When she quieted, he loosened his hold but didn’t let go. Pulling back, he used one hand to wipe at her tears. “Let’s just be Mia and Rafe tonight. Put hockey and Tate and Joe in the closet. I want to meet the people you’re going to work with, hear about your job, watch you make new friends.” He combed his fingers into her hair and let them sift through. “I’m not gonna lie, I don’t want you across the country from me, Mia, but I know you can’t do what you want to do in DC. And I really do want you to be happy and successful.”
She sighed and broke eye contact, focusing on the buttons of his shirt.
“What do you say?” he asked, his rough fingers skimming across her cheek. “Just a night out? You and me, being you and me?”
The thought of having him by her side did settle her nerves a little. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Okay.”
He kissed her forehead and sat back against the seat, pulling her with him. “You look gorgeous.”
She huffed a laugh. “Thank you.”
“Tell me about your meeting with Silver. Joe told me a little bit. What did you think? How did you feel?”
That was a bit of a double-edged sword considering it brought up the memory of him bailing for a party with Tate. The fact that he couldn’t have done anything different without going against his coach’s orders and his owner’s expectations or raising suspicion about their relationship didn’t ease Mia’s hurt or disappointment.
“It’s moot,” she said. “He’s got a year left in his contract with the firm designing and manufacturing the team’s current retail jerseys. He was excited about mine, loved all the industry data I came with, said he wants to meet again closer to the time his contract expires, but a year is a long time. A lot can happen in a year. Who knows what the market will do, what he’ll want, where the team will be, where the industry will be.” She shook her head and shrugged. “It may be a good idea, but unless I’m ready to run with it in the moment, there’s no point pitching it. And I’m miles away from being able to run with it.”
“You wouldn’t be if you—” Rafe started.
“Don’t, Rafe. Don’t throw money at me.”
“I’m not throwing it. I’m offering it. I’ll invest, we can make it a loan, do it however you need to do it to make you comfortable with taking it. I just want to see you break that damn glass ceiling—”
“And I want to do this myself.” She pulled back to meet his eyes. “Why don’t any of you understand why it’s important to me to do it on my own? You and Tate and Joe have been there for me my whole life. You’ve all been constant safety nets. You said you wanted that meeting last night so I could have something of my own. This”—she pointed to the floor of the cab—“this is my own. This job. This career. Whatever I make out of it. This is mine. If I take money from any of you, no matter what you call it, I’m giving you a piece of my success, and I’ve done that all my life. You and Tate made your success on your talent and your hard work. I just want to do the same.”
Rafe exhaled and pressed his lips together.
“It may not happen fast enough for you,” she said, “but it will happen.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
For the rest of the drive, he kept her close, and they talked about the game. About strategy they planned to try next game. Revisited their plans for the following day.
When a natural lull slipped into their conversation, Mia looked out the window.
“Nothing happened last night,” Rafe said softly. “At the party, I mean.”
She nodded, and another lull fell.
“Did Tate see anyone he was interested in?” she asked.
“He talked to a lot of women. At least a freaking dozen hit on him. Another half dozen offered to blow him in the parking—” He stopped short, then swore.
A huff of laughter escaped Mia. “Which means two dozen hit on you and a dozen offered to—”
“It doesn’t matter how many women do or offer anything. Because just like Tate, I wasn’t interested in any of them.”
But Mia knew all about Rafe’s lifestyle. And she wasn’t naïve enough to think it would turn on a dime because of her. Not when she lived across the country. But the thought of him with another woman would completely snap the last fiber of sanity holding Mia together, so she pushed it out of her mind.
They turned off the freeway to signs signaling Long Beach. Then the taxi slowed in front of a nondescript six-foot-high ivy hedge running over a hundred feet along the road bordering the ocean. Only one door led through the vine wall, and it was closed. No sign marked the property. The area was definitely commercial, with other shops and restaurants lining both sides of Highway One, but…