Page 24 of Next Door Player

Daria stares at me with flushed cheeks and pursed lips, most likely not expecting me to throw her question right back at her. My apartment is quiet, with Dad having gone out to meet up with some old friends that still live in Chicago that he hasn’t seen in a while. So, it’s just me, Daria, and the fire in her blue eyes that I am curious to know the source of.

It has been a couple of days since our talk in her apartment; a couple of days since we saw each other and while that isn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, it did feel different. Because we had fought. Because I had told her how I feel, and it somehow fucked things up between us. A knot forms in my chest, and another in my stomach, because I have a dreading feeling that whatever conversation she and I are about to have now, it might fuck things up a little more. Even if we need to talk to clear things, to get on the same page.

Or, worse, realize we’re not on the same page and have to throw away the whole damn book.

Tension thickens in the room as the two of us stare at each other, silence following my words. Daria’s throat works as she looks away. I can tell her gaze snags on the painting she did for me that hangs in my living room, and I note that she’s in paint stained clothes, which tells me she had been painting before she came up here. “You said. . .” she starts, pausing for a moment to release a quiet breath. “You said the other day that you want me.”

My throat tightens a little. “I did,” I say needlessly, keeping my voice stoic and blank of any emotion.

A beat passes, and then Daria’s blue eyes meet mine. Something happens in my chest every time I meet her gaze. Like my heart is being jump started, breathing life back into my body.All because of her. Daria’s lips part and in the quiet of the apartment, I hear her suck in a quiet breath before she says, “I want you, too.”

The air stalls in my lungs, though I can still hear my blood roaring in my ears at her confession. Her voice when she says those four words—those words I have been craving to hear from her for so long—is confident in the truth of them, but carries an undertone of nerves, like she is unsure if she should be voicing them at all. My chest tightens and tightens as they sink into me, as I recognize the sincerity of them in her softened blue eyes, and I want to do nothing more than to close the distance between us.

But there is also something else in Daria’s face, a hesitation that tells me she isn’t done. That she has more to say—and I may not necessarily like it. The elation that came from her confession is met with some of my earlier dread, and I press my tongue to the back of my teeth. I can’t even have a moment to revel in the truth of Daria’s feelings for me before the other shoe is about to drop.

She exhales somewhat unsteadily, her throat working. “But the idea of… of my face being out there on the internet out of my control—I’m not ready for something like that. Being in public, with you—” I clench down on my jaw, forcing myself not to flinch at her words and keeping a mask of stoicism in place. “I’m just not ready for it. And I know it’s something you want. And I don’t want to confuse Elaine because she notices things. I just—” Daria shakes her head, taking a step forward, but there is still a distance between us. Her gaze is earnest and almost pleading. “You’re one of my closest friends, Caden. And I want you. But I just don’t think I’m ready for it.”

And all of that is pretty fucking valid, isn’t it?

It has never been lost on me how big of a leap it is to be in a relationship with someone like me; someone who has cameras on him almost every time he steps outside, whether I see them or not. Someone who is being tweeted about, posted about, by millions of people on the Internet. Mere association with me or one of my teammates or, really, anyone in the NFL, is enough to get at least a group of people talking about whoever was seen with us. To be with me is to subject yourself to an onslaught of people digging through your life, wanting to pull a story they can be the first ones to write about.

For someone like Daria, who values her privacy and that of her daughter’s, I completely understand her not being ready to face something like that. I know her; I know that she only has maybe a handful of close friends, that she doesn’t even talk to her parents because of the shit they pulled when she was pregnant, how she struggles to even depend on her daughter’s father. I don’t at all blame her for being hesitant to potentially step into the spotlight just so she can be with me. She has more than just herself to think about.

Still, my chest feels heavy, because knowing how she feels and knowing her reasoning for not wanting to pursue anything right now, I still have to say the words that are clawing up my throat.

“I get it,” I say, somewhat hoarsely. I need her to understand that Idoget it, that her reasons are valid. But my throat is tight as my jaw works and I tell her, “But if that’s the case then I think we need to stop sleeping together.”

The words feel raw and bitter and wrong, even though I know they are the right ones. I see the way Daria’s lips press together, practically feeling her body tense up. Multiple emotions seem to war in her eyes, and instead of facing the hurt, she rallies with the anger. “Basically, you want the freedom to be with whoever you want.” She states it, rather than asking, and my jaw tightens as a dry scoff escapes her with a shake of her head. “It’s that easy for you?”

I fight the urge to let out a bitter chuckle of my own. “You can’t have it both ways, Daria.” I lock my gaze with hers, needing her to see the truth as much as I need her to hear it. “I would wait for you until you’re ready for us to be together without hiding anything.” Her eyes widen slightly at that admittance. “You’re worth the wait. But I also don’t want to wait for something that may never happen. It’s not fair to me.”

