a locker. ”
“That part where the watch guy asked you to hold his champagne bottle for a photo was special.”
Camden’s mouth twitched, but the humor disappeared almost at once.
“That’s what I mean. Tonight was college. The second I sign, it gets worse.”
Tess shifted enough to face him. The bench pressed against the back of her legs, and the room had cooled around them now that neither of them was moving.
“How much worse?”
“Reporters outside practice. Tabloid stringers digging through anything they can find. Every woman standing beside a player gets turned into content.” He stroked her jaw once. “The WAG stuff is vicious. They rank wives, girlfriends, clothes, houses. They turn marriages into entertainment.”
Tess pictured the ballroom again.
Marcus steering Camden by the shoulder.
Executives watching him as if the draft had already transferred ownership.
Cameras firing while her husband had searched the room for an exit.
None of that had followed them onto the field.
None of it had reached this room.
“So what are you asking me?”
Camden looked straight at her.
“I need to keep our marriage hidden from the public.”
The drip continued in the distance.
Tess studied his face.
“Hidden from reporters, or hidden from everyone?”
“From the machine. Not from us.”
Something in her eased.
Camden turned toward her on the bench. “I’m not asking you to pretend you aren’t my wife when we’re home. I’m asking us not to hand Marcus or the league a way into this.”
He gestured between them.
“This is the only part of my life they don’t own.”
Tess looked down at his hand resting near hers.
That makes sense.
She had never dreamed about luxury boxes or getting photographed at games. The women Marcus had invited to the ballroom tonight had spent half the evening comparing designers and discussing which camera angles made their faces look better.
Tess wanted none of it.
She wanted cheap takeout after practice.
His shoes abandoned by the front door.
Camden stretched across their couch complaining about defensive schemes she pretended to understand.
Their life had never needed an audience.
“You’re asking the wrong woman if you think I care about being photographed in some VIP suite.”
His shoulders dropped a little.
Tess held up a finger before he could answer.
“But I get a condition.”
“Name it.”
“The cameras can have Camden Ford the franchise quarterback. Marcus can parade you down every red carpet he can find.” She touched the open collar of his shirt. “I couldn’t care less.”
Camden covered her hand with his.
“My condition is that you walk through our front door when the turf goes cold.”
His gaze stayed on hers.
“No matter how big this gets.”
“No matter how big.”
“No sponsor dinners replacing us.”
“No.”
“No Marcus deciding our house is another extension of your brand.”
“He doesn’t get that.”
Tess watched him, refusing to let the promise slide past just because the night had gone well.
“Camden.”
“I’m always going to walk through that door.”
The certainty in his voice made the rest of her questions seem smaller.
He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth against her knuckles.
“I don’t care how ruthless this league gets. They will never get their hands on this.”
Tess leaned into him again.
His arm came around her, and she settled her head against his chest while the plumbing kept up its steady drip somewhere across the room.
Outside these walls waited Marcus, the ballroom, the cameras, and whatever came after a professional team decided Camden Ford belonged on its roster.
They could have those pieces.
They could print his photograph, sell his jersey, analyze every throw, and argue about his contract.
Tess only wanted the man holding her in an empty locker room after the biggest night of his life.
If keeping that man meant staying out of photographs, she could disappear without resentment.
As long as Camden kept coming home to her, Tess was happy to let the rest of the world believe she did not exist.