Don't Tell (Don't 1)

We climbed onto the bus together. It was a quick ride to the airport and from there, we would fly to DC.

For the first time I felt as if I had this all figured out.

I sent Sam a quick text.

Headed to the airport for DC. I’ll miss you.

I waited until my phone buzzed.

Don’t stay gone long.

I started to giggle and covered my mouth.

“Who are you texting over there?” Presley leaned over the seat.

I turned my phone facedown. “Something funny I read.”

Heather grinned. “I think you have a boyfriend and you aren’t telling us.”

“No. No way.” I shook my head.

“Something has you all giddy and mysterious. It’s been going on for weeks. I can tell.”

“Nothing is going on.” My voice must have returned to ballerina status, because their eyes widened. “Sorry, I did it again, didn’t I?”

They nodded.

I had that nervous feeling in my stomach. The same one from the conversation when Heather admitted she knew about Sam and me. Although, this time, it wasn’t only about the money. I didn’t want to lose this. I was finally happy. Everything in my life was bliss. Sam. Dancing. I could wear my pointe shoes. It was perfect.

“Tell him you’ll be home Sunday night and we’ll take care of you,” Heather instructed.

I smiled. “Not necessary, but thank you.”

I settled into my seat as the bus driver closed the doors. In a few minutes, we’d be on the tarmac and in the air.

29

Sam

We won our game Sunday, but after the first few snaps, I realized Wes wasn’t throwing to me. He was still pissed about last week. I tried to talk to him on the sideline, but he walked the other direction. I was going to have to prove myself again. Fuck.

This was one time I wished I had the power to get Coach to call the plays. He wanted Wes to throw to me, but the quarterback called the shots once we stepped on the field. He didn’t trust me, and it showed.

I sat in the locker room after the game and waited for the room to clear. Wes was dressed in his dark suit. He had to move over to the press room in a few minutes.

“Hey, man. Can we talk?” I cornered him by the mirrors.

“Yeah. I have a minute. I’m waiting on the golf cart.”

“Look, I know I fucked up last week. But what happened out there today? I can catch the damn ball.”

His hand landed on my shoulder. “You blocked today. That was your job. And you did a damn good job keeping the defenders off our asses. So thank you.” He paused, and his eyes hardened. “But if you ever drop another pass in the end zone again, I swear…”

“Blakefield, they’re ready for you.”

He looked at me. “Catch what I’m saying?”

I glared at him. “Throw me the fucking ball next week.” I walked away from him.