Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (26 page)

“That’s nice of her.”

“Seriously,” Willa says. “Call her. I happen to know that right now she is in her dorm, watching a reality show marathon, and will be more than happy to have something better to do with her time.”

“Okay, pushy,” I say, smiling at Willa.

“Good,” she says. “I’ll let her know to expect your call.”

I laugh and head to my room so that I don’t disturb my friends. When I’m in there and the door is closed, I let myself really give in to what I’m feeling and lie on my bed with a pillow over my head.

I don’t know why I feel so forlorn over a picture that was clearly nothing. But I do. Maybe it’s just all catching up to me. I take a deep breath, pull out my phone, and dial Ana.

“Hey, chica,” she says brightly.

“Hey back. How are things in Savannah?”

“Lovely as always,” she says. “But more importantly, how are things in Courtney land?”

I groan and she says, “I figured.”

“It’s really not that bad. I have nearly nothing to complain about. I have a great life.”

“But your life has also changed a lot in a very short amount of time.”

“I guess.”

“It has,” Ana says. “Think about it. You and Adam only started dating, officially, about a year ago. Now he’s starting as a wide receiver in the NFL, you’re engaged to be married, and you’re in a long-distance relationship. Those are enormous changes.”

She has a point.

“Okay, maybe you have a point.”

“I definitely do. So. How are you doing?”

I pause and really think about the question. I don’t love the answer.

“I don’t think I’m doing very well.”

Ana makes a sympathetic noise and tears begin to well up in my eyes. It’s the first time I’ve acknowledged that I’m not handling any of this well and I don’t know what that means. Or what I’m supposed to do. Or how I should proceed.

“Okay,” Ana says as I take in a shaky breath. “The first thing you should know is that that is a totally normal response. The second is that you are going to be fine. Perfectly, absolutely, wonderfully fine. But before you can be fine, you have to be willing to admit that things are not currently okay and that shit has gone a little bit off its axis.”

I nod at the phone, even though Ana can’t see me.

“So, tell me exactly what it is you’re not handling well,” Ana says in a way that makes me actually want to tell her everything even though I’ve only met her once in my life.

“The media attention. And jealousy of other women. And, just, God, missing Adam. I miss him so much. And wanting to slow everything down. I feel like we just got engaged and we’re already almost halfway to the wedding day.”

“Okay, yeah,” Ana says. “I totally hear you, girl. So let’s start with the media attention, since that is the one issue here that I know something about.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay, here’s the good and the bad: you can do absolutely nothing about it.”

I groan.

“I know,” she says. “So what you have to do is find a beautiful, Zen place within yourself about photographers and reporters and, like, the entire Internet. Because no matter what, Adam is recognizable and famous in a sports way, and that means that people are going to talk about him sometimes.”

“Right,” I say. “But they should be talking about him in regard to football. Not in regard to his personal life.”

“I’m right there with you,” Ana says. “I completely agree. But that isn’t how things work. The world knows that the two of you announced your relationship status publicly, that you went to the draft with him, and that you’re now engaged. They feel invested, at least a little bit, in your relationship. There are people who are fans of you guys and people who, for whatever reason, want to see your relationship fail.”

“Assholes.”

“They so are.”

“So what do I do?” I ask.

“Learn to ignore them. Or, if you can, use them to your advantage.”

“This all seems so dumb,” I say. “I’m not even the person the media should be focusing on.”

“I know,” Ana says. “Trust me. I’ve been showing up on weird portions of the Internet since I was fourteen simply because I’m an heiress to a company I didn’t build. Anyway. The media is the media. Try not to worry about them. Now onto topic number two that I’m semi-qualified to help with: jealousy.”

“Ana, I’m pretty sure you’re the girl all other girls are jealous of.”

“I mean, probably,” she says in a way that somehow doesn’t make me hate her. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel jealous.”

“Who would you ever feel jealous of?”

“Willa,” she says immediately. “She’s amazing. Smart, reliable, loyal, funny, uncertain of herself in that way that makes her endearing and not insecure. I’m totally jealous of her.”

“Okay,” I say. “Fair enough.”

“So here’s how this whole thing works,” Ana says. “You’re engaged to a man women are going to pay attention to simply because he is a professional athlete. Also, biceps.”

“Between you and Sophie…” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Please. You can’t deny it. And neither can other women. Hence the flocking to your man. But here’s what you have to, again, come to a Zen place to deal with. There are always going to be women. Always. Everywhere. But Adam loves you. He chose you. And you have to trust his love and respect and choice.”

“I know. But it’s so hard when I look at all those women and think about what they must look like to Adam.”

“They look like desperate hangers-on who aren’t you,” Ana says. “I mean, he’s not dead, so sometimes he’s going to think a woman is attractive. But just because he finds someone attractive does not mean that he is going to cheat on you or leave you.”

“You’re right,” I say, trying to be as objective as possible. I don’t love the idea that my fiancé finds other women attractive, but if I’m being honest, I find other guys attractive. But that doesn’t mean I want to leave Adam to be with that person just because I acknowledge they’re nice to look at. “I really do know.”

