Page 98 of Endgame

“Of course. I’m sorry to call so late, Ms. Foster, but time is of the essence, and I didn’t want this to wait until Monday. My name is Sam Brighton and I’m the head coach of the Denver Devil Rays. My staff and I have been following yourprogress since you joined the Strikers, and I have to say, we like what we see.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. I’m flattered. But I can’t say I’m not confused about why you're calling me?”

“Ah. Of course. Let me explain. We want to hire you for the next season. We’d like you to take over as the Devil Rays full-time team photographer; you will accompany the team on travel and be the sole marketing director of all projects for the players. I’m not sure what the Strikers are paying you now, but we will gladly double it.”

Double it?

That would change my life.

Even so, Denver is thousands of miles away from Atlanta.

From Callaway.

And Navy. And this team has become my family.

He’s laying it on thick.

For all of that, nothing about leaving Atlanta feels right. Nothing about leaving Callaway feels right. Although we haven’t defined our relationship, I know he’s my future, and I won’t risk losing that for a job and more money.

It holds no merit to him.

“Mr. Brighton, I truly appreciate the offer. However, I’m going to politely decline. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been working for the Strikers, and I can’t see myself photographing any other team.”

His steady breathing alerts me that he’s taking in my every word.

“That’s a shame, Ms. Foster. But I understand and value your loyalty to your team. They’re lucky to have you. If you ever change your mind, please don’t hesitate to call me. We are leaving this open-ended for you.”

That’s kind, but no thanks.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Have a great night, Mr. Brighton.”

I end the call, my mind still reeling.

The pessimist side of me thinks maybe this wouldn’t be a terrible opportunity. It’s a “free get out of jail” card—get out of Atlanta, no chance at heartbreak, and an open opportunity to free myself from the grief of losing my parents.

Yet,I’ve never felt freer than I do now.

It’s almost like the second I listed my family home for sale and accepted my interest in Callaway, the deadbolt to my pain was broken, and the prospect of it returning fled with it.

I’m not naive enough to think the anguish will never return, but I now know how to cope and channel it positively.

Callaway taught me that.

It seems I owe Callaway much more than my pursuit.

“Jesus,Callaway. You scared the shit out of me. You’re lucky I didn’t ninja-kick you.” I’m laughing, but my heart just fell to my stomach.

I barely made it out of the Clubhouse before strong arms wrapped around me from behind, lifting me in a tight hold.

Callaway sets me down carefully before wrapping his right arm around my shoulders—an act I’ve realized he favors with just me—and nuzzling his scruffy beard into the side of my neck. “Mhm. You smell good.”

I playfully attempt to wiggle myself free, but my size does nothing against his six-four frame.

“I’ve worked all day. You must be smelling my office air freshener, not me.”

He can’t get close enough, and I secretly love it.

“Not possible. You smell good enough to eat.” He’s growling, and I can feel myself getting flushed by the second.

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