Page 161 of The Americana Playbook

“I can’t thank you—or Coach Foller—enough for taking the time to sit with me for this piece. I know it’s a very busy time for you.”

I offer a small smile. “I’m sure it will be a lot of work for you too.”

Confusion floats across her face.

“There’s my Fitzy.”

Foller gets up from the chair across the room. I can tell he’s coming in for a hug. But he stops short when he sees my face.

A look is all I need to give. He knows I’m done.

Foller twitches when there’s a knock on the door. Rebecca steps around me, hurrying to open it.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.” Rebecca clears her throat. “Hi Ms. Montgomery.”

Parker clears her throat. “I’d appreciate it if you get my name correct for the article. ParkerRhodes. I’m not a Montgomery anymore.”

That’s my girl.

Rebecca’s voice is laced with confusion. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you’d join us. Of course, you’re welcome to stay for the profile on Coach Foller.”

The more Coach’s jaw tenses, the deeper the smile on my face embeds itself.

“You’re going to pay,” I promise him. “For everything that happened to her.”

Foller’s eyes meet mine for only a second before he takes off toward the door. But I prove him right. He once said I had balls for a quarterback. It takes balls for one to pin their coach against the wall. “My wife has something to say,” I growl. “You’re going to sit and listen to every word of it. Do you hear me?”

I release Foller, but not totally. I drag him to a chair.

“I’m sorry.” Rebecca holds up her hands. “Can someone tell me what this is about?”

“I’d like to speak on record,” Parker says, coming up beside me and taking my hand. Foller’s eyes travel down to our locked fingers. I hope he sees it. I hope he knows this bond is unshakable, unbreakable, no matter what lengths he might go to make that otherwise.

Parker will always go further. After all, you can’t outrun the truth.

Rebecca steps over to the table, reaching for her phone. “On record?”

“Yes.” Parker squeezes my hand before moving in Rebecca’s direction. I cross my arms, leaning against the wall and eyeing Foller.

At the table, Parker takes a seat. “ I thought you might want to know a little bit more about the man who convinced my parents—the President and First Lady—to wrongfully institutionalize me when I was seventeen.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“You can wait here,”Heath tells me. “We’ll bring you up to a suite in a minute.”

I reach into the pocket of Fitz’s letterman jacket and pull out a ticket stub. “I’m in section 143.”

Nick sighs from beside me. “Fitz has a suite. You don’t need tobuytickets.”

“I don’t want to be up there,” I tell him. “I want to be closer to the field with?—"

“Here he comes.”

I lift my head. I thought these guys werebig, but they’re larger in uniform. It’s like trying to see over a building. But I manage. I’m pretty sure I’d see the smile on Fitz’s face from Kansas.

Heath and Nick step back as he approaches.

“Well, look at that,” he says, tugging on his high school jacket, which I wear over his Rebels jersey.

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