Page 128 of The Americana Playbook

Coach Foller once told me on this very campus that I had a big set of balls for a quarterback.

I took the compliment because I get it. Quarterbacks who can really run the ball are a rare breed. The truth is, there’s a difference between bravery and determination, and when I’m running with that ball, I’m scared of the hit I know will come unless I give myself up and slide. But I’m determined to get as many yards as I can before I surrender. And that’s exactly how it’s been with Parker. I’ve never been brave enough to tell her the truth. I was just hoping I’d get as far as I could before lying down in front of her and sayingHere I am. And tonight was supposed to get me major yardage in my rush for her love. This was where I was going to show how far back it goes—all the way. Instead, Parker’s coldness has me ready for tomorrow and to pretend that today and whatever comes tonight never happened.

We walk side by side along the path flanked by lush grass behind the schoolhouse where check-in is while Agent Samuels follows. Parker doesn’t ask or order him to sit back and off to the side like she might normally.

I spin around. “You can wait somewhere else.”

Agent Samuels’s eyes drift to Parker.

“I’m herhusband,” I say, drawing his attention back to me. “If I can’t protect her from a rogue hamburger, I’m not sure you could either.”

This at least draws a snickering laugh from Parker, which I’m close to falling victim to, but as soon as it’s begun, Parker stifles it.

And at the check-in table, I fall victim to something else. A name tag.

Parker Rhodes.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her married name in print. It shouldn’t be bittersweet, but it is, because if Parker has thoughts on the cardstock she fastens to her dress with a safety pin, she doesn’t share them. And even though it makes my insides twist and turn, what really guts me is that she’s got my jacket draped over her arm.

Parker reaches for my hand, and I hardly hold it back. Because what’s the point? My work is basically done. We’re married. We plastered our wedding all over the press. Soon she can file the paperwork.

But finally, I do shelter her hand in mine. Because I’m weak, not brave. I’m weak forher. Because I know she’s anxious.

Fitzy!

I don’t know where to look but I do know where to start. “Bar.” I lead Parker away from the direction she’s heading in. Apparently, a family alumni barbecue isn’t the place to go when you need a real drink. It’s wine and beer tonight.

I smile at the bartender even though inside, I’m grimacing. “A Sam Adams, please. And a chardonnay.”

Parker’s eyes bore into me, as if she expected me to have a glass of orange juice.

“What?” I ask. “It’s been a long two weeks, if you even care. And I’m sure it’s some sort of rite of passage to drink on your high school campus. Not all of us were able to sip vodka out of a Sprite bottle. Some of us had other things to worry about besides getting hammered.”

Parker winces and that should make me reel it in and apologize. But I push through, pretending to be brave, to show Parker I won’t fucking bow to her.

When the bartender places our drinks in front of us, Parker clears her throat. “Actually, could I please have a seltzer?” she asks him before addressing me. “What’s your problem? You’ve been nothing but cold the entire car ride.”

“I’ve been nothing but cold?” I ask. “Says theicequeen who wouldn’t even kiss her husband after not seeing him for two weeks.”

Parker pouts. “I told you?—”

“Right.” I wave my hand. “Your makeup.”

“Fitz, I’ve had a lot on my plate while you were away and?—”

“What? Taking care of a horse that’s already taken care of twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? One you didn’t even have to work to pay for?” I sip my beer, hoping it will wash away the bad taste these words leave in my mouth.

“If you’re going to be an asshole, go right ahead.”

Parker takes the soda water, leaving the wine—and me—behind, and crosses the grass to hug Congressman Cam.

* * *

I abandon my drink at a lone table sometime during one of the many surface-level conversations I have with old teammates and my former physics teacher, who I was convinced Coach once paid off so I wouldn’t fail because then I wouldn’t be able to suit up. If I get one morewho would’ve thought you’d two end up marriedwhile I’m forced to watch Parker have plenty of one-on-one time with Congressman Cam, I’m going to lose it.

I stare at my letterman jacket that Parker left on the high-top table they stand at, like it’s an afterthought. Like I—herhusband—am the afterthought. Every so often, her eyes drift over, searching for mine.

Fuck it, I think to myself.Let her put on a show.

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