1. On the Clock #3
Nolan folded against me, his face tucked beside my neck as the locker room settled around us again.
The distant celebration outside might as well have belonged to somebody else.
I wrapped my arms around him and held him there.
He stayed like that for a while after everything quieted.
Sweat cooled along my neck. Somewhere beyond the row of lockers, water slipped from a shower head at steady intervals, each drop landing against tile before the room went still again.
Nolan shifted enough to look at me.
His thumb brushed along my jaw.
“You’re staring at me.”
“I know.”
“That usually means you’re thinking too much.”
“Maybe I am.”
I smiled and touched the side of his face. “What?”
His expression changed.
Not the restless nerves that had driven him across the practice field earlier.
Something more serious.
“I need to ask you something.”
The teasing reply I’d prepared completely died in my throat.
“Okay.”
Nolan traced my jaw once more before letting his hand settle at my shoulder.
“The media in this league is ruthless. You saw what Reid did tonight. I haven’t even signed anything yet, and he filled a ballroom with sponsors and cameras.”
I glanced toward the locker-room door.
The party seemed like another world from here, but I could still picture the VIP table Reid had built around Nolan. Men who barely knew him had lined up to shake his hand. Cameras had followed every smile. Sponsors had talked about his future as if they had already purchased pieces of it.
Nolan had lasted less than an hour before dragging me out.
“He was excited,” I said.
“Reid doesn’t just get excited.”
That earned a small laugh from me.
Nolan didn’t join in.
“He turns things into business. Every part of my life becomes something he can package if I let him.”
“You’ve known that about him for years.”
“I know.”
Another drop struck the tile.
Nolan looked at me. “But this is different now.”
“What is?”
“Us.”
I stopped smiling.
His hand slid from my shoulder to take mine.
“The NFL is going to be worse than college ever was. Reporters, paparazzi, people digging through everything. The WAG stuff alone is insane.”
I made a face. “That already sounds awful.”
“It is.”
“You sound very confident for a man who became an NFL player about twenty minutes ago.”
“I’ve had Reid preparing me for this since high school.”
“Of course you have.”
He squeezed my hand.
“The point is, I don’t want them getting you too.”
I studied him.
“Getting me?”
“Turning you into part of the story. Following you. Taking pictures every time you leave the house. Reid trying to put you in some sponsor campaign because married-quarterback content tests well.”
The idea made me grimace.
I had spent one evening around Reid’s version of professional football, and that had been enough.
Nolan went on.
“If Reid can’t sell us, he can’t turn this into another campaign.”
“So what are you asking?”
He paused.
“I think we should keep our marriage off the radar.”
The shower dripped again.
I looked down at our joined hands.
Three hours earlier, I might have laughed at the suggestion. Married people didn’t usually make a plan to pretend they weren’t married.
But three hours earlier, I hadn’t spent an evening feeling eyes on me every time I touched my own husband.
I hadn’t watched Reid arrange sponsors around Nolan before a team had even drafted him.
And I hadn’t watched Nolan leave all of it behind because he couldn’t stand being turned into a performance.
“You mean private,” I said.
“Private.”
“Not hidden from everyone we actually know.”
“No. Our people know.”
“But reporters don’t.”
“Reporters don’t. Sponsors don’t. Reid doesn’t get to parade you around whenever somebody wants a quarterback-and-wife campaign.”
That part I understood.
More than understood.
I liked it.
The world could have his statistics, his interviews, his Sunday games, and whatever ridiculous commercials Reid talked him into filming.
I didn’t need any of it.
“I don’t need the VIP suites or the red carpets, Nolan.”
His attention stayed on me.
“I just need you to come home to me when the games are over.”
“I will.”
I squeezed his hand.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
Nolan lifted my hand and pressed his mouth against my fingers.
“I will always come home to you. No matter how crazy this league gets, they don’t get to touch what we have.”
The certainty in his voice left no room for me to argue.
And why would I?
Tonight, when the biggest moment of his life had arrived, Nolan hadn’t wanted the ballroom.
He had wanted me.
The cameras could have Nolan Callahan, first overall pick.
They could have his throws, his records, his interviews, and every smiling photograph Reid could arrange.
I would keep the man who walked away from the cameras because he needed somewhere quiet to wait for his future.
Nolan leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
“Deal?”
I smiled. “Deal.”
His arm came around me again.
Neither of us moved to gather our clothes or go back to the party.
For a little longer, the NFL could wait outside.
I rested my head against his chest and believed him.