20. Chapter 20
Mariana
The Strike plays the rest of the game with the same kind of drive and coherence they've had all season. They win it easily. It brings a strong sense of joy and confidence to the suite that I grab onto, hoping it will soak into my bones.
We chat and laugh while waiting for the guys. Part of the process involves Evie checking social media for news.
"Are they saying anything interesting this time?" Nat asks her way.
"You probably know this." Ames smiles at me. "Being involved with pro athletes means some interest in their partners, gossip, et cetera. That means there's a bit of interest in us."
I smirk. "Yeah, I know how it is. I've seen it with my brothers. Sometimes my parents. Rarely the rest of us."
My stint with the royals gave me a taste of it. Not the same world but similar fascination. I didn't care for it one bit.
I shrug. "I'm sure the four of you have had your share of media coverage."
"None compared to Ames," Nat says. "Her and Saint's kiss was covered by several cameras during the friggin' championship win broadcast earlier this year."
Ames laughs. "What did you want me to do? I wasn't about to stop Saint."
"I'm the only one mostly free from coverage," Nat teases. "Advantages of being married to a special teams guy."
Pen scrunches up her nose. "But yeah, all of us have had a brush with unexpected… err… fame."
"And you're not exempt, I'm afraid." Evie gives me her phone with a video playing.
I take the phone. Everyone else seems interested, so I keep the device at such an angle we can all see. We stare at the screen, where a video plays of the five of us gazing down the window to the field. The text on screen reads, "New WAG????" with an arrow pointing at me.
Someone recorded us from the stands below the suite.
"Lovely," I say without enthusiasm and give the phone back to Evie. "At least they won't be able to connect me with anyone. No dates, no witnesses, no evidence."
"Let's hope so," Pen says. "Sometimes things come out that truly shock you."
"These internet sleuths…" Evie shakes her head sagely. "I'd be prepared if I were you."
I sigh. "I was trying to convince myself, I know."
Deep laughter comes from the hall. We all get up and turn toward the door. The men come in and go find their partners, who meet them in the middle. It's sweet, really, how natural it seems.
I make myself scarce and go get a drink, giving everyone room with their significant other. I turn my back to them. Dom comes last and, perhaps thinking the same way I do, he throws his bag on the floor and leans on the sidetable, close to me.
"Hey. Had fun?" he asks.
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Unfortunately?"
He gazes at me with a mix of confusion and humor tilting his mouth. Not that I want to stare at his mouth. It's the kind of thing that just happens when you're communicating with someone. You study their gestures. And with everyone being so affectionate behind me? Yeah, well. Whatever.
I take a big gulp of water. "I'm not sure how happy you're going to be to hear how great a time I had."
"Why?"
"Because now I want more time with them. Evie said she'd invite me to her wedding."
"Hhmm." He rolls his shoulders. "I'll learn to live with it. You're not… awful."
I laugh. "Thank you so much for the kind words."
"I can write them down, then you can get them tattooed on you in my script. 'Not awful.' What an endorsement. My signature goes for good money in some circles."
"Oh, please." I snort. "I don't do tattoos. A shirt with 'Barely Tolerable' on it, though… at least that comes from a classic. Jane Austen had a way with words."
"You like tattoos, come on."
"On other people. Sometimes."
"Then maybe I can get it tattooed. There's a space where it could fit perfectly. Unless you still think I'm awful?"
He holds my eyes for a moment, the question he's not asking hidden behind the deep brown of his irises. If he doesn't think I'm awful and I don't think he is, then we're good again.
I give him a small but genuine smile. "Not awful, either."
I was right, and we've forgiven each other for our mistakes years ago.
"Barely tolerable?" he adds, playfulness taking over his face.
I chuckle. "I'll write it for you if you want it in my handwriting."
"Nah, I'm good. I'll come up with a better design for my next one."
I gesture an offer of water. When he nods, I get him some. Now he's sipping water, and I've turned so we're both leaning on the side table and watching his friend group chat and make some plans.
The noise has gone down in the stadium, and the lights are still there but dimmer somehow. Here in the suite, everything is tinted in amber thanks to the sconces on the wall.
"Congrats on the win," I say. "Your touchdown celebration was cool."
