Page 144 of The Americana Playbook

Coach’s face hardens. I don’t think I’ve ever come at him for anything apart from one shitty play during a tough game in college. And man, did my legs pay for that the day after when he made me run the bleachers until I threw up. Have I wanted to other times when I felt he was being too harsh on me? Sure. They just never seemed worth the trouble. But Parker? She’s worth all kinds of trouble.

“And to prove my point,” I conclude, “I’ll do the damn interview, alright? If anyone has any issue with that, they can deal with me. But right now? I’m done talking.”

I march over to the door and open it. Without looking at him, I wait for Coach to make his way into the hall.

“I’ll see you Monday at the facility,” I tell him as he crosses through and passes Agent Samuels at the side of our door. “Good luck with your panel. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

I follow Coach out and pull the door closed behind me, watching as he walks down the hallway and waits for the elevator.

The moment he’s on his way down, I turn to Agent Samuels. “We’ve got friends coming. Make sure they get in. And that guy”—I point down the hall—“doesn’t get up to this floor again, understand? Make sure whoever you have downstairs knows that.”

Agent Samuels nods. “Understood, sir.”

I slam the door behind me and bang my head against it before shutting my eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it now.” I hear Parker’s footsteps and straighten my head, opening my eyes. “God, especially not when you look that beautiful.” I hate I was in such a tizzy before and didn’t even notice.

Parker smiles sadly, lifting and dropping bare arms that now flank the little white dress she wears.

“Did I make a problem for you?” she asks.

“What?” I push off the door. “No.”

She tucks a long lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. “I mean, the sign was supposed to be fun and?—”

“This has nothing to do with the sign.” I take a deep breath along with her hand, looking at it as I run my finger along her ring. “This has to do with me not saying how high when he tells me to jump.”

“You mean when heyellsat you to jump.”

My eyes dart up to hers. “Football coaches have two voice levels. Normal and yelling.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not just about yelling, Fitz. It’s about that he thinks he has the right to talk to you that way when he doesn’t.”

I run a hand over my chin. “Can we table this discussion?” I ask, using her own words. “My wife just asked me to prom and I plan on enjoying every damn minute of it.”

“It’s notprom.” Parker lets out a little laugh. “But it’s the best I could do.”

* * *

Parker doesn’t realize that what she pulled off tonight is far better than prom for a few reasons. One, there’s free flowing alcohol, and two, no nosy teacher is charging out to the dance floor physically separating our bodies as we dance. And while I’ve had Parker in all sorts of ways over the last few weeks in private, there’s something to be said about being overly—borderline obnoxiously—affectionate in public that takes me to another level of delight.

“I can’t believe you did this,” I tell her for what might be the fiftieth time since we got here.

Music booms around us, but the club’s lights aren’t quite as dim or strobing as I imagine they might be on a normal night. They’re low, but still highlight the nostalgic décor—streamers, tightly bunched balloons, a backdrop for photos with the same patriotic logo we wear on the sleeves of our jerseys. But it’s the text below the year on the large, hung poster that really gets me.

NEW ENGLAND REBELS ONLY.

I’m not sure if anyone here—the guys or their plus ones—even notice. They’re too busy apparently dancing off to all the songs we probably are all too embarrassed to admit we loved so much in high school.

Parker smooths my hair back, raising her voice over the music, “You wanted to go to a school dance with me. This is the last free weekend before the season really kicks off.” She leans forward, finding my ear. “And I just want to make you happy.”

Smiling like an absolute, lovesick idiot, I wind my arms around her waist and squeeze. “God, you already do.”

“I would’ve tried to get this in a school gym,” she says. “But, you know, my days of sneaking booze onto school campuses are over and I figured these guys could use one last drink.”

It’s at this moment Micah starts doing the worm on the floor beside us.

“Yeah. Or five.” I spin Parker around, tucking her back into my front to clear her out of Micah’s path. That was a mistake. “If you keep moving like that, we’re leaving the dance early and all your hard work will be wasted.”

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