A Lie for a Lie (All In 1)

At seven thirty all the babies are put to sleep in their various cribs and playpens, and the bigger kids are snuggled up in Sunny and Miller’s little movie theater with popcorn and spill-proof cups of juice, so we head out for dinner.

We have a private room in an exclusive restaurant, so we don’t have to worry about fans. Lainey looks fantastic in her slinky black dress, hair styled in a complicated series of braids that wrap around her head like a crown. I’ve seen her in plenty of dresses at this point but never quite this done up, and I can’t take my eyes off her—or keep my hands off her either.

I’m relieved that she seems to be managing just fine, relaxed and comfortable around these women now that she’s had a few months to get to know them. I’ve tried to ease her into my life slowly, giving her the opportunity to face some of her big fears in her own time.

After dinner we pile into the waiting limos and head to the bar. Lainey’s cheeks are flushed from wine at dinner, and she snuggles into my side. “This is fun. I’m glad you convinced me to go out tonight.”

I press my lips to her temple. “Me too.”

A lot of the guys are probably at the club already, since Ballistic sent the invite to the entire team. Even so, we’re a big group, and we draw attention. People recognize us as we’re ushered past the line of people waiting to get in, and a low murmur of excitement follows us.

Lainey glues herself to my side, clutching my arm tightly as we enter the nightclub. Pounding bass greets us, and we walk down the dark, narrow hallway leading to the bar and the dance floor. There are several floors, and the room we’ve rented is up a level. Lainey says something I don’t quite catch. I lean down as we keep moving, the bass growing louder.

We step out from the hallway into the main club, lights flashing to accompany the throbbing beat. Lainey’s grip on my arm tightens even more, and I worry that this is just too much for her. That the hypothetical was much more reasonable than the reality of this situation. She’s already had a long day, flying home with a baby, and now she’s way outside her comfort zone with this. I don’t think I should have pushed her into this. She can handle the pub just fine, but it took a few times before she was comfortable even there. When she comes to games they generally sit in the box rather than in the regular seats because it’s not as overwhelming, and this . . . well, this is a million times worse than that.

It’s loud, there are people packed into every inch of the dance floor, and it’s slow moving through the throng of bodies toward the stairs that will get us to the second floor. I’m about to explain this to Lainey so she doesn’t start to panic, when all of a sudden the music is eclipsed by the sound of screaming.

Between one breath and the next we’re completely swarmed by Chicago fans. We’ve been having an amazing season so far this year, and publicity has been high, so going out can be an issue—but this is over the top, even for us. I’m assuming it has to do with the flowing alcohol and the celebratory atmosphere.

I attempt to put a protective arm around Lainey’s shoulder to keep her safe, but she’s not attached to my biceps anymore. Instead Violet, Charlene, and Lily form a protective semicircle around her and move her away from the screaming, clamoring fans.

Poppy and Sunny squeeze by me. “We’ve got her, don’t worry.”

As they move through the crowd I catch a glimpse of Lainey, craning to look over her shoulder as the girls usher her away. Her fingers are at her mouth, eyes wide with panic. She says something to one of the girls, face etched with concern, before she’s swallowed by the sea of bodies.

Lance claps me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Rookie, they’ll take care of her.”

“But she hates crowds. I should’ve fucking known better. We haven’t been in here for more than two minutes.” My phone is in her purse, so I can’t even message her to find out where she is.

“The girls have all been through this before—they’ll manage. Now smile and take some selfies with yer fans.”

Dressed-up women and sweaty guys surround us. Arms wrap around my waist and camera phones flash in my face as more and more people realize there’s something going on that they want to be a part of. People push and shove each other out of the way. Two guys in the middle of the crowd bump chests like they’re thinking about having a go at each other, while the rest of the drunken fans skirt around them.