Page 87 of Hello Quarterback

Not that my concerns mattered. The meeting would take place tomorrow morning regardless of all this turmoil. I wouldn’t be excused from presenting because of a fractured heart.

That was part of my job. There were benefits, immense benefits, but there were also costs. Like having to focus on work when all I wanted to do was rush to Ford and shake him while simultaneously being at his side and wishing he was okay.

I let out a frustrated groan and stared at my computer. I didn’t have time for this.

To be stressing and worried in an adult relationship when all it would take was a simple text from him letting me know he was okay. I’d hoped he would reach out to me when he was ready, but I was starting to wonder... would he ever be ready?

As if he could hear my mind spinning, Vanover came into my office, carrying a takeout box and a Styrofoam cup with a lid. “Eat this,” he said. “And then you should go home and get some rest before tomorrow morning.”

I took the food and glanced toward the windows in my office. The sky was dark, tinted orange from all the glittering city lights. It was nearing midnight. “I have to get this ready. I’ll be here all night.”

“I figured you'd say that, so I got you this. Two shots of espresso.” He passed me the cup.

I took it from him, saying, “You're a lifesaver, Vanover.”

He smiled. “That's what I'm here for.” He started to go toward the door.

“Van, you should go home,” I said softly.

He turned back, opened his mouth to argue, but I shook my head. “When this is all over, I'm going to be spent. I’ll need you to make sure I get to my place and get some sleep.”

He gave me an understanding smile and said, “Good luck.”

“I won't need it. I have coffee and vengeance on my side.”

With a chuckle, he left the office.

And now I was alone in this big building.

In this big life I had created for myself.

A stab of loneliness sliced at me.

There was something comforting about having Ford as a boyfriend, someone who understood me on a deep level. And now... I couldn’t bring myself to even think the word “over.”

So I opened the takeout box, seeing my favorite food inside. Chicken fried chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans.

My eyes stung, and a shaky smile formed on my lips.

I wasn’t alone. Vanover didn’t need to do this—he could have gotten my usual dinner order, but he’d really had my back today. Somehow, he knew I'd needed to finish this. And I would still be pushing it close.

Fueled by his support, I ate my food while I continued going over my reports, finalizing the presentation before finalizing a script for my pitch. I would practice it several times before anyone came into the office. And my stylist would be here in the morning to make sure I was presentable.

Page by page, word by word, I got into the zone. This was where I felt most at home, solving a problem, pushing up against impossible odds. Thomas might not have known it, but he’d done me a favor.

Tell me I can’t do something, and I’d make damn sure to prove you wrong. Even if I had to do it with a broken heart.

49

FORD

I couldn’t bringmyself to go home.

Not after the news I got from the doctor.

So I said goodbye to my dad, assuring him I’d take a taxi home, and stayed at the facility. Walked to the turf I knew so well.

My crutches creaked and crackled as I made my way onto the field. A cool fall breeze nipped at me as I walked farther over the spongy surface. Only the moon lit my path as I went farther, farther, to the fifty-yard line.

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