Shit.
Nora left during the press conference directly after I announced my retirement. We had locked eyes and I hoped she saw what I was trying to tell her—It’s okay. I want this. But judging by the way she bolted, I don’t think she picked up on that memo.
I couldn’t follow her out because I had to finish answering questions that I really didn’t have answers for. And now, finally finished with the seemingly endless interviews and trying to avoid any team executives or our coach, who will absolutely cuss me out for announcing the news before telling anyone else, I step into the locker room to grab my phone. Except I find the guys waiting for me. Arms crossed. Scowls tight. They had no idea I was planning to do this, because I had no idea I was going to do it.
Before they say anything, I lift my hands, palms up. “I don’t regret it.”
“Were you planning it?” Nathan asks, voice cooler than I’ve ever heard it.
“Yes and no. I realized I wanted it after the game. And then it seemed like the perfect time to announce it to pull attention away from that bullshit article.” Their shoulders slacken a little.
I’ll never forget the look on Nora’s face when that prick asked if I’d like to comment on how she used me to get ahead in her career. He said it like a statement, not a question. Like everything someone reads online should be held as gospel. I wanted to tear him limb from limb for insinuating he knew anything about what my wife has done to gain her position. None of it had anything to do with sleeping with me.
If anything, I stepped in her path, and she found a way around me.
“You’re really okay with this?” Price asks.
I smile. “Never been more okay with something in my life.”
“Okay, then.” Nathan hugs me first and the rest of the guys follow.
Jamal whispers in my ear. “I still think you’re a big-ass ugly baby, but…this was inspiring.”
I put my hand over his entire face and push him back. “Thanks, pipsqueak.”
He throws off my hand and shoots me the bird.
“We’ll let you get a head start home,” Nathan says, subtly reminding me that our friendship has nothing to do with my position on or off the team.
I try calling Nora the second I’m in my truck but it goes straight to voicemail. Rocks drop into my stomach, and I worry that my move today upset her. That it was too grand a gesture and I scared her off. But then a text comes through:
Home.
I text her:
Her response has my chest loosening a bit.
She called my house her home. That has to be a good sign, right? I’ve been trying so hard to play it cool the last couple of months. To not push too hard or ask for too much because I don’t want to make her jumpy. But I’ve been noticing small things too. She bought a second toothbrush that stays at my house. She has more clothes at my place than her own now. She brought her pink toaster from her place, and it lives on my kitchen counter now.
It feels so right seeing her things slowly mingle with mine.
And maybe that’s why I feel completely at peace after announcing the end of my career today. Because when I looked out at the crowd and locked eyes with her: Everything just clicked. I’d never been able to picture the second part of my life after football. And then suddenly it sprawled out in front of me—and I felt ready for it. Ready for the change. Ready for what’s to come.
I pull up to the house now and find Nora sitting on the ground by the front door. Waiting. Even from here I can see the tear stains down her cheeks and I’m worried. So damn worried. Is this because of me?
Or is it because—
I open my truck door and she launches herself from the ground, sprinting full speed for me.
