Page 81 of Mad Love

We’re here with both sets of grandparents and Felicity and Sutton though, so between the exciting sounds of the game and him being passed between the seven of us—the grandpas sneaking him bites of hot dog when they think I’m not looking—Caleb is having the time of his life.

We cheer our heads off when Weston and the rest of the team file out. I can’t believe I’m here. I’ve been to some of the practices and have loved seeing the players behind the scenes, but it’s different being in the stadium for an actual game. The adrenaline is sky-high.

I watch number fourteen like a hawk. It isn’t hard to do, I feel like I already spend my days watching him like it’s my job. He isnothard to look at. His body is my favorite work of art. It’s become harder and harder hiding how much I want to study him up close and personal, but I’m doing my best.

Weston wasn’t exaggerating about the change in his schedule. Once training camp started in late July, we went from seeing each other all day, every day, to seeing him for a few hours in the evening. And now that the season has started, I think it’s just going to get more hectic.

I’ve missed him so much. I didn’t realize how spoiled I was, having him around all the time. He did most of the cooking for us and we got into a regular routine of watching a movie with a glass of wine, or spending time out by the pool, or watching the stars out on the deck. When he started training, I put more effort into making dinner for him, carefully following the meal plan the team’s nutritionist put together for him. My cooking isn’t great, but it’s getting better, and he acts like it’s delicious, no matter what I make. And we still watch a movie—me with a glass of wine, him with plain water or electrolyte water—but he usually falls asleep before it’s over. I nudge him awake, loving the way his sleepy eyes open up and then he grins like he’s so happy to see me.

I’ve gotten to know some of the players’ girlfriends and wives, but not very well yet. I still feel out of place because I’m not the girlfriend or the wife. I’m more like the nanny, I guess. And I also feel like I’m Weston’s best friend. He’s, without question, mine.

We talk endlessly now, about our days, about our thoughts and dreams, about everything and nothing. I know where all his scars came from, at least the ones that I can see when he’s wearing a swimsuit, and he knows that I once dreamed of being a famous singer, even though I can’t sing well at all. I know aboutwhen he lost his virginity at sixteen and was proud that he lasted three minutes. He knows that my first time, also at sixteen, was more like one minute, so we high-fived that he really had accomplished something at three.

Our life is fun and wonderful, and I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I don’t want it to change. I’ve never been happy like this, and it’s all because of Weston and Caleb.

I’m scared about what will happen when Weston’s on the road. Multiple times now, I’ve watched what happens when his adoring fans see him. They don’t care whether I’m next to him or not, they nudge me out of the way and demand his attention. He always checks to make sure Caleb and I are okay and then is politely distant with them, taking photos and signing what they hand him to sign and declining when it’s in an inappropriate place.

I won’t be able to blame him for anything he chooses to do. He’s been a perfect gentleman with me since we kissed all those months ago, and I’ve given him absolutely no sign that I want anything more.

But I do.

I want it all with him.

I did then too, but everything was still too new. I’m still grieving my sister, but it’s not as fresh as it was. She’s been gone seven months and I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing her, but I can get through some days without crying now. I can talk about her without feeling guilty that I’m here and she’s not.

I’m still reading her journals, savoring them one at a time, and taking a break between them. It’s too much if I try to read too much at once and I find myself slipping back into the despair. But most of the time, reading them helps me. It’s like hearing her voice next to me, and half the time, her words in her journals are directed at me like she hopes I’m reading them.

Sometimes I wonder if she knew she wouldn’t live long and that I might be reading them. Her diabetes was a constant struggle, and in her journals, I learn that it concerned her more than she ever let on. I can smile more when I think about her since finding these books and reading her thoughts.

Once halftime is over, the game flies by. They play an incredible game, winning by fourteen. We hang around until the stadium clears a little bit and then head to the family area. There are meals boxed up for the players and some are already digging into their food. I’m full from the food I ate during the game, but my nerves wouldn’t let me eat now if I wanted to. Now that I personally know Weston, it’s a lot different watching him play than it used to be on the screen. There’s a constant underlying panic that he will get hurt.

When he comes out, he rushes toward us, coming for me and Caleb first. He puts his arms around us and hugs us to him.

“My good luck charms,” he says. His smile is so sweet when he pulls away. “Did you have fun?”

I feel tongue-tied all of a sudden. “It was the best. You were amazing.”

His smirk is cocky when he looks at me. “I love hearing you say that,” he says under his breath.

Did I hear him right?

Penn and Rhodes stride through the door next and they hug us and hang out while they eat their food.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask Weston.

“Are you hungry?”

I shake my head. “I ate during the game and got too excited.” I clutch my stomach. “I might still be recovering.”

He laughs and grabs a meal and waves Henley and Bowie over when they come into the room.

They wolf down their food and before I know it, we’re grabbing the extra car seat from Sutton and Felicity’s vehicleso they don’t take it back to Landmark Mountain, and we’re heading home. My parents are chatty all the way back, and Weston keeps glancing over at me and smiling.

I don’t know if I’m imagining it or if he’s looking at me differently.

Once my parents leave and we have Caleb tucked in, Weston leans against the wall outside Caleb’s room.

“You need a glass of wine?” he asks.

---