Page 89 of The Way We Collide

By Thursday, we were back to our normal routine—with the addition of Tack Lancaster, the personal bodyguard I hired to stay with the girls.

He came highly recommended by the athletic staff, and his signature is never letting them know he’s there, which is what I want.

I don’t want them to live in fear, and I don’t want this big guy hanging around reminding them to be anxious. Hell, I don’t think anything bad would happen, or I’d never let them out of my sight. Tack is merely an insurance policy against overzealous photographers.

I do not call themjournalists, especially not after what I saw them do to Logan and Dylan and what they tried to do to Garrett and Liv. Nobody’s writing shit about my baby or my wife.

“Lying in your bed,” she answers.

Hello, dick perking up. My tone lowers to suggestive. “What are you wearing?”

“Black leggings and your cotton jersey.” Her tone is decidedly not sexy. “Haddy’s been fussy all evening, and I can’t calm her down. I don’t know what’s going on. She’s whiney and pushes everything away—she wouldn’t eat.”

“She’s not sick again, is she?” Sitting higher in the bed, I wonder if it’s possible to get to LA and back by 2 p.m. kickoff.

I’ve felt like shit ever since they were sickand I called Sally. She did a great job, but I sat outside their door, listening the whole time and feeling like an asshole.

Even if Raven backed me up on prioritizing the team, I’m not letting it happen again. I’m Haddy’s dad. I should face down illness the same way Rusty did when his kids were sick.

My knotted stomach tells me it’s more than that. It’s for Raven, too. I want to hold her hair and put a cool cloth on her cheek. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her until she’s well. The team needs me, but I’m starting to need them.

“I think she’s missing you.” Raven’s voice is thoughtful. “I brought her in here to test my theory, because your scent is on all the pillows and sheets.”

“And?” I’m over here on a cliff.

“She’s curled up at my side, sound asleep.”

“Damn,” I exhale, relieved. “Send me a picture of my baby girl.” Seconds later, my phone buzzes with a photo of the two of them. Raven is looking down at her in profile, and Haddy is curled up beside her with her little arm raised. “She looks content. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Raven’s voice is softer. “We’ll sleep here tonight.”

“I wish I was there.” I think of holding them both in my arms in my bed, sleeping with them safely at my side. “Want to watch a movie?”

“We should watchCasablancasince we’re on the phone. Like Harry and Sally.”

My nose curls. “It’s black and white.”

“It’s an iconic Hollywood romance.”

“It’s black and white.”

“Filming in black and white is a stylistic choice. The shadows and light enhance the mood and create drama.”

“Is that whyCasablancais black and white?”

“No, I think it was their only option at the time, but give it a chance. It’s really, really good, I promise.”

Inhaling slowly, I relent. “I won’t promise I’ll stay awake.”

“You might.”

We navigate to the same streaming service, and on the count of three we press play. Fanfare and trumpets begin, some guy starts talking as a line traces from Paris to north Africa.

“It’s likeRaiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Spielberg was highly influenced by classic Hollywood.Casablancais on the Library of Congress’s list of the best movies of all time.”

“How do you know all of this?” Skepticism is in my tone.

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