Page 112 of The Americana Playbook

“Y-yes.” I must’ve run in and out of that door and along those stones a thousand times. And now, I feel I’m dying a thousand deaths.

“My foot skimmed the railing so I pushed against it as hard as I could. I must’ve knocked the guy off balance because Iflipped backward and I just ran. I kept telling myself to scream, because maybe Mom and Dad were asleep but would wake up. I’ve never felt more stupid…”

And I’ve never feltsomuch as I do right now as Parker tells me how it was so dark, she didn’t know where she was even running.

How she ran barefoot, the pebbles from the driveway and the concrete tearing up her feet.

How she could hear them coming after her.

“Which way did you run?” I ask. “Do you remember?”

“If you’re asking if I ran toward your house, I didn’t.”

I clench my jaw. “Why?”

Parker turns, peeking over her shoulder. “What if they hurt you then?”

The look in her eyes eats away at me, but it’s how she answers my question—like it’s obvious—that will haunt me forever.

She lets out a deep breath, facing forward again. “There were more of them than I thought because, all of a sudden, one of them tried to grab me, and I fell. And then hedidgrab me”—Parker reaches behind, bunching her hair—“here. And hedraggedme back on the street.”

Parker releases her dark locks and twists her arm behind her, her fingers running along the edge of the rectangular scar. I take her hand in mine, bringing it back down where I can hold it at her side against the mattress.

“I felt it, Fitz,” she whispers so quietly I almost don’t hear her. “Every piece of skin—of me—peel away. And the light was on at the house. The light by the front door, and I thought for a second I would be safe. Like they’d let me go,” Parker says, her voice hoarse. “Like they’d leave. But then I saw Mom and thought it was so strange she wasn’t in pajamas when it was so late. She still had makeup on. She juststoodthere while I was screaming. Then Dad and Madeline came out when they were loading me into the car, they didn’t even come close. I don’t even know if they heard what Mom said to me before they shut the door.”

I squeeze her hand. “What did she say?”

“You always have to make things so difficult,” she tells me before a sob bursts from her chest. “Don’t you, Parker?”

I push up on my knees and envelop her from behind, crushing her into my chest, cocooning her. Her tears flow down my arm, pooling in the crook of my elbow as my hands—as gently and lovingly as possible—rub over every part of her I can.

I arch, peppering her turned face with so many kisses, each one a silent promise to never let her feel like any part of her—her fears, her struggles, her rebellious antics—doesn’t matter. I whisper to her over and over that I’m with her, that she isn’t alone, that she never will be again.

The moment I feel the scar on her back pressed against my racing heart, I slide down, kissing the unhealed part she carries around with no other choice. I tell her I’m with her, but inside, deep in my heart, I promise I’ll love that part of her too. Because for me, it’s all of Parker or nothing. There’s no other choice for me either. As long as I can remember, there never was.

“How’s that for a marriage announcement?”Parker tosses a newspaper down on the bed the moment I step out of the bathroom in a towel, and I pick up a copy ofThe Boston Journal.

REBELS STARTING CENTER REPLACES ELVIS IN PRESIDENTIAL VEGAS WEDDING.

Here I was thinking no news is good news. When I woke up this morning and found that, while there were congratulatory—andwhat the fuck—messages from a few friends, there werenonefrom Nick or Coach. I even went so far as to check my email, but apart from a few Amazon notifications and a reminder about the Thacher School Alumni barbecue in a few weeks, there was nothing from my crew.

“They buried the lede, but I guess every good lineman deserves his moment,” I snicker, securing the towel around my waist. “Josh will get a kick out of this.”

Her shoulders rise and fall beneath the plush white robe she wears. “We did it. We really did it.”

I tug her closer, pulling her back on the bed with me. Parker slides up, snuggling into my side as I read.

“It was just days ago that the White House graced the country with a photo of what looked like the All-American couple. With the luscious flowers of the Rose Garden as a backdrop, it was hard to hate Parker Montgomery and Fitzgerald Rhodes even just on the surface, let alone after you learn their backstory. But now the photos tell a different story. Now? After she walked down the aisle of Las Vegas’ infamous Little White Chapel in a football jersey on the arm of her soon-to-be-husband’s teammate, it’s impossible not to love them.”

I turn to Parker. “I know whohatesus.The White House.”

She smirks, rubbing circles on my chest. “I’m sure they’ll hate all of it.”

And somehow, knowing that makes this so much sweeter. I secretly hope what makes Candice and Walter grimace is the thing that might’ve been the greatest part of the night for me—Parker’s dress.

Pressing her hand against me, Parker brings her lips to mine for a soft kiss.

It just keeps getting sweeter, I think to myself before the thought is interrupted by Parker’s phone ringing from the other room. She sighs against my mouth and slides off the bed, scrambling into the living room of the suite and returning, opening the call.

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