"The dancing? I don't even think about it anymore. I just vibe and have fun."
"I'm not surprised. You didn't dance in college, but once you and Saint started…honestly, it makes me think you want to show off."
He stares at me with a smirk. "You know the history, huh?"
I don't say anything. I swirl the liquid in my glass, noting the way light refracts on the surface.
"Let me guess," he says. "Cora told you?"
I could use it as an excuse, but this is my chance to be friendly and establish the way we'll interact moving forward.
I lift a shoulder. "I looked you up once in a while."
He startles. "You did?"
"Like three times over the years. Don't let it get in your head."
"Right, right."
Yet he stares at me with the kind of intensity that makes it obvious. He's intrigued, if not letting it get to his head.
I explain further. "Cora did tell me once you were doing great. So I checked."
His grin stretches slowly. "You were impressed."
"Not quite." I snort.
I was nostalgic. Grief turned my chest to a sinkhole, for all the things we didn't get to have.
All the things I missed from those happy months with him.
It wasn't easy, and it put me in a funk for a few days each time, but I couldn't help myself.
Every time I gave in and looked him up— it happened more than three times, if I'm honest— I would find content of him looking really happy, and it kept bringing me back.
He studies me closely, tracking my thoughts as if he could read them.
I smile. "But I'll say you've done pretty well for yourself, Dom."
He mirrors my gesture. "I have."
"It was great seeing you do what you worked so hard for. It was this moment of, wow, he's famous."
He laughs. A few heads turn to us.
"Funny," he says. "I've never felt famous."
"Can you go out on the street and not get attention?"
"Sometimes."
"Famous enough, then."
He shakes his head in such a way, it reveals a thread of sadness stitched onto the moment.
"It doesn't matter," he says. "In the grand scheme of things."
The group has steadily snuck up to us as we talked, and they finally reach us.
Evie studies Dom and me, and I have to wonder how much of our conversation she heard.
I thought she'd been busy chatting with the rest of them and her fiancé, but she seems naughty enough to pay attention to everything at once.
I give her a smile just in case.
"Hey, Mariana," Saint says. "We're having a get-together in ten days to watch Ames' show's release. Would you like to join us?"
Dom stares at me, waiting for my answer. I can't read if he'd rather I said no, but just a few minutes ago he said he'd get used to it. He better not have lied.
I nod at Saint and Ames. "I'd love that, if that's okay?"
They insist, and start telling me all about their plans.
Dom sighs. "I have the details already. Going to head out."
"Leaving?" Logan asks.
Dom doesn't look at me but nods. His face looks calm in a way that confirms he's learning to be okay with the relationship I'm building with his friends. The way his lip curls at the corner tells me it's real. This isn't him pretending to look unaffected.
I take a slow, deep breath, and let a smile of my own take over my lips.
"Goodnight, everyone," he says. "Time to rest. We earned it."
Without much more, he pats a few of his friends' shoulders and leaves. A surprising new wave of nostalgia cascades through me, to see him disappear through the door. He didn't actively say good night to me… but there was no fight. No friction.
Despite everything, we're finding our way to peace.
Like the conversation we had in the elevator helped us grieve what we had years ago.
Finally. Years too late. To the point I can finally admit I've missed him and, now that I see him walk away with some sort of acceptance for what is— this new state of things between us— I can hope for friendship one day with him too.
It may be too optimistic a hope, but I'm in Seattle to go big and go home.
When I turn to everyone again, they're staring at me.
"What?" I ask.
"I guess the irritation is gone," Pen says.
Yeah. They were all paying attention. I'll give it to Dom— he was right.
His friends keep tabs on everyone in their circle.
Just like my parents. And while both sets of people have good intentions, the little I've seen makes me think these friends have a different goal.
For them it's not about success and security, but caring for each other's happiness.
It's such a big difference, I'm here hoping to be invited into their village.
"We talked," I finally say. "It's going to be easier to be around each other now."
"That's great." Ames grins. "It means we can let go and let you witness the true power of our group."
"Are you saying I haven't?!"
But they laugh, and it makes me wonder if there's any chance they would ever accept a simple truce between him and I.
As long as they're happy to push for friendship alone between us, I think I'll be okay.