“With that said, if something seems shady, it’s probably because it is. And then you’ll need to talk to Adam about what’s going on.”

My stomach tightens at that, and I recall everything that’s surfaced this week. Even though I hate seeing all of those photos, when I really think about them, nothing shady is happening.

But more than that, I believe Adam when he says that nothing is going on. I close my eyes and try to cement this feeling in my memory so that the next time I feel insecure and uncertain and self-conscious, I can recall when I felt certainty and peace.

“As for the other stuff,” Ana says. “I’m not exactly qualified to advise on long-distance relationships, let alone engagements.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “Luckily, I know some people who are.”

“Excellent,” Ana says. “Did this help at all?”

“It did.”

“Good,” she says. “Just remember that you’re amazing and that Adam loves you and that no stupid reporter or photographer knows your life. And in those moments when you’re really freaking out, listen to Taylor Swift, print out the articles, and then rip them up into teeny tiny little pieces.”

I laugh at that and can imagine exactly how therapeutic that might be.

“I might have to take that advice. Probably sooner than I’d like.”

She laughs and says, “Always remember that you can call me. Anytime. And that you’re crazy lucky to have Willa, Sophie, and Kate. And me. Obviously.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” she says. “So, does Adam have any super-hot football friends who might want to casually date a Colombian heiress who wants to be a fashion designer?”

Adam

“If you keep pacing, you’re going to walk your way into a moat,” Amanda says.

Courtney’s plane is thirty minutes late. She’s flying through some seriously shitty weather. The storm hasn’t hit New Orleans yet, but it’s going to. Luckily, it’s not going to be a hurricane situation, but everyone is still bracing for it.

“I know,” I say, standing in front of the seat beside her. “But I feel like I need to do something.”

“As my grandmother used to say, the only things you can’t control are fate, the weather, and other people.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, taking the hint and sitting down next to her. Her phone
bings
, and she immediately grabs it and begins rapidly texting.

“Is the photographer bailing?”

“He knows better,” she says. “He has the flight number and is keeping an eye on it. He’ll be here. And if he’s not, we’ll just have to restage her coming down the escalator.”

“She’ll hate that,” I say.

“Everyone hates that,” she replies. “I’ll send him another text threatening to pay him less if he’s late.”

I smile at that and try to think about how hard Amanda’s job must be. She deals with the team’s corporate public relations as well as handling the players’ PR when need be.

“So how did you end up working for a football team?” I ask.

“I love football,” she says, shrugging. “I interned with the team when I was a student at LSU. Obviously, I was awesome and I got a job offer when my internship ended. I’ve worked for the Saints since.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t hire you as the head publicist right out of school, though.”

“No,” she says, laughing. “But I wasn’t entry level, either.”

I grin at her confidence and fall quiet, actively not looking at my phone or pacing. But after a couple minutes, I give in to the urge to check Courtney’s flight status and exhale a huge sigh of relief.

“She on the ground?”

“Should be in eight minutes,” I say.

“Great,” Amanda says. “I’m excited to meet your fiancée.”

“You haven’t met her yet?”

“I’ve seen her. I’ve been in the same room as her. But we haven’t officially met. I’m hoping that we’ll have a chance to chat in the cab so that we can all discuss the best way to handle the public face of your relationship.”

I groan at that phrase and she laughs. “I know how it sounds. Believe me. But it’s also something that the two of you are going to have to get used to.”

“People keep saying that,” I say. “I guess it just still feels weird to be considered someone other people are interested in.”

“Eventually you’ll get used to it. And the attention will fall away after a while. But while these rumors are circulating, and probably for the duration of your engagement and through the honeymoon period, there’s going to be some media attention. There always is.”

“Even though we’re not actually famous?”

“Yep,” Amanda says, popping the
p
. “Like it or not, because you are a professional athlete, you are always going to be slightly more famous than everyone else.”

“That’s so weird. I mean, my brothers have had to deal with the media on and off, but never like this.”

“Your brothers weren’t the number three draft pick and didn’t start in the NFL their first year, either.”

“True,” I say, allowing myself to grin at that.

“Although Jason has been getting a good amount of attention now that he’s dating Nadia Attenborough. And Michael and Ashton’s wedding got a large amount of coverage.”

“But there was never mud dug up about them.”

“They’ve been lucky,” she says.

I refresh the app and see that Courtney is two minutes out. My heart begins to pound in anticipation of seeing her.

She’s said she isn’t upset with me, but I’m still nervous that she actually is a little. Courtney isn’t the type of girl to play games, but you never know with this kind of thing.

“There he is,” Amanda says as an older, slightly overweight, rumpled guy walks through the door with a camera bag slung over his shoulder.

“How much are you paying him for these pictures?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” she says brightly. “Mostly because it would make you want to punch people. So, actually, maybe I’ll tell you before the game this week.”

I laugh and watch as she walks over to greet the photographer. She instructed me earlier that while I can be nice to the guy, that she wasn’t going to introduce us directly and that it would be best if he and I didn’t really interact outside of the photographer-slash-subject situation.

My phone buzzes in my hand and there’s a message from Courtney.

On the ground. Finally. See you soon!

