Page 122 of The Foul Out

He shifted the duffel in his hand. “Can I give you some advice?”

I nodded. “You might be oddly suited to offer it.”

“I’m not talking about your mother keeping Harper’s existence a secret. This is about relationships.” He inhaled deeply, like he was ready to lay it on me. “When you fall in love with someone who has been hurt, they might try to throw you back a few times. Whether they know it or not, they want to know you’ll stick around. Fight for them.”

“What?”

“I’m saying Harper is probably afraid of getting hurt. You might have to hold on tight enough for the both of you for a little while. Especially since she’s protecting two other little hearts.”

The grief that had been plaguing me for weeks flared. If only it were a matter of holding on. I could do that forever. I never wanted to let go.

Defeated yet thankful for his compassion and advice, I pulled my key fob from my pocket. “Thanks, Bill. Need a ride?”

“Sure.”

Once I’d unlocked the Ram I’d rented for my time here, he dropped his bag in the back seat and then climbed in.

I pressed the ignition button and shifted into reverse. “Where to?”

“Any hotel will work.”

Scoffing, I slowly backed out. “That ridiculous. If you haven’t already set something up, just stay with me. I could use the company.”

“You sure?”

Slowly, I headed for the exit. “Maybe you can help me come up with a grand gesture that Harper won’t be able to refuse.”

He pointed to my arm. “Wasn’t that the grand gesture?”

“Nah.” My arm was for me. To remind me to choose them every day. Because if I ever have doubts, it would remind me of exactly what it was like to lose them. And if I somehow managed to get them back, I never wanted to put myself through that again.

“Are we really watching this?”

In response, Zara gave me a clipped nod.

My kids were in bed. Hers were home with the nanny. And instead of having fun, we were watching the playback of today’s Boston Revs press conference.

“Why?” I sank deeper into the couch cushions.

“I want to see what Asher said.” Zara picked up her glass of wine and took a sip, her eyes locked on the screen.

That was code forI want to see if Asher mentioned me.

“You could call him,” I suggested.

She scrunched up her nose and finally turned to me. “He hasn’t reached out at all. He doesn’t even call the kids. He just waits for them to call him.”

My heart hurt for her. Every day, I expected a call from her. One where she’d giddily tell me that Asher had finally called and told her this break idea she’d come up with was ridiculous. But he hadn’t. And the more time that went on, the more I started to wonder if maybe Zara was right. Maybe he didn’t mind the break.

For the first fifteen minutes of the press conference, Coach Wilson droned on about game plans and stats that made little sense to me.

“I thought the players would get to talk.” Zara pouted, bringing her glass to her lips again.

“I think they do eventually.” Piper lived for this stuff, so I’d caught enough of these over the years to have some idea. It was another five minutes, though, before I was proven right.

“Now I’ll open the floor to the guys.” Coach Wilson flashed a smile at the camera. It was hard to believe the guy was Avery’s father. He hardly looked forty. And when his dimples popped, I could see why he was so popular.

“Bosco,” a man in the sea of reporters called out.

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