Page 17 of Winning the Quarterback
Tucker chuckles.
But I barely hear them, my attention drawn back to Devin outside. His posture has changed—shoulders straighter, stance wider. Even from here, I can see the shift in his demeanor. He nods several times, runs a hand through his hair.
"Earth to Nora," Amber waves a hand in front of my face. "You're gone on him already, aren't you?"
"It's just been a day," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
Her expression softens. "Sometimes that's all it takes."
When Devin returns, there's a new tension in his jawline, a slight furrow between his brows. He slides back into the booth beside Tucker.
"Everything okay?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
"Yeah." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just some business stuff."
The conversation resumes, but I notice Devin's responses are shorter, his attention slightly divided. When we finally say goodbye to Amber and Tucker, promising to meet for dinner soon, the autumn air outside feels colder.
We walk back toward Willowbrook Lane in silence, his hand still holding mine but his mind clearly elsewhere. The weight of unasked questions hangs between us.
"So," I finally venture as we approach my house, "Coach Briggs? Was he one of your NFL coaches?"
Devin nods. "Yeah. He's working with ESPN now. Wants me to come to Chicago next week to discuss some commentary work." He pauses, glancing at me. "It's a good opportunity. Getting my foot in the door for post-playing career options."
"That sounds great," I say, ignoring the sinking feeling in my stomach. "Chicago's not far."
"No, it's not." But he doesn't elaborate, doesn't offer reassurance that he'll be back, that this thing between us will continue.
On my porch steps, we pause, the moment heavy with things unsaid. Down the street, children laugh as they jump into a pile of freshly raked foliage.
"I should let you get to those chapters," Devin says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "And I need to make some calls about this Chicago thing."
"Right." I force a smile. "Duty calls."
He kisses me, a tender, lingering kiss that feels like both a promise and a goodbye. Against my lips, he murmurs, "Last night was incredible, Nora."
Was. Past tense. A completed chapter, not an ongoing story.
"For me too," I manage, stepping back slightly. "Good luck with your calls."
He studies my face, something unreadable in his expression. For a moment, I think he might say more, might address the sudden distance between us.
Instead, he nods, presses one more quick kiss to my forehead, and descends the steps.
"I'll call you later," he says, already walking backward toward his house across the street.
Chapter 6 – Devin
I've played in packed stadiums with thousands of screaming fans. I've made split-second decisions with defensive linemen charging toward me. I've felt the pressure of fourth-quarter comebacks with championships on the line.
But sitting in my grandmother's living room, phone call finished, staring at the ceiling… this is a different kind of pressure. A weight in my chest that makes it hard to breathe.
Coach Briggs's offer is good. Great, even. Commentary work for ESPN, starting with a trial run in Chicago next week. It's the kind of post-career opportunity most players dream of.
So why does it feel like I'm about to fumble at the goal line?
I pace the cottage, unable to settle. Through the window, I can see Nora's house across the street, her curtains drawn. Is she writing? Thinking about me? Regretting last night?
The look on her face when I mentioned Chicago keeps replaying in my mind. That careful neutrality, the subtle withdrawal. She didn't ask me to stay. Didn't give me any reason to turn down this opportunity.
