Page 83 of A Sky Full Of Stars

“I really hope so,” Lainey whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“What? Why?”

“I…” she trails off and I almost interrupt until she continues. “I don’t know, but it feels like something you should know.”

The feeling in my chest worsens but like everything else, I push it away. Considering we haven’t spoken about anything overly personal since the night at the Ball House, it makes sense that she didn’t mention it, and I can’t fault her for that. But I’m glad that I know now.

“We’ve got a few months yet,” I say with a lift in my voice. “Better make the most of it, but I’m curious. Is that why you called?”

“What?”

“I know something’s on your mind. This isn’t a one-way street. I meant what I said. I’m here for you.”

Lainey blows out a breath before falling silent, and my mind races with what she might say.

“It’s been a long week, but I promise I feel better now. I guessyoumake me feel better.”

The smile in her voice sounds genuine, and since I know what she means by that, and feel exactly the same, I don’t push the issue, but at some point, I hope she confides in me. I may not be able to help, but if we can get her to a place where she leaves for her trip with less on her mind, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.

New York scores a touchdown in the dying seconds of our playoff game, and I drop to the ground along with every one of my teammates. The next hour is a blur of condolences and media commitments before we’re finally dismissed from our hell.

But I don’t move.

I can’t.

Wealmostmade the Super Bowl in my first year as a pro. Thankfully, Colton returned and we made it to the conference championship. The guys played an amazing game, but just like when I was the starting quarterback, we lost in the final moments, and instead of feeling pride for how far we’ve come, I feel like I’ve once again failed and I didn’t even play.

As the room clears out, I smile at those passing by, but it’s all a ruse. In reality, I’m sitting here pretending I’m not about to lose one of the only things keeping me sane with football ending for another season. Especially knowing that in a few months, I’ll lose the other.

A strange silence fills the air, and I almost breathe out a sigh of relief until a presence appears beside me.

“I’m guessing we won’t be seeing you out tonight,” Adam says, as he sits next to me on the bench. I lift my gaze from where I’ve been staring at the floor and force a smile before shaking my head.

“Not tonight. I don’t really feel like celebrating.”

“Why the hell not?” he snaps uncharacteristically, but when I furrow my brow, he laughs. “What I mean is…we almost made the Super Bowl. In our rookie year. How can wenotcelebrate?”

“Because wedidn’tmake it.”

“We were still goddamn amazing.”

I stare at him for a moment, giving him nothing, but his smile never wavers. And it’s then that I realize I’ve been a dick to him these past couple of months. “You know what? Let’s go out. Let’s celebrate. You should be proud of your first season.”

“As should you.”

While I appreciate his words, I’m not sure I believe them. My head hasn’t been in it as much as it should be. But I have time to change that. I just have to sort my shit out.

Adam has a car waiting for us when we exit the building, and within fifteen minutes, we’re pulling up at an exclusive club in the city.

My phone burns a hole in my pocket as I stare out the window, my hand itching to reach in and pull it out. To call Lainey. But she told me she’d be working, and I shouldn’t have to call her every time I have a shitty moment. Even if I want to.

When we walk inside, we’re immediately taken to a roped-off area for the team, and while I’m not in the mood to commiserate with anyone, the noise and chaos relax me. It’s been weeks since I went out, and when the first drink is placed in my hand, I realize I’ve missed it. Drinking alone isn’t nearly as fun.

The electric beat intensifies as I sink back into my seat, closing my eyes, letting the cool liquid numb my body as it coats my throat. This is what I needed—loud music, sick beats, and alcohol. It’s the perfect combination to wash the world away.

“Who’s up for a dance?” my teammate Ryker says as he waltzes into our VIP area, a group of women following behind him. Nine times out of ten, I consider him a dick, but right now, he’s giving me the best idea I’ve heard in a while.

As a mass, we move toward the dance floor, parting the crowd like the Red Sea, collecting glances as we pass by.

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