Peyton & Noah (Beaumont: Next Generation 3.50)

“And you’re right about him.” He points to Noah.

“I’m sorry.”

“Look, Ms. James. We can’t offer you what the Rams threw at you, but we can offer you a job. Same position, player analysis.”

“Why?” I ask.

This time he points to the offensive coordinator. “Alton Rennie.”

“I’m sorry, but the name doesn’t ring a bell, other than him working for the Pioneers.”

“He’s good friends with Nick Ashford, who speaks very highly of you. When everything happened with the Rams, he said we’d be stupid not to offer you something. He loves Noah and wants to keep him. We do as well. Hell, we want the both of you. We know what you’ve done for him, Alex and Julius.” This man, the one who can ruin Noah’s career, looks at me.

“And if Noah wasn’t my fiancé?”

He nods toward Rennie again. “Wouldn’t make any difference. He wants you. Says you’ll be an asset. I imagine once word spreads about the Rams, we would’ve followed suit anyway. We’d be stupid not too. As will other teams that will seek you out. Think about it, Ms. James, and let me know.” He walks away, leaving the offer to work for the Pioneers in mid-air, and leaving me with another major decision.

10

Noah

The water from the shower turns cold in no time. It’s karma and not the shitty water system the practice facility has. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. Over the past few

weeks, I haven’t been a good boyfriend, fiancé, teammate or much of anything. I let my own thoughts get in the way of what really matters, playing football and marrying Peyton. Stupidly, I let something out of her control dictate my feelings, and I took it out on her, making sure to avoid her as much as possible. Not because I’m mad at her, because I’m not. What the Rams did to her is inexcusable. I’m pissed because they used her to get to me. They dangled an enticing job offer out in front of her, let her believe they were interested in her, only to start coming after me. Which, honestly, makes no sense. Their QB is good and riding the pine as a back-up isn’t something I’m interested in, so why they would think this, is beyond me. More so, I’m angry that they made Peyton feel like I’m the only way she can get a job. Her abilities far outreach mine. I can throw a ball and read a defense. But Peyton, she sees the whole game. She’s better than I am. They would know that if they actually paid attention.

I fully expect Peyton to be gone by the time I drag my sorry ass out of the gym. There are a few fans waiting for autographs. I start signing as I walk toward the parking lot. It’s when I see Peyton, leaning up against our car, with her legs crossed at her ankles and her hands resting inside her pockets that I tell the remainder of the people that I’m in a hurry and to come back tomorrow.

Rushing the last few steps, I drop my bag and place my hands on her cheeks, pulling her forward until our lips are pressed together. I deepen the kiss, not caring about the onlookers. They can happily take pictures, and send them to me, I wouldn’t mind.

“Wow,” she says when we pull away. Our foreheads are touching, and both of us are breathless. I can’t believe I went weeks without kissing her like this, or that she allowed it after the way I’ve treated her. I hate to say it, but maybe some ground rules need to be set: If Noah’s acting like an ass, Peyton has every right to kick him where the sun don’t shine. That’s what she did this time, more or less.

“I’m sorry for acting like a dick.”

“I know you are,” she says, running her fingers down the side of my cheek. “Are you ready to go home?”

I nod and walk her around to the passenger side of the car. Once she’s settled, I stow my bag and climb in. “Peyton,” I say as I turn the key. “I called Allen.”

“Probably smart,” she says, although she has no idea why I called my agent. “It’s better to keep him informed.”

“It’s not that.” I pull out of the parking lot and into traffic, heading in the opposite direction to our apartment. I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her ring. I can’t wait to place her wedding band there, to seal our future with the vows I’ve written for her. “I asked him to look into possible baseball teams. Teams that might need a pitcher at the lower level.”

I can feel her eyes on me, but I refuse to look away from the road. Not only for safety reasons but because I don’t want to see her expression.

“Why would you do that?”

I half shrug. “To give you a fighting chance.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I turn to look at her, turning the wheel as I do. She hollers at me and clutches my arm until I’ve righted the car. I do what’s best for both of us and turn down a side street to pull over.

With the car idling, I shift in my seat to look at her. Peyton’s staring straight ahead, lips pursed, and fuming. I know I’ve insulted her, but that wasn’t my intention. “Hear me out, babe. I called Allen and asked about potential teams because I want you to follow your dreams in broadcasting football. It’s been your passion for as long as I can remember. When I wanted to quit, you’re the one who encouraged me to stick it out. As much as football means to me, it means more to you. I know this. I know that this is your way of hanging onto a piece of your father, and the last thing I want to do is take that away from you. And if that means I let it go, so be it.”

Peyton wipes at her cheek. Great, I’ve made her cry. That’s the last thing I’ve wanted to do. I push her hair away from her face and past her shoulder and try to guide her to me, but she’s stiff, unmoving. To say I’m in the doghouse would be an understatement. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I was worried that Allen would call or show up with some news, which would piss her off because I didn’t tell her. My reasoning for calling my agent though, that’s probably not the best.

“Peyton, I’m sorry. I thought I was trying to help.”

“It’s not that.”

Color me confused. “Okay, so what is it?”

She turns, her tear streaked face breaks my heart. I use my thumbs to wipe at the makeup running down her cheeks. “Logan Baker offered me a job.”