Touching Down(58)

“Ryan?” The way he said it, the timing of it . . . I knew what was coming.

My head shook against his. “I don’t want you to fall in love with a walking corpse.”

He kissed my neck, slowly lowering my wrists down the wall. “Too late.”

My eyes burned. “Don’t.”

His face moved in front of mine, lowering so they were level. Despite the darkness, the look on his face was as clear as day. “Like hell I won’t.”





“WE ARE SITTING in the owner’s box. The New York Storm’s Owner’s Box.” Charlie shook her head for the countless time that day, looking like it still hadn’t registered, despite Grant and me telling her a thousand times each where she’d be sitting this Sunday. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, your dad is Grant Turner, but he only put us up here because he wanted to keep us safe, okay? This isn’t about special privileges or being better than anyone or anything like that, okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. I heard you the first ten thousand times.” Charlie grinned at me, clutching my hand like she’d promised as we wove through the insane crowd of Storm fans a little before kick-off.

Grant had left a few hours earlier to get ready for the game, and it was strange to think that the very player thousands of people were about to be chanting for was the same one we’d just played a game of charades with while eating pancakes and eggs.

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone. But I do think I’m a bigger football fan than anyone, so really, who better to give a seat to in the Storm’s Owner’s Box, right?” Charlie’s eyes were twice their normal size as we continued through the maze of people and smells and sights.

When I noticed a Storm vendor up ahead, I steered us in that direction. Grant had already loaded her up with everything Storm imaginable, from bed sheets to earmuffs, but I wanted to get her something all on my own. I wanted her to have something to remind her of this first game we got to go to together when . . .

When things changed.

“What do you want?” I motioned at the loaded cart of black-and-grey Storm paraphernalia and waited.

“Like, anything?” Charlie’s eyes went wider still.

“Like anything.” I knew my attempts at keeping the kid grounded had been successful when she started acting like getting to pick out a twenty dollar stocking cap was the jackpot when she lived in a mansion on one of the wealthiest streets in the nation.

How different her life would be from mine. How different it would be from her father’s.

Knowing that couldn’t have made me happier. She’d have to deal with enough of my past without having to know what it felt like to try to fall asleep while being kept awake by a rumbling stomach or the sound of your mother getting beaten by a boyfriend or a drug dealer she owed.

After a few minutes’ debate, Charlie went with the classic foam finger. After I paid and helped her put it on, we continued our journey to the owner’s box at the very tippy-top of the stadium.

Grant had gotten us a couple of special badges to show security when we got up there, but I didn’t pull them out of my purse until we were closer. In case anyone thought they recognized my face, I figured the VIP lanyard would confirm it. As it was, I’d tugged on a Storm stocking cap and braided my hair back in hopes of looking more “disguised.”

After Grant’s and my date a couple of nights ago, pictures of us had spread across the city. From newspapers to online platforms, it felt like everywhere I looked, there was a photo of Grant Turner and his “mystery” woman. As far as I knew, no one had linked us to our pasts, but that would change. It would happen, and when that was unearthed, it wouldn’t take long for people to figure out who Charlie was and who her father was.

Once that happened, there’d be no winding through a packed Storm auditorium without a team of security.

After slipping one of the lanyards around Charlie’s neck, I put the second around mine as we approached the box. The man stationed outside of it barely gave the passes a glance when he saw us coming. Instead, he smiled and gave Charlie a high five, unlocking the door to let us in.

“Enjoy the game,” he said.

“Oh, we will,” Charlie replied emphatically, rolling through the door without hesitation.

“Charlie . . .” My hand dropped to her shoulder. “Remember . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, Mom, I do.” She glanced up at me, waving her foam finger like a pendulum. “We’ve gone over it a hundred thousand times. I won’t say anything about that.”

Winking, I followed her inside. “Good girl.”