He nods. “Quinn too. He and my dad went out to dinner with Peyton and Autumn last night. My dad went all out, according to my wife, and they ended up staying at the restaurant until closing.”
“Great, so what you’re telling me is your uber-famous dad is trying to woo the woman I’m trying to woo?”
Noah leans forward and asks quietly, “Are you and Autumn a thing?”
I shake my head slightly. “No. Maybe? I don’t know. I like her a lot, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I need to take a step back and let this relationship, or whatever it is, germinate a bit longer. I haven’t even filed for divorce yet. Elena is already on my ass about my ‘new girlfriend’ and I have a feeling she’s going to try and use this against me.”
“Can she?”
“I don’t know. I’ve put off the attorney talks this entire time. In hindsight, I should’ve spoken to one the second Elena walked out, but I think there was a part of me that hoped she would come back. That was until I found out she was having an affair.”
“Affairs are hard to get over,” he says. “I know my emotional affair with Peyton wasn’t fair to Dessie.”
“The whole situation with Dessie, and what she did—that was messed up.”
Noah sets his napkin down onto the table. “That was my fault. I should’ve ended the relationship long before it started. But I agree, the actions she took when everything started falling apart were very bothersome. She really could’ve messed up a lot of lives with her antics.”
“What’s she doing now?” I ask.
Noah shrugs. “Don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m married to the woman I’m supposed to be with. It took a near-fatal accident to realize I don’t care what people think about our age difference. I’ve been in love with Peyton for as long as I can remember.”
“Is it weird with your dad being her uncle?”
Noah shakes his head. “It’s not like they’re related. It’s the life-long friendship thing. No different than our mothers. I grew up calling her mom Aunt Katelyn, and now she’s my mother-in-law, but I still refer to her as my aunt.”
“It’s definitely weird,” I tell him.
He picks up his napkin and throws it at me. “It’s why we don’t talk about it. Only our closest friends know. People judge others too much.”
“That, they do,” I say in agreement.
Noah waits with me while I finish breakfast. A few of the other guys come to the table to shoot the shit and whatnot. None of the rookies stop by, which is good. I don’t want to tease anyone today. Honestly, the rookies we have are promising and will be a great asset next year.
After I finish and head back to my room to change, I’m on the bus with the rest of the team. The sun is shining, but it’s cold out—a typical fall day in the Pacific Northwest. I’m not looking forward to the winter though. Lately, with climate change, our calm—no snow winters—have been anything but. A couple of years back, the team ended up stranded at the stadium because of icy roads. For two days, we couldn’t leave. Elena freaked out, and rightly so. Growing up in the South, she rarely dealt with ice or freezing temperatures. It’s partly the reason she wanted to be in Los Angeles all the time, especially in the off-season. She craves the heat. The hotter, the better. Give me four seasons, and I’m happy, except when it’s below zero. No one likes to be that cold.
I’m not surprised when we pull into the parking lot to find people already tailgating. The smell of lighter fluid and briquettes fills the air, as does loud music. We have die-hards, those fans who are here the moment the gates open to get their favorite parking spot. This one time, when I was injured and couldn’t play, I came out here to check things out. Being on the other side of things really puts my job into perspective. I got to see firsthand what goes into a Sunday game. Fans love their sports teams and their favorite players. When we can give a little of ourselves back to them—they love us even more.
Inside the locker room, my gear is hanging and ready for me. I strip out of my suit and hang it up nicely. I learned a long time ago to make sure I’m wearing my supportive gear under my slacks. One too many towel whips to my ass were enough to teach me a lesson. I dress in my workout gear before heading over to the trainer to get my ankles and wrists taped. I’m old for this game and probably have a good five years left, assuming I don’t have any injuries derailing my career. It’s hard to imagine I’ll be retired or no longer able to play in my late thirties. Football is hard on the body.