Page 133 of Player Misconduct
Inside, the cabin the seats are wide, plush, the kind of luxury that's supposed to make four-hour flights feel manageable. Mostof the guys are already settled, headphones on, tablets out, pre-game rituals unfolding in the quiet choreography of a team that's done this a thousand times.
Scottie's already out from the dramamine, and Hunter’s got sparkle unicorn stickers covering up his face.
I drop into my usual seat near the back, toss my duffel into the overhead, and pull out my phone again.
One last try.
I type quickly, thumbs moving on autopilot.
Me:I was hoping to see you before I left. Is everything okay? Tell Niko I love him.
I hit send and watch the message turn from gray to blue.
The plane's door seals with a thud, the sound final and unforgiving.
I lean my head back against the seat, eyes closed, trying to breathe through the knot that's been sitting in my chest for the last week and a half. Since the hallway. Since the headlines. Since she stopped answering my calls.
My phone buzzes.
I nearly drop it in my rush to unlock the screen.
Kendall:Maybe we can talk when you get home.
Kendall:Niko knows. I tell him everyday.
Relief floods through me for half a second before the unease creeps back in.
We can talk when you get home.
NotI miss you.NotI'm okay.Notyou’re right, I’ve moved back into the house and we can be a family again.But it’s something… and right now, something is everything.
I type back, trying to keep my tone light even though everything in me is screaming that something's wrong.
Me:Kendall, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I saw red the moment I saw him hurting you.
The typing bubble appears, disappears, reappears.
Kendall:I know. Have a good trip.
It’s not what I was hoping to hear, but it’s some level of understanding that she knows I was only trying to protect her. I stare at the words, reading them over and over, searching for something between the lines that isn't there.
It seems that everyone but me seems to understand. Why won’t she tell me what she’s telling everyone else? What is she afraid to tell me?
The engines roar to life, the vibration rumbling through the cabin, and I shove the phone into my pocket before I can type something desperate and stupid. Like,I love you… ormarry me.
I glance down at the athletic tape ring on my right hand that I haven’t taken off since the night she left me in that motel and I moved it from my ring finger. It doesn't matter which finger it encircles, it still represents the same thing–that I’m hers.
I wonder if she still wears the ring around her neck. Has she taken it off since that night in the hallway? Does she still wear it? It’s a question I want to ask but I need to ask it in person. She can hide behind a text message but she can’t hide when we’re face to face. I need to know where I stand, good or bad.
She's fine,I tell myself.She's just stressed. She'll call when she's ready.
Behind me, Trey's voice drifts over the low hum of the engines, casual and unguarded.
"Yeah, the medical board might take away her license after that fight."
My spine goes rigid.
I twist in my seat, scanning the rows until I find him. He's two rows back, phone to his ear, nodding at whatever the person on the other end is saying.