Amanda comes back over to me and says, “Okay, our photographer is going to stand over there, not directly in front of the escalator. But try not to think about him. Just act natural.”

I nod and glue my eyes to the escalator in front of us.

As people start making their way down, I scan for Courtney, but don’t see her anywhere. When the crowd begins to thin, I start to panic a little. What if something happened? What if she got sick from the turbulence? What if she tripped and sprained her ankle? I’m itching to dash up the stairs and go look for her. I could take the TSA security guards—I’m both bigger and faster than they are.

Finally, I see her come around the corner and make her way to the escalator. She looks totally different than what I expected, especially considering she was on an early flight. I figured she’d just have on jeans and a T-shirt like last time, but nope. She’s in a body-hugging black dress, heels, and is wearing makeup.

She looks great. Amazing. It’s just not what I expected at all.

“That’s her, right?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah.”

“That is not what I remembered her looking like,” Amanda says. “Has she lost weight?”

“Yeah, she’s been working out a lot lately.”

“She looks great. Just different.”

She gets on the escalator and I move so that I’m nearer to it. I realize there’s no one behind her and figure that that’s probably better for the photographer.

When our eyes meet, she smiles and it’s the same Courtney. She probably just wanted to make sure she looked nice since she knew a photographer would be around. That has to be it.

When she finally makes it to the bottom of the escalator, she rushes to me and I grab her in a hug. I don’t pick her up, for fear that her dress will ride up and inadvertently flash the photographer her underwear, which would make for an entirely different story, so I wrap my arms around her and hold her for a minute.

She feels so thin beneath my hands.

I pull back to look at her fully. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling before reaching up on her toes to kiss me. I lean into the kiss a little more than I normally would, partly for the photographer’s benefit, but mostly for my own.

When we break apart, we smile at each other like crazy people for a second and then I entwine my fingers in hers and ask, “How was the flight?”

She groans. “So turbulent. There was one point where the pilot had to nearly nosedive the plane to get us out of the wind. It was terrifying.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That sounds awful.”

“Definitely wasn’t the best,” she says. “But I’m here. Before the storm, thank God.”

“Just before, I think,” I say. “We’re supposed to get slammed with it.”

“Rainy game day?” she asks.

“Most likely.”

I see Amanda coming over to us, and I introduce her to Courtney.

“So great to finally meet you,” Amanda says to Courtney. “Thank you so much for agreeing to all of this. I’m hoping that everything will go as smoothly as this first photo op has and that the two of you can just go about your normal lives without any real interruption.”

“That’d be great,” Courtney says, sounding relieved.

“I’ve booked us a car and it’s waiting outside. When you have your bags, just meet me out there.”

“Ready to go?” I ask, assuming Courtney is ready to go with the bag she’s carrying.

“Actually, I checked a bag,” Courtney says.

“Oh. Okay, well, let’s head over and grab it.”

We walk over to baggage claim and I say, “Did you wear that dress on the flight?”

“No,” Courtney says. “I changed in the bathroom and touched up my makeup. Is it too much?”

“You look amazing,” I say, kissing her cheek. “I was just expecting you to look more casual.”

She looks down at my jeans and Saints T-shirt and says, “Well, with the photographer and everything I wanted to make sure I looked nice. And I bought some new stuff this week, so I was anxious to wear it.”

“That is maybe the girliest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” I say, smiling.

“Shut up,” she says, gently jabbing her elbow into my ribs.

She turns her eyes to the conveyer belt and says, “I borrowed Willa’s suitcase.”

“Nice,” I say, smiling. “I’m guessing since its Willa’s it’s some very bright color?”

“Purple.”

“That seems right.”

When the bag comes around on the conveyer belt, Courtney goes in to grab it and I say, “Courtney, please.”

“I can get my own bag.”

“I know you can, but let me get it. There is a photographer here, after all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

I reach for the suitcase. It is surprisingly heavy. “What the hell did you pack, cement bricks?”

Courtney shrugs. “I wasn’t sure what all we were doing this weekend, so I brought options.”

“Options of cement bricks?”

“Yes. Cement bricks are very in this year.”

I shake my head, but smile. “You ready to go?”

“Yep.”

I grab her hand and the two of us walk out of the airport together. Amanda sees us and waves us over to the black sedan. The driver gets out and puts Courtney’s suitcase in the trunk, and the two of us get into the back seat as Amanda gets in the front passenger seat.

“Okay,” Amanda says, twisting around the seat to look at us. “Courtney, I’m so glad you’re here and hope that the flight wasn’t too bad.”

“It wasn’t the best, but I made it in one piece.”

“Indeed,” Amanda says. “So, what I want to do is chat with the two of you about the plans for the rest of this weekend. You’ll have tomorrow morning to yourselves, but, of course, ‘yourselves’ is a relative term. If you do leave Adam’s, you should expect to be photographed.”

“Lord, Amanda. Did you hire a photographer to tail us all weekend?”

“Not specifically,” she says. “But I did tip off a few freelance photographers that Courtney will be in town this weekend. And, you know, it’s good practice for everyday, when random people with camera phones will be taking photos of you.”