The idea of never getting to be with her—it feels like shards of glass in my veins. To never have her, hold her, kiss her. . . It’s a cruelty I don’t want to face, but the reality is, I may very well have to if she believes that she may never be ready to have her life be the public’s entertainment. Because, truly, who the hell would want that? And maybe I’m being a selfish piece of shit for not agreeing to a private relationship if that’s what she wants.

Except that I would agree to it—if I knew, for certain, that eventually we wouldn’t be keeping it private anymore. Because I can’t live my life by hiding a part of it, especially if that part includes Daria and Elaine. How are you meant to hide the side of your life that would make you the happiest? Because I know for a fact that’s what it would mean to me, to be with Daria. I don’t want to be with her just so I can fucking flaunt the relationship—I want to be with her with no holds barred, nothing to hide, free to be us wherever and whenever we want to. But she’s scared of doing that, and I can’t blame her for it. If I knew for certain she would eventually conquer her fear, then we wouldn’t be facing a problem. Except Daria can’t give me that reassurance, and there’s nothing else either of us can do.

I see the way her expression falls with realization, understanding that I’m right. A part of me hopes, waits for her to tell me that she is sure that in a while, even if it’s months, she would be okay with being under the public’s eye. I wait for it. But a somber look glazes over her blue eyes, and that hope dies as her shoulders sink and expression falls, and I press my teeth together to keep my disappointment from knocking me over.

“You’re right,” she murmurs quietly, her throat working. “It’s not fair to you.”

Silence descends following her words, and the two of us stare at each other as the reality sets in. There is an inexplicable tightness in my chest as Daria’s blue eyes lock with mine, and she releases a breath before asking, “So, that’s it, then? We go back to—” She smiles, and it’s a sad one that she tries to pass off as hopeful, and it only burns me from the inside. “Back to being just friends?”

Just friends. Not friends who sleep together. Just two people with nothing but a friendship between them—nothing more, nothing less.

Before I can answer her—before I can reluctantly, miserably agree with my own decision—the lock on the front door of my apartment clicks and the door opens. Daria’s gaze slides past me just as I look over my shoulder and catch sight of my dad walking into the apartment. He greets me with a nod. “Hey, kid—” And then his gaze catches sight of the other person in the room, and brief surprise flashes across his face. “Oh, sorry, didn’t know you had company.”

“It’s alright, Pops,” I say, suppressing the need to let out a sigh. My head fucking hurts from the conversation I just had with Daria, and this, honestly, isn’t how I pictured her and Dad meeting. If they were going to meet at all—I had been unsure about it, given the way things have been going between Daria and me. I feel my muscles tense up, resisting the urge to roll my shoulders as I introduce, “Daria, this is my dad, Jacob. Dad, this is Daria.”

Daria’s eyes widen ever so slightly, clearly not expecting to meet my old man. But Dad is grinning, already walking over to her with a hand extended. “Daria! It’s great to finally meet you,” Dad says brightly as Daria finds herself smiling while accepting the handshake. “Caden’s told me a lot about you. I was hoping I’d get to meet you while I was here.”

My teeth press together as I feel a peculiar heat travel up my neck. Trust Dad to tell her I’ve talked about her before—especially now that she knows how I feel about her—right after she and I have a conversation about where we seemingly stand with one another. When Daria’s gaze meets mine, a friendly smile directed to my dad still on her face, I would pay good money to find out what she’s thinking.

But she looks back at my dad and laughs softly. “He’s told me a lot about you, too,” she tells him, which is the truth. I don’t talk about my family a lot, but I have talked about Dad with her. “How are you liking being back in Chicago?”

I watch the two of them; I watch the way the hurt from before has been pushed aside on her face and is replaced by a friendly smile and warm eyes as she talks to my dad. How she, in a blink of an eye, shoved away her emotions and everything she is feeling from our conversation so she can focus on Dad and not let on that anything is wrong, even if it feels like there’s been a shift in our relationship neither of us wanted. I wonder if it’s because she’s a mother; if it’s because she’s so in tune with someone else’s feelings and what they need, that she can so easily put aside what she’s going through to focus on someone else. I have seen her do it a lot with Elaine.

“Oh, it’s been great. I’ve missed Chicago—not the cold, though,” Dad is saying to Daria with a chuckle.

Daria laughs along. “I’m sure it’s a big change from Texas,” she nods in agreement. She glances at me for a brief second before looking back at Dad again. I just watch the two of them like a fucking idiot instead of contributing at all